“Do you want me to ask Darian to join us?” the young lord asked with a sigh.
“No,” the maiden replied, shaking her head. “What is it that you want to know?”
“I want to know how you feel about the whole Winrall thing.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Okay,” Gregor said, before pausing a moment for thought. “Imagine that you could wield the divine power like Darian does; can you think of any circumstances where you would call on the power of Winrall if the other Eilian refused to answer your prayers?”
“Our prayers are always answered.”
“Uhhh,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “That's Darian talking.”
“No, it's not,” she replied, her voice slightly edged. “I just happen to share his opinion on that subject.”
“Alright,” he nodded, “Then, I'll phrase it another way. Can you imagine any situation where you would use Winrall's power to do something that the other Eilian wouldn't allow you to do?”
“The Eilian only refuse to offer their power when it's for the greater good.”
“Like it was for Yaellan Kalath?” he asked, gazing into her eyes. “Because, I don't know about you, but I like the way his story ended a lot better than I would have, had it been: and he spent the rest of his life grieving for his lost love. He was even forgiven in the end. Why was that? Could it have been that the Eilian realized they had been in the wrong?”
“The Eilian are rarely wrong.”
“Rarely and never are two different words for a reason,” Gregor pointed out. “And Winrall and the rest of the Eilian don't agree. So, who's right and who's wrong?”
“I don't think it's a matter of either side being right or wrong.”
“That's just a way of avoiding the question,” the handsome lord replied. “That's refusing to take a side. In a situation like this, you can't say they're all right without saying they're all wrong, which is an assertion that would probably infuriate Darian, but it's true just the same.”
“I don't agree,” the maiden said, shaking her head. “In my case, for instance, it's me saying: I don't know.”
“Now, that's a real answer!” he smiled. “It also happens to be mine. Which is why I can't talk to Darian about it. With him it really is: all the Eilian are always right all of the time. Period. End of story. It's like he doesn't even allow himself to ask questions.”
“I don't think that's true,” Gwendolyn replied. “I just think he finds questions more difficult to deal with because he has more answers than most people do.”
“You may be right,” Gregor admitted. “but, either way, let's leave the philosophical for a moment and discuss the practical. I have to admit it galls me a little to ask you this, because it underlines my own failures, as well as highlighting the successes of my excellent, if completely incompetent, opponent...”
“What are you talking about?” she interrupted.
“Just let me finish the question, please.”
“Go ahead.”
“If, by some terrible chain of events, Darian were killed and the Eilian refused to bring him back from the dead, would you call on Winrall to resurrect him?”
“It's hard to put myself in that position because I can't...”
“You mean you're not going to answer,” Gregor replied, shaking his head. “Maybe I should have just talked to Darian and gotten it straight from the horse's mouth.”
“That's hardly fair,” she said, an expression of obvious displeasure on her face. “I just find it hard to put myself in that position.”
“You mean you won't try,” he almost snapped. “You don't want to ask yourself the question, because you're afraid of what the answer might be.”
For close to a minute, her only reply was to stare ahead in angry silence.
“Look,” he said with a sigh, “I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that this subject is... something I'm a little sensitive about at the moment.”
“I would,” she nodded. “I don't think I could stop myself. I would beg Winrall to help me. I wouldn't want to. I wish I could say that I would trust the Eilian and believe that they were doing what was best, but I can't. If they wouldn't bring him back, I would do everything I could to save him and hope and pray that the Eilian would forgive me for my lack of faith after he was safe.”
“So would I,” Gregor replied. “The fact that you'd do the same makes me feel a great deal better. Thank you.”
“The only thing I've done is tell you the truth.”
“Which is exactly what I wanted to hear,” he replied. “I'm sorry if I upset you.”
“You did,” she replied, smiling at him, “but, you were right. I was avoiding the question. Now that I've answered it honestly, I feel better about it. Even though, I honestly believe that there's a good chance I would do the wrong thing.”
“Well, right or wrong, I would do it to save any of you,” he said, returning her smile. “Would you do it to save your parents?”
“I honestly don't know,” she replied. “Again, I'd like to think I wouldn't, but I'm just not sure.”
“Would you blame me for being willing to do it to save mine?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I certainly couldn't blame you for that.”
“I'm glad,” he replied, “because I have to try to find a way. I may not be able to convince Darian to help me, but he's not the only person in Areon who can wield the divine power. If he won't help me, I'll find someone who will.”
“You're going to need more than simply having someone who can wield the divine power who's willing to help you.”
“I understand that.”
“Not to mention that you'll have to find the Gates of Death before you can even hope to attempt to open them.”
“Don't worry about that,” he said with a wink and a nod. “I will!”
Chapter 15: Broken Shackles
“We have to be careful,” Kilren pointed out, his eyes carefully scanning the gate that sealed the sewers of Mikral City. “The fact that we're not going to succeed is no reason to get ourselves caught. It would be a real shame to throw away days of caution with a single careless slip-up.”
