Knights and soldiers entered the hall torn and bloody, blackened from fire, telling tales of destruction and flight. Duke Leo of Rochelle was carried in on a stretcher by the viscount Albert Winslow and a man called Brice the Barker. They set him down before the duchess, who took her husband’s hand and kissed his bald forehead, saying, “You’ve had your fun, now stay with me. Do you hear me, old man? It’s not over. Not yet.”
Brice pushed through the crowd to his family, huddled near the statue of Novron, and joined them with tears filling his eyes. His wife looked up, searching the crowd. Her eyes met Modina’s but she was not who the woman looked for.
The Pickerings, Belinda, Lenare, and Denek, sat with Alenda and her maid Emily as well as Julian, the chamberlain of Melengar. Not far away, Cosmos DeLur and his father, Cornelius, sat against the east wall under the tapestry of ships returning from a voyage. The two fat men sprawled in their fine clothes and jeweled rings. A group of thin gangly men circled them, crouching like nervous dogs at the foot of their master’s feet during a thunderstorm.
Modina walked by a cluster of women in low-cut gowns. Their tears left dark trails through heavy makeup. One looked up with curious eyes and nudged another, who scowled and shook her head. It was not until Modina was several steps past the group that she recalled the faces of Clarisse and Maggie from Colnora’s Bawdy Bottom Brothel.
She returned to Allie and Mercy, who sat with Amilia, Nimbus, Ibis, Cora, Gerald, and Anna. They formed a ring within which the two girls sat. Mr. Rings was taking shelter on Mercy’s shoulder, while Red, the elkhound, sat beside Ibis, the big cook holding him close.
“Will they kill me too?” Allie asked.
“I don’t know,” Anna told her.
“I don’t want to be left,” the little girl said, burying her head in Anna’s lap. Sir Elgar and Renwick entered, both bleeding. Amilia spotted them and stood up, looking beyond them toward the door.
“Sir Breckton?” Amilia asked as they approached. “Is he…”
“Alive the last I saw him, milady,” Elgar replied. “The wall is gone, the line broken, Your Eminence,” he said to Modina. “A whirlwind ripped apart the flanking cavalry Breckton had hidden to the north. I watched it throw a two-ton stone around like a feather. Then the elves came. They moved like deer and struck like snakes, blades swinging faster than the eye could follow. The encounter lasted just minutes. They even killed the horses.
“Then the flying beasts came, and the arrows. Our troops are mostly dead. Those that live are scattered, wounded, blinded by smoke, and blocked by fire. The elves already have the city. They will be coming here next.”
Modina did not respond. She wanted to sit—to fall down—but she remained standing. She had to stand. Around her, everyone was watching, checking to see if she was still with them, still unafraid.
She was afraid.
Not for herself—not a thought of her own welfare crossed her mind. She could not recall the last time she worried for her own safety. She worried for them. The scene was all too familiar. She had been here before, with a family to protect and no means to do so. A weight in her chest made it difficult to breathe.
A loud boom thundered outside, followed by screams. Heads turned toward the windows in fear. Then, from across the room, near the glowing hearth, an elderly woman with gray hair and a torn dress began to sing. The song was soft—a lilting lullaby—and Modina recognized the tune immediately, although she had not heard it in many years. It was a common tune among the poor, a mother’s lament often sung to children. She remembered every word, and like the others in the hall, she found herself joining in as a hundred whispered voices offered up the prayer.
In the dark, when night’s chill cuts
Cold as death they climb the hill
Breaking door and windowpane
They come to burn, slash, and kill.
Shadows pounding on the door
They beat the drums of fear
Place your faith in Maribor
And loudly, so he hears.
Waves they crash upon the bow
Of withered ship at sea
Wind and weather rip the sails
There’s little hope for thee.
Shadows pounding on the hull
They beat the drums of fear
Place your faith in Maribor
And loudly, so he hears.
Within darkling wood you walk
So foolish after all
Footsteps follow, catching up
You run until you fall.
Shadows pounding on the path
They beat the drums of fear
Place your faith in Maribor
And loudly, so he hears.
When man stood upon the brink
Novron saved us all
Sent by god above he was
In answer to our call.
Shadows pounding on the gate
They beat the drums so near
If your faith’s in Maribor
He’s with you, never fear.
Another tremor shook the room. The marble floor snapped like a thin cracker splitting as one side rose sharply and the other fell. The room exploded with screams. The maid, Emily of Glouston, fell over the side of the forming chasm and was caught at the last moment by Lenare Pickering and Alenda Lanaklin, who each managed to grasp a wrist. Another shudder rocked the hall and all three slid toward the edge. Tad and Russell Bothwick lunged out, grabbing ankles and pulling back, hauling the ladies to higher ground.
“Hang on to each other, for Novron’s sake!” the Duchess of Rochelle shouted. Cold air was blowing. Modina could feel it against her cheek. A great fissure had ripped apart the windowed side of the hall. The wall wavered like a drunken man.
