Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Royce spun around and fixed the prince with a withering stare. “Don’t do that again!”

  “Well, you weren’t making any progress. I just thought perhaps since this was, or is, a church prison, maybe a religious command would unlock it. Myron, is there some standard religious saying to open a door? You should know about this. Is there such a thing?”

  “I’m not a priest of Nyphron. The Winds Abbey was a monastery of Maribor.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Alric said, looking disappointed.

  “I mean, I know about the Church of Nyphron,” Myron clarified, “but since I’m not a member, I’m not privy to any secret codes or chants or such.”

  “Really?” Hadrian said. “I thought you monks were just sort of like the poorer, younger brother of the Nyphron Church.”

  Myron smiled. “If anything, we’d be the older but still the poorer brother. Worshiping Emperor Novron is a relatively recent event that began a few decades after the emperor’s death.”

  “So you monks worship Maribor while the Nyphrons worship Novron?”

  “Close,” the monk said, “the Nyphron Church also worships Maribor but they just put more emphasis on Novron. The main difference comes down to what you are looking for. We monks believe in a personal devotion to Maribor—seeking his will in quiet places. It’s through ancient rituals, and in this silence, that he speaks to us in our hearts. We’re striving to know Maribor better.

  “The Church of Nyphron, on the other hand, focuses on trying to understand Maribor’s will. They believe the birth of Novron demonstrates Maribor’s desire to take a direct hand in controlling the fate of mankind. As such, they are very involved in politics. You’re familiar with the story of Novron, aren’t you?”

  Hadrian pursed his lips. “Um … he was the first emperor and defeated the elves in some war a long time ago. I’m not sure why that makes him a god.”

  “He’s not, actually.”

  “Then why do so many people worship him?”

  “Novron is believed to be the son of Maribor, sent to aid us in our darkest hour. There are six actual gods. Erebus is the father of all of the gods and he made the world of Elan. He brought forth three sons and a daughter. The eldest son, Ferrol, is a master of magic and created the elves. His second son is Drome, the master craftsman who created the dwarves. The youngest is Maribor and he, of course, created man. It was Erebus’s daughter, Muriel, who created the animals, birds, and the fish in the sea.”

  “That’s five.”

  “Yes, there is also Uberlin, the son of Erebus and Muriel.”

  “The god of darkness,” Alric put in.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him, but wait—are you saying the father had a child with his own daughter?”

  “It was a terrible mistake,” Myron explained. “Erebus forced himself on Muriel while in a drunken rage. Their union resulted in the birth of Uberlin.”

  “That must have been awkward at family gatherings—raping your own daughter and all,” Hadrian said.

  “Quite. In fact, Erebus’s original sons, Ferrol, Drome, and Maribor, slew him because of the incident. When Uberlin tried to defend his father, all three turned on him and imprisoned their nephew, or would that be brother? I guess it’s really both, isn’t it? Well, anyway, they locked Uberlin in the depths of Elan. Even though he was born through a terrible violation, Muriel was heartbroken to lose her only son and refused to speak to her brothers again.”

  “So now we’re back to five gods.”

  “Not exactly. Many people believe that a god is immortal and cannot die. There are some cults that believe Erebus still lives and wanders Elan as a man searching for forgiveness for his crime.”

  The day was growing dark and the wind picked up, heralding another possible storm. The horses started to become spooked, so Hadrian went to check on them. Alric got up and walked around, rubbing his legs and muttering about being saddle sore.

  “Myron?” Hadrian called over. “Would you like to help me unsaddle them? I don’t think we’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Of course,” the monk said eagerly. “Now, how do I do that?”

  Together, Hadrian and Myron relieved the animals of their saddles and packs and stowed the gear under a small rock ledge. Myron summoned the courage every so often to stroke their necks. Once everything was put away, Hadrian suggested Myron gather some grass for the animals while he went to check on Royce.

  His partner sat on the path, staring at the cliff. Occasionally, the thief would get up, examine a portion of the wall, and sit back down, grumbling.

