She both nodded and said, “Yes.”
Across from her, the princess could see Thrace with her head up off her knees staring.
The beast looked at Arista. “Thou art regal.”
“I am a princess.”
“The best bait,” the Gilarabrywn said but Arista was not sure she heard that right. It might also have said ‘the greatest gift,’ the phrase was difficult to translate.
She asked, “Wilt thou honor thine trade or kill us?”
“The bait stays alive until I catch the thief.”
“Thief?”
“The taker of the sword. It comes. I crossed the moon to show it the way twas clear, but hath returned flying low. The thief comes now.”
“What’s it saying?” Thrace asked.
“It said we are bait to catch a thief that stole a sword.”
“Royce,” Thrace said.
Arista stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I hired two men to steal a sword from this tower.”
“You hired Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater?” Arista asked, stunned.
“Yes.”
“How did you-” she gave that thought up. “It knows Royce is coming,” Arista told her. “It pretended to fly away, letting him see it leave.”
The Gilarabrywn’s ears perked up suddenly tilting forward toward the false door. Abruptly, but quietly, it stood and with a gentle flap of its wings lifted off. Catching the thermals, the beast soared upward above the tower. Thrace and Arista heard movement somewhere below, footsteps on stone.
A figure appeared in a black cloak. It stepped forward, passing through the solid stone of the false door, like a man surfacing from below a still pond.
“It’s a trap, Royce!” Arista and Thrace shouted together.
The figure did not move.
Arista heard the whispered sound of air rushing across leathery wings. Then a brilliant light abruptly burst forth from the figure. Without a sound or movement, it was as if a star appeared in place of the man, the light so bright, it blinded everyone. Arista closed her eyes in pain and heard the Gilarabrywn screech overhead. She felt frantic puffs of air beat down on her as the beast flapped its wings, breaking its dive.
The light was short-lived. It faded abruptly though not entirely and soon they could all see the man in the shimmering robe before them.
“YOU!” The beast cursed at him, shaking the tower with its voice. It hovered above them, its great wings flapping.
“Escaped thy cage beast of Erivan, hunter of Nareion!” Esrahaddon shouted in Old Speech. “I shalt cage thee again!”
The wizard raised his arms, but before he made another move, the Gilarabrywn screeched and fluttered back in horror. It beat its great wings and rose up, but in that last second, it reached down with one talon snatching Thrace off the tower. It dove over the side vanishing from sight. Arista raced to the railing looking down in horror. The beast and Thrace were gone.
“We can do nothing for her,” the wizard said sadly.
She turned to see Esrahaddon and Royce Melborn beside her, both looking over the edge into the dark roar of the river below. “Her fate lies with Hadrian and her father now.”
Arista’s hands squeezed the railing stiffly. She felt the drowning sensation again. Royce grabbed her by the wrist. “Are you alright, Your Highness? It’s a long way down, you know.”
“Let’s get her downstairs,” Esrahaddon said. “The door, Royce. The door.”
“Oh right,” the thief replied. “Grant entry to Arista Essendon Princess of Melengar.”
The archway became a real door that stood open. They all entered into a small room. Off the pile, safe behind walls, Arista felt the impact at last and she was forced to sit before she fell.
She buried her face in her hands and wailed, “Oh god, dear Maribor. Poor Thrace!”
“She may yet be all right,” the wizard told her. “Hadrian and her father are waiting with the broken sword.”
She rocked as she cried but she did not cry only for Thrace. The tears were the bursting of a dam that could resist the flood no longer. In her mind flashed images of Hilfred and that last unspoken word; of Bernice and the cruel way she had treated her; and of Fanen and Mauvin, their happy faces lost. All of this could not be put into words, instead the emotions exploded out of her as she shouted, “The sword, what sword? What is all of this about a sword? I don’t understand!”
“You explain,” Royce said. “I need to find the other half.”
“It’s not there,” Arista told him.
“What?”
“You said the sword was broken?” Arista asked.
“In two parts. I stole the blade half yesterday, now I need to get the hilt half. I’m pretty certain it is in that pile up there.”
“No it isn’t,” Arista said, shocked that her brain was still working enough to connect the dots. “Not anymore.”
***
The wizard led the way down the long crystalline steps, pausing from time to time to peer down a corridor, or at a staircase. He would think for a moment then shake his head and push on, or mutter, “Ah, yes!” and turn.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Avempartha,” the wizard replied.
“I got that much already. What is Avempartha, and don’t say it’s a tower.”
“It is an elven construction, built several millenniums ago. More recently it has been a trap that has held the Gilarabrywn, and more recently still, it has apparently been its nest. Does that help?”
“Not really.”
Although perplexed, Arista did feel better. It surprised her how easy it was to forget. It felt wrong. She should be thinking about the ones lost. She should be grieving, but her mind fought against it. Like a broken limb that refused to support any more weight, her heart and mind were hungry for relief. She needed a rest, something else to think about, something that did not involve death and misery. The tower of Avempartha provided the remedy. It was astounding.
