The Crown conspiracy trr-1

by Michael J. Sullivan

  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."

  "They do not, and thou art no spell-caster. Thou art merely granting me freedom as the law allows the rightful ruler of this land. The law predates Melengar, a law that made foolish assumptions about the longevity of power and those who would hold it. At this moment, thou do. Thou art the rightful and undisputed ruler of this land, and as such, the locks art thine to open. Not the physical ones mind thee, but the magical ones, because they art formed not of steel, but of words, and words in time can change their meaning.

  "When this gaol stood on imperial ground, 'twas controlled by the Church of Nyphron who built this place. The Patriarch was the undisputed ruler, but civil war came; the Empire fell. Warlords sprang up as the central power weakened. These warlords became kings, and new lines appeared on the maps. Melengar was born and this land became the realm of House Essendon. What was once only the privilege of the leader of the Church of Nyphron has fallen to thou. After nine centuries of educational neglect, my 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 wilt end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment."

  "How does this help?" Alric asked. "You said I can't open the physical locks, and this place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?"

  The wizard smiled a great grin. "Thy words wilt release the magical field, allowing 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."

  "Thou have it, 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 his partner who was already positioning himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard's numbers. The larger fighter 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 be leaving," 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 him, navigating around the stationary guards. "Come along," 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.

  "Relax and just keep walking," 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?"

  "No, not really. They might sense something. The hairs on the back of their neck might stand, and they might feel a disturbance in the air as thou moves by, but no, they do not know we are here."

  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.

  "Actually, 'tis only this way because we are in this gaol. No one person hath the power to stop time, but this gaol was designed for just such a purpose. 'Tis a giant Ithinal. What we once called a magic box. Within these walls the matrices of enchantments art complex. Many of my old colleagues created this place, and according to what Arista hath told me, I may be the only one who can still understand the ancient language. Because this gaol was designed to affect magic and time, I merely ever so slightly adjusted a fiber or two within the weave to throw the five of 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?"

  "Because nothing hath happened, as far as they art concerned. We art still where we were. For everyone else in this gaol, 'tis the moment young Alric spoke the last word in my poem. 'Tis why they dost not appear to be moving to us."

  "You turned it inside out!" Myron exclaimed.

  "Exactly," Esrahaddon said, looking with an appraising eye over his shoulder at the monk. "'Tis thrice thou hath impressed me. What did thou say thy name was?"

  "He didn't," Royce answered for him.

  "Thou dost not trust people, dost thou my black-hooded friend? 'Tis quite wise. More people should be as careful, particularly when dealing with 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?"

  "In the crudest terms that is correct. Time still moves for them, but very slowly. While unaware of it, they wilt remain very close to the instant the field changed for all time, or at least until someone alters the pattern engraved on the stone."

  "I am starting to see now why they were afraid of you," Alric said.

  "They kept me locked up for nine hundred years for saving the son of a man we all swore our lives to serve and protect. I think that I am being exceedingly kind. There art, after all, many worse moments in which to be trapped for all eternity."

  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 the time slip by in an instant like it is for them?"

  "The time did slip by, but not as fast as thou might thinketh. A year for me passed in about the length of a day."

  "Almost three years," Myron calculated.

  "Not nearly as bad as I thought," Hadrian remarked, "but still, three years of just sitting there-"

  "I was not just sitting there. I fought a battle each day. 'Twas a force of great effort to fend off their attacks to learn my secrets. And I had to decipher the runes etched all around me. I was never bored. Moreover, I have learned patience as a practitioner of The Art. Although there were times…Well, who is to 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.

  "Thos
e art the workers who built this gaol. I came here during the last few days they wert building this place. There was a small city of tents and shacks around the lake then. Hundreds of artisans and their families traveled here at the imperial call to do their part out of patriotism 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 have gladly given their lives for him. They labeled me the betrayer, and I could see the hatred in their eyes as they passed me on their way to work. They were proud to be the builders of my tomb."

  The wizard's gaze moved from face to face. "I recognize some of them: the stone cutters, the sculptures, the cooks, and their wives and children. The Church could not let them go for fear they would talk. They sealed them in. All these people, all these artists ensnared by a lie and murdered just to keep me here. How many people died, I wonder? How much was lost just to hide one absurd secret, which even a millennium hath not erased?"

