Despite its appearance, the bridge was solid. They successfully crossed it to a small arched opening into the black tower. Once off the bridge, Royce turned to face Alric. "You were fairly free about revealing your identity back there, Your Majesty," he reproached the monarch. "I don't recall discussing a plan where you walk in and blurt out, 'Hey, I'm the new king, come kill me.'"
"You don't actually think there are assassins in here, do you? I know I thought this was a trap, but look at this place! Arista never could have arranged this. Or do you honestly think others will be able to slip in the same cliff door we entered through?"
"What I think is that there is no reason to take unnecessary chances."
"Unnecessary chances? Are you serious? You don't consider crossing a slick, narrow bridge over a gorge, which is who knows how high, not a risk? Assassins are the least of our worries."
"Are you always this much trouble to your security?"
Alric's only response was a look of disdain. The archway led to a narrow tunneled corridor, which eventually opened into a large round room. Arranged like an amphitheater, the gallery contained descending stairs and stone benches set in rings, each lower than the one before it, which focused all attention to the recessed center of the room. At the bottom of the steps was a balcony, and twenty feet below it lay a circular stage. Once they descended the stairs, Hadrian could see the stage was bare except for a single chair and the man who sat upon it.
An intense beam of white light illuminated the seated figure from high above. He did not appear terribly old, with only the start of gray entering into his otherwise dark, shoulder-length hair. Dark, brooding eyes gazed out from beneath a prominent forehead. No facial hair marred his high cheekbones, which surprised Hadrian because the few wizards and magicians he knew about all wore long beards as a mark of their profession. He wore a magnificent robe the color of which Hadrian could not quite determine. The garment shimmered somewhere between dark blue and smoky gray, but where it was folded or creased, it looked to be emerald green or at times even turquoise. The man sat with the robe gathered around him, his hands, lost in its folds, placed on his lap. He sat still as a statue, giving no indication he was aware of their presence.
"What now?" Alric whispered.
"You talk to him," Royce replied.
The prince looked around thoughtfully. "That man down there can't really be a thousand years old, can he?"
"I don't know. In here, anything seems possible," Hadrian said.
Myron looked around the room and up toward the unseen ceiling, a pained expression on his face. "That singing…it reminds me of the abbey, of the fire, as if I can hear them again…screaming." Hadrian gently put a hand on Myron's shoulder.
"Ignore it," Royce told the monk and then turned to glare at Alric. "You have to talk to him. We can't leave until you do. Now go ahead and ask him what you came here to find out."
"What do I say? I mean, if he is, you know, really a wizard of the Old Empire, if he actually served the last Emperor, how do I approach him?"
"Try asking what he's been up to," Hadrian suggested, which was met by a smirk from Alric. "No, seriously look down there. It's just him and a chair. He has no books, no cards, nothing. I nearly went crazy with boredom cooped up in The Rose and Thorn last winter during a heavy snowfall. How do you suppose he's spent a thousand years just sitting in that chair?"
"And how do you not go insane, listening to that sound all that time," Myron added.
"Okay, I've got something." Alric turned to address the wizard. "Excuse me, sir." The man in the chair slowly raised his head and blinked in response to the bright light from above. He looked weary, his eyes tired. "Sorry to disturb you. I am Alric Ess-"
"I know well who thou art," Esrahaddon interrupted. His tone was relaxed and calm, his voice gentle and soothing. "I have expected thou ere long." He raised an arm to shelter his eyes and peered at them. "Where doth thy sinlister be?"
"My what?"
"Thy sinlister, Arista art her name."
"Oh, my sister."
"Sis-ter," the wizard repeated carefully and sighed, shaking his head.
"She is not here."
"Why did she not come?"
Alric looked first to Royce and then to Hadrian.
"She asked us to come in her place," Royce responded.
Looking at the thief, the wizard asked, "And thou art?"
"Me? I'm nobody," Royce replied.
Esrahaddon narrowed his eyes at the thief and raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps, perhaps not."
"My sister instructed me to come here and speak with you," Alric said, drawing the wizard's attention back to him. "Do you know why?"
"Because I told her to."
"Neat trick since you're locked in here," Hadrian observed.
"Neat?" Esrahaddon questioned. "Dost thou mean to say, 'twas a clean thing? Or a well-done effort?" The four men responded with looks of confusion. "No matter, Arista hath been in the habit of visiting me for the last year. At least I think it hath been a year. 'Tis quite difficult to tell the time in this gaol. She fancies herself a student of The Art, only there art no schools for wizards left. She learned all she could and then sought me. She wished to be mine apprentice and I her grinder. I was bored, as thee can imagine. So I obliged her. She entertained me with news of the outside world and teacheth me to speak the new language style. I taught her some neat tricks." His attention turned to Hadrian as he accentuated the last words.
"Tricks?" Alric asked concerned. "What kind of tricks?"
"Do not worry, dear boy, 'tis nothing of consequence. I believe thy father 'twas ill not long ago. I teacheth her to make a henth bylin." They all looked at him puzzled. Esrahaddon's gaze left them. He appeared to search for something. "Arista called it a…a…" His face strained with concentration. "Alas, I cannot remember."
