Heir of Novron

by Michael J. Sullivan

  She had to move, but not too quickly. It was important not to give them cause for suspicion. She must get to the rendezvous. She squeezed the necklaces in her hand. Working the spell had taken all night. There was not even time to say goodbye to Elinya and that broke her heart.

  As she hurried along, she knew she would never see Elinya again. Turning onto the Grand Mar, she saw the imperial guards waiting in the eaves. Each group was led by a Teshlor knight. The three swords the knights carried marked them as surely as their imperial armor did. Heroes of the realm, the protectors of the emperor—assassins all.

  She had to find Nevrik and Jerish.

  Pausing at the Column of Destone, she turned. The palace was straight ahead, not more than another half mile. She could see the great golden dome. Emperor Nareion and his family were there. Her heart pounded, and her breath came in short gasps. She could go. She could face them. She could fight. They would not expect that and she could get the first incantation. She would blow the whole miserable palace apart and let the glass and stone rip through the bleeding bastards. But she knew it would not be enough. This would not stop them, but she would kill a few and hurt many others. Not Venlin, though, and not Yolric. They would kill her—maybe not Yolric, but Venlin certainly. Venlin would not hesitate. She would be dead, the imperial family would follow, and Nevrik and Jerish would be lost.

  No, she needed to sacrifice the father for the son. It was the emperor’s wish, his order. The line must endure at all costs. The line must survive.

  She turned and ran down Ebonydale, weaving her fingers, masking her movement. She had to get the necklaces to them. Then they could hide. The empire would be safe—at least one small piece. Once the amulets were safely around their necks and they were on their way, she would turn back. And Maribor help the traitors then, for she was done hiding. They would see the power of a Cenzar unleashed, unrestrained by edict. She would destroy the entire city if she needed to. Lay it all to waste. Bury it deep beneath the earth and let them spend eternity picking through the rubble.

  For now, though, she had to hurry. It was time to go.

  Time to go.

  Time to—

  Arista woke up.

  It was dark, but as always, the robe was glowing faintly, revealing the small, sparse room. She felt as if she had fallen from one world to another. She was in a hurry to do something, but that was only a dream. Out the window, she could just make out the first hints of morning light. Slowly she remembered she was in The Laughing Gnome in Ratibor. She kicked off the blankets and reached out with her toes, looking for her boots. The fire was out and the room was cold. Touching the floorboards was like standing on ice.

  In just a few moments, she was moving up the corridor, knocking on doors, hearing people groan from behind them. Downstairs, the crowd from the night before was gone; the common room looked like a storm had passed through. Bella was up and Arista smelled leftover lamb and onions. The rest staggered down groggily, wavering as they wiped their eyes. Mauvin’s hair was worse than ever, as several locks stood up on one side. Magnus could not stop yawning, and Alric kept dragging his hands over his face as if trying to remove a veil. Only Myron appeared alert, as if he had been up for some time.

  While they ate, Ayers ordered Jimmy into the cold to saddle the animals. Hadrian and Mauvin took pity on the boy, and along with the other boys, they all went out to help him. By the time the sun breached the horizon, they were ready to leave.

  “Arista?” Alric stopped her as she headed for the door. They were alone in the common room, standing beside the bar, where a dozen mugs reeked of stale beer. “I would appreciate it if you were a little less quick to give orders in my presence. I am king, after all.”

  “What did I… Are you mad that I woke everyone up?”

  “Well, yes—to be honest—I am. That and everything else you’ve done. You are constantly undermining my authority. You make me… well, you make me look weak and I want you to stop.”

  “All I did was get people out of bed so we could get an early start. If you were up pounding on doors, I wouldn’t have to. I told you that staying up late wasn’t a good idea, but you didn’t listen. Or would you rather we had waited until noon?”

  “Of course not, and I’m glad you got everyone up, but…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s just that you are always doing that, always taking command.”

  “Seems to me I wanted to ride on to Amberton Lee yesterday, but you ordered us here. Did I argue?”

