Nyphron Rising

by Michael J. Sullivan

  That was perfect. She straightened up in her saddle, pleased with herself. Common politeness would demand Royce reveal his intentions now that she showed an interest, some knowledge on the subject, and an offer to help. She waited. Nothing. The silence returned.

  I should have asked a question. Something to force him to respond. Damn.

  Gritting her teeth, she slumped forward in frustration. She considered pressing further, but the moment had passed and now it would be difficult to say anything without sounding critical. Being an ambassador taught her the value of timing, to be conscious of other people's dignity and authority. Being born a princess, it was a lesson not easily learned. She opted for silence, listening to the rain drum on her hood and the horses plodding through the mud as they descended into the valley.

  ***

  The stone statue of Glenmorgan stood in the center of the university holding a book in one hand and a sword in the other. Walkways, benches, trees, and flowers surrounded the statue on all sides as did numerous school buildings. A growing enrollment required the addition of several lecture halls and dormitories with each reflecting the architectural styles of their time. In the gray sheets of rain, the university looked like a mirage, a whimsical, romantic dream conceived in the mind of a man who spent his entire life at war. That an institution of pure learning existed in a world of brutish ignorance was more than a dream, it was a miracle, a testament to the wisdom of Glenmorgan.

  Glenmorgan intended the school to educate laymen at a time when hardly any but ecclesiastics could read. Its success was unprecedented. Sheridan achieved eminence above every other seat of learning, winning the praises of patriarchs, kings, and sages. Early on, Sheridan also established itself as a center for lively controversy, with scholars involved in religious and political disputes. Handel of Roe, a Master of Sheridan, campaigned for Ghent's recognition of the newly established Republic of Delgos against the wishes of the Nyphron Church. The school was also decidedly Royalist in the civil wars following the Steward's Reign, which came as an embarrassment to the church that had retained control of Ghent. The humiliation led to the heresy trials of the three masters Cranston, Landoner, and Widley, all burned at the stake on the Sheridan commons. This quieted the school's political voice for more than a century until Edmund Hall, Professor of Geometry and Lore at Sheridan, claimed to use clues gleaned from ancient texts to locate the ruins of Percepliquis. He disappeared for a year and returned with books and tablets revealing arts and sciences long lost spurring an interest in all things imperial. At this time, a greater orthodoxy had emerged within the church and it outlawed owning or obtaining holy relics, as all artifacts from the ancient Empire were deemed. They arrested Hall and locked him in Ervanon's Crown Tower along with his notes and maps. The church later declared that Hall never found the city and that the books were clever fakes, but no one ever heard from Edmund Hall again.

  The tradition of Cranston, Landoner, Widley, and Hall was embodied in the present Master of Lore—Arcadius Vintarus Latimer. Arista's old magic teacher never appeared to notice the boundaries of good taste, much less those of political or religious significance. Chancellor Lambert was the school's head because the church found his political leanings satisfactory to the task, but Arcadius was its undisputed heart and soul.

  "Should I take you to Master Arcadius?" Arista asked after they left their horses in the charge of the stable warden. "He really is very smart and trustworthy."

  Royce nodded and she promptly led them through the now driving rain into Glen Hall, as most students referred to the original Grand Imperial College building in deference to Glenmorgan. An elaborate cathedral-like edifice embodied much of the grandeur of the Steward's Reign sadly missing from the other university buildings. Neither Royce nor Hadrian said a word as they followed her up the stairs to the second floor, shaking out their travel cloaks and the water from their hair. It was quiet inside, the air stuffy and hot. Because several people could easily recognize her, Arista remained in the confines of her hood.

  "So as you can see, it would be possible to turn lead into gold, but it would require more than the gold's resulting worth to make the transformation permanent, thus causing the process to be entirely futile at least using this method."

  Arista heard Arcadius' familiar voice booming as they approached the lecture hall.