"A healing potion?" Myron asked.
The wizard eyed the monk carefully. "Yes, that is what she called the henth bylin-a healing potion."
"You taught her to make a potion to give to my father?"
"Frightening, is it not? Such a devil as I, administering potions to a king. 'Tis nothing to concern thyself. I did not poison thy father. She had the same concern. I instructed her to bring a taste of the draught, and I drank it myself to prove there was no danger. She also sampled it for her own peace of mind. Neither of us died, nor grew horns, and thy father felt better, yes?"
"That doesn't explain why Arista sent me here."
"Was thy father recently killed?"
"Yes," Alric said.
"That wouldst be why. I told her if thy father was killed, or died in a mysterious accident, to send thou here. She did not believe me. Why should she? But I suppose thy father's death changed her mind. 'Tis a shame." Esrahaddon looked deliberately at Hadrian, Royce, and then Myron. "Ye three must be the scrapegars? The ones accused of the murder? I told Arista not to trust anyone except the accused killers as they wouldst most likely be completely innocent."
"Do you know, then, who killed my father?"
"I do not have a name, if that is what thou ask. I am not a fortune-teller, nor am I clairvoyant. I merely know how things work. Thy father was killed by a man to be sure, but that man is in league with an organization. I suspect it is the same one which holds me captive."
"The Nyphron Church," Myron muttered softly, yet still the wizard heard and his eyes narrowed once more at the monk.
"Why would the Church of Nyphron wish to kill my father?"
"Sadly, 'twas nothing more than a foolish case of mistaken identity. 'Twas merely a potion exercise for Arista and a remedy for thy sick father, but the Church, well, they listen to me day and night. Overhearing mine instructions to thy sinlist-sis-ter, they must have assumed thy father wert the Heir of Novron."
"Wait a minute," Alric interrupted, "the Church doesn't want to murder the heir. Their whole existence revolves around restoring him to the throne and creating a new Imperial Era."
"'Tis what they wa
nt thee to thinketh. In truth, they wish him dead. They desire the bloodline erased. 'Tis the true reason why they seeketh the heir even after all this time. And why they have imprisoned me for all these years."
"Why?"
"Because I know it was the Church who betrayed the Emperor, who murdered him and every member of his family save one. If the heir is found, it wilt prove my innocence and their treachery."
"The way we heard the story you were the one who killed the imperial family. You are responsible for the destruction of the entire Empire," Hadrian said.
"And where didst ye learn that, the Church? Dost thou really think one man could do so much? Dost thou hast any idea just how ludicrous that sounds?"
"What makes you think they killed the Emperor?" Alric inquired.
"I do not think. I know. I was there, and 'twas I who saved the Emperor's only son from death at their hands. I helped him escape in those last desperate hours of the Empire."
"So you are telling us that you lived at the time of the Emperor. Do you expect us to believe that you are over nine hundred years old?" Royce asked.
"I do not expect anything. I am merely answering Thy Majesty's question."
"That's just an answer like this is just a prison," Royce countered.
"I still don't understand what all this has to do with my father. Why would the Church kill him?"
"'Tis because I showed an interest in him. When the Empire fell, I was not killed like so many others. They kept me alive through powerful enchantments for centuries because I alone know what happened to the Emperor's son and can find an heir if one still exists. They keep me alive in hope that I wilt lead them to him. As I said they art always listening. When I helped thy sister learn magic and I cured thy father of sickness, they must have thought I deemed it important for him to live. They must have suspected that Arista, thy father, and thou were descendents of the heir. While I thought there might be a danger, I did not think they would be so bloodthirsty in their eagerness to end the Novron line. I warned the princess if something happened to her father, something strange, unexpected, and deadly, that she and thou might be the next targets."
"And that is why you wanted me brought here? To explain all this to me, to make me understand?"
"No. That is why thy sister asked thou to come. I brought thou here for another reason entirely."
"And what is that?"
The wizard looked up at them, his expression revealing a hint of amusement. "To help me escape."
No one said anything. Myron took the moment to sit down on the stone bench behind him and whispered to Hadrian, "You were right. Life outside the abbey is much more exciting than books."
"You want us to help you to escape?" Royce asked incredulously. He held out his hands and looked around the black stone fortress. "From here?"
"'Tis necessary I am afraid."
"'Tis also impossible. I have gotten out of a number of difficult situations in my time, but nothing like this."
"And thou art aware of only a small fraction of the measures used to contain me. All thou sees art the walls, guards, and the abyss. There art also magical forces at work. Magical locks art on all the doors here, just as 'twas on the door through which ye entered the gaol. They disappear upon closing. 'Tis the same enchantment on the bridge ye came across. Go look and ye wilt find it so. 'Tis no longer there. 'Tis not invisible-'tis gone."
Royce raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Alric, I need your ring." The prince handed it to the thief, who climbed the steps and disappeared into the tunnel. He returned a few minutes later and gave the ring back to Alric. A slight shake of his head confirmed what Hadrian already suspected.