  “You started to. If I hadn’t ridden off, we’d still be debating it.”

  Arista rolled her eyes. “What do you want me to do, Alric, not talk anymore? You want me to crawl in with the rest of the supplies in the sled and pretend I’m not here?”

  “That’s just it. You—you insert yourself into everything. You shouldn’t be here at all. This is no place for a woman.”

  “You may be king, but this is my mission. Modina didn’t assign this task to me. I went to her to explain where I was going. This was my idea—my responsibility. I would have gone even if no one else did, even if Modina forbade me. And let me remind you that unless we succeed, you won’t be king of anything.”

  Alric’s face was red, his cheeks full, his eyes angry.

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” Mauvin asked, walking in with a smile. When neither replied, he dropped the expression. “Okay—never mind. I just forgot my gloves—but, ah… the horses are ready.” He picked the gloves up off a table and quickly slipped back out.

  “Listen,” Arista said in a quieter tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to be more of a lady if you want, and I’ll let you lead.” She gestured outside. “They would probably prefer taking orders from a man, anyway.”

  There was a long pause and she said, “Still hate me?”

  Alric wore a nasty look on his face, but the storm had passed. “Let’s go. People are waiting.”

  He walked past her and Arista sighed and followed him.

  By midmorning, they found the ancient road. Royce seemed better and rode with Hadrian at the head of the column, guiding them along narrow trails, paths, and even frozen rivers. Alric took his position right behind them. Arista stayed back. She rode with Myron once more, this time just behind the wagon. They left the farmlands and entered an unclaimed wilderness of fields and thickets. Not long after reaching the woods, they came upon a broad avenue. It did not look the same as when Arista had ridden on it with Etcher. The snow hid the paving stones and weeds. Arista stopped Princess broadside in the avenue and looked up and down its length. “Straight as a maypole,” she muttered.

  The monk looked at her.

  “This is it,” she told him. “The road to Percepliquis. Under this snow are stones laid thousands of years ago by order of Novron.”

  Myron looked down. “It’s nice,” he replied politely.

  They followed the tracks left by the sled ahead of them. There was silence as they rode through the trees. Here the snow was a soft powder and muffled everything, the sound of the horses and sled smothered to a whisper.

  Once more, they traveled without much comment. Not long after they had started up the road, Magnus brought up the subject of lunch, and she was pleased to hear Alric say they would eat when they reached the Lee. The sun had passed overhead and shadows were forming on the other side of the trees when they began climbing a steep hill. As they cleared the gray fingers of the forest, Arista saw the snow-crowned summit ahead. On it were broken shapes of cut stone, ruins of a great city poking up through the surface. Ancient walls buried now in earth and snow caught the pale light of a late-winter afternoon.

  It is a grave, she thought, and wondered how she could have missed this before. A sense of sadness and loss radiated from the mounds now that she understood what she was seeing. Pillars lay half buried in the hillside, mammoth headstones of a giant’s graveyard; broken steps of marble and walls of stone lay crumbled. Only one tree stood upon the hill—it appeared dead but, like the rest
of the ruins, still stood long after its time. The strange shapes rose from the earth, casting blue shadows. The scene was beautiful—beautiful but sad, in the way a lake can still be beautiful even when frozen.

  Royce raised a hand for them to stop when they reached the base of the open hillside. He dismounted and went ahead on foot. They all waited, listening to the jangle of the bridles as the horses shook their heads, unhappy with the interruption.

  When he returned, he spoke briefly with Hadrian and Alric. Arista’s brother glanced back at her as if he might say something or call her up to ask advice. He looked away and the party moved on once more. Arista fought the urge to trot ahead and inquire about what was happening. It was frustrating to sit in the dark, sentenced to the corner like a naughty child, but it was important for Alric to hold the reins. She squeezed her hands into fists. She loved her brother, but she did not trust him to make the right decisions.

