Modina sat on the edge of her desk, her gown puffing out as she did. “The reports said swarms of Gilarabrywn. You’ve never seen one, Nimbus, but I have. They’re giant, brutal, terrifying flying monsters. Just one of them destroyed my home—burned it to ash. They are unstoppable.”
“And yet you stopped it.”
“I killed one—the man said swarms! They will burn the city from the sky.”
“The shelters are almost complete. The buildings will be lost, but the populace will be safe. They will not be able to take the city by Gilarabrywn. You have seen to that.”
“What about food?”
“We’ve been lucky there. It was a good year. We have more in store than is usual for late winter. Fishermen are working around the clock harvesting, salting, and smoking. All meats and grain are rationed and underground. Even here at the castle the bulk of the stores are already in the old dungeon.”
“It should slow them down, shouldn’t it?”
“I think so,” he said.
She looked back out the window at the snow-covered roofs. “What if Arista and the others had trouble? What if they were attacked by thieves? They might have died even before reaching the city.”
“Thieves?” Nimbus asked, stifling a laugh. “I daresay I should pity any band of thieves that had the misfortune of assaulting that party. I am certain they have entered Amberton Lee safely.”
She turned to face him. His tone was so confident, so certain that it set her at ease. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We just have to hope they are successful. What obstacles they will face beneath the Lee will certainly be more formidable than a band of thieves.”
CHAPTER 10
BENEATH THE LEE
Arista had no idea what time it was or how long they had walked since reaching the bottom of the shaft. Her feet, sore and heavy, slipped and stumbled over rocks. She yawned incessantly and her stomach growled, but there was no stopping—not yet.
They followed a series of narrow crevices so small and tight it often required crawling and, in the case of Elden, a sucked-in stomach and the occasional tug-of-war. It was frighteningly claustrophobic at times. She moved sideways through narrow slits where her nose passed within inches of the opposite side. During this period, Arista’s robe was the only source of light. At times, she noticed it dim or flicker briefly, which gave her concern. She would stiffen and instantly the light grew steady, often brighter, but as the night dragged on, the light drifted steadily from white to darker shades of blue.
The passage widened and constricted, but Royce usually found a way to move ahead. On a few occasions, he was wrong and they needed to backtrack and find another way. At such times, Arista heard Magnus mumble. Royce must have heard him too, but the thief never spoke or looked in his direction. The dwarf, who moved through the tunnels like a fish in water, did not elaborate on his grumblings. He remained generally quiet and traveled in the rear or middle of the group, yet occasionally when Royce entered a crevice, Magnus might cough with a disapproving tone. Royce ignored him and invariably returned with a scowl. After a few missteps, Royce started turning away from an appealing path the moment Magnus made a sound, as if a new thought had just occurred to him. Silently worked out and agreed upon, the system functioned well enough for both of them.
The rest of the party followed mindlessly, focused only on their own feet. After the first hour, Alric, who had begun the march giving the occasional obvious direction or asking questions, then nodding his head as if approving some sort of action, gave up the pretense altogether. Soon he dragged himself along like the rest, blindly following wherever Magnus and Royce led.
“Mmm,” Arista heard Magnus intoning somewhere ahead, as if he had just tasted something wonderful.
The princess was fumbling forward, ducking and twisting to get by as they struggled through another long narrow fissure. The blue light of her robe made the rock appear to glow.
“Wonderful,” the dwarf muttered.
“What is?”
“You’ll see.”
They inched onward through the crevice, which became tighter. She felt forward with her feet, kicking away loose stones to find footing.
“Whoa.” She heard Royce’s voice from somewhere up ahead, speaking the word slowly with uncharacteristic awe. She attempted to look forward, but Mauvin and Alric, standing ahead of her in the narrow pass, blocked her view.
Alric soon exclaimed, “By Mar! How is that possible?”
“What’s happening?” Degan said behind her.
“No clue—not there yet,” she replied. “Mauvin’s big head is blocking me.”
