Heir of Novron

by Michael J. Sullivan

  She nodded. “Give her my thanks. Do you know where Gaunt is?”

  “He’s coming.”

  The castle doors opened once more and Degan Gaunt stepped out. He was clad in a belted fur-lined houppelande and a chaperon hat with a full bourrelet wrapped around his head and a long cornette that streamed nearly to the ground. The elaborate houppelande was worn complete with huge bell sleeves and a long train, which dragged across the ground, softly grading the snow behind him.

  “The future emperor has arrived,” Amilia whispered, and then added, “He thought his clothes needed to reflect his future status and he didn’t want to be cold.”

  “Can he ride in that?”

  Before the secretary could answer, a page ran out before Gaunt carrying two large silk pillows and a blanket. He proceeded to lay them out on the wagon’s bench. The dwarf forgot his beard as he looked at the pillows beside him with another sneer.

  “I’m not riding beside a dwarf. Get that runt off of there,” Gaunt said. “Hadrian will drive the wagon.” When no one made a move, he added, “Do you hear me?”

  Arista pulled herself onto Princess’s back, swung her leg over the sidesaddle horn, and trotted rapidly to Gaunt. She reined the animal only a few feet short of Gaunt, causing him to step back. She glared down at him. “Magnus rides on the wagon because he’s too short for the horses, and he is perfectly capable of driving it, true?”

  The dwarf nodded.

  “Good.”

  “But I do not wish to travel with him.”

  “Then you may ride on a horse.”

  Gaunt sighed. “I’ve been told this will be a long journey and I do not wish to spend it on the back of a horse.”

  “Then you can sit beside Magnus. Either way—it doesn’t matter.”

  “I just told you I don’t want to sit beside a dwarf.” Gaunt glared at Magnus with a grimace. “And I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  “And I don’t appreciate your obstinacy. You can ride beside Magnus, ride on a horse, or walk, for all I care. But regardless, we are leaving.” She raised her head and her voice. “Mount up!”

  At her command, they all found their rides and climbed aboard. Looking livid, Gaunt stood staring at the princess.

  Arista pulled on the reins and turned her mare to face Modina, who was holding Allie’s hand. This left Gaunt facing the rear of her mare.

  “I swear I will do all I can to find the horn and return with it as soon as possible.”

  “I know,” Modina replied. “May Maribor guide your path.”

  Alric and Mauvin rode at the head of the party, although the king did not know where they were going. He had studied many maps but only set foot out of Melengar on three occasions. Alric had never traveled that far south and he had never heard of Amberton Lee before the meeting. He trusted someone would tell him when to turn—Arista, most likely.

  They traveled the Old Southern Road, which Alric knew from maps ran all the way to Tur Del Fur, at the southern tip of Delgos. As they passed through the Adendal Durat, the road was little more than a cleft in the ridge that sliced through the rocky mountains as it dropped down from the plateau of Warric to the plain of Rhenydd. Snow drifted in the pass such that on occasion, they needed to dismount and pull the horses through, but the road remained passable. Months of sun followed by bitter nights had left a crust on the surface that crunched under the horses’ hooves and left icicles, hanging thick like frozen waterfalls, across the face of the rocky cliffs. The height of winter was over, days grew longer, and while the world lay buried, it was not as deep as it once had been.

  No one talked much during the course of the morning. Gaunt and Magnus were particularly quiet, neither saying a word nor looking at each other. Degan sat bundled, his long train wrapping his body and head so only his nose remained exposed. Magnus appeared oblivious to the cold as he drove the wagon with bare ruddy hands. His breath iced his mustache and what remained of his beard, leaving him with a frozen grimace of irritated misery. Alric felt better seeing his discomfort.

  Royce and Hadrian rode at the rear of the party, and Alric never noticed either speak. Royce rode absently, his hood up, his head down, bobbing as if he were asleep. The five boys were with them. They whispered among themselves occasionally, as servants were prone to do. The sailor they called Wyatt rode beside his giant friend. Alric had never seen a man that size before. They had provided him a draft horse and still his feet hung nearly to the ground, the stirrups left dangling. Wyatt had whispered a few words to the giant at the start, but Elden never spoke.