  Hadrian is up there with him, she thought. He won’t let him do anything stupid. Thank Maribor she had Hadrian with her. He was the only one in the party she felt she could rely on, the only one she could lean on without fear of breaking or offending. Just looking at the back of him as he bounced on his horse was comforting.

  They climbed to the summit and dismounted.

  “We’ll have lunch,” Alric announced. “Myron, come up here, will you?”

  Royce, Alric, and Myron spoke together for several minutes while Arista sat on some stone, absently eating strips of smoked beef and exhausting her jaws in the attempt. Ibis had sent full meals, but she was in no mood. The chewing gave her something to do besides walking over there.

  She turned away to see Elden staring at her. He looked away bashfully, pretending to search in his pack for something.

  “Don’t mind him, my lady,” Wyatt said. “Or should I address you as Your Highness?”

  “You can call me Arista,” she said, and watched his eyes widen.

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, then, Arista.” He spoke the word gingerly. “Elden here, he doesn’t get out much, and when he has, it’s been on board ships where there aren’t any women. I suspect you’re the first lady he’s seen up close in—well, as long as I’ve known him. And I’m sure you’re the only noblewoman he’s ever seen.”

  She touched her matted hair and the robe that hung on her like a smock. “Not a very good example, I’m afraid. I’m not exactly Lady Lenare Pickering, am I? I’m not even the best-looking princess here. My horse takes that title. Her name is Princess.” She smiled.

  Wyatt looked at her, puzzled. “You sure don’t speak like a noblewoman. I mean, you do—but you don’t.”

  “That’s very coherent, Mr. Deminthal.”

  “There, you see? Those are the words of a princess—putting me in my place with eloquence and grace.”

  “As well she should,” Hadrian said, appearing beside her. “Do I need to keep an eye on you?” he asked Wyatt.

  “I thought you were his bodyguard.” He pointed at Gaunt, who remained on the wagon with the dwarf, their lunches resting on the bench between them.

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

  “What did Royce find?” Arista asked.

  “Tracks, but they’re old.”

  “What kind of tracks?”

  “Ghazel—probably a scouting party. Looks like King Fredrick was right about the flood. But we are still a ways from Vilan Hills. I’m surprised they are scouting out this far.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “And Alric has Myron and Royce trying to find the entrance?”

  “Yep, they’re looking for a river. Hall’s book tells of a river flowing into a hole.”

  “What about the tracks?”

  “What about them?”

  “Have you followed them?”

  “They’re too old to be a threat. Royce guesses they were made more than a week ago.”

  “Maybe they aren’t from Vilan Hills. The Patriarch said Ghazel were in Percepliquis. Follow the tracks… They might lead to the entrance. And get Magnus off the wagon. Isn’t he supposed to be an expert at finding underground passages?”

  Hadrian stared at her stupidly. “You’re absolutely right.” He started to return to the others.

  “Hadrian?” She stopped him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t tell Alric I said anything. Say it was your idea.”

  He looked confused for a second, then said, “Oh—right.” He nodded with sympathy. Hadrian started to climb the hill, then waved at Wyatt. “Com’on, sailor, you can help look too.”

  “But I’m still—”

  Hadrian gave him a smirk.

  “Okay, okay. Excuse me, my lady—ah—Arista.”

  The two climbed to the top of the hill and disappeared over the rise. Elden came over and sat beside her. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bit of wood, holding it out in his huge palm. It was a figurine, deftly carved in the shape of a woman. She took it and, upon closer inspection, realized it was her. The detail was perfect, right down to her messy hair and Esrahaddon’s robe.

  “For you,” she heard him whisper.

  “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

  Elden nodded; then, standing up slowly, he moved off to sit by himself.

  Arista held the statuette in her fingers, wondering when he had found time to make it. She tried to determine whether he had whittled in the saddle or carved it the night before while the rest of them were eating dinner.

  Myron left the top of the hill and Arista waved him over.

  “So what does Mr. Hall have to say about how he got in?”

