Crown Conspiracy

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “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 trapped 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.

  Hereby I proclaim this royal decree,

  Esrahaddon the wizard, this moment is free.

  “How is that possible?” Alric asked. “You said spells don’t work here.”

  “They do not, and thou art no spell-caster. Thou art merely granting me freedom as the law allows the rightful ruler of this land. The law predates Melengar, a law that made foolish assumptions about the longevity of power and those who would hold it. At this moment, thou do. Thou art the rightful and undisputed ruler of this land, and as such, the locks art thine to open. Not the physical ones mind thee, but the magical ones, because they art formed not of steel, but of words, and words in time can change their meaning.

  “When this gaol stood on imperial ground, ’twas controlled by the Church of Nyphron who built this place. The Patriarch was the undisputed ruler, but civil war came; the Empire fell. Warlords sprang up as the central power weakened. These warlords became kings, and new lines appeared on the maps. Melengar was born and this land became the realm of House Essendon. What was once only the privilege of the leader of the Church of Nyphron has fallen to thou. After nine centuries of educational neglect, my jailers hath forgotten how to read their own runes!”

  In the distance, Hadrian heard the grinding of stone on stone. Outside the cell, the great door was opening. “Speak those words, my lord, and thou wilt end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment.”

  “How does this help?” Alric asked. “You said I can’t open the physical locks, and this place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?”

  The wizard smiled a great grin. “Thy words wilt release the magical field, allowing me the freedom to use The Art once more.”

  “You’ll cast a spell. You’ll disappear!”

  Footsteps thundered on the bridge, which had apparently reappeared. Hadrian ran up the gallery stairs to look down the tunnel. “We have guards coming! And they don’t look happy.”

  “If you’re going to do this, you’d better make it fast,” Royce told Alric.

  “They’ve swords drawn,” Hadrian shouted. “Never a good sign.”

  Alric glared down at the wizard. “I want your word you won’t leave us here.”

  “Thou have it, my lord,” the wizard inclined his head respectfully.

  “This better work,” Alric muttered and began reading aloud the words on the floor below.

  Royce raced to join his partner who was already positioning himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard’s numbers. The larger fighter planted his feet while Royce took up position slightly behind him. In unison, they drew their weapons, preparing for the impending onslaught. At least twenty men stormed the gallery. Hadrian could see their eyes and recognized what burned there. He had fought numerous battles and he knew the many faces of combat. He had seen fear, recklessness, hatred, even madness. What came at him now was rage—blind, intense rage. Hadrian studied the lead man, estimating his footfalls to determine which leg his weight would land on when he came within striking range. He did the same with the man behind him. Calculating his attack, he raised his swords, but the prison guards stopped. Hadrian waited with his swords still poised, yet the guards did not advance.

  “Let us be leaving,” he heard Esrahaddon say from behind. Hadrian whirled around and discovered the wizard was no longer on the stage below. Instead, he moved casually past him, navigating around the stationary guards. “Come along,” Esrahaddon called.

  Without a word, the group hurried after the wizard. He led them through the tunnel and across the newly extended bridge. The prison was oddly silent, and it was then that Hadrian realized the music had stopped. The only remaining sound was their footfalls against the hard stone floor.

  “Relax and just keep walking,” Esrahaddon told them reassuringly.

  They did as instructed, and no one said a word. To pass the clerk, who stood peering through the great door, they needed to come within inches of his anxiety-riddled face. As Hadrian attempted to slip by without bumping him, he saw the man’s eye move. Hadrian stiffened. “Can they see or hear us?”

  “No, not really. They might sense something. The hairs on the back of their neck might stand, and they might feel a disturbance in the air as thou moves by, but no, they do not know we are here.”

  The wizard led them without hesitation, making turns, crossing bridges, and climbing stairs with total confidence.

  “Maybe we’re dead?” Myron whispered, glaring at each frozen guard he passed. “Maybe we’re all dead now. Maybe we’re ghosts.”

