Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  Scanned and proofed by 5kops

  The

  Ancient Legacy

  MITCHELL GRAHAM

  Books by Mitchell Graham

  The Ancient Legacy

  The Emerald Cavern

  The Fifth Ring

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  EOS

  An Imprint ofHarperCollinsPiiblishers

  10 East 53rd Street

  New York, New York 10022-5299

  Copyright © 2005 by Mitchell Graham

  ISBN: 0-06-050676-8

  Cartography by Elizabeth M. Glover

  www.eosbooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For infor­mation address Eos, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  First Eos paperback printing: January 2005

  HarperCollins® and EOS® are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  10 98 7 654321

  To my dear Mia (Dr. Zannis), who made the psychology classes fun and Dr. Rodriguez's class in particular, bearable.

  PROLOGUE

  He had always been lucky when it came to killing people. The space behind the wall was cramped and un­comfortable, a narrow, musty-smelling cubicle that hadn't seen a human occupant in years, and the man waiting there had discovered it quite by accident. He could only guess why anyone would have built such a room in the first place. Popular rumor had it the old king used it to en­ter and exit his mistress's chambers. Whether that was true or not made no difference to Bryan Oakes. He had been there for nearly an hour now. Waiting was part of his job.

  The only light came from a tiny opening no more than an inch wide. Oakes shifted his position slightly and peered out through it. Any night now.

  The princess would follow an established routine. Most people did. In return for a few kisses and some frenzied lovemaking, a maid had been more than forthcoming about her mistress's habits. His looks had always been useful.

  The princess was a beautiful woman, and under other circumstances he might have tried to get to know her better. But it was dangerous to become involved with one's prey.

  Delain's instructions had been very specific. The rose gold ring came first. Killing her was only to be a last re­sort. It was fine with him either way. His employers weren't offering any bonuses for her death. The fee was set. He had no complaint with the arrangement; they had paid him very well.

  According to the maid, Teanna would have a massage after dinner, take a bath, then read on the terrace before re­tiring for the night.

  Perfect, he said to himself.

  When the door to the apartment opened, he recognized her voice immediately.

  "You can send in the masseuse when she arrives," she said. '

  "Yes, my lady," the guard replied.

  The door closed and a shape passed in front of the opening. Oakes watched Teanna d'Elso cross to the oppo­site side of the room and open the terrace doors. She stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the rail­ing, the pale moonlight framing her face.

  Poor sad little princess, he thought.

  He continued to watch her, appraising and measuring at the same time. She was easily taller than most men, with a fine athletic figure. He could see the resemblance to the woman whose painting hung over the fireplace. Both had the same raven hair and bone structure.

  "A little closer," Oakes whispered.

  He raised the blow pipe to his lips. It would take the poison less than eight seconds to act. First, she would lose control of her muscles; next, the respiratory system would collapse; and last, the brain would die from lack of oxygen.

  Not very pleasant, he thought.

  Since securing a position with the palace guard, he'd seen Teanna's famous ring a number of times, but his goal was the ring she had taken from Mathew Lewin years ago. It was just a matter of time until he found where she had hidden it. He had a good feeling that it would be tonight.

  After several minutes Teanna came back in and began unbuttoning her dress. She shrugged out of the garment and tossed it on the bed. The rest of her clothes followed while Oakes watched. He felt no stir of passion at the sight of her naked body. Business was business, after all.

  The princess went into her dressing room and came out

  again wearing a silk robe. She was still too far away, he decided, and any mistake would be fatal. The blow pipe was only accurate to about twenty feet, and rumors abounded about what Teanna was capable of. One chance was all he was going to get.

  Just show me where you keep it, girl. It would be a shame to kill anyone as lovely as you.

  A knock at the door froze him.

  "Just a moment," she called out.

  Teanna crossed the room to a shelf of books, took one down, and opened it. The inside was hollow. Oakes held his breath as she slipped the ring off her finger and placed it in the book.

  Why thank you, my dear. That was most accommodating.

  He slowly lowered the blow pipe and a faint smile touched his lips. Patience was a wonderful thing.

  1

  Coribar

  Halfway up the hill to the Temple of Coribar, Thaddeus Lane, second officer of the Felizian merchant warrior ship Daedalus, raised his hand, bringing the squad of sailors with him to a halt. The sound of an explosion reached his ears a split second before a blast of hot air roared down the hill.

  "Down!" he screamed.

  The sailors behind him dove for the ground and ducked behind trees and rocks ... anything that would give them cover as the blast rushed toward them. One man, slower to react than his companions, was hit in the head by a piece of masonry traveling at a phenomenal rate and died instantly.

  Lane checked to see where his men were and if any others were injured, then motioned to his coxswain, a heavily muscled man named Brown.

  "We're too easy a target," he said. "Take half of the men and circle around to the back of the temple. I'll lead the others directly up the—"

  A second series of explosions cut off the lieutenant's words in mid-sentence. He raised his eyes and stared at the top of the hill.