  “Well? How’s it going?”

  “I hate dwarves,” Royce replied.

  “Most people do.”

  “Yes, but I have a reason. The bastards are the only ones that can make boxes I can’t open.”

  “You’ll open it. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be soon, but you’ll open it. What I don’t understand is why would Arista send us here knowing that we couldn’t get in?”

  Royce sat on his haunches, his cloak draped out around him. His eyes remained focused but he was frustrated. “I can’t even see anything. If I could even find just a crack, then maybe … but how can I break a lock when I can’t even find the door?”

  Hadrian gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before returning to Myron, who had finished feeding the horses and had joined Alric, sitting over by the cliff’s wall.

  “How’s it coming?” Alric asked with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

  “Nothing yet, just leave him be. Royce will figure it out. It just takes some time.” Hadrian turned his attention back to Myron. “I was thinking about what you were saying before. If Uberlin is considered a god, why did you say Novron is not? After all, they’re both children of gods, right?”

  “Well, no, technically he’s a demigod, part god, part human. You see, Maribor sent Novron to—well, let me jump back a bit. Okay, so Ferrol was the oldest and when he created the elves, they spread, albeit slowly, across all of Elan. When Drome came along, he granted his children control of the underground world. This left no place for Maribor’s children. So mankind was forced to struggle in the most wretched corners left to us.”

  “So the elves got all the good places, and we got stuck with the dregs? That doesn’t sound very fair,” Hadrian said.

  “Well, our ancestors weren’t happy about that either. Not to mention humans reproduce much more quickly than elves, who have a much longer life span. This made conditions rather crowded and it only got worse when the dwarves were driven to the surface.”

  “Driven? By who?”

  “You remember what I said about the gods locking Uberlin in the underworld? Well, he created his own race, just like Drome, Maribor, and Ferrol.”

  “Ah … the goblins. I can see how they would make things less homey down there.”

  “Exactly. Between mankind’s growing numbers and the emergence of the dwarves, our ancestors were being crushed. So they begged Maribor for help. He heard their pleas and tricked his brother Drome into forging the great sword Rhelacan. Then he convinced his other brother Ferrol to enchant the weapon. All he needed was a warrior to wield it, so he came to Elan in disguise and slept with a mortal woman. Their union produced Novron the Great. He united all the tribes of mankind and led them in a war against the elves. Armed with the Rhelacan, Novron was victorious and so began mankind’s dominance, led by Novron, who had united all of humanity.”

  “Okay, that makes sense, but when did we start worshiping Novron as a god?”

  “That occurred after his death. The Church of Nyphron was established to pay homage to Novron as the savior of mankind. The newly formed church became the official religion of the empire, but farther away from the imperial capital of Percepliquis, people remembered the old ways and continued to worship Maribor as they always had.”

  “And that would be you, the Monks of Maribor, I mean?”

  Myron nodded.

  During their discussion, storm clouds continued to fo
rm, filling the sky and darkening the ravine. What light remained was an odd hue, adding a sense of the surreal to the landscape. Soon the wind began gusting through the pass, blowing dirt into the air. In the distance echoed the low rumble of thunder.

  “Any luck with the door, Royce?” Hadrian called over. He sat resting with his back against the cliff, his legs outstretched, and he tapped the tips of his boots together. “Because it looks like we’re in for another cold, wet night, only this time we won’t have any shelter.”

  Royce muttered something indiscernible.

  Down below, framed by the walls of the ravine, the surface of the lake shone like a mirror facing the sky. Every now and then it would flash brilliantly as lightning flickered in the distance.

  Royce grumbled again.

  “What’s that?” Hadrian asked.

  “I was just thinking about what you said earlier. Why would Arista send us here if she knew we couldn’t get in? She must have thought we could; maybe to her it was obvious.”

  “Maybe it’s magic,” Alric said, pulling his cloak tighter.

  “Enough with the enchanted words,” Royce told him. “Locks are mechanical. Believe me. I know a thing or two on the subject. Dwarves are very clever and very skilled, but they don’t make doors that unlock because of a sound.”

