Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Arista narrowed her eyes at him. She tilted her head slightly the way a dog might when it heard an odd sound. “But how are you going to—” She stopped.

  Her mouth closed and she stared at him without speaking, without moving. Hadrian was not certain she was still breathing.

  Slowly her lower lip began to tremble. It started there and he watched as the tremor worked its way down her neck to her shoulders, shaking her body so that her hair quivered. Without warning tears spilled down her cheeks. Still she did not speak, she did not move, but the robe changed from blue to bright purple, surrounding both of them with light.

  What does that mean?

  “Arista?” he whispered fearfully. The look on her face was unfathomable.

  Fear? Shock? Remorse? What is it?

  He desperately needed to know. He had just thrown himself off a cliff and could not see the bottom.

  “Are you upset?” he asked. “Please don’t be mad—don’t hate me. I don’t want to die with you hating me. This is exactly why I never said anything. I was afraid that—”

  Her fingers came up to his lips and gently pressed them shut.

  “Shh,” she managed to utter as she continued to cry, her eyes never leaving his face.

  She took his hands in hers and squeezed. “I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “I just—I—” She bit her lip.

  “What!” Hadrian said in desperation, his eyes wide, trying to see everything, searching for any clue. She was torturing him on purpose—he knew it.

  “This is going to sound really stupid,” she told him, shaking her head slowly.

  “I don’t care—say it. Whatever it is, just say it!”

  “I—” She laughed a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life than I am right now.”

  It was his turn to stare. His mouth opened but his mind could not supply words. He was lost in her eyes and realized he could breathe once more.

  “If you knew that I—how much I hoped—” She tilted her head down so that her hair hid her face. “I never thought that you saw me as anything more than a—a job.” She raised her head and sniffled. “And the way you and Royce talked about nobles…”

  Hadrian noticed his heart was beating again. It pounded in his chest, and despite the chill in the crypt, his shirt was soaked with sweat, his hands trembling.

  “We’re gonna die here,” she told him, and abruptly started laughing. “But suddenly I don’t care anymore. I never thought I could be so happy.”

  This got him laughing too. Somewhere inside him, relief and joy were mixing together to create an intoxicant more powerful than any liquor. He felt drunk, dizzy, and—more than ever before—alive.

  “I feel—I feel so…” She laughed once and looked embarrassed.

  “What?” he asked, reaching up and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  “It’s like I’m not buried alive in a crypt anymore. It’s like—like I just came home.”

  “For the first time,” he added.

  “Yes,” she said, and tears began anew.

  He reached out. She fell into him, and he closed his arms around her. She felt so small. She had always been such a force that he had never imagined she could feel so delicate—so fragile. He could die now. He laid his head back on the stone, taking in a breath and feeling the wonderful sensation of her head riding up and down on his chest.

  Then they heard the rock begin to shatter.

  No one could see anything and they gathered around the light of Arista’s robe as she and Hadrian came out of the alcove. The bright purple light shifted to white, revealing everyone’s faces, making them look pale and ghostly.

  “What’s going on?” Hadrian asked as another round of thunderous ripping occurred. The noise came from the direction of the Vault of Days, the sound bouncing around the stone walls.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Ghazel are tunneling in,” Mauvin replied; then he narrowed his eyes at Arista. “Are you all right?”

  “Me?” Arista said, smiling. “Yeah, I’m great.”

  Mauvin looked confused but shrugged. “Should we barricade?”

  “What’s the point?” Hadrian replied. “If they can cut through that rubble, a few golden chairs aren’t going to stop them.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Gaunt asked.

  Hadrian looked around, mentally tallying the faces. “Where’s Royce?”

  Around the circle of light of Arista’s robe were Myron, Magnus, Gaunt, Mauvin, Arista, and Hadrian. Royce was nowhere to be seen. Hadrian turned toward the sound and began walking. Behind him, the others followed. When he reached the Vault of Days, he paused, and together with Arista he carefully entered the room.

  “Where is it?” Hadrian asked no one in particular.

  “Where’s what?” Mauvin said.