“Hey!” he retorted. “It’s not my fault. It gets really narrow in—Oh my god!”
Arista pushed forward.
Mauvin was right—the path did grow very tight—and she had to bend, squeeze, and step through. Her shoulders brushed the stone, her hair caught on jagged rocks, and her foot was almost stuck as she shifted her weight. She held her breath and pulled her body through the narrowest gap.
Once on the far side, the first thing she noticed was that she was standing in a large cavern, which, after the hours of crawling like a worm, was wonderful. The action of some forgotten river had cut the walls out in scoops and brushed them to a smooth wavy finish. Elongated pools of water that littered the floor shone as mirrors divided from each other by smooth ridges of rock.
The second thing she noticed was the stars.
“Oh my,” she found herself saying as she looked up. The roof of the cavern appeared just like the night sky. Thousands of tiny points of light glowed bright. Captured in the enclosed space, they illuminated the entire chamber. “Stars.”
“Glowworms,” Magnus corrected as he walked out ahead of her. “They leech on to the ceiling stone.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said.
“Drome didn’t put all his grandeur on the outside of Elan. Your castles, your towers, they are sad little toys. Here are the real treasures we hoard. They call us misers on the surface—they have no idea. They scrape for gold, silver, and diamonds, never finding the real gems beneath their feet. Welcome to the house of Drome; you stand on his porch.”
“There’s a flat table of rock up there,” Royce told them, pointing ahead at a massive plate of stone that lay at a slight angle. “We’ll camp, get some food, and sleep.”
“Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful,” Alric agreed, bobbing his head eagerly.
They walked around the pools filled with the reflected starlight. Myron and Elden, both with their eyes locked on the distant ceiling, missed their footing several times, soaking their feet—neither seemed to care. They climbed to the surface of the table rock, which was as large as the floor of the palace’s great hall. It was a vague triangle, and the long point rose at the center of the cavern like the prow of a ship breaching a wave.
With no wood and no need for tents, making camp consisted entirely of dropping their packs and sitting down. Arista had the lightest pack, carrying only her own supplies of food, bedding, and water, but still, her shoulders ached and did so even more noticeably once she set her burden down. She planted herself on the prow, her legs dangling over the edge, and leaned back on her hands, rolling her head. She felt the aches in her neck and looked up at the false night sky. Elden was the first to join her; he settled in and mimicked her actions exactly. He smiled bashfully when he caught her looking. The big man’s forehead and his left cheek had ugly scrapes and his tunic was torn across the chest and along his right shoulder. It was a wonder he had made it through at all.
From her pack she pulled one of the meals, in a neatly sewn bag. She tore it open and found salted fish, a preserved egg with a green look to it, a bit of hard bread, walnuts, and a pickle. Just as she had once devoured the pork stew Hadrian and Royce had given her the first night she had traveled with them, she consumed this meal, and when finished, she searched the bag for any remaining crumbs. Sadly, she found only two more walnuts at the bottom. She considered opening a
nother bag, but reason fought against the idea. Partially sated, her hunger lost its edge and gave up.
Most of the group found seats along the edge of the shelf and lined up like birds on a fence, their legs dangling at various rates of swing. Royce was the last to settle. As in the past, he spent some time exploring ahead and checking behind. Degan and Magnus sat together some distance from the rest, speaking together softly.
“Blessed Maribor, am I starved!” Mauvin declared as he tore open a bag of his own. His expression showed his disappointment, but he was not discouraged. After he tasted the contents, a smile returned. “That Ibis is a genius. This fish is wonderful!”
“I—have—the pork,” Alric managed to get out around the food in his mouth. “Good.”
“I feel as if I am back on a ship,” Wyatt mentioned, but did not pause to explain why as he tore his bread with his teeth.
Myron negotiated a trade with Elden over walnuts—a discussion held without words. The little monk looked exhausted but managed to smile warmly at the giant as they debated with hand gestures and nods. Elden grinned back, delighted by the game.