  “I just brought it up because Arista could do some, so maybe getting in was easy for her.”

  “Do some what?” Hadrian asked.

  “Magic.”

  “Your sister is a witch?” Myron asked, disturbed.

  Alric laughed. “You could certainly say that, yes, but it has little to do with her magical prowess. She went to Sheridan University for a few years and learned magical theory. It never amounted to much, but she was able to do a few things. For instance, she magically locks the door to her room, and I think she made the countess Amril sick over some dispute about a boy. Poor Amril was covered in boils for a week.”

  Royce looked over at Alric. “What do you mean, magically locks her door?”

  “There’s never been a lock on it, but no one can open it but her.”

  “Did you ever see your sister unlock her door?”

  Alric shook his head. “I wish I had.”

  “Myron,” Royce said, “did you ever read anything about unusual locks or keys? Maybe something associated with dwarves?”

  “There’s the tale of Iberius and the Giant, where Iberius uses a key forged by dwarves to open the giant’s treasure box, but it wasn’t magical—just big. There’s also the Collar of Liem, from the Myth of the Forgotten, which refused to unlock until the wearer was dead—I guess that doesn’t help much, does it? Hmm … let me think … perhaps it has something to do with gemlocks.”

  “Gemlocks?”

  “They’re not magical either but they were invented by dwarves. They’re gems that interact with other stones to create subtle vibrations. Gemlocks are generally used when several people need to open the same locked container. All they need is a matching gem. For particularly valuable containers, the lock might require a specific cut, which modifies the resonance. Truly gifted gemsmiths could make a lock that actually changed with the seasons, allowing different gems to unlock it at different times of the year. This is what gave rise to the idea of birthstones, because certain stones have more strength at certain times. I’ve—”

  “That’s it,” Royce interrupted.

  “What’s it?” Alric asked. Royce reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a dark blue ring. Alric jumped to his feet. “That’s my father’s ring. Give it to me!”

  “Fine,” Royce said, tossing it toward the prince. “Your sister told us to return it to you when we got to the prison.”

  “She did?” Alric looked surprised. He slipped the ring on his finger, and like his sword, it did not quite fit and spun around from the weight of the gem. “I thought she took it. It has the royal seal. She could have used it to muster the nobles, to make laws, or to announce herself as steward. With it, she could have taken control of everything.”

  “Maybe she was telling the truth,” Hadrian suggested.

  “Let’s not make snap judgments,” Royce cautioned. “First, let’s see if this works. Your sister said you would need the ring to get into the prison. I thought she meant to identify you as the king, but I think she meant it a bit more literally. If I’m correct, touching the stone with the ring will cause giant doors to open.”

  They all gathered at the cliff face close to Alric in anticipation of the dramatic event.

  “Go ahead, Alric—do it.”

  He turned the ring so the gem was on top, made a fist, and attempted to touch it to the cliff. As he did, his hand disappeared into the rock. Alric recoiled, wheeling backward with a cry.

  “What happened?” Royce asked. “Did it hurt?”

  “No, it just felt sort of cold but I can’t touch it.”

  “Try it again,” Hadrian said.

  Alric did not look at all happy with the suggestion but nodded just the same. This time he pressed farther, and the whole party watched as his hand disappeared into the wall up to his wrist before he withdrew it.

  “Fascinating,” Royce muttered, feeling the solid stone of the cliff. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Does that mean he has to go in alone?” Hadrian asked.

  “I’m not sure I want to enter solid stone by myself,” Alric said with fear in his voice.

  “Well, you may have no choice,” Royce responded, “assuming you still want to talk to the wizard. But let’s not give up yet. Give me the ring a moment.”

  Despite his earlier desire for the ring, Alric now showed no concern at handing it over. Royce slipped it on, and when he pressed his hand to the cliff face, it passed into the mountain-side just as easily as Alric’s had. Royce pulled his hand back; then he took the ring off, and holding it in his left hand, he reached out with his right. Once more, his hand passed through the stone.

