Rise Of Empire

by Sullivan, Michael J

  He kissed her again.

  Periodically, Hilfred would peek out at the sky and check the position of the moon. Eventually he returned and said, “It’s time.”

  She nodded, and once more Arista transformed into the morose visage of Regent Saldur.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Hilfred told her.

  “I know. I’m really starting to get the hang of this. Care to kiss me again?” she teased, and laughed at his expression. “Now remember, don’t do anything. The idea is to just walk in and walk out. No fighting, understand?”

  Hilfred nodded.

  They stepped out of the stable. As they did, Arista looked up at Modina’s window. Although it was dark, she was certain she saw her figure sitting framed within it. Once again she recalled Modina’s final words, and regretted not asking her to come. Maybe she would have refused, but now it was too late. Arista wished she had at least asked.

  Nipper came out of the kitchens, yawning and carrying two empty water buckets. He stopped short, surprised to see them.

  She ignored him and headed directly to the tower.

  Just as before, the Seret Knight stood at attention in the center of the room, his face hidden, his shoulders back, the jeweled sword at his side.

  “I’m going to see Degan Gaunt. Open up.”

  The guard drew his sword.

  There was a brief moment of terror when Arista’s heart pounded so loudly she thought the seret might hear. She glanced at Hilfred and saw him flinch, his hand approaching his own weapon. Then the knight bent on one knee and lightly tapped the stone floor with the pommel. The stones immediately slid away, revealing a stair curving into the darkness.

  “Shall I come with you, Your Grace?”

  Arista considered this. She had no idea what was down there. It could be one cell or a maze of corridors. It might take her a long time to discover where Gaunt was. Just outside, she heard Nipper filling his buckets. The castle was already waking up.

  “Yes, of course. Lead the way.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” The knight pulled a torch from the wall and descended the steps.

  It was dark inside. The stair was narrow and oppressive. Ahead, she could hear the sounds of faint weeping. The same heavy stones that made up the base of the tower formed the dungeon. Here, however, decorations adorned the walls. Nothing recognizable, merely abstract designs carved everywhere. Arista felt she had seen them before—not these exactly, but similar ones.

  Then she felt it.

  Like the snap of a twig or the crack of an egg, a tremor passed through her body—a sudden disconcerting break.

  She looked down. The old man’s hands were gone and she was seeing her own fingers and sleeves revealed in the flickering torchlight.

  With his back turned, the knight continued to escort them. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he began to turn, saying, “Your Grace, I—”

  Before he was fully around, Hilfred shoved her aside.

  He drew his sword just as the knight’s eyes widened. As he drove his blade at the man’s chest, the black armor turned the tip. It skipped off, penetrating the gap between the chest plate and the right pauldron, piercing the man’s shoulder.

  The knight cried out.

  Hilfred withdrew his sword. The knight staggered backward, struggling to draw his own. Hilfred swung at the knight’s neck. Blood exploded, spraying both of them. The seret made no further noise as he crumpled and fell.

  “What happened?” Hilfred asked, picking up the torch.

  “The walls,” she said, touching the chiseled symbols. “They have runes on them like in Gutaria Prison. I can’t do magic in here. Do you think anyone heard that?”

  “I’m sure the kid fetching water did,” he said. “Will he do anything?”

  “I don’t know. We should close the door,” Arista said, picking up the sword with the emerald and looking up the long staircase at the patch of light at the top. What they had covered so casually minutes earlier now appeared so far—so dangerous. “I’ll do it. You find Gaunt.”

  “No. I won’t leave your side. There could be more guards. Forget the door. We’ll find him together and get out of here.” He took her left hand and pulled her along. Her right hand held on to the sword.

  The hallways were narrow stone corridors without any light except what came from the torch they held. The ceiling arched to a peak not more than a foot above Arista’s head, forcing Hilfred to stoop. Wooden doors, so short they looked more like livestock gates, began appearing on either side.

  “Gaunt!” Hilfred yelled.