“Get away!” Modina ordered, motioning with her hands.
Bodies scurried as the partition collapsed amidst cries and screams cut horribly short. Stone and ceiling came down, exploding in bursts that cracked the floor. Modina staggered as she watched thirty people die, crushed to death.
Those nearby pulled the wounded from the debris. Modina saw a hand and moved forward, digging into the rubble, scraping at the stone, hurling rocks aside. She recognized him by his ink-stained fingers. She lifted the scribe’s limp head to her chest, wondering painfully why it was by his hand and not by his face she knew him. He was not breathing and blood dripped from his nose and eyes.
“Your Eminence.” Nimbus spoke to her.
“Modina?” Amilia called, her voice shaking.
Modina turned and saw everyone watching her, the room silent. Every face frightened, every pair of eyes pleading. She stood up slowly, as she might within a flock of birds. Panic was a moment away. She could hear the frantic breathing all around her, the cry of children, the tears of mothers, the hum of men who rocked back and forth.
She took a deep breath and wiped the scribe’s blood on her gown, leaving a streaked handprint. She faced the open air of the missing wall and walked the way Nimbus and Amilia had once taught her to, her head up and shoulders back. Modina waded through the room of stares, like a pond of murky water. Only the sight of her checked their fear. She was the last remaining pillar that held up the sky, the last hope in a place that hope no longer called home.
When she reached the courtyard, she stopped. Half the great hall was gone, but the courtyard was in ruins. The towers and front gate lay on the ground like so many scattered children’s blocks. The bake house and chapel collapsed along with one side of the granary—barley spilling across the dirt. Oddly, the woodpile near the kitchen was still stacked.
Without the outer wall enclosing the ward, she could see the city. Columns of fire rose from every quarter. Black smoke and ash billowed like ghosts across the rendered landscape. Men lay dead or dying. She could see bodies of soldiers, knights, merchants, and laborers lying in the streets. Missing buildings formed gaps across a vista she knew so well, old friends once framed by her window—gone. Others stood askew, tilted, missing pieces. In the dark ai
r, familiar shapes flew, circling. She saw them turn, wheeling in arcs, banking like hawks, coming around toward her. A thunderous shriek screamed from above the courtyard and a great winged Gilarabrywn landed where once there had been a vegetable garden.
She looked behind her.
“Do you believe in me?” she asked simply. “Do you believe I can save you?”
Silence, but a few heads nodded, Amilia’s and Nimbus’s among them.
“I am the daughter of the last emperor,” she said with a loud clear voice. “I am the daughter of Novron, the Daughter of Maribor. I am Empress Modina Novronian! This is my city, my land, and you are my people. The elves will not have you!”
At the sound of her voice, the Gilarabrywn turned and focused on her.
Modina looked back at those in the great hall. Russell Bothwick had his arms around Lena and Tad, and Nimbus had his arms around Amilia, who looked back at her and began to cry.
CHAPTER 24
THE GIFT
It is as silent as a tomb, Hadrian thought as he sat in the darkness. The last lantern had died some time ago, as had the last conversation. Royce had been quizzing Myron on linguistics, but even that stopped.
He was in the tomb of Novron, the resting place of the savior of mankind. This place was thought to be mythical, a fable, a legend, yet here he was. Hadrian was one of the first to reach it in a thousand years. Truly a feat—an astounding achievement.
Hadrian rested against a wall, his right arm on what was most likely an urn worth ten thousand gold tenents. His feet were up on a solid-gold statue of a ram. He would die a very rich man, at least.
Look what you have come to. He heard his father’s voice ringing in his head, deep and powerful, the way he always remembered it being when he was a boy. He could almost see his old man towering above him covered in sweat, wearing his leather apron, and holding his tongs.
You took all that I taught you and squandered it for money and fame. What has it bought you? You have more riches at your feet than any king and they still chant Galenti in the east, but was your life worth living now that it has come to its end? Is this what you sought when you left Hintindar? Is this the greatness you desired?
Hadrian took his hand off the urn and pulled his feet off the ram.
You told me you were going to be a great hero. Show me, then. Show me one thing worth the life you spent. One thing wrought. One thing won. One thing earned. One thing learned. Does such a thing exist? Is there anything to show?
Hadrian tilted his head and looked out toward the crypt. There, in the distance, he saw the dim blue glow.
He stared at it for some time. In the darkness he could not tell how long. The light grew and fell slightly—with her breathing, he guessed. He had no real idea how it worked, whether the shift was of her making or the robe’s.
Is there anything to show? he asked himself.
Hadrian stood up and, reaching out with his hands, moved along the wall to the opening into the crypt. There was no one out here but her. She was in one of the alcoves, sitting behind a sarcophagus, the one with the scenes of natural landscapes carved on the sides. Her head was resting on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.
He sat beside her, and as he did, the light from her robe brightened slightly and her head lifted. Her cheeks were streaked from tears. She blinked at him and wiped her eyes.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied. “Dream?”