  The only conversation, the only break from the droning crunch of snow and panting breath of the animals, was that of Myron and Arista. A quarter hour did not pass without the monk pointing out some curiosity to her. Alric had forgotten Myron’s fascination with everything—no matter how trivial. Myron found the twenty-foot icicles hanging from the cliffside nothing short of a miracle. He also pointed out designs he found in the rock formations—one he swore looked like the face of a bearded man. Arista smiled politely and even offered a laugh on occasion. It was a girl’s laugh, high and light, natural and unburdened. Alric would feel self-conscious to laugh so openly. His sister did not seem to care what those around her thought.

  Alric hated how she had taken charge when setting out. As much as he had enjoyed the look on Gaunt’s face when she had barked at him in the courtyard, he disliked the bold way his sister acted. If only she had given him the time to act. He was the king, after all. The empress might have given Arista authority to organize the expedition, but that did not extend to leading it. She had never satisfactorily explained why she was along, anyway. He had assumed she would ride quietly in the wagon and leave commanding the venture to him but he should have known better. Given her theatrics in the courtyard, it was surprising that she still rode sidesaddle and had not taken to wearing breeches. They escaped the tight pass before noon as morning clouds finally gave up their tight grip on the world. Ahead the land dropped away, leaving a magnificent view to the south. Alric spotted Ratibor in the distant valley. The whole city appeared no larger than his thumb and from that distance it looked beautiful, a clustered glen in a sea of forest and field.

  “There,” Hadrian announced from the rear, pointing toward a shining river to the east. “You can see Amberton Lee—sort of. Down near the Bernum River, where it bends. See there, how the land rises up into three hills.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Arista agreed. “I remember.” She looked up at the sky. “We won’t make it today.”

  “We could spend the night in Ratibor,” Hadrian offered. “It’s only a few miles. We could reach it by nightfall.”

  “Well, I don’t—” Arista began.

  “We will head to Ratibor,” Alric declared quickly, causing Arista to look at him in surprise.

  “I was just going to say,” she went on, “if we veer east now, we’ll be that much closer in the morning.”

  “But there is no road,” Alric told her. “We can’t be wandering through the snowy fields.”

  “Why not?”

  “Who knows how deep that snow is and what lies beneath?”

  “Royce can find us a route through; he’s good at that,” Hadrian said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Arista agreed.

  “No, Ratibor is a much better choice,” Alric said loudly. “We’ll get a good night’s rest, then push on at first light and be there by noon.”

  “But, Alric—”

  “You heard my decision!” He kicked his horse and trotted down the road, feeling their eyes on his back.

  Hooves trotted up behind him. He expected it to be his sister and dreaded the argument, but he would not back down. Alric turned hotly only to see Mauvin with his hair flying. The rest of the group followed twenty feet behind them, but they were moving in his direction. He let his horse slow to a walk.

  “What was that all about?” Mauvin asked, moving alongside, where the two horses naturally fell into the same pace. />
  “Oh, nothing.” He sighed. “Just trying to remind her who’s king. She forgets, you know.”

  “So many years, so few changes,” Mauvin said softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mauvin only smiled. “Personally, I prefer your idea. Who wants to sleep in the snow if you can have a bed? Besides, I’d like to see Ratibor. It was on our list, remember?”

  Alric nodded. “We were also supposed to go to Tur Del Fur.”

  “Yeah, but let’s save that for another time, since it’s under new management and all,” Mauvin mentioned. “I still can’t believe we are on our way to Percepliquis. That was always the big prize—the dream.”

  “Still hoping to find the Teshlor Codes?”