  "Of course, there are some who take advantage of the temporary transformation to dupe the unwary, creating a very realistic fool's gold that hours later reveals itself to be lead."

  The lecture room was lined with tiers of seats all filled with identically gowned students. At the podium stood the lore master, a thin elderly man with a blue robe, white beard, and spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

  "The danger here, of course, is that once the ruse has been discovered, the victim is often more than mildly unhappy about it." This comment drew laughter from the students. "Before you put too much thought into the idea of amassing a fortune based on illusionary gold, you should know that it has been tried. This crime—and it is a crime—usually results in the victim taking out his anger on the perpetrator of the hoax in the form of a rather unceremonious execution. This is why you don't see your Master of Lore traveling about in an eight-horse carriage with an entourage of retainers and dressing in the finest silks from Vandon."

  More laughter.

  It was unclear whether the lecture was at an end or if Arcadius spotted them on the rise and cut the class short. The lore master closed his instruction for the day with reminders about homework and dates of exams. As most of the students filed out, a few gathered around their professor with questions, which he patiently addressed.

  "Give me a chance to introduce you," Arista said as they descended the tiers. "I know Arcadius looks a little…odd, but he's really very intelligent."

  "…and the frog exploded, didn't it?" the wizard was saying to a young man wearing a depressed expression.

  "Made quite a mess too, sir," his companion offered.

  "Yes, they usually do," Arcadius sympathized.

  The lad sighed. "I don't understand. I mixed the nitric acid, the sulfuric acid, and the glycerin and fed it to him. He seemed fine. Just as you said in class the blackmuck frog's stomach held the mixture, but then when he hopped…" The boy's shoulders slumped while his friend mimicked the impression of an explosion.

  The lore master chuckled. "Next time, dissect the frog first and remove the stomach. There's a lot less chance of it jumping then. Now run along and clean up the library before Master Falquin gets back."

  The two boys scampered off. Royce closed the door to the lecture hall after them, at which point the princess felt it safe to take off her cloak.

  "Princess Arista!" Arcadius exclaimed in delight walking toward her with his arms wide. The two exchanged a fond embrace. "Your Highness, what a wonderful surprise! Let me look at you." He stepped back, still holding her hands. "A bit disheveled, soaking wet, and tracking mud into my classroom. How nice. It is as if you are a student here again."

  "Master Arcadius," the princess began formally, "allow me to introduce Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. They have some questions for you."

  "Oh?" he said, eyeing the two curiously. "This sounds serious."

  "It is," Hadrian replied. He took a moment to search the room for any remaining students while Royce locked the doors.

  Arista saw the puzzled expression on her instructor's face and clarified. "You have to understand they are cautious people by trade."

  "I can see that. So I am to be interrogated, is that it?" the headmaster asked, accusingly.

  "No," she said. "I just think they want to ask a few questions."

  "And if I don't answer? Will they beat me until I talk?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Are you so sure? You said that you think they are here to ask questions. But I think they are here to kill me. Isn't that right?"

  "The fact is you know too much," Royce told the wizard, his tone turning abruptly
vicious. He reached into his cloak, drawing out his dagger as he advanced on Arcadius. "It's time we silenced you permanently."

  "Royce!" Arista shouted, shocked. She turned to Hadrian, who sat relaxed in the front row of the lecture hall, casually eating an apple plucked from the lore master's table. "Hadrian, do something," she pleaded.

  The old man shuffled backward trying to put more distance between himself and Royce. Hadrian did not respond, eating the apple like a man without a worry in the world.

  "Royce! Hadrian!" Arista screamed at them. She could not believe what she was seeing.

  "Sorry, princess," Hadrian finally spoke, "but this old man has caused us a great deal of trouble in the past, and Royce is not one to forgive debts easily. You might want to close your eyes."

  "She should leave," Royce said. "Even if she doesn't look she'll hear the screams."

  "You're not going to be quick then?" the old man whispered.

  Hadrian sighed. "I'm not cleaning the mess up this time."