  “Degan Gaunt!” Arista shouted.

  They ran down the darkened passageways, pounding on doors, calling his name, and peering inside. The hallway ended at a T-intersection. With only one torch, they had no option to split up, even if Hilfred could be convinced. They turned right and pressed on, finding more doors.

  “Degan Gaunt!”

  “Stop!” Arista stopped suddenly.

  “Wha—”

  “Shush!”

  Very faintly—“Here!”

  They trotted down the next corridor but reached a dead end.

  “This place is a maze,” Arista said.

  They ran back and took another turn. They called again.

  “Here! I’m here!” came the reply, louder now.

  Running once more, they again met a solid wall. They retraced their steps, found another corridor that appeared to go in the right direction, and followed it as far as the hallway allowed.

  “Degan!” she cried.

  “Over here!” called a voice from the last door in the block.

  When they reached it, Arista bent down and held up the torch. In the tiny grated window, she saw a pair of eyes. She grabbed the door handle and pulled—locked. She tried the gemstone but nothing happened.

  “Damn it!” she cried. “The guard, he must have the key. Oh, how could I be so stupid? I should have searched him before we ran off.”

  Hilfred hammered the wooden door with his sword. The hard oak, nearly as solid as stone, gave up only sliver-size chips.

  “We’ll never get the door open this way. Your sword isn’t doing anything! We have to go back for the keys.”

  Hilfred continued to strike the door.

  “We’ll be back, Degan!” Arista said before starting back down the hall, carrying the torch.

  “Arista!” Hilfred shouted as he chased after her.

  They rounded the corridors, turning left, then right, and then—

  “Arista?” Saldur said, stunned, as they nearly ran into the regent. Around him were five Seret Knights with swords drawn and torches held high.

  Hilfred pushed Arista back. “Run!” he told her.

  Saldur stared at them for a moment, then shook his head. “There is nowhere to run to, dear boy. You’re both quite trapped.”

  Saldur, his hair loose and wild, wore a white linen nightgown, over which he had pulled a red silk robe that he was still in the midst of tying about his waist. “So it was you after all. I would not have believed it. You’ve been very clever, Arista, but you’ve always been a clever girl, haven’t you? Always poking your nose into places you shouldn’t.

  “And you, Hilfred, reunited with your princess once more, I see. It’s a wonderfully gallant gesture to defend her with your life, but it’s also futile, and where is the honor in futility? There’s no other exit from this dungeon. These men are Seret Knights, highly skilled, brutally trained soldiers who will kill you if you resist.”

  Saldur took the torch from the lead seret, who now also drew a dagger. “You have wasted half your life protecting this foolish girl, whose stupidity and rash choices have dragged you through torment and fire. Put down your sword and back away.”

  Hilfred checked his grip and planted his feet.

  “When I was fifteen, you told me I would die if I tried to save her. That night I ran into an inferno. If I didn’t listen to you then, what makes you think I will now?”

  Sal
dur sighed. “Don’t make them kill you.”

  Hilfred stood his ground.

  “Stop, please. I beg you!” Arista shouted. “Sauly, I’ll do anything you ask. Please, just let him go.”

  “Persuade him to put down his sword and I will.”

  “Hilfred—”

  “Not even if you order me to,” he said, his voice grave. “There is no power in Elan capable of making me walk away from you—not now, not ever again.”

  “Hilfred …” she whispered as tears fell.

  He glanced at her. In that moment of inattention, the seret saw an opening and slashed. Hilfred dodged.

  Swords clashed.

  “No!” Arista cried.

  Hilfred swung for the throat again, but the knight ducked. Hilfred’s blade struck the wall, kicking up sparks. The knight stabbed him in the side. Hilfred gasped and staggered but managed to lunge and thrust his sword at the knight’s chest. Again the point of the blade deflected off the black armor, but this time he was not fortunate enough to connect.

  Arista watched as a second knight lunged, driving his sword through Hilfred’s stomach. The sword pierced his body, pushing out the back of his tunic.