  “The creature, it’s not in the corner anymore.”

  “It’s not?” Gaunt said fearfully. “It ate him!”

  “I don’t think so,” Hadrian said, and taking Arista by the hand, he led them all across the open room. Partway there the air grew foul with dust. A cloud obscured the door ahead like a fog; the grinding and breaking sounds grew louder.

  When they reached the far side, they found the door to the scroll room was missing—along with a good portion of the wall separating the two. The scroll room itself had also been destroyed. The far wall was down and stones lay scattered across the floor. Ahead, where there had once been a corridor leading to the collapsed stairs, was a giant tunnel from which came the thunderous noise and the clouds of dust.

  They found Royce sitting on his pack, his feet outstretched, his back against the wall.

  “I was wondering how long it would take,” he greeted them.

  Hadrian looked at him for a moment, then started to move past him toward the tunnel.

  “Don’t go in there,” Royce warned. “The thing isn’t careful about where he tosses the stones.”

  “Maribor’s beard!” Hadrian exclaimed, and started to laugh.

  “By Drome!” Magnus muttered.

  “We thought the Ghazel were coming through,” Mauvin said, waving a hand before his face, trying to clear the air.

  “I’m sure they will be,” Royce replied.

  “That’s right!” Mauvin said. “There’s armor in the tomb—shields. We should—”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Royce told him. “I told Gilly to deal with them too.”

  Hadrian started to laugh, which brought a smile to Royce’s lips.

  “Aren’t they going to be surprised to see what comes out?” the thief chuckled.

  “We’re going to get out of here?” Arista said, shocked.

  “It’s a distinct possibility.” Royce nodded. “It took a while to master the right phrases, but once I got him going, old Gilly—boy—he took to it like a knife to a soft back.”

  “Gilly?” Hadrian asked, laughing.

  “A pet has to have a name, doesn’t it? Later I’m planning to teach it fetch and roll over, but for now, dig and sic ’em will do.”

  Another loud collision of stone rattled the floor and shook dirt from the ceiling, causing all of them to flinch. A thick cloud billowed out of the tunnel.

  “Loosens the teeth when he really gets going like that,” Royce said. “Wait here while I check on his progress.”

  The thief stood, wrapped his scarf around his face, and walked into the dark cloud. The ground continued to shudder and the sound was frightening, as if gods were holding a war in the next room.

  “How is it fitting through the corridor?” Myron asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s making a whole new one,” Magnus replied.

  “Better pack up,” Royce told them when he emerged. “Gilly has got a rhythm going, so it won’t be long.”

  They gathered their things and returned to the tomb, where Arista placed the horn in her pack. They replaced the lids on Novron’s coffin and Gaunt, Mauvin, and Magnus picked up a few small treasures, which the
y called souvenirs. Royce, much to Hadrian’s surprise, did not touch a thing, not even a handful of gold coins. He merely waited for the rest of them. They all bid one last farewell to Alric before heading back to the tunnel.

  Hadrian was the last out of the tomb, and as he was leaving, he caught sight of something small lying on the floor just before Arista’s light faded. Picking it up, he stuffed it into his pack before trotting out to join the others.

  The dust had settled by the time Royce led them through the tunnel. It was no longer a corridor, but a gaping passage like something a monstrous rabbit might burrow. It was round and at least fifty feet in width. The walls were compact rock and stone held together by weight and pressure. The passage ran level for several feet, then angled upward. There was no sign of the Gilarabrywn, but ahead they heard the familiar beat of drums.

  “Ghazel—how nice,” Hadrian said miserably. “They waited.”

  The tunnel ended at the great wide hallway with suits of armor and sculptured walls that they had passed through on the way in. While large enough for the Gilarabrywn to walk through, there was no sign of it.

  “Where’s your pet, Royce?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I need to get him a leash.”

  “What did you tell him to do?” Mauvin asked.

  “Well, that’s the thing… I don’t know exactly. I hope I told it to clear the way of all debris and danger up to the square outside the palace, but who knows what I really said? I might have told it to clear the world of all decency and rangers up to the lair outside the ballast.”