“I wish we'd have brought more horses,” Darian observed.
“Why?” the lieutenant asked, turning his eyes momentarily to the young knight. “We have an extra one for the prince, and I don't even think he's going to need it, because there's no way we're going to be able to get him out of that tower.”
“It's not that,” the Telian replied, “it's just that I wish we could have taken that farmer a few horses to replace the ones...”
“You stole,” Gregor interjected with a smile.
“We requisitioned,” Darian replied quietly, almost glaring at the young lord.
“Would you forget about that for the moment?!” Kilren barked softly. “We have something stupid to do and we can't risk getting distracted with trivialities until we've put a fair number of miles between us and this city.”
“It may not have been a trivial matter to the farmer,” the young knight pointed out.
“Eilian help me,” Kilren replied, gazing at the star filled sky above. “We left more than enough gold to pay for them. Would you please just let it go until we're safely on our road again?!”
“I will,” Darian nodded, “but, the next time we head this way...”
“Certainly,” the lieutenant interrupted. “But, for the moment, let's get moving. Fortunately, it doesn't look like the gate is being guarded.”
Having made this observation, Kilren began moving toward the entrance of the sewers, doing his best to remain completely hidden and totally silent. The soft gleam of the twin moons illuminated their path without offering enough light for them to be spotted from the walls that towered above. At least, such was the lieutenant's hope. They had spent the entire day hiding in the wooded glen that had sheltered them when they had fled the city weeks ago. Although Kilren wa
s convinced that their plan was completely insane to begin with, he had pointed out that it would be tempting the gods to start working on a rescue like this one while the sun was still in the sky.
He moved up to the gate, his companions at his heals, and quietly asked Ian for his lock-picks. The lieutenant selected two from the leather case the bard offered and stepped up near the lock before pausing to scratch himself under the chin with one of the thin metal tools.
“What's wrong,” Erana asked her love.
“There aren't any guards,” he pointed out.
“Isn't that a good thing?” she asked.
“Normally, dear, yes,” he replied, shaking his head. “I'm just wondering why there aren't any. If I was at war, as well as dealing with a rebellion, I'd guard every entrance to the city. Even this one.”
“That's a good point, lad,” Ian nodded.
“Gwendolyn,” Kilren said, turning to the maiden, “can you tell if this gate has been enchanted?”
“I can,” she replied before beginning to sing softly to herself.
As soon as her spell ended, she spoke.
“It's magically trapped.”
“That's what I was afraid of,” the lieutenant said. “Can you dispel it?”
“I believe I can.”
“Allow me,” Jalek said, stepping nearer the gate. “You should save your strength until after we've actually made it into the tower.”
The wizard intoned a series of mystical words, causing the gateway to glow with a soft blue light momentarily.
“That did it,” Gwendolyn asserted, the moment the glow faded. “The magical aura is gone.”
“Perfect,” Kilren replied, once again approaching the lock.
In less than a minute, the gate had been opened and the party had entered the pitch-black recesses of the sewers of Mikral. The lieutenant drew the ever-glowing stone he wore around his neck from under his shirt before stepping to the head of the little band. He set out with apparent confidence, leading them along a twisted path that he hoped would take them toward The Tower of the Dawn.
“You really need to make more of those necklaces,” Erana whispered to Ian, as the pair followed along at the rear of the group.
“I intend to, lass,” the bard replied. “It's just a matter of not thinking about it when we don't need them and not having time when we do.”
“I know what you mean,” she said with a smile. “I'll do my best to remind you about it later.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Speaking of reminding you,” she continued. “I know this is an odd time to bring it up but, we've been so busy that every time we've had a moment where we could speak in private, I've forgotten about it.”
“Forgotten about what?”
“About the potion for Kilren,” she whispered. “Did you find anything in the library?”
“I did!” he replied, snapping his fingers.
“What is it?!” Kilren asked, spinning around and raising his voice as much as he dared.
“Nothing, lad,” the dwarf replied. “I just remembered something.”
“What is that?” the lieutenant asked.
“Nothing that matters at the moment,” Ian assured him.
“In that case, we'll want to keep the noise to a minimum won't we?” Kilren said with a slightly sarcastic tone in his voice.
“Aye, lad,” the bard nodded. “That we will. Sorry about that.”
“Come on,” he replied, turning to make his way further up the passage they were following.
“What, exactly, did you find?” the maiden asked in hushed tones after several seconds of silence.
“A thread to pull,” the dwarf asserted. “We'll have to wait until after this war is over, but I believe I've uncovered our next step. Or, our first step, depending on how you look at it.”
“What is the first step?”
“Finding the formula as well as instructions on how to brew the potion.”
“That does seem like a solid first step,” she agreed. “Where do we find that?”
“In an old monastery,” the dwarf replied. “At least, I hope so.”
“Where is it?” the elvish maiden asked.
“Unfortunately,” the bard said, “quite a long way from here. Which is why our going there is going to have to wait for a while. We can discuss the details later. For the moment, it'll have to be enough to know that there's a genuine reason to believe that we will be able to brew it.”
