Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (20 page)

“Huh?” Alric asked.

“He says that no magic can be performed in here and … and … time does not pass,” Myron explained.

“I don’t believe that,” Alric challenged.

“Put hand to thy breast and search for the meter of thy heart.”

Myron inched his fingers across his chest and let out a tiny squeak.

“And with all these obstacles you expect us to help you escape?” Hadrian said.

The wizard replied with an impish grin.

“Although I’m dying to ask how,” Royce said, “I’m even more compelled to ask why. If they went through this much effort to seal you in here, it seems to me they might have had a good reason. You’ve told us what we came to hear. We’re done. So why would we be foolish enough to try and help you escape?”

“Little choice exists for the choosing.”

“We have a great many choices,” Alric countered bravely. “I’m the king and rule here. It’s you who is powerless.”

“Oh, ’tis not I that bars thy path, O prince. Thou understand rightly, helpless am I—a prisoner of weakness bound. ’Tis our jailors with whom thou need set thy argument. While every note in our words be measured and writ, I pray thee call out for release and greet the silence sure to follow. Shout, and hear the echo run unanswered. Trapped with me by walls or death they seek to claim thee.”

“But if they are listening, they know I’m not the heir,” Alric said, but the courage in his voice had melted away.

“Call out, and see which truth prevails.”

Alric’s concern showed on his face as he looked first to Hadrian and then to Royce. “He may be right,” the thief said quietly.

Concern turned to panic and the prince began to shout commands for their release. There was no response, no sound of the great door opening or of approaching protectors to escort them to the exit. Everyone except the wizard looked worried. Alric wrung his hands, and Myron stood and held on to the rail of the balcony as if letting go would allow the world to spin away from him.

“It was a trap after all,” Alric said. He turned to Royce. “My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia.”

“Even I didn’t expect this. Perhaps there’s another way out.” Royce took a seat on one of the observation benches and assumed the same contemplative look he had worn when he was trying to determine how to get inside the prison.

Everyone remained silent for some time. Finally, Hadrian approached Royce and whispered, “Okay, buddy, this is where you tell me you have this wonderfully unexpected plan to get us out of here.”

“Well, I do have one, but it seems almost as frightening as the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“We do what the wizard says.”

They looked down at the man casually seated in the chair. His robe looked a slightly different shade of blue now. Hadrian waved the others over and explained Royce’s plan.

“Could this be a trick?” Alric asked quietly. “The clerk did warn us not to do anything he said.”

“You mean the nice clerk who took away our bridge and refuses to let us out?” Royce replied. “I’m not seeing an alternative, but if any of you have another idea, I’m willing to hear it.”

“I’d just like to feel my heart again,” Myron said, holding his palm to his chest and looking sick. “This is very disturbing. I almost feel like I’m actually dead.”

“Your Majesty?”

Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. “I just want to say for the record that as far as royal protectors go, you’re not very good.”

“It’s my first day,” Royce replied dryly.

“And already I’m trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week.”

“Listen, I don’t see we have a choice here,” Royce told the group. “We either do what the wizard says and hope he can get us out, or we accept an eternity of sitting here listening to this dreadful singing.”

The mournful wail of the music was so wretched that Hadrian knew listening to it would eventually drive him mad. He tried to ignore it, but as it did for Myron, it brought him unpleasant memories of places and people. Hadrian saw the disappointment on his father’s face when he had left to join the military. He saw the tiger covered in blood, gasping for breath as it slowly died, and he heard the sound of hundreds chanting the name: “
Galenti!
” He had reached his conclusion. Anything was better than staying there.

Royce stood and returned to the balcony, below which the wizard waited calmly. “I assume if we help you escape, you’ll see to it we get out as well?”

“Indeed.”

“And there is no way to determine if you are telling the truth right now?”

The wizard smiled. “Alas, nay.”

Royce sighed heavily. “What do we have to do?”

“Precious little. Thy prince, this wayward and recent king, need but recite a bit of poetry.”

“Poetry?”
Alric pushed past Hadrian to join Royce at the balcony. “What poetry?”

The wizard stood up and kicked his chair to one side to reveal four stanzas of text crudely scratched into the floor.

“ ’Tis amazing what beauty time may grant,” the wizard said with obvious pride. “Speak, and it wilt be so.”

Hadrian silently read the lines brightly illuminated by the beam of the overhead light.

AS LORD OF THIS REALM AND KEEPER OF KEYS, A DECREE WAS MADE AND COUNCILMAN SEIZED.

UNJUSTLY, I SAY, AND THE TIME ’TIS NIGH TO OPEN THE GATE AND LET HIS SOUL FLY.

BY VIRTUE OF GIFT GRANTED TO ME, BY RIGHTFUL BIRTH, THE SOVEREIGN I BE.

HEREBY I PROCLAIM THIS ROYAL DECREE, ESRAHADDON THE WIZARD, THIS MOMENT IS FREE.

“How is that possible?” Alric asked. “You said spells don’t work here.”

“Indeed, and thou art no spell-caster. Thou art but granting freedom as the law allows the rightful ruler of this land—laws of control laid down before the birth of Melengar, laws built on assumptions false concerning the longevity of power and who might, in due course of time, wield it—at this moment, in this place, ’tis thee. Thou art the rightful and undisputed ruler of this land, and as such, the locks art thine to open. For here latch and bolt be forged with words of enchantment—words that in time hath changed their meaning.

“This gaol raised upon ground once claimed by imperial might, in absence of emperor slain did bend knee alone to the Nyphron Church Patriarch. Now within these walls never a grain of sand did drop to mark the passage of time but without thunder of war did rumble. Armies marched and lands divided, the empire lost to warlords’ whim. Then through bloody strife did these hills birth Melengar, realm sovereign under lordly king. What privilege once reserved alone only for a mitered head hast now fallen to thee. To thee, good King of Melengar, who has the power to right wrong so long omit. Nine centuries of dust hast buried wit, dear king, for these jailers hath forgotten how to read their own runes!”