  "But you can't! I—I—" Arista stood frozen in terror.

  Royce closed the distance between him and Arcadius in a sudden rush.

  "Wait," the wizard's voice quivered as he held up a hand to ward him off, "I think I am entitled to ask at least one question before I am butchered."

  "What is it?" Royce asked, menacingly, his dagger raised and gleaming.

  "How is your lovely Gwen doing?"

  "She's fine," Royce replied, lowering his blade. "She told me to be certain to tell you she sends her love."

  Arista glared at each of them. "But what—I—you know each other?"

  Arcadius chuckled as Hadrian and Royce snickered sheepishly. "I'm sorry, my dear." The professor held up his hands and cringed slightly. "I just couldn't resist. An old man has so few opportunities to be whimsical. Yes, I have known these two surly characters most of their lives. I knew Hadrian's father before Hadrian was born and I met Royce when he was…" the lore master paused briefly, "well, younger than he is today."

  Hadrian, still chewing, looked up at her. "Arcadius introduced Royce and me and gave us our first few jobs together."

  "And you've been inseparable ever since." The wizard smiled. "It was a sound pairing. You have been a good influence on each other. Left on your own the two of you would have fallen into ruin."

  There was a noticeable exchange of glances between the two. "You only say that because you don't know what we've been up to," Hadrian mentioned.

  "Don't assume too much." Arcadius shook a menacing finger at him. "I keep tabs on you. So what brings you here?"

  "Just a few questions I thought you would be able to shed some light on," Royce told him. "Why don't we talk in your study while Hadrian and Arista settle in and get out of their wet things? Is it alright if we spend the night here?"

  "Certainly, I'll have dinner brought up, although you picked a bad day; the kitchen is serving meat pies." He made a grimace.

  Arista stood stiffly, feeling her heart still racing. She narrowed her eyes and glared. "I hate all of you."

  ***

  Barrels, bottles, flasks, exotic instruments, jars containing bits of animals swimming in foul-smelling liquids, and a vast array of other oddities cluttered the small office and spilled out into the hallway. Shelves of web-covered books lined the walls. Aquariums displayed living reptiles and fish. Cages stacked to the ceiling housed pigeons, mice, moles, raccoons, and rabbits, filling the cramped office with the sounds of chirps, chatters, and squeaks as well as a musky scent of books, beeswax, spices, and animal dung.

  "You cleaned up," Royce said with feigned surprise as he entered carefully stepping over the books and boxes scattered on the floor.

  "Quiet you," the wizard scolded, looking over the top of his glasses, which rested at the end of his nose. "You hardly ever visit anymore, and you don't need to be impertinent when you do."

  Royce closed the door and slid the bolt, which drew another look from the wizard.

  Royce pulled an amulet on a thin chain from his cloak. "What can you tell me about this?"

  Arcadius took the jewelry from him. He moved to his desk, where he held it near the flame of a candle. He looked at it only briefly then lifted his spectacles. "This is Hadrian's medallion. The one his father gave him when he turned thirteen. Are you trying to test me for senility?"

  "Did you know Esrahaddon made it?"

  "Did he?"

  "He says he did. I had a long chat with the wizard in Dahlgren. According to him, nine hundred years ago the church instigated the coup against the emperor. He insists he remained loyal and made two amulets giving one to the emperor's son and the other to his bodyguard. He sent them into hiding while he stayed behind. The amulets are supposed to be enchanted so only Esrahaddon could find them. When Arista and I were with him in Avempartha, he conjured images of those wearing these necklaces.

  "And you saw Hadrian?"

  Royce nodded.

  "As the guardian or the heir?"

  "Guardian."

  "And the heir?"

  "Blonde hair, blue eyes, no one I recognized."

  "I see," Arcadius said. "But you haven't told Hadrian what you saw."

  "What makes you say that?"

  The wizard let the amulet and the chain fall into the palm of his hand. "You're here alone."