  Myron smiled comically. “Not a lot that is of much help. Although, he did have some nice diagrams that showed the ruins, so we are in the right place. As for getting in, all he said was that he went into a hole. From his accounts, it was really deep. He started climbing down and fell. A nasty fall by the sound of it too. His handwriting afterwards was shaky and he only bothered to write short sentences: Fell in a hole. No way out. The pile! They eat everything! Cyclone of darkness. River running. Stars. Millions. Crawling, crawling, crawling. They eat everything.”

  Arista sneered. “Doesn’t sound all that pleasant, does it?”

  “It gets worse,” he said. “Down near the underground sea, just before he reached the city, he encountered the Ba Ran Ghazel, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He actually made it to the great library when—”

  A whistle sounded.

  “Found it!” Alric shouted.

  The hole was not on the summit of the hill.

  Hadrian had watched as Magnus and Royce had located the passage, each coming at it from a different direction. Royce traced Ghazel tracks and Magnus followed what he called the sound of an underground hollow. They came together down the back side of the slope, where the angle grew steep and dangerous. A patch of trees and thick thorny brambles wreathed what appeared to be a minor depression. The only clue that something more lurked there was the faint echo of falling water.

  “Looks slippery,” Mauvin said as they all gathered on the icy ridge above. “Who’s going first?”

  Before anyone could answer, Royce appeared carrying a heavy coil of rope, wearing his climbing harness and slipping on his hand-claws—brass wraps with sharpened hooks that jutted out of his palms. Hadrian helped him get situated; then Royce lay on his stomach and inched along, leaving a trough in the soft snow as he eased off the ridge.

  As he started down the slope, Royce began to slide. He tried to get a grip, but his hands and claws found only snow. He picked up speed like a sled and Hadrian worked at taking up the slack in the rope. Then Royce crashed through the thickets and disappeared from view. Mauvin joined Hadrian on the rope, which was now as taut as a bowstring.

  “Get the end,” Hadrian ordered. “Tie it to that tree.”

  Magnus moved to grab the line.

  “No, not you!” Hadrian shouted, and the dwarf scowled. Hadrian look
ed to the next-closest person. “Wyatt, could you tie the end off?”

  The sailor grabbed the end of the rope and dragged it around the base of the little birch.

  “How ya doing, Royce?” Hadrian called.

  “Dangling,” Royce replied. “Pretty slick up there. Give me some slack.”

  They stood in a circle, each keeping a safe distance, all of them standing on their toes, trying to see down. Overhead, the winter clouds made it hard to tell the time. There was no sun, just a vague gray light that filled the sky, leaving everything murky and drained of color. Hadrian guessed they had only four hours of light left.

  Mauvin and Hadrian let out the rope until it hung from the tree, although Hadrian continued to hold on to it just the same. He could not see Royce and stared instead at the thin rope. It too was mostly lost, buried in the snow, leaving only a telltale mark.

  “Can you reach the bottom?”

  “How much rope do we have?” Royce’s voice returned like an echo from the bottom of a well.

  Hadrian looked at Arista.

  “Ten coils of fifty feet each,” she replied. “All told, there should be five hundred feet’s worth,” she shouted, tilting her head up a bit as if throwing her voice into the hole.

  “Not half good enough,” Royce replied.

  “That’s a deep hole,” Hadrian said.

  The rope shifted and twisted at the edge.

  “What’re you doing, buddy?”

  “Trying something.”

  “Something stupid?”

  “Maybe.” He sounded winded.

  The rope stopped moving and went slack.

  “Royce?” Hadrian called.

  No answer.

  “Royce?”

  “Relax,” came his reply. “This might work. I’m on a ledge, big enough for all of us, I think. Icy, but doable. We can tie on here too. Looks like we’ll have to work our way a leg at a time. Might as well start sending down the gear.”

  They brought up the wagon and began lowering supplies, each package disappearing through the opening in the brush.

  “I’ll go first,” Alric announced when the wagon was empty.