  “No! No!” she screamed, falling against the wall as her knees threatened to buckle.

  With blood spilling from his lips, Hilfred struggled to raise his sword again. The foremost knight brought his own blade down, severing Hilfred’s arm at the elbow with a burst of warm blood that splashed across Arista’s face.

  Hilfred collapsed to his knees. His body hitched.

  “A-Aris …” he sputtered.

  “Oh, Hilfred …” Arista whispered as her eyes burned.

  The knights stood over him. One raised his sword.

  “Arista!” he cried.

  The knight’s sword came down.

  Arista collapsed as if the blade pierced them both. She slumped to the floor. She could not speak. She could not breathe. Her eyes locked on the dead body of Hilfred as a warm wetness pooling across the stone floor crept between her fingers.

  “Hilfred.” She mouthed the word. She had no breath left to speak it.

  Saldur sighed. “Get him out of here.”

  “What about her?”

  “She went through so much trouble to get in, so let’s find her a nice permanent room.”

  CHAPTER 25

  INVASION

  What do you think is going to happen?” Hadrian asked Royce as they hung in the dark.

  “The fleet will come in and there will be no pressure to fire the spouts. The Ghazel will land without opposition and slaughter everyone. Eventually they’ll reach here, break in, and butcher us.”

  “No,” Hadrian said, shaking his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. The Ghazel will eat us alive, and they’ll take their time savoring every moment. Trust me.”

  They hung in silence.

  “What time do you think it is?” Hadrian asked.

  “Close to sunset. It was pretty late when they brought us in.”

  Silence.

  They could hear the random movements of guards on the other side of the door, muffled conversation, the slide of a chair, occasional laughter.

  “Why does this always happen?” Royce asked. “Why are we always hanging on a wall, waiting to die by slow vivisection? I just want to point out that this was your idea—again.”

  “I’ve been waiting for that. But I believe I told you not to come.” Hadrian shifted in his chains and sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s much chance of a beautiful princess coming in here and saving us again.”

  “That card’s been dealt.”

  “I wish I had met Gaunt,” Hadrian said at length. “It would have been nice to actually meet the man, you know? My whole life was fated to protect this guy and I never even saw him.”

  They were quiet for a time, and then Royce made a hmm sound.

  “What?”

  “Huh? Oh—nothing.”

  “You’re thinking something. What is it?”

  “Just interesting that you think Arista is beautiful.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “You’re blinded by Gwen.”

  Hadrian heard Royce sigh. There was a silence, and then he said, “She already named our children. Elias if we had a boy—or was it Sterling? I forget—and Mercedes if a girl. She even took up knitting and made me a scarf.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “She wanted me to go, remember? She said I had to protect you. I had to save your life.”

  Hadrian looked over at him. “Good job.”

  Chairs moved in the outer office, footsteps, a banging door, agitated voices. Hadrian caught snippets of the conversation.

  “… black sails … a dark cloud on the ocean …”

  “No, someone else …”

  A chair turned over and hit the floor. More hurried footsteps. Silence.

  “Sounds like the fleet is in.” Hadrian waited, watching the door to their cell. “They left us for dead, didn’t they? We told them this would happen. We came all this way to try and save them. You’d think they’d have the decency to let us out when they saw we were right.”

  “Probably think we’re behind it. We’re lucky they didn’t just kill us.”

  “Not sure that’s lucky. A nice, quick decapitation is kind of appealing right now.”

  “How long do you think before the Ba Ran find us?” Royce asked.

  “You in a hurry?”

  “Yeah, actually. If I have to be eaten, I would sort of like to get it over with.”

  Hadrian heard the sound of breaking glass.

  “Ah, well, that didn’t take long, did it?” Royce muttered miserably.

  Footsteps shuffled in the outer room. There was a pause, and then the steps started again, coming closer. There were sounds of a struggle and a muffled cry. Hadrian braced himself and watched the door as it opened. What stood in the doorway shocked him.