  "What the devil are they doing up there?" "No idea, sir," Brown replied, following his lieu­tenant's gaze. "It sounds like the whole place is coming down. One of the balls must have hit something."

  Lane considered that for a moment. He was a tall, gangly looking young man in his early twenties, with intelli­gent blue eyes and thick, dark hair that came to the middle of his neck.

  Brown was ten years his senior and had seen men come and go in the Felizian navy. This one was different. Lane had a confidence about him that inspired trust. Despite his age and a disturbing tendency to get seasick at the begin­ning of a voyage, he had proven himself in battle enough times to earn the crew's respect. Ship's navigator for the last four years, he made the right choices under pressure, and Brown was content to follow where he led.

  Lane reached his decision. "I saw the temple from the ship. We don't have anything that could produce that kind of damage."

  "Coribar folk are a strange lot, Lieutenant," a grizzled seaman spoke up from behind them. "That goes double for the priests. I was here ten years back. None of 'em are like regular priests. Like as not, they blew the building up
themselves."

  Lane frowned and looked up the hill again. "All right. I suppose there's only one way to find out. The rest of you men, look alive. I don't want any more casualties. No pris­oners are to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Aye, sir," Brown replied.

  Similar acknowledgments came from the other sailors. Satisfied, Lane rose to a crouch and drew his sword. Keep­ing low to the ground, he started up the hill with half the men. Brown and the remaining half angled toward the rear of the building. They numbered thirty in all.

  When Lane reached the crest, he straightened and slowly put his sword back in the scabbard. Expressions of shock and disbelief came from all around him. The temple with its gleaming gold dome was now little more than a colossal wreck. From where he stood, he could see a num­ber of white-robed figures partially buried amidst the rub­ble. It was a gruesome sight.

  "Mr. Warrenton," he called out.

  A red-haired youth of about fourteen years stepped for­ward. "Yes, sir."

  "Ave, sir, in the navy, Mr. Warrenton," Lane corrected. "Aye, sir," the boy stammered. He was staring at a man's leg sticking out from under a block of marble.

  "Be so kind as to signal the ship and let them know that the temple is taken. Tell the captain there appear to be no survivors. We will search the area for anything valuable and return by midday."

  "Aye, sir," the boy said. He saluted and began trotting toward the edge of the hill, carrying a boxlike contraption that was suspended around his neck by a leather strap.

  "Walk, Mr. Warrenton. You are an officer and the men will be observing you."

  Warrenton immediately slowed. "Aye, sir." He kept his eyes averted from the bodies.

  Brown and his squad rejoined them a few minutes later. "Nothing to report, sir. Hell of a mess, isn't it?"

  "Any sign of Mr. Fikes and his party yet?" Lane asked. "No, sir. Shall I send someone to look for them?" "That won't be necessary. I'm sure they'll be here di­rectly."

  Lane turned and looked at the Daedalus, whose tall masts were moving gently in the waters of the bay. Every­thing there appeared secure. He scanned the plateau for his first officer.

  Elton Fikes was fifty-four and a man who wanted noth­ing more than to serve out his remaining few years and re­tire to a farm in his home province. Like most professional seamen in Felize's merchant marine, his personal fortunes had taken a substantial upturn when the Felizian govern­ment had rediscovered the cannon. Now, instead of mer­chant traders, Felize had a fleet of seagoing pirates.

  In truth, Lane was stunned by what had happened. His stomach had nearly revolted at the death and destruction, but he kept his face neutral and moved methodically from body to body, checking for survivors. After making sure

  that no one was alive, he instructed Brown to take a party of men and give the priests decent burials. Next, he told Warrenton, who had returned from sending his heliograph message to the ship, to take the remainder of the men and begin combing the wreckage for any signs of treasure. The prospect of robbing the dead sickened him, but it was a role he had learned to play.

  Lane picked his way across a pile of rubble and sat on the edge of a broken wall. He had signed on with the Daedalus when the ship visited Sennia. It was a calculated gamble at the time—he had desperately needed to escape the authorities who were scouring the land for him. Lane's real name was Mathew Lewin, and apart from Gawl, Sen-nia's king, his was perhaps the most recognizable face in the country.

  At one time children had played games and pretended to be Mathew Lewin, holder of the famous rose gold ring, who had saved the West at the battle of Ardon Field. Drawings of him appeared in newspapers, minstrels told stories of his exploits in taverns, and merchants sold tin replicas of his ring—a ring he no longer had. It had been taken by Teanna d'Elso, the Crown Princess of Nyngary and conceivably the most powerful person in the world.

  Mathew stared out at the sea. Nearly four years of hid­ing and maneuvering had brought him no closer to his goal. The ring was still gone, and his friends Father Thomas and Gawl d'Atherny were still prisoners. Edward Guy, the usurper who had wrested Gawl's throne from him, was still in power, and the world believed Mathew Lewin dead.