“It is,” she replied with a smile. “At least, it is for the moment.”
For roughly an hour and a half, the group followed Kilren as he led them up one passage and down another. Occasionally, he would hide his necklace in his hand, creep up beneath one of the grates that opened to the surface, and scan the moonlit city looking for landmarks that would tell him exactly where he was.
“Do you think he actually knows where we are?” Darian asked in hushed tones, while the lieutenant was gazing intently through one of the windows to the world above.
“I'm sure he does,” Erana asserted.
“I'm glad,” the knight nodded. “Because, the last thing we want is to get lost down here.”
“That won't happen,” Ian assured him. “For one thing, Kilren knows where he's going. It's just been a few years since he's traveled these particular roads regularly. And, for another, I know exactly how to get back to the entrance of the sewers.”
“You do?” Darian asked, gazing at the dwarf's dimly lit face in wonder. “I don't see how. I feel like we've been walking through a maze.”
“I'm a dwarf,” Ian pointed out. “We don't get lost underground.”
“You don't?”
“Well,” the bard replied. “Dwarves rarely get lost. And, I never do. So, one way or the other, we'll be able to make our way back out of here.”
“Erana, dear,” Kilren whispered. “Come over here for a moment, would you?”
“Certainly, my love,” she replied, stepping over to his side.
“Alright,” he said, slipping his arm over her shoulder, and pointing at the grate above their heads. “You see the roof of that three story building right there?”
“I do,” she nodded.
“Behind it,” he continued, “I think I can see the very top of the tower, but I can't quite make it out in this light.”
“It's there,” she assured him. “I can even see the banner of Mikral fluttering from it's top.”
“I thought so,” he smiled. “Come on. We're almost there.”
Kilren led them down another series of passages, including one that descended even deeper beneath the city. Finally, he brought the band to a halt in a domed chamber that had a shallow river of waste-water running through its very center.
“That,” the lieutenant said, pointing toward the ceiling. “is the floor of the dungeon of the tower.”
“You're sure?” Ian asked.
“Absolutely,” Kilren nodded before waving his hand around the room. “You'll notice none of the drains dumping into this rather unpleasant stream are big enough for so much as a child to crawl through and yet, they're all covered with thick steel grates. When you add to that the fact that we're thirty feet below the street right now, you can be sure we're under the dungeon.”
“How can you tell we're that far down?” Darian asked.
“He's right,” Ian assured the knight, “however, he knows it.”
“I know, Darian,” the lieutenant replied, “because the sewers are normally just over eight feet under the street and that staircase we came down, just minutes ago, led us roughly twenty feet lower.”
“That's only twenty-eight feet,” the Telian observed.
“Well done!” Kilren replied. “I was actually just testing you. I'm glad to say, you passed.”
“Oh, well, I appreciate...” Darian began.
“In any event,” Kilren interrupted. “As you can all plainly see, there's no way to get into the dungeon from here. Which is exactly what I told yo
u before. Now that you've seen it for yourselves, we need to get out of here. We've wasted days finding out, as amazing as it may seem, that the most secure prison in Mikral is, in fact, secure.”
“Hold on a moment, lad,” Ian said, drawing a small hammer from his pack. “Darian, as undignified as it may be, I need a bit of a lift.”
After a brief explanation, Darian helped Ian onto his shoulders and raised the dwarf to the ceiling. The bard put his ear up to the stone before tapping it gently several times with his hammer.
“It's over two feet thick,” he said with a sigh. “I was hoping it was just paving stones over the sewers, but it's a great deal more than that. I don't see how we'll be able to get through.”
“Which is what I told you to begin with,” Kilren replied.
“You're sure it's two feet thick?” Jalek asked.
“Just over,” Ian asserted.
“Do you have a pen and paper on you?” the wizard asked.
“Of course,” the bard replied.
“In that case,” Jalek smiled. “If you'll give me a few minutes, I may be able to come up with something.”
Ian produced a pen and paper and handed them to Jalek, who immediately sat down and began carefully making calculations while the others passed the time in whispered talk. After nearly half-an-hour, the wizard rose. He gazed over his notes one last time before chanting a series of words in a very precise order, with very exact timing, as he drew a number of glowing runes on the ceiling with the end of his staff.
This done, he stepped over to a nearby section of floor that was on one side of the circle he had already drawn above. Once again, he began to chant, covering the stones with a series of symbols that exactly mirrored those on the ceiling. As soon as this was complete, he turned his attention back to his companions.
“If I'm right,” he said, “this will make a hole large enough for us to crawl through. Eilian willing, it won't open up in a guardroom or under some sentry's feet.”
“That's hardly likely,” Kilren asserted. “I don't believe there are any guardrooms in the dungeon, and it's the middle of the night, so we probably don't have to worry too much about patrols. Are you sure this is going to work, though?”
The Lords of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 3) Page 26