  Magnus and Mauvin both chuckled; even Hadrian smiled. Then Myron spoke up. “He’s not joking. That’s actually what he said the first time he repeated the phrase back to me. And of course we’re assuming I got it right to begin with.”

  The sounds of yelps and cries cut through the empty hallway. Hadrian and Mauvin drew their swords. They waited a moment but there was only silence.

  Royce shrugged and led them onward, always several dozen feet in front. His head turned from side to side. Royce always reminded Hadrian of a squirrel when he had his ears up. He had the same twitchy behavior.

  They passed by the doorway to the throne room, the ornate entrance still closed. Royce halted, raising a hand and tilting his head. The rest of them heard it too. A horn, drums, shouts, cries, it all came from ahead of them—faint and muffled.

  “Blood,” Royce mentioned, pointing up ahead.

  As Arista approached, they could see a disturbing splatter that sprayed across the far wall, creating a ghastly painting that still dripped. A dozen arrows lay widely scattered like fallen branches after a storm.

  They proceeded until they reached the end of the corridor, where another Gilarabrywn-sized tunnel ran upward. Through it, they felt fresh salt air and began climbing. They reached the end and Royce poked his head out first before waving for the rest to follow. They stood in the square between the Cenzarium and what Arista had left of the Teshlor guildhall. In the center, where the fountain used to be, the Gilarabrywn lay on a shallow lake of blood, its tail shifting lazily from side to side, hitting the ground with moist slaps. Bodies of Ghazel littered the square, forming mounds like shadowy snowdrifts running out beyond the range of Arista’s light. Swords, bows, headdresses, arms, clawed hands, and heads speckled the stone in a macabre collage of death.

  “There must be hundreds of bodies,” Mauvin whispered.

  “And those are the ones it didn’t eat,” Magnus added.

  “Is it safe?” Hadrian asked Royce, looking at the Gilarabrywn.

  “Should be.”

  “Should be?”

  Royce gave him a sinister grin.

  “If it wasn’t, we’d already be dead,” Arista pointed out.

  “What she said,” Royce told him.

  They stepped out onto the square, their shoes making wet noises as they walked across the bloody puddle. They made a slow circle around the beast, which remained quiet and still except for the ever-slapping tail.

  “I think it got all of them,” Hadrian announced. “Ghazel always take their dead if they can.”

  “I wish I had a sugar cube or something to give him,” Royce said, looking at the Gilarabrywn with a sympathetic expression. “He’s been such a good boy.”

  They reached the sea quicker than Hadrian would have expected. They followed a more direct route, not needing to dodge the Ghazel, and of course, return trips always seemed shorter. No one stopped to stare at the city. No one had any desire to explore. Their feet were no longer weighted by the dread of the unknown. A sense of urgency filled the party and drove them forward without pause.

  Despite a lengthy series of language lessons with Myron, Royce was unable to persuade Gilly to leave the city. It refused to pass the lions and Royce had no choice but to abandon his newfound pet. He sent it back to resume its old duties in the Vault of Days but did not mention why.

  “Look at that!” Hadrian exclaimed when they came in sight of the Harbinger once again. The ship was where they had left it in the sheltered cove, but not how they had left it. A new mast was set and a beautiful sail furled across a new yard. New boards and caulking were visible along the hull near the glowing green waterline, and parts of the cabin were touched up with new boards as well. “Wyatt and Elden have been busy.”

  “Amazing!” Magnus said, clearly impressed. “And just the two of them.”

  “With Elden it is more like three and a half,” Hadrian corrected.

  “And look,” the dwarf said, trotting forward to where a series of planks were supported by floating barrels and linked by rope. “They built a gangway. Excellent craftsmanship, especially for the time given.”

  Magnus was the first on board, followed by Mauvin, with Hadrian and Arista coming up behind. Royce lingered on the rocks, eyeing the rocking ship with a sour look.

  “Wyatt, Elden?” Hadrian called.

  The ship was in fine shape. The mast, rail, and wheel block had a new whitewash and the deck was nicely scoured.