After eating, Arista looked around for a place to sleep. It was not like bedding down in a forest, where you looked for a flat area clear of roots and stones. Here everything was rock. One place was as good as another, and all appeared to offer little in the way of comfort. With her pack in hand, she wandered toward the center of the shelf, thinking that at the very least she did not want to roll off. She spotted Hadrian far down at the low end of the rock. He was lying on his back, his knees up, his head on his blanket, which he had rolled into a pillow.
“Something wrong?” she asked, approaching cautiously.
He turned on his side and looked up. “Hmm? No.”
“No?” She got down on her knees beside him. “Why are you all the way over here?”
He shrugged. “Just looking for some privacy.”
“Oh, then I’m probably bothering you.” She got up.
“No—you’re not.” He stopped her. “I mean…” He sighed. “Never mind.”
He sounded upset, frustrated, maybe even angry. She stood hovering over him, unsure of what to do. She hoped he would say something, or at least smile at her. Instead, he refused to look her way. His eyes focused on the darkness across the cavern. The miserable, bitter sound of the words never mind echoed in her head.
“I’m going to sleep,” she said at last.
“That’s a good idea,” he replied, still not bothering to look at her.
She walked slowly back to the center of the table, glancing at him over her shoulder. He continued to lie staring at nothing. It bothered her. If it were Royce, she would not give it a second thought, but this was not like him. She spread out her blankets and lay down, feeling suddenly awful, as if she had lost something valuable. She just was not sure what.
Her robe was dark. She had not noticed until that moment and could not recall when it had faded. They were all tired, even the robe. She looked up at the glowworms. They did look like stars. There must be hundreds of thousands.
The boy was pale, ghostly, his eyes sallow. His mouth hung slightly agape as if perpetually on the verge of asking a question, only he could no longer form words. She guessed it took all his mental capacity to keep from screaming. Jerish stood next to him. The fighter towered over the lad with a look that reminded her of a cornered mother bear. They were both dressed in common clothes, his armor and emblems left at the palace. He appeared to be a poor merchant or tradesman, perhaps, except for the long sword slung to his back, the pommel rising over his left shoulder as if keeping watch.
“Grinder,” the boy said as she entered the station.
“Nary,” she greeted him, and it took effort not to bow. He looked so much like his father—the same lines, the same clarity in his eyes, the cut of his mouth—the lineage of the emperor so obvious.
“Were you followed?” Jerish asked.
She smirked.
“A Cenzar cannot be followed?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “Everyone still thinks I am loyal to the cause. Now we have to be quick. Here.” She held out the necklaces. “This one is for you, Nary, and this is Jerish’s. Put them on and never take them off. Do you understand me? Never take them off. They will hide you from magical eyes, protect you from enchantments, allow me to find you when the time is safe, and even provide you with a bit of luck.”
“You intend to fight them?”
“I will do what I can.” She looked at the boy. Her efforts had to be for him now, for his safety and his return.
“You cannot save Nareion,” Jerish told her bluntly. She looked at the boy and saw his lips tremble.
“I will save what is dearer to him, his son and his empire. It may take time—a long time, perhaps—but I swear I will see the empire restored even if it costs me my life.” She watched as they slipped the necklaces on. “Be sure to hide him well. Take him into the country, assume the life of a commoner. Do nothing to draw attention, and await my call.”
“Will these really protect us from your associates?”
“I will have no associates after today.”
“Even old Yolric?”
She hesitated. “Yolric is very powerful, but wise.”
“If he is so wise, why is he with them? Is it not wisdom to preserve the empire and show loyalty to the emperor?”
“I am not certain Yolric is with them. He has always remained an island. Even the emperors do not influence him. Yolric does as he wishes. I cannot say what he will do. I hope he will join with me, but should he side with Venlin…” She shook her head sadly. “We must hope.”
Jerish nodded. “I trust you to watch our backs. I never thought I would ever say that—not to a Cenzar… not to you.”