Arista paused, then shook her head sadly. “No—no, I didn’t. What does that mean, I wonder.”
“I think it means we’re done.”
Arista nodded. “I suppose so.”
“Everyone is in the tomb. Why did you come over here?”
“I dunno,” she said. “I wanted to be alone, I guess. I was reviewing my life—all the things I regret. What I never did. What I should have. What I did that I wished I hadn’t. You know, fun, entertaining stuff like that. That kind of thinking is best done alone, you know? What about you? What were you thinking?”
“Same sort of thing.”
“Oh yeah? What did you come up with?”
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Funny you should ask. There’s a whole lot of things I wished I hadn’t done, but… as turns out, there’s really only one thing I wished I had done but didn’t.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’re a fortunate man—almost as good as Myron.”
“Heh, yeah,” he said uncomfortably.
“What is it, this thing you haven’t done?”
“Well, it’s like this. I’m—I’m actually envious of Royce right now. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. Royce had the kind of life that mothers warn their children they will have if they don’t behave. It was like the gods had it out for him the day he was born. It’s little wonder he turned out as he did. When I first met him, he was quite scary.”
“Was?”
“Oh yeah, not like he is now—real scary—the never-turn-your-back brand of scary. But Arcadius saw something in him that no one else did. I suppose that’s something wizards can do, see into men’s souls. Notice what the rest of the world can’t about a person.”
Hadrian shifted uneasily, feeling the cold stone of the floor through a thick layer of fine dust. He crossed his legs and leaned slightly forward.
“It took Royce a long time to trust anyone. To be honest, I’m not even sure he fully trusts me yet, but he did trust her. Gwen changed Royce. She did the impossible by making him happy. Even now, the idea of Royce smiling—in a good way—is—I dunno, like snow falling in summer, or sheep curling up with wolves. You don’t get that kind of thing from just liking a girl. There was something special there, something profound. He only had her briefly, but at least he knows what that feels like. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“That’s what I regret.”
“You can’t regret that,” she said, nearly laughing. “How can you regret never having found true love? That’s like saying you regret not being born a genius. People don’t have control over such things. It either happens or it doesn’t. It’s a gift—a present that most never get. It’s more like a miracle, really, when you think of it. I mean, first you have to find that person, and then you have to get to know them to realize just what they mean to you—that right there is ridiculously difficult. Then…” She paused a moment, looking far away. “Then that person has to feel the same way about you. It’s like searching for a specific snowflake, and even if you manage to find it, that’s not good enough. You still have to find its matching pair. What are the odds? Hilfred found it, I think. He loved me.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yes, but not the way he wanted me to. Not the way he loved me. I wish I had. I feel I should have. It was the same with Emery. I actually feel guilty that I didn’t. Maybe with time I could have loved Emery, but I hardly knew him.”
“And Hilfred?”
“I don’t know. He was more like a brother to me, I suppose. I wanted to make him happy, the way I wanted to see Alric happy. But you see, that’s just what I’m talking about. Most people never come near their true love, or if they do, it’s one sided. That is perhaps more tragic than never finding love at all. To know joy lies forever just beyond your reach—in a way, it’s a kind of torture. So you see, if you don’t have control, if it’s not a choice, then not finding the one you love is really nothing to regret, is it?”
“Well, that’s just the thing. I did find her and I never told her how I feel.”
“Oh—that is awful,” she said, then caught herself and raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That was terrible of me. No wonder I was such a lousy ambassador. I’m just the embodiment of tact, aren’t I? Here your—Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed as a look of revelation came over her face. “I know who she is.”
Hadrian suddenly felt very warm; his skin prickled uncomfortably under his shirt.
“She’s very pret
ty, by the way.”
“Ah—” Hadrian stared at her, confused.
“Her name isn’t actually Emerald, is it? I heard someone call her that.”
“Emerald? You think I’m talking about—”
“Aren’t you?” She appeared embarrassed and cautiously said, “I saw her kissing you when we left.”
Hadrian chuckled. “Her real name is Falina and she is a nice girl, but no, I’m not speaking of her. No, the woman I’m talking about is nothing like her.”
“Oh,” the princess said softly. “So why have you never told her how you feel?”
“I have a list somewhere.” He patted his shirt with his hands, trying to be funny, but he just felt stupid.
She smiled at him. He liked seeing her smile.
“No really—why?”
“I’m not kidding. I really do have a list. It’s just not written down. I keep adding items to it. There’s so many reasons on it now.”
“Give me a few.”
“Well, the big one is that she’s noble.”
“Oh, I see,” she said gravely, “but that’s not impossible. It depends on the girl, of course, but noble ladies have married common men before. It’s not unheard of.”
“Rich merchants, perhaps, but how many ladies do you know of that ran off with a common thief?”
“You’re hardly a common thief,” she chided him sternly. “But I suppose I can see your point. You’re right that there aren’t many noblewomen who could see past both a common background and a disreputable career. Lenare Lanaklin, for one—it’s not her, is it?” She cringed slightly.
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