  “Where did they get the paint?” Arista asked.

  Hadrian was looking up. “I’m still impressed by this mast. Even with Elden, how did they set it?”

  Not finding them on deck, they headed for the cabin. In the timeless world of the underground, it was possible they were both sleeping. Magnus was the first one through the door and the dwarf abruptly stopped, making an odd sound like a belch.

  “Magnus?” Mauvin asked.

  The dwarf did not answer. He collapsed as more than a half dozen goblins burst out of the hold, shrieking and skittering like crabs. Mauvin retreated, pulling his sword, and in the same motion cut the head off a charging Ghazel. Hadrian pushed Arista behind him and stood next to Mauvin, who had moved beside him.

  Five Ghazel advanced across the deck holding their curved blades and small round shields adorned with finger-painted triangle symbols and tassels of seabird feathers and bone. They hissed as they approached in a line. Four more emerged from behind the cabin; three had bows and one, far smaller than the rest, was decorated in dozens of multicolored feathers. This one danced and hummed. There was one missing. Hadrian was sure he had seen another exit the cabin, not a warrior, not an oberdaza.

  “Gaunt, Myron, Arista, get off the ship,” he told them as he and Mauvin spread out to block the Ghazels’ advance. Mauvin stroked his blade through the air, warming up, and Hadrian could see he was off tempo. His wounded arm would not allow him to move as he needed to.

  Myron backed up but Arista and Gaunt refused.

  “No,” Gaunt said. “Give me that big sword of yours.”

  “Do you know how to fight?”

  “Ha! I was the leader of the Nationalist Army, remember?”

  Hadrian lunged forward, but it was a feint and he dodged left, spinning in a full circle. One of the goblins took the bait, rushed forward, and was in just the right spot when Hadrian came around with his swords. The goblin died with two blades in his body. Hadrian drew them out dramatically and sh
outed a roar at the others, causing them all to hesitate. While they did, he stepped on the dead goblin’s fallen sachel and slid it behind him to Gaunt. He roared again and kicked the shield back as well.

  “Galenti!” he heard one of the Ghazel say, and the others immediately began to chatter.

  “Yes!” he said in Tenkin. “Get off my ship, or you will all die!”

  Arista and Mauvin looked at him, surprised. No one moved on either side except Gaunt, who picked up the shield and sword.

  “Known are you, but leave not. Our ship, borrowed for a time—but ours again. Leave it. Fight no more, you and we. I—Drash of the Klune—I too fight in arena. We all fight.” He pointed at the ground at the dead. “Not them. Those young fish, not sharks.” He pointed at Gaunt, Myron, and Arista. “Young fish and breeder. Like ones we find here—young fish too—good eating. You not want to fight. You leave.”

  Hadrian brought his swords together and let them clash loudly. He held them high above his head in an X and glared at the goblin chieftain, which caused them all to step back.

  “You saw me in the arena,” Hadrian said. “You know these swords. I come from old city, where no Ghazel drum beats—no horn blows—all dead. I did this.” He gestured behind him. “We do this. You leave my ship now.”

  The chieftain hesitated and Hadrian realized the ploy too late. The focus of his opponent’s eyes shifted to something behind Hadrian. At that moment, he realized his mistake. He had given the finisher enough time to move into position. The missing Ghazel, the assassin, was behind him. No, he thought, not behind him. The finisher would not kill the chief of a clan; he would seek the oberdaza, the witch doctor—Arista!

  From behind him she screamed.

  Hadrian spun, knowing before he did that he was too late. The poisoned blade would already be through her back. Like Esrahaddon, Arista was helpless to a blow she had never seen coming. As soon as he turned, the chief launched his attack. It was a sound plan and Hadrian knew it.

  All three ranges had targeted him and let loose the moment they heard Arista scream. Three arrows struck Hadrian in the back and he felt the missiles—soft muffled hits. Two landed between his shoulders and one near the kidneys, but there was no pain. Turning back, he saw the arrows lying on the deck, the tips blunted.