  Mauvin chuckled. “That’s right. I was going to discover the secret techniques of the Teshlor Knights. You remember that, do you? I was supposed to be the first one in a thousand years to possess that knowledge. I would have guarded it jealously and been the greatest warrior alive.” Mauvin glanced behind them. “Not much chance of that now. Even if I did find them, I could never match Hadrian. He grew up with it and was taught by a master. That was a stupid dream, anyway. A boy’s fantasy. The kind of thing a kid thinks before actually seeing blood on a blade. When you are young, you think you can do anything, you know? And then…” He sighed and turned away. Alric noticed his hand go up to his face briefly before settling on the pommel of his sword, only it was not Mauvin’s sword.

  “I didn’t notice before,” Alric told him, nodding toward Mauvin’s side.

  “This is the first time I’ve worn it.” He pulled his hand away self-consciously. “I’ve wanted it for so long. I used to see my father wield it—so beautiful, so elegant. I dreamed of it sometimes. All I ever wanted to do was hold it, swing it, and hear it sing in the air for me.”

  Alric nodded.

  “What about you?” Mauvin asked. “Are you still interested in finding Novron’s crown?”

  The king huffed and might have laughed if the statement had not seemed so ironic. “I already have a crown.”

  “Yeah,” Mauvin said sadly.

  Alric spoke in a voice just loud enough for Mauvin to hear. “Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.”

  They were just closing the city gate for the night when the party arrived in Ratibor. Arista did not recognize the guard. He was a burly, balding man in a rough stitched rawhide coat who waved at them impatiently to get inside.

  “Where is a good place to find lodgings for the night, my good man?” Alric asked, circling his mount on the guard as he went about locking down the city.

  “Aquesta. Ha!” The man laughed.

  “I meant here.”

  “I knows what ya meant,” he said gruffly. “The Gnome has open rooms, I think.”

  “The Gnome?”

  “It’s a tavern,” Arista explained. “The Laughing Gnome—King’s Street and Lore.”

  The guard eyed her curiously.

  “Thank you,” she said, quickly kicking her horse. “This way.”

  The heavy scent of manure and urine that Arista had remembered as the prominent smell of Ratibor was replaced by the thick smell of wood smoke. Other than that, the city had changed little from the last time she had been there. Streets ran in awkward lines, forcing adjoining buildings to conform to the resulting spaces often with strange results, such as shops in the shapes of wedges of cheese. The wooden planks that used to bridge the rivers of muck lay buried beneath a thick layer of snow. The winter had stolen the leaves from the trees and the wind ripped along empty streets. Nothing but the snow moved. Arista had expected winter would brighten the place and bury the filth, but instead she found it bleak and barren.

  She rode in the lead now. Behind her, she could hear Alric grumbling. He spoke too low for her to catch the words, but his tone was clear. He was unhappy with her—again. Any other time, she might have fallen back, apologized for whatever it was she had done wrong, and tried to make him feel better. But she was cold, hungry, and tired. She wanted to get to the tavern. His feelings could hurt at least until they were settled.

  As they approached Central Square, she tried to keep her eyes down and focus on the snow where Princess walked, but she could not resist. When they were in the exact middle of the square, her eyes ignored her will and looked up. The post was still there, but the ropes were gone. Dark and slender, nearly blending into the background, it was a physical reminder of what might have been.

  There is blood under the snow, she thought.

  Her breath shortened and her lip began to quiver. Then she noticed someone riding beside her. Arista was not aware if she had heard his approach, or merely sensed his presence, but suddenly Hadrian was an arm’s length away. He did not look at her or speak. He merely rode quietly alongside. This was the first time he had left Royce’s side since they had started out, and she wondered what had brought him forward. Arista wanted to believe he joined her because he knew how she felt. It was silly, but it made her feel better to think it.

  The signboard above the door at the public house was crowned in snow and yet remained as gruesome as ever. The obscenely large open mouth, hairy pointed ears, and squinting eyes of the namesake gnome glared down at them.

  Arista halted, slid off her mount, and stepped onto the boardwalk. “Perhaps the rest of you should wait here while Hadrian and I make arrangements.”

  Alric coughed and she caught him glaring at her.

  “Hadrian and I know this city. It will just be faster if we go,” she told him. “You were the one that wanted to come here.”