  "There's no door down there," Alric warned the wizard.

  Esrahaddon looked up at Alric as if awoken from a dream. "Of course there is a door," he said and promptly led them down the corridor at a brisk walk. "Thou wert merely out of phase with it before."

  Here, in the darkest segment of the prison, Esrahaddon's robe grew brighter still, and he looked like a giant firefly. In time, they came to a solid stone wall, and without hesitation or pause, Esrahaddon walked through it. The rest quickly followed.

  The bright sunlight of a lovely, clear autumn morning nearly blinded them the moment they passed through the barrier. Blue sky and the cool fresh air was a welcome change. Hadrian took a deep breath and reveled in the scent of grass and fallen leaves, a smell he had not even noticed prior to entering the prison. "That's strange. It should be nighttime and raining, I would think. We couldn't have been in there more than a few hours. Could we?"

  "Funny things can happen when ye play with time." Esrahaddon threw his head back and faced the sun. He stood and took long deep breaths of air, sighing contentedly with each exhale. "The question ye should be asking thyselves is what day 'tis? Today could be the same day you entered, or the one after. In theory, 'tis possible to be tens or hundreds of years in the future." The wizard appeared amused at the shock on their faces. "Don't worry too much. Most likely ye only skipped a few days or hours."

  "That's rather unnerving," Alric said, "losing time like that."

  "I have lost nine hundred years. Everyone I knew is dead, the Empire is gone, and who knows what else hath happened. If what thy sister tells me is correct, much hath changed in the world while I have been gone."

  "By the way," Royce mentioned, "no one uses the words 'tis or hath anymore and certainly not thou or thy. You sound like a history book."

  The wizard nodded. "I noticed none of ye spoke properly. In my day, various classes had different forms of speech. Properly educated people used more sophistication than the lower classes as a mark of their rank. I assumed all of ye were merely of a lower station or, in the case of the king, poorly educated."

  Alric glared. "It is you who sound strange, not us."

  "I see. Then I wilt have to learn to speak as all of-you-do. Even though-it is-very difficult and sounds crude and guttural."

  Hadrian, Royce, and Myron began the task of saddling the horses, which remained standing where they had left them. Myron smiled, obviously happy to be with the animals once again. He petted them while eagerly asking how to tie a cinch strap.

  "We don't have an extra horse, and Hadrian is riding double already," Alric explained. He glanced at Royce, who showed no indication of volunteering. "Esrahaddon will have to ride with me I suppose."

  "That won't be necessary. I will be going my own way."

  "Oh no you're not. You're coming back to my castle with me. I have a great deal to speak with you about. You were the advisor to the Emperor and are obviously very gifted and knowledgeable. I have great need for such an advisor. You will be my Royal Counselor."

  "No. 'Twill…" he sighed and then continued. "It will come as a shock to-you-but I did not escape for the purpose of helping you with your little problems. I have more important matters to which I must attend, and I have been too long from them."

  The prince appeared taken aback. "What matters could you possibly have after nine hundred years? After all, it's not as if you have to get home to tend to your livestock. If it is a matter of compensation, you will be well paid and live in as much luxury as I can afford. And if you are thinking of shopping around, only Ethelred of Warric is likely to offer as much and trust me, you don't want to work for the likes of him. He's a dogmatic Imperialist and a loyal church supporter."

  "I am not looking for compensation."

  "No? Look at you. You have nothing, no food, no place to sleep. I think you should consider your situation a bit more before refusing me. Besides, gratitude alone should compel you to help me."

  "Gratitude? Has the meaning of that word changed as well? In my day, it meant to show appreciation for a favor."

  "And it still does. I saved you. I released you from that place."

  Esrahaddon raised an eyebrow. "Didst thou help me escape as a favor to me? I think not. Thou freed me to save thyself. I owe thee nothing, and if I did, I repaid thee when I brought thou out."