  Those events were as vivid in his mind now as they had been four years ago. Without his ring he might as well have been dead, for all the good he'd been able to do his country and his friends. An echo from wearing the ring for so long had remained with him, but what power it could produce was inconsequential compared with the devastation Teanna d'Elso could unleash if she chose. The last hopes of the West had disappeared along with loss of the ring.

  It had taken less than nine months for Elgaria to fall, and he had not been home since. The southern third of his country from Elberton to the mouth of the Roeselar River was now ruled by the Orlocks, a savage and cannibalistic race of creatures, as payment for Karas Duren's unholy bargain with them. Delain, the former king, still con­trolled the northernmost tip of the country with the rem­nants of his army, but they had been reduced to making periodic raids and trying to disrupt the puppet government Alor Satar had set up. The balance of Elgaria was ruled by the Vargothans, a ruthless lot who would kill without the slightest compunction to maintain order. That they hadn't succeeded in removing Delain completely was chiefly be­cause Alor Satar had been stretched thin militarily and fi­nancially after the recent war.

  The world had changed; whether in spite of him or be­cause of him, Mathew didn't know. He only knew that the ring was gone. He no longer blamed himself for its loss. In the great scheme of things blame made little difference. Gone was gone, and he was no closer now to Teanna's palace in Nyngary than he had been when he started his journey. Thanks to the echo, he had a very good idea where the ring was being kept, but for all the good it had done him, it might have well have been on the moon. Mathew picked up a pebble and pitched it over the edge of the hill, listening to it clatter its way down the rocks.

  The Daedalus had provided him the means he needed to get out of Sennia. Heeding Father Thomas's advice, he had changed his appearance. A dye purchased at the Stan­ley Market in Barcora had turned his hair black and an­other darkened his skin. There was little he could do about the color of his eyes, but the beard he had grown certainly helped. At six feet two inches, he was still slender, but had gained a fair amount of muscle in the last four years. Mathew picked up another pebble and threw it.

  "Home." He said the word quietly to himself and won­dered what Lara Palmer was doing at that moment. He had left without a word to her, or to his best friend Collin Miller. That was the hardest part of all, nearly as hard as not contacting them in the succeeding years. It would have been too dangerous.

  You are our last hope, my son. The ring must he recov­ered at any cost, the priest had told him.

  A marvelous hope I've turned out to be, he thought bitterly.

  The sound of a commotion at the far end of the plateau pulled Mathew back to the present, and he stood up to see what was going on. Seventy-five yards away he saw Elton Fikes returning with his landing party. Two white-robed priests were with them. Mathew made his way down the rubble and went to meet his first officer, careful to keep his pace moderate. An officer who moved deliberately and didn't become overanxious demonstrated confidence to his men and set a good example for the young midshipmen.

  Fikes waved and Mathew waved back. Like Mathew, he was dressed in a coat and tie and white breeches, the uniform of the Felizian navy.

  "All in one piece, Mr. Lane?" Fike asked.

  "Aye, sir. We lost Swanton. He was our only casualty."

  Fikes nodded and looked at what was left of the tem­ple. "Bloody mess. They must have been storing black powder here. I never heard anything so loud."

  "I suppose so. A secret like that is hard to keep, but it's odd that Coribar should have acquired it so soon."

  Fikes shook his head. "This'll put the captain in a fine state. Have you informed him about what happened?"

  "Aye, sir," Mat
hew replied as they began walking. "I had Warrenton bring the heliograph and we sent a message."

  "Good. Any response from the ship yet?" Fikes asked.

  "The captain wants us to examine the area for any—"

  "Plunder. Yes, I know," Fikes said, with a look of dis­taste. "Have you found anything worthwhile?"

  "I have two parties searching the area now." "Filthy business this, Lane. Can't say I much care for robbing a church, even if it is one of theirs."

  "The captain also wants us to examine the bodies for any jewelry or coins. His message said that we were to check the teeth for gold fillings."

  Fikes stopped and turned to face Mathew, indignant. "The devil you say. We'll be robbing women and children next. This is too much. I'll be damned if I'm going to do any such thing."

  Mathew stared straight ahead and dropped his voice. "We'll need to make a show of it for the men. There are toadies among the crew."

  Fikes opened his mouth to say something and closed it again when he noticed that a bosun's mate named Pilcher was hovering nearby.

  "What are you standing around gaping at, Mr. Pilcher?" Fikes snapped. "If you don't have sufficient work, I'm sure we can find something to occupy you."

  The man executed a halfhearted salute and moved off.

  Fikes watched him for a moment and shook his head.

  "We're going to have trouble with that one. Anyway,

  Thaddeus, thank you for the warning. I see you've already got some of our people at work on a burial detail."

  "It seemed like the right thing to do," Mathew said. "Perhaps one of the priests will say a few words. I as­sume we're going to turn them loose once we're done here."

  "What? Oh, quite right. I don't think the captain... what the devil, now?"

  A loud argument had erupted between one of the priests and the sailors guarding them. The Felizians were attempting to remove something from a leather bag the priest was carrying, and he was protesting loudly. Fikes and Mathew exchanged glances and started toward them, but what happened next surprised everyone.