  He frowned and she sighed. Waving for Hadrian to follow, she passed under the sign of The Laughing Gnome. A flickering yellow light and warm air that smelled of grease and smoke greeted them. A shaggy spotted dog scampered over, trying to lick their hands. Hadrian caught him just as he jumped up toward her. He let the dog’s forepaws rest on his thighs as he scrubbed behind its ears, causing the animal to hang its tongue.

  The common room was empty except for two people huddled near the hearth—so different from the first time she had been there. She stared off at a spot near the center where a fiery-haired young man had once held the room spellbound.

  This was the place. It was here I saw Emery for the very first time.

  She had never thought about it before, but this revelation made the room sacred to her. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Hadrian gave her a gentle squeeze.

  She spotted Ayers behind the bar, wiping out mugs. He was wearing the same apron, which appeared to have the same stains. The innkeeper had not shaved in a day or two, and his hair was mussed, and his face moist.

  “What can I do ya for?” he asked as they approached, the dog trailing behind, pawing at Hadrian for more attention.

  “We’d like rooms.” Arista counted on her fingers. “There are fifteen in our party, so maybe four rooms? Do your rooms sleep four?”

  “They can, but I usually charge by the pair.”

  “Oh, okay, so then seven rooms if you have them, I guess—the boys can all sleep in one room. Do you have vacancy?”

  “Oh, I’ve got ’em. No one here but the mice. All the folk heading down from Wintertide passed through weeks ago. No one travels this time a’ year. No need to…” He trailed off as he looked intently at Arista. His narrow eyes began widening. “Why, ain’t you—I mean, yer her—ain’t you? Where have you been?”

  Embarrassed, she glanced at Hadrian. She had been hoping to avoid this. “We’d just like the rooms.”

  “By Mar! It is you!” he said, loud enough to catch the attention of the two near the fire. “Everyone said you was dead.”

  “Almost. But really, we have people waiting in the cold. Can we get rooms? And we have horses too that—”

  “Jimmy! Jimmy! Get your arse in here, boy!”

  A freckle-faced kid, as thin as a Black Diamond member, rushed out of the kitchen, bursting through the doors with a startle
d look on his face.

  “Horses outside need stabling. Get on it.”

  The boy nodded, and as he stepped by Ayers, the proprietor whispered something in his ear. The lad looked at Arista and his mouth opened as if it had just gained weight. A moment later he was running.

  “You understand we’re tired,” Arista told the innkeeper. “It has been a long day of riding and we need to leave early in the morning. We are just looking for a quiet night.”

  “Oh, absolutely! But you’ll be wantin’ supper, right?”

  Arista glanced at Hadrian, who nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll get something special for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. We don’t want to cause any—”

  “Nonsense,” Ayers told her. “Rusty!” he shouted over her head toward the two at the hearth, who were now on their feet, hesitantly inching closer. “Run and tell Engles I want his cut of pork.”

  “Pork?” the man replied. “You can’t serve her no smoked pork! Benjamin Braddock got a prize lamb he’s kept alive all winter, feeds it like a baby, he does.”

  “Yeah, real sweet animal,” the other man said.

  “Okay, okay, tell him to get it to Engles and have it butchered.”

  “How much you willing ta pay?”

  “Just tell him who it’s for, and if he wants to come ask her for money, let him.”

  “Oh please, this isn’t necessary,” Arista said.

  “He’s been saving that lamb for a special occasion,” Rusty told her, and smiled. “I can’t see how he can expect a better one.”

  The door opened and the rest of the party entered, dusting snow off their heads and shoulders and stomping their feet. Once inside, Gaunt let go his train and threw back his hood, shivering. He walked directly toward the fire with his hands outstretched and brought to Arista’s mind the image of a giant peacock.

  Rusty nudged his buddy. “That’s Degan Gaunt.”

  “By Mar,” Ayers said, shaking his head. “If’n you get a drop, it’s a flood. And look at him all dressed up like a king. He’s one of your group?”