“And I entrust you with the future of the empire and ultimately the fate of mankind—I certainly did not expect to be saying that to you.”
Jerish tore off his glove and held out his hand. “Goodbye, Brother.”
She took his hand in hers. This was the last time she would ever shake anyone’s hand.
How do I know that?
“Goodbye, Nary,” she told the boy. At the sound of her voice, Nevrik rushed forward and threw his arms about her. She hugged him back.
“I’m scared,” he said.
“You must be brave. Remember, you are the son of Nareion, the emperor of Apeladorn, the descendant of Novron, the savior of our race. Know that the time will come when the blood descendant of Novron must protect us again—your descendant, Nary. It may take many years for me to defeat the evil that has risen today, so you must not wait. If you find a girl who makes your heart smile, make her your wife. Remember, Persephone was a mere farmer’s daughter and she mothered a line of emperors. You must find a girl like that and have a family. Give your child your necklace and stay safe. Do what Jerish says. After this day, there will be no warrior greater than he. I will see to that as well.” She noticed a dark look come over Jerish. “It is necessary,” she told him, surprised at the ice in her own voice.
Jerish nodded miserably.
“What exactly do you intend to do?”
“Just make certain you are not in the city when I do it.”
Tink! Tink! Tink!
Arista woke up cold and confused. The sense of urgency, the fear and concern, lingered. Her back hurt. The hard, damp stone tortured her strained muscles, leaving her feeling crippled. She rolled to her side with a miserable groan.
Tink! Tink! Tink! The sound of stone striking stone echoed.
She looked up but saw nothing. It was all black now. The worms were gone or no longer giving off light.
Tink!
There was a spark of white light and in that brief flash she spotted Magnus, hunched over a pile of rocks, only a few feet from her.
Tink!
“Ba, durim hiben!” he growled. She heard him shift position.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
“Six h
ours,” the dwarf replied.
Tink! Another flash, another incomprehensible grumble.
“What is it you are doing?”
“Frustrating and embarrassing myself.”
“What?”
“It’s just been so long, although that’s really no excuse. I can hardly call myself a Brundenlin if—”
Tink! Another flash—this time it did not go out. The spark appeared to linger, amazingly bright. Instantly Magnus bent down and she could hear him blowing. The spark grew brighter with each puff. Soon she could clearly see the face of the dwarf—the ridges of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the beard trimmed short, all highlighted by the flickering glow. His dark eyes glistened, eagerly watching the flame he breathed life into.
“We have no wood,” she said, puzzled, as she sat up.
“Don’t need wood.”
She watched him pile fist-sized stones on top of the little flame. He blew again and the fire grew. The stone was burning.
“Magic?”
“Skill,” he replied. “Do you think they only have fire on the outside? Drome taught the dwarves first. In the deep, the blood of Elan bubbles up. There are rivers of burning stone, red and yellow, flowing thick and hot. We taught the secret of fire to the elves, much to our regret.”
“How old are you?” she asked. It was common knowledge that elves lived longer—much longer—than humans, but she had no idea about dwarves.
Magnus looked at her through squinting eyes and pursed his lips as if he had tasted something bitter. “That’s not a polite question, so I will be just as rude and ignore it. Since you feel you still need me, I trust you won’t burn me to a cinder for it.”
Arista rocked back. “I would never do such a thing. Perhaps you’ve forgotten I am not the one who randomly commits murder.”
“No? My mistake. Apparently you’re only content with enslavement.” He tugged at his cropped beard.
“Would you have come if the empress had merely asked?”
“No. What care is it of mine if the elves erase you? It would restore the world. Humans have always been a blight, like the Ba Ran Ghazel, only with the Ghazel you know where you stand. They don’t pretend to accept you when they want something, then shove you out in the cold when they’re done with you. No, the Ghazels’ hatred is up front and honest, not like the lies of the humans.”
Heir of Novron Page 45