  "But the whole reason I came here was to gain your assistance. I am inheriting a throne handed down by blood! Thieves abducted and dragged me across the kingdom in my first two days as king. I still don't know who killed my father or how to find them. I am in great need of help. You must know hundreds of things the greatest minds of today have never known-"

  "Thousands at least, but I am still not going with you. You have a kingdom to secure. My path lies elsewhere."

  Alric's face grew red with frustration. "I insist you return with me and become my advisor. I can't just let you wander off. Who knows what kind of trouble you could cause. You're dangerous."

  "Yes indeed dear prince, so allow me to givest thee a bit of free council: doth not use the word insist in conjunction with me. Thine hath but only a small spill to contend with, do not tempt a deluge."

  Alric stiffened.

  "How long before the Church starts hunting you?" Hadrian asked casually.

  "What dost thou…" the wizard sighed. "What do you mean?"

  "You locked things up nicely in the prison so no one will know you escaped. Of course, if we were to return and start bragging about how we broke you out, that might start inquiries."

  The wizard leveled his gaze at Hadrian. "Art thee attempting to blackmail me?"

  "Why would I do that? As you already know, I have nothing to do with this, being just a scapegoat and all. Not to mention it would be pretty stupid of me to threaten a powerful wizard. The thing is though, the king here, he is not as bright as I am. He very well might get drunk and tell stories at the first tavern he arrives at, as nobles often do." Esrahaddon glanced at Alric, whose red face now turned pale. "Fact is, we came all this way to find out who killed Alric's father, and we really don't know much more than we did before we set out."

  Esrahaddon chuckled softly. "Very well, I will give you some assistance. Tell me how did your father die exactly?"

  "He was stabbed with a knife," Alric explained.

  "What kind of knife?"

  "A common rondel military dagger." Alric held his hands about a foot apart. "About this long. It had a flat blade and a round pommel. It was really nothing special."

  Esrahaddon nodded. "Where was he stabbed?"

  "In his private chapel."

  "I meant where physically?"

  "Oh, in the back, upper left side, I think."

  "Were there any windows or other doors in the chapel?"

  "None."

  "Who found the body?"

  "These two." Alric pointed at Royce and Hadrian.

  The wizard smiled and shook his head. "No, beside them, who announced the death of the king? Who raised the alarm?"

  "That wou
ld be Captain Wylin, my master-at-arms. He was on the scene very quickly and apprehended them."

  Hadrian thought about the night King Amrath had been killed. "No, that's not right. There was a dwarf there. He must have come around the corner of the hallway just as we left the room. He probably saw the king's body lying on the floor of the chapel and shouted. Right after he yelled, the soldiers came, and surprisingly fast, I might add."

  "Did you actually see this dwarf approach from the corridor?" the wizard asked.

  "No," Hadrian replied, and Royce confirmed with a shake of his head.

  "And when you entered the chapel, was the king's body visible from the doorway?"

  Hadrian and Royce shook their heads.

  "That solves it then," the wizard said, as if everything was perfectly clear. The party stared back at him in confusion. Esrahaddon sighed. "The dwarf killed Amrath."

  "That's not possible," Alric challenged. "My father was a big man, and the dagger thrust was downward. A dwarf couldn't possibly have stabbed him in the upper back."

  "You said your father was in his chapel. As any good pious king, he was no doubt kneeling with head bowed. The dwarf killed him as he prayed. I suspect the dwarf was someone your father knew. Someone he would not be alarmed to see in the chapel."

  "But the door was locked when we entered," Hadrian said. "And there was no one in the room besides the king."

  "No one you could see at least. The dwarf must have been hiding inside the room when you entered. Did the chapel have an altar with a cabinet?"

  "Yes, it did."

  "They did a millennium ago as well. Religion changes very slowly. The cabinet was no doubt too small for a man to crouch in, but I'm sure it could easily accommodate a dwarf. After he killed the king, he locked the door and waited for you two to find the body." Esrahaddon paused. "That cannot be right you-two-to?" He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "If you have done this to language, I fear to know the fate of all else.

  "With the door locked, a night guard or a cleaning steward would not find the body prematurely. Only a skilled thief would be able to enter, which I assume at least one of you is." He looked directly at Royce as he said the last part. "After you left, the dwarf crept out, opened the door, and sounded the alarm, trapping you before you could get away."