  “So you don’t have to be the prince, and you don’t have to be wearing it. You only need to be touching it. Myron, didn’t you say something about the gem creating a vibration?”

  Myron nodded. “They create a specific resonance with certain stone types.”

  “Try holding hands,” Hadrian suggested.

  Alric and Royce did so, and this time, both could penetrate the stone.

  “That’s it,” Royce declared. “One last test. Everyone join hands. Let’s make sure it works with four.” They all joined hands and each was able to pierce the surface of the cliff. “Everyone, make sure you remove your hands before breaking the chain.”

  “Okay, we need to make some decisions before we go any further. I’ve seen some unusual things before but nothing like this. I don’t have a clue what will happen to us if we go in there. Well, Hadrian, what do you think?”

  Hadrian rubbed his chin. “It’s a risk, to be sure. Considering some of the choices I’ve made recently, I’ll leave this one up to you. If you think we should go, then that’s good enough by me.”

  “I have to admit,” Royce responded, “my curiosity is piqued, so if you still want to go through with this, Alric, we’ll go with you.”

  “If I had to go in alone, I would decline,” Alric said. “But I’m also curious.”

  “Myron?” Royce asked.

  “What about the horses? Will they be all right?”

  “I’m sure they will be fine.”

  “But what if we don’t come back? They’ll starve, won’t they?”

  Royce sighed. “It’s us or them. You’ll have to choose.”

  Myron hesitated. Lightning and thunder tore through the sky, and it began to rain. “Can’t we just untie them, so in case we don’t—”

  “I don’t intend to make plans based on our expected deaths. We’ll need the horses when we come out. They’re staying—are you?”

  The wind sprayed rain into the monk’s face as he stole one last look at the horses. “I’ll go,” he said finally. “I just hope they’ll be all
right.”

  “Okay,” Royce told them, “this is how we’ll do it. I’ll go first, wearing the ring. Alric comes in behind me, then Myron, and Hadrian will take up the rear. When we get inside, we break the chain in reverse order: Hadrian first, then Myron, and Alric last. Enter in the same place I do, and don’t pass me. I don’t want anyone setting off any traps. Any questions?”

  All but Myron shook their heads. “Wait a second,” he said as he trotted off toward where they had stored their gear. He gathered the lantern and tinder kit he had brought from the abbey and paused a moment to pet the horses’ wet noses one more time. “I’m ready now,” he said when he returned to the party.

  “All right, here goes, everyone hang on and follow me,” Royce said as they rejoined their chain and moved forward. One by one, they passed through the rock cliff. Hadrian was last. When the barrier reached his shoulder, he took a deep breath as if he were swimming, and with that, Hadrian dipped his head inside the stone.

  CHAPTER 5

  ESRAHADDON

  They entered into total darkness. The air was dry, still, and stale. The only sound came from the rainwater dripping from their clothes. Hadrian took a few blind steps forward to make sure he was completely through the barrier before releasing Myron’s hand. “See anything, Royce?” he asked in a whisper so quiet it could scarcely be heard.

  “No, not a thing. Everyone stay still until Myron gets the lantern lit.”

  Hadrian could hear Myron fiddling in the dark. He tilted his head, searching in vain for anything to focus on. There was nothing. He could have had his eyes closed. Myron scraped the tiny metal lever on his tinder pad, and a burst of sparks flashed on the monk’s lap. In the flare, Hadrian saw faces glaring from the darkness. They appeared briefly and vanished with the dying brilliance.

  No one moved or spoke as Myron scraped the pad again. This time the tinder caught fire, and the monk lit the wick of the lantern. The light revealed a narrow hallway, only five feet wide, and a ceiling that was so high it was lost in darkness. Lining both walls were carvings of faces, as if people standing on the other side of a gray curtain were pressing forward to peer at them. Seemingly caught in a moment of anguish frozen forever in stone, their terrible ghastly visages stared at the party with gaping mouths and wild eyes.