Hadrian turned his attention back to the wizard, and Esrahaddon continued. "Still, 'tis not the most serious of the barriers in use here. Perhaps ye saw the runes which line these walls? They create a powerful magical force protecting the stone from magic or physical damage. These enchantments create a magical barrier. Inside this field, no new magic can be cast, and the passing of time is suspended. It is why I have lived for so long. None of ye has aged a second since ye entered this cell. Due to the field created by the runes, what ye perceive as a singing noise, ye will not get hungry or thirsty, or at least not more than ye were when ye entered. Ye will not become sleepy. Ye wilt remain just as ye art. 'Tis really quite remarkable all the trouble they went through to contain me."
"I don't believe you," Alric challenged.
"Put a hand to thy chests. Ye wilt find the lack of a beating heart."
Myron inched his hand across his breast and let out a tiny squeak.
"And with all these obstacles, you expect us to help you escape?" Hadrian said.
"I am counting on it," the wizard replied with an impish grin.
"Although I am dying to ask how," Royce said. "I am even more compelled to ask why? If they went through this much effort to seal you here, it seems to me they might have had a good reason. You've told us what we came to hear. We're done. So why would we be foolish enough to try and help you escape?"
"Because ye hast little choice in the matter."
"We have a great many choices," Alric countered bravely. "I am king and rule here; it is you who is powerless."
"Oh, I will not be the one stopping ye. As ye understand rightly, I am helpless, a prisoner with no ability to do much of anything. They were very careful to ensure my subjugation. 'Tis the guards who will stop ye. When thee call for them, they wilt not come. They can hear ye. They hath heard every word we hath spoken. Just as they killed your father, they wilt also kill you, Your Majesty."
"But if they are listening, they also know I am not the heir," Alric said, the courage in his voice melting away.
"They cannot be sure if thou art or not. It wilt not matter to them. They wilt not take a chance. Besides, now that I told thee of their secret, they wilt never let thee leave-any of ye. Thee wilt be imprisoned here, just as I am, or they wilt kill thee outright."
Alric's concern showed on his face as he looked first to Hadrian and then to Royce. "He may be right," the thief said quietly.
Concern turned to panic, and the prince began to shout commands for their release. There was no response, no sound of the great door opening nor of approaching protectors to escort them to the exit. Everyone except the wizard looked worried. Alric wrung his hands, and Myron stood and held onto the rail of the balcony, as if letting go would allow the world to spin away from him.
"It was a trap after all," Alric said. He turned to Royce. "My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia."
"Even I didn't expect this. Perhaps there's another way out." Royce took a seat on one of the observation benches and assumed the same contemplative look he had worn when he was trying to determine how to get inside the prison.
Everyone remained silent for some time. Finally, Hadrian approached Royce and whispered, "Okay, buddy, this is where you tell me you have this wonderfully unexpected plan to get us out of here."
"Well, I do have one. But it seems almost as frightening as the alternative."
"What's that?"
"We do what the wizard says."
They looked down at the man casually seated in the chair. His robe looked a slightly different shade of blue now. Hadrian waved the others over and explained Royce's plan.
"Could this be a trick?" Alric asked quietly. "The clerk did warn us not to do anything he said."
"You mean the nice clerk who took away our bridge and refuses to let us out?" Royce replied. "I am not seeing an alternative, but if any of you have another idea, I am willing to hear it."
"I'd just like to feel my heart again," Myron said holding his palm to his chest and looking sick. "This is very disturbing. I almost feel like I'm actually dead."
"Your Majesty?"
Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. "I just want to say, for the record, as far as Royal Protectors go, you're not very good."
"It's my first day," Royce replied dryly.
"And already I am tra
pped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week."
"Listen, I don't see we have a choice here," Royce told the group. "We either do what the wizard says and hope he can get us out, or we accept an eternity of sitting here listening to this dreadful singing."
The mournful wail of the music was so wretched that Hadrian knew listening to it would eventually drive him mad. He tried to ignore it, but like Myron, it brought forth unpleasant memories of places and people. Hadrian saw the disappointment on his father's face when he left to join the military. He saw the tiger covered in blood, gasping for breath as it slowly died, and he heard the sound of hundreds chanting the name "Galenti!" He had reached his conclusion. Anything was better than staying there.
Royce stood and returned to the balcony where the wizard waited calmly below. "I assume if we help you escape, you will see to it we get out as well?"
"Of course."
"And there is no way to determine if you are telling the truth right now?"
The wizard smiled. "None whatsoever I am afraid."
Royce sighed heavily. "What do we have to do?"
"Very little. I only need the king to recite a simple bit of poetry."
"Poetry?" Alric pushed past Hadrian to join Royce at the balcony, "What poetry?"
The wizard stood up and kicked his chair to one side to reveal two stanzas of text crudely scratched into the floor.
"'Tis amazing what beauty ye can create given time," the wizard said with obvious pride. "Speak it and it wilt be so."
Hadrian silently read the lines brightly illuminated by the beam of the overhead light.
As lord of this realm and keeper of keys,
a decree was made and a councilman seized.
Unjustly I say, and the time it is nigh
to open the gate and let his soul fly.
By virtue of gift granted to me,
by rightful birth, the sovereign I be.
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