  Hadrian thought Myron might be on to something. Everything was so oddly still, so empty. The fluid movement of the wizard and his billowing robe, which now emitted a soft silvery light far brighter than any lantern or torch, only heightened the surreal atmosphere.

  “I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Alric asked, stepping around a pair of black-suited guards who watched the third bridge. He waved his hand before the face of one of them, who did not respond.

  “Actually, ’tis only this way because we are in this gaol. No one person hath the power to stop time, but this gaol was designed for just such a purpose. ’Tis a giant Ithinal. What we once called a magic box. Within these walls the matrices of enchantments art complex. Many of my old colleagues created this place, and according to what Arista hath told me, I may be the only one who can still understand the ancient language. Because this gaol was designed to affect magic and time, I merely ever so slightly adjusted a fiber or two within the weave to throw the five of us out of phase.”

  “So, the guards can’t see us, but that doesn’t explain why they are just standing there.” Hadrian said. “We disappeared, and you’re free. Why are they not searching? Shouldn’t they be locking doors to trap us?”

  “Because nothing hath happened, as far as they art concerned. We art still where we were. For everyone else in this gaol, ’tis the moment young Alric spoke the last word in my poem. ’Tis why they dost not appear to be moving to us.”

  “You turned it inside out!” Myron exclaimed.

  “Exactly,” Esrahaddon said, looking with an appraising eye over his shoulder at the monk. “’Tis thrice thou hath impressed me. What did thou say thy name was?”

  “He didn’t,” Royce answered for him.

  “Thou dost not trust people, dost thou my black-hooded friend? ’Tis quite wise. More people should be as careful, particularly when dealing with wizards.” Esrahaddon winked at the thief.

  “What does he mean by ‘turning it inside out’?” Alric asked. “So, time has stopped for them while we are free?”

  “In the crudest terms that is correct. Time still moves for them, but very slowly. While unaware of it, they wilt remain very close to the instant the field changed for all time, or at least until someone alters the pattern engraved on the stone.”

  “I am starting to see now why they were afraid of you,” Alric said.

  “They kept me locked up for nine hundred years for saving the son of a man we all swore our lives to serve and protect. I think that I am being exceedingly kind. There art, after all, many worse moments in which to be trapped for all eternity.”

  They reached the great stair that led to the main entrance corridor and began the long exhausting climb up the stone steps. “How did you stay sane?” Hadrian asked. “Or did the time slip by in an instant like it is for them?”

  “The time did slip by, but not as fast as thou might thinketh. A year for me passed in about the length of a day.”

  “Almost three years,” Myron calculated.

  “Not nearly as bad as I thought,” Hadrian remarked, “but still, three years of just sitting there—”

  “I was not just sitting there. I fought a battle each day. ’Twas a force of great effort to fend off their attacks to learn my secrets. And I had to decipher the runes etched all around me. I was never bored. Moreover, I have learned p
atience as a practitioner of The Art. Although there were times…Well, who is to say what it means to be sane?”

  When they approached the hall of faces, Esrahaddon looked down its length and paused. Hadrian noticed the wizard stiffen. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Those art the workers who built this gaol. I came here during the last few days they wert building this place. There was a small city of tents and shacks around the lake then. Hundreds of artisans and their families traveled here at the imperial call to do their part out of patriotism for their fallen Emperor. Such was the character of His Imperial Majesty. They all mourned his passing, and few in the vast and varied Empire would not have gladly given their lives for him. They labeled me the betrayer, and I could see the hatred in their eyes as they passed me on their way to work. They were proud to be the builders of my tomb.”

  The wizard’s gaze moved from face to face. “I recognize some of them: the stone cutters, the sculptures, the cooks, and their wives and children. The Church could not let them go for fear they would talk. They sealed them in. All these people, all these artists ensnared by a lie and murdered just to keep me here. How many people died, I wonder? How much was lost just to hide one absurd secret, which even a millennium hath not erased?”

  “There’s no door down there,” Alric warned the wizard.

  Esrahaddon looked up at Alric as if awoken from a dream. “Of course there is a door,” he said and promptly led them down the corridor at a brisk walk. “Thou wert merely out of phase with it before.”