  “You boys ready to go?” Derning asked.

  “What are you doing here?” they both said in unison.

  “Would you prefer me to leave?” Derning smiled. Noticing the riveted manacles, he grimaced. “Thorough buggers, aren’t they? Hang on. I saw some tools out here.”

  Royce and Hadrian looked at each other, bewildered.

  “Okay, so he’s not a beautiful princess. But it works for me.”

  There were sounds of slamming and an “Aha!” Then Derning returned with a hammer and a chisel.

  “The Ghazel fleet arrived and Drumindor isn’t working, but it didn’t blow up either, so I guess we have you to thank for that,” Derning told them as he went to work on the manacle pins.

  “Don’t mention it. And I’m not just saying that. I really mean … don’t mention it,” Hadrian said with a wince.

  “Now half the folks—the smart half—are running. The others are going to try to fight. That means we don’t have much time to get out of here. I have horses and provisions waiting just outside town. We’ll take the mountain road north. I’ll ride with you as far as Maranon and then I’ll be going my own way.”

  “But I still don’t get why you’re here,” Royce said as Derning finished with one of the metal bracelets. “Don’t you work for Merrick?”

  “Merrick Marius?” Derning laughed. “That’s funny. Grady and I were convinced you two worked for Marius.” Derning finished cracking open the manacles on Royce, then turned to Hadrian. “We work for Cornelius DeLur. You might know him—big fat guy, father of Cosmo. He pretty much runs this country—or owns it, depending on your viewpoint. Imagine my surprise yesterday when I checked in and found out you worked for Melengar. DeLur got a big kick out of that. The old fat man has a sick sense of humor sometimes.”

  “I’m confused. Why were you on the Storm?”

  “When the Diamond found a message from Merrick, Cosmos thought it was important enough to relay to his daddy, and Cornelius sent us to check out w
hat was going on. Grady and I started as sailors and are still well known on the Sharon. We were so sure Royce killed Drew, which is why we thought you two were mixed up with Merrick. We thought it had something to do with that horn comment that Drew made.”

  “Bernie killed him,” Royce said simply.

  “Yeah, we figured that out. And, of course, that horn thing had nothing to do with Merrick. That was all Thranic’s group. When we heard you had been arrested, it wasn’t too hard to find ya.”

  He finished freeing Hadrian, who rubbed his wrists.

  “Come on, most of your gear is out here.” He pulled Alver-stone out of his belt and handed it to Royce. “Took this off one of the guards. I think he thought it was pretty.”

  Outside their cell the tiny jail office was empty except for two guards. One looked dead but the other might have just been unconscious. They found their possessions in a series of boxes set aside in a room filled with all manner of impounded items.

  Outside, dawn rose and people were running with bundles in their arms. Mothers held crying children to their breasts. Men struggled to push overfilled carts uphill. Down in the harbor they could see a forest of dark masts. Drumindor stood a mute witness to the sacking of the city.

  Derning led them up refugee-choked streets. Fights broke out. Roads were blocked, and finally Derning resorted to the roofs. They scaled balconies and leapt alleys, trotting across the clay-tiled housetops until they cleared the congestion. They dropped back to the street and soon reached the city’s eastern gate. Hundreds of people were rushing by with carts and donkeys—women and children mostly, traveling with boys and old men.

  Derning stopped just outside the gates, looking worried. He whistled and a bird call answered in response. He led them off the road and up an embankment.

  “Sorry, Jacob,” said a spindly youth, emerging with four horses. “I figured it was best to wait out of sight. If anyone saw me with these, I wouldn’t keep them for long.”

  From the crest of the hill they could see the bay far below. Smoke rose thickly from the buildings closest to the water.

  “We weren’t able to stop it,” Derning said, looking at the refugees fleeing the city, “but between you defusing the explosion and my reporting to Cornelius so he could raise the alarm, it looks like we saved a lot of lives.”