  Royce nodded. "Hadrian's been moody lately. If I tell him, he'll want to fulfill his destiny—go find this long-lost heir and be his whipping boy. He won't even question it because he'll want it to be true, but I don't think it is. I think Esrahaddon is up to something. I don't want either of us to be pawns in his effort to bring his choice for emperor to the throne."

  "You think Esrahaddon is lying? That he conjured false images to manipulate you?"

  "That's what I came here to find out. Is it even possible to make enchanted amulets? If you can, is it possible to locate the wearers by magic? And you knew Hadrian's father, did he ever say anything to you about being the guardian to the Heir of Novron?"

  Arcadius turned the amulet over in his hand. "I don't have the Art to enchant objects to resist magic, nor can I use magic to seek people, but a lot was lost when the Old Empire crumbled. Preserving him in that prison for nearly a thousand years makes Esrahaddon unique in his knowledge, so I can't intelligently say what is or isn't possible. As for Danbury Blackwater I don't recall him ever telling me he was the Guardian of the Heir. That isn't the kind of thing I would likely forget."

  "So, I am right. This is all a lie."

  "It may not be a lie, per say. You realize it's possible—even likely—that Danbury could have the amulet and not be involved. Nine hundred years is a long time to expect an heirloom to stay in the possession of one family. The odds are heavily against it. Personal effects are lost every day. This is made of silver and in a moment of desperation a poor man, convinced that it was all a myth, could be tempted to sell it for food. Moreover, what should happen if the owner died—killed in an accident—and this medallion taken from the dead body and sold? This has likely passed through hundreds of hands before ever reaching Danbury. So Esrahaddon may be sincere and still be wrong.

  "Even if Danbury was the descendant of the Teshlor, he might not have known any more than Hadrian does. His father, or his father before him, could have failed to mention it because it didn't matter anymore. The line of the heir may have died out, or the two became separated centuries ago."

  "Is that what you think?"

  Arcadius took off his glasses and wiped them.

  "For centuries people have searched for the descendants of Emperor Nareion and no one has ever found them. The Empire itself searched for Nareion's son Nevrik with the power of great wizards and questing knights at a time when they could identify him by sight. They failed—unless you accept the recent declaration that they found the heir in the form of this farm girl from Dahlgren."

  "Thrace is not the heir," Royce said, simply. "The church orchestrated that whole incident as theatrics to anoint their choice for ruler
. They botched the job and she accidently caught the prize."

  The wizard nodded. "So I think common sense decrees that an heir no longer exists…if he ever existed to begin with. Unless…" he trailed off.

  "Unless what?"

  "Nothing." Arcadius shook his head.

  Royce intensified his stare until the wizard relented.

  "Just supposition really, but, well—it just seems too romantic, that the heir and a bodyguard could have lived all alone on the run for so long, managing to hide while the entire world hunted them."

  "What are you suggesting?" Royce asked.

  "After the emperor's death, when Jerish and Nevrik fled, wouldn't Jerish have had friends? Wouldn't there have been hundreds of people loyal to the emperor's son willing to help conceal him? Support him? Organize an attempt to put him back on the throne? Of course this organization would have to act in secrecy, given that the bulk of the dying Empire was in control of the church."

  "Are you saying such a group exists?" Royce asked.

  Arcadius shrugged. "I am only speculating here."

  "You're more than speculating. What do you know?"

  "Well, I have come across some odd references in various texts that refer to a group known only as the Theorem Eldership. I first discovered them in a bit of historical text from 2465, about the time of the Steward's Reign of Glenmorgan the Second. Some priest who noted them only as a secret heretical sect mentioned the Theorem Eldership in an official report. Of course at that time anyone who opposed the church was considered heretical, so I didn't give it much thought. Then I spotted another reference to the same group in a very old letter sent from Lord Darius Seret to Patriarch Venlin dating back to within the first sixty years after the death of Emperor Nareion."