Esrahaddon led them across interior bridges that spanned between spire shafts, up and down stairs and through great rooms. Not a torch or lantern burned, but she could see perfectly, the walls themselves giving off a soft blue light. Vaulted ceilings a hundred feet high spread out like the canopy of a forest with intricately lined designs that suggested branches and leaves. Railings ran along walkways and down steps, appearing as curling tendrils of creeping vines, sculptured from solid stone in vivid detail. Nothing was without adornment, every inch imbued with beauty and care. Arista walked with her mouth open, her eyes shifting from one wonder to the next-a giant statue of a magnificent swan taking flight, a bubbling fountain in the shape of a school of fish. She recalled the crude barbarity of King Roswort’s castle and his disdain for the elves-beings he likened to rats in a woodpile. Some woodpile.
There was a music to this place. The muted humming of the falls created a low, comforting bass. The wind across the tips of the tower played as woodwinds in an orchestra-soft reassuring tones. The bubbling and trickling of fountains lent light, satisfying rhythms to the symphony. Into this harmony crashed the voice of Esrahaddon as he recounted his first visit to the tower centuries before and how he had trapped the beast inside.
“So since you trapped the Gilarabrywn nine hundred years ago,” she said, “you plan to trap it here again?”
“No,” Esrahaddon told her. “No hands, remember? I can’t cast that powerful of a binding spell without fingers girl; you should know that better than anyone.”
“I heard you threaten to cage it again.”
“The Gilarabrywn doesn’t know Esra doesn’t have hands, does it?” Royce put in.
“The beast remembered me,” the wizard took over. “It assumed I was just as powerful as before, which means aside from the sword, I am about the only thing the Gilarabrywn fears.”
“You just wanted to scare it off?”
“That was the idea, yes.”
“We were trying to get the sword and hoped we
might also save the both of you in the process,” Royce told her. “I obviously didn’t expect it to grab Thrace, and there was absolutely no way I could have guessed she would have taken the sword with her. You’re certain she took a sword hilt from the pile?”
“Yes, I was the one who spotted it, but I still don’t understand. How does the sword help? The Gilarabrywn isn’t an enchantment; it’s a monster that the heir must kill and…”
“You’ve been listening to the church. The Gilarabrywn is a magical creation. The sword is the counter measure.”
“A sword is? That doesn’t make sense. A sword is metal, a physical element.”
Esrahaddon smiled, looking a bit surprised. “So you paid attention to my lessons. Excellent. You’re right, the sword is worthless. It is the word written on the blade that has the power to dispel the conjuration. If it is plunged into the body of the beast it will unlock the elements holding it in existence and break the enchantment.”
“If only you had been the one to take it we’d have a way to fight the thing.”
“Well, you did save me at least,” Arista reminded them. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us too soon. It’s still out there,” Royce told her.
“Okay, so Thrace hired Royce-I don’t know how that transpired, but okay-still I don’t understand why you’re here Esra,” she admitted.
“To find the heir.”
“There isn’t an heir,” she told them. “All the contestants failed and the rest are dead I’m sure. That monster destroyed everything.”
“I’m not talking about that foolishness. I’m speaking about the real Heir of Novron.”
The wizard came to a T-intersection and turned left heading for a staircase that lead down again.
“Wait a minute,” Royce stopped them. “We didn’t come this way.”
“No we didn’t, but I did.”
Royce looked around him. “No, no, this is all wrong. Here I was letting you lead and you clearly don’t have a clue where the exit is.”
“I’m not leading you to the exit.”
“What?” Royce asked.
“We’re not leaving,” the wizard replied. “I am going to the Valentryne Layartren and the two of you are coming with me.”
“You might want to explain why,” Royce told him, his voice chilling several degrees. “Otherwise you are jumping to a pretty big conclusion.”
“I will explain on the way.”
“Explain now,” Royce told him. “I have other appointments to consider.”
“You can’t help Hadrian,” the wizard said. “The Gilarabrywn is already at the village by now. Hadrian is either dead or safe. Nothing you can do will change that. You can’t help him, but you can help me. I spent the better part of two days trying to access the Valentryne Layartren, but without your hands, Royce, I can’t reach it and it would take days, perhaps weeks for me to operate alone, but with Arista here we can do it all tonight. Maribor has seen fit to deliver both of you to me at the precise moment I need you most.”
“Valentryne Layartren,” Royce muttered, “that’s elvish for artistic vision, isn’t it?”
“You know some elvish, good for you, Royce,” Esrahaddon said. “You should pursue your roots more.”
“Your roots?” Arista said confused.
They both ignored her.
“You can’t help the people back at the village, but you can help me do what I came here to do. What I brought you here to help me with.”
“You need us to help you find the true Heir of the Empire?”
“You’re normally quicker than this, Royce. I am disappointed.”
“I thought you were keeping it a secret?”
“I was, but circumstances have forced me to reconsider. Now quit being so stubborn and come with me. You might look back on this moment one day and reflect on how you changed the course of the world by simply walking down these steps.”
Royce sighed and nodded.
“Thank the gods,” the wizard said. “Let’s get moving.”
“Wait a minute.” Arista stopped them. “Don’t I get a say in this too?”