In the distance, Hadrian heard the grinding of stone on stone. Outside the cell, the great door was opening. “Speak those words, my lord, and thou will end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment.”

“How does this help?” Alric asked. “This place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?”

The wizard smiled a great grin. “Thy words will cast aside the barrier enchantment and allow me the freedom to use the Art once more.”

“You’ll cast a spell. You’ll disappear!”

Footsteps thundered on the bridge, which had apparently reappeared. Hadrian ran up the gallery stairs to look down
the tunnel. “We have guards coming! And they don’t look happy.”

“If you’re going to do this, you’d better make it fast,” Royce told Alric.

“They’ve swords drawn,” Hadrian shouted. “Never a good sign.”

Alric glared down at the wizard. “I want your word you won’t leave us here.”

“Gladly given, my lord.” The wizard inclined his head respectfully.

“This better work,” Alric muttered, and began reading aloud the words on the floor below.

Royce raced to join Hadrian as he positioned himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard’s numbers and planted his feet while Royce took up position slightly behind him. In unison, they drew their weapons, preparing for the impending onslaught. At least twenty men stormed the gallery. Hadrian could see their eyes and recognized what burned there. He had fought numerous battles and he knew the many faces of combat. He had seen fear, recklessness, hatred, even madness. What came at him now was rage—blind, intense rage. Hadrian studied the lead man, estimating his footfalls to determine which leg his weight would land on when he came within striking range. He did the same with the man behind him. Calculating his attack, he raised his swords, but the prison guards stopped. Hadrian waited with his swords still poised, yet the guards did not advance.

“Let us away,” he heard Esrahaddon say from behind. Hadrian whirled around and discovered the wizard was no longer on the stage below. Instead, he moved casually past Hadrian, navigating around the stationary guards. “Come, come,” Esrahaddon called.

Without a word, the group hurried after the wizard. He led them through the tunnel and across the newly extended bridge. The prison was oddly silent, and it was then that Hadrian realized the music had stopped. The only remaining sound was their footfalls against the hard stone floor.

“Be at ease for perils past but tarry not and follow well,” Esrahaddon told them reassuringly.

They did as instructed, and no one said a word. To pass the clerk, who stood peering through the great door, they needed to come within inches of his anxiety-riddled face. As Hadrian attempted to slip by without bumping him, he saw the man’s eye move. Hadrian stiffened. “Can they see or hear us?”

“Nay. A ghostly breath is all thee be, a chill and swirl of air to their percept.”

The wizard led them without hesitation, making turns, crossing bridges, and climbing stairs with total confidence.

“Maybe we’re dead?” Myron whispered, glaring at each frozen guard he passed. “Maybe we’re
all
dead now. Maybe we’re ghosts.”

Hadrian thought Myron might be on to something. Everything was so oddly still, so empty. The fluid movement of the wizard and his billowing robe, which now emitted a soft silvery light far brighter than any lantern or torch, only heightened the surreal atmosphere.

“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Alric asked, stepping around a pair of black-suited guards who watched the third bridge. He waved his hand before the face of one of them, who did not respond. “Is this your doing?”

“ ’Tis the
ithinal
.”

“Huh?”

“A magic box. Power to alter time eludes the grasp of man, for too vast be the scope and too great the field. Yet enclose the space, confine the effect, and tame the wild world within.
Upon these walls, my colleagues of old wove enchantments complex. Designed to affect magic and time, I had but to ever so slightly adjust a fiber or two within the weave to throw us out of phase.”

“So, the guards can’t see us, but that doesn’t explain why they are just standing there,” Hadrian said. “We disappeared, and you’re free. Why are they not searching? Shouldn’t they be locking doors to trap us?”

“Within these walls, locked art the sands of time for all but us.”

“You turned it inside out!” Myron exclaimed.

Esrahaddon looked with an appraising eye over his shoulder at the monk. “ ’Tis thrice thou hast impressed me. What did thou say thy name was?”

“He didn’t,” Royce answered for him.

“Thou dost not trust people easily, my black-hooded friend? ’Tis quite wise. Careful should be the dealings with the wise and wizards.” Esrahaddon winked at the thief.

“What does he mean by ‘turning it inside out’?” Alric asked. “So, time has stopped for them while we are free?”

“Indeed. Though time still moves, ’tis very slowly paced. Unaware will they remain sealed in an instant lost.”

“I’m starting to see now why they were afraid of you,” Alric said.

“Nine hundred years did I spend imprisoned for saving the son of a man we all swore our lives to serve and protect. Exceedingly kind is the reward I bestow, for there art worse moments in which for all eternity to be trapped.”

They reached the great stair that led to the main entrance corridor and began the long, exhausting climb up the stone steps. “How did you stay sane?” Hadrian asked. “Or did time slip by in an instant like it is for them?”

“Slip it did but not so fast when measured in centuries.
Each day a battle did I fight. Patience is a skill learned as a practitioner of the Art. Yet times there were that … well, who can say what it means to be sane?”

When they approached the hall of faces, Esrahaddon looked down its length and paused. Hadrian noticed the wizard stiffen. “What is it?” he asked.

“Those faces, frozen thus, art the workers who built this gaol. Came I to this place during the final walling. Tented city did wreathed the lake. Hundreds of artisans with families came to the call to do their part for their fallen emperor. Such was the character of His Imperial Majesty. They all mourned his passing, and few in the vast and varied empire would not gladly give their lives for him. Labeled the betrayer, I beheld hatred in their eyes. Proud were they to be the builders of my tomb.”