The wizard looked back at her. “Do you know the way out?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then no, you don’t get a say,” the wizard told her. “Now please, we’ve wasted enough time, follow me.”
“I remember you being nicer,” Arista shouted at the wizard.
“And I remember both of you being faster.”
They were off again, heading deeper into the center of the tower. As they did, Esrahaddon spoke again. “Most people believe this tower was built by the elves as a defensive fortress for the wars against Novron. As both of you most likely have guessed, that’s not true. This tower predates Novron by many millennia. Others think it was built as a fortress against the sea goblins, the infamous Ba Ran Ghazel, only that’s also not true since the tower predates their appearance as well. The common mistake here is that this is a fortress at all-that’s the result of human thinking. The fact is, the elves lived for eons before man or goblin, and perhaps even before dwarves entered the world. In those days they had no need for fortresses. They didn’t even have a word for war as the Horn of Gylindora controlled all of their internal strife. No, this wasn’t some defensive bulwark guarding the only crossing point on the Nidwalden River, although that certainly became its use many eons later. Originally, this tower was designed as a center for The Art.”
“He means magic,” Arista clarified.
“I know what he means.”
“Elven masters would travel here from the world over to study and practice advanced Art. Still this wasn’t just a school. The building itself is an enormous tool, like a giant furnace for a blacksmith, only in this case, the building works as a focusing element. The falls function as a source of power and the tower’s numerous spires are like the antenna on a grasshopper or the whiskers of a cat. They reach out into the world, sensing, feeling, drawing into this place the very essence of existence. It is like a giant lever and fulcrum, allowing a single artist to magnify their power almost beyond reason.”
“Artistic vision…” Royce said. “It’s a device that will allow you to use magic to find the heir?”
“Sadly, not even Avempartha has that much power. I can’t find something I’ve never seen, or something I don’t know exists. What I can do, however, is find something I do know, something that I am very well acquainted with, and something I created for the specific purpose of finding later.
“Nine hundred years ago when Jerish and I decided to split up in order to hide Nevrik, I made amulets for them. These amulets served two purposes, one was to protect them from The Art thus preventing anyone from locating them by divination; the other was to provide me with a means to track them with a signature only I know how to recognize.
“Of course, Jerish and I assumed it would only take a few years to assemble a group of loyalists to restore the Emperor, but as we all now know that didn’t happen. I can only hope that Jerish was smart enough to impress upon the descendants of the heir to keep the necklaces safe and to hand them down from one generation to the next. That might be asking too much since-well, who could imagine that I would live so long.”
They crossed another narrow bridge that spanned a disturbingly deep gap. Overhead were several colorful banners with iconic images embroidered on them with large single elven letters. Arista noticed Royce staring at them, his mouth working as if trying to read. On the far side of the bridge, they reached a doorstep where a tall ornately decorated archway was drawn into the stone, but no door was present.
“Royce, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Royce stepped forward and laying his hands on the polished stone, pressed.
“What’s he doing?” Arista asked the wizard.
Esrahaddon turned and looked at Royce.
The thief stood before them uncomfortably for a moment then said, “Avempartha has a magical protection that prevents anyone who doesn’t h
ave elvish blood from entering. Every lock in the place works the same way. Originally, we thought no one else but I could enter, oh, and Esra, because he had been invited years ago, but it turns out that if an elf invites you that’s all that is needed. Esra found the exact elvish wording for me to memorize for the invite. That’s how I got you in.”
“Speaking of which…” Esrahaddon motioned toward the stone arch.
“Sorry,” Royce said and added in a clear voice. “Melentanaria, en venau rendin Esrahaddon, en Arstia Essendon adona Melengar.” Which Arista understood as: Grant entry to the wizard Esrahaddon and Arista Essendon Princess of Melengar.
“That’s Old Speech,” Arista said.
“Yes,” Esrahaddon nodded. “There are many similarities between Elvish and the Old Imperial.”
“Whoa!” Looking back at the archway Arista suddenly saw an open door. “But I still don’t understand. How is it you can grant us-oh.” The princess stopped with her mouth still open. “But you don’t look at all-”
“I’m a mir.”
“A what?”
“A mix,” Esrahaddon explained, “Some elven, some human blood.”
“But you never-”
“It’s not the kind of thing you brag about,” the thief said. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”
“Oh-of course.”
“Come along, Arista still needs to play her part,” Esrahaddon said entering.
Inside they found a large chamber carved perfectly round. It was like entering the inside of giant ball. Unlike the rest of the tower and despite its size, the room was unadorned. It was merely a vast smooth chamber with no seam, crack, nor crevice. The only feature was a zigzagging stone staircase that rose from the floor to a platform that extended out from the steps and stood at the exact center of the sphere.
“Do you remember the Plesieantic incantations I taught you, Arista?” the wizard asked as they climbed the stairs, his voice echoing loudly, ricocheting repeatedly off the walls.
“Um…the ah…”
“Do you or don’t you?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think faster; this is no time for slow wits.”
“Yes, I remember. Lord, but you’ve gotten testy.”
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