Percepliquis

CHAPTER 24

It is as silent as a tomb, Hadrian thought as he sat in the darkness. The last lantern had died some time ago, as had the last conversation. Royce had been quizzing Myron on linguistics, but even that stopped.

He was in the tomb of Novron, the resting place of the savior of mankind. This place was thought to be mythical, a fable, a legend, yet here he was. Hadrian was one of the first to reach it in a thousand years. Truly a feat-an astounding achievement.

Hadrian rested against a wall, his right arm on what was most likely an urn worth ten thousand gold tenents. His feet were up on a solid-gold statue of a ram. He would die a very rich man, at least.

Look what you have come to. He heard his father’s voice ringing in his head, deep and powerful, the way he always remembered it being when he was a boy. He could almost see his old man towering above him covered in sweat, wearing his leather apron, and holding his tongs.

You took all that I taught you and squandered it for money and fame. What has it bought you? You have more riches at your feet than any king and they still chant Galenti in the east, but was your life worth living now that it has come to its end? Is this what you sought when you left Hintindar? Is this the greatness you desired?

Hadrian took his hand off the urn and pulled his feet off the ram.

You told me you were going to be a great hero. Show me, then. Show me one thing worth the life you spent. One thing wrought. One thing won. One thing earned. One thing learned. Does such a thing exist? Is there anything to show?

Hadrian tilted his head and looked out toward the crypt. There, in the distance, he saw the dim blue glow.

He stared at it for some time. In the darkness he could not tell how long. The light grew and fell slightly-with her breathing, he guessed. He had no real idea how it worked, whether the shift was of her making or the robe’s.

Is there anything to show? he asked himself.

Hadrian stood up and, reaching out with his hands, moved along the wall to the opening into the crypt. There was no one out here but her. She was in one of the alcoves, sitting behind a sarcophagus, the one with the scenes of natural landscapes carved on the sides. Her head was resting on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.

He sat beside her, and as he did, the light from her robe brightened slightly and her head lifted. Her cheeks were streaked from tears. She blinked at him and wiped her eyes.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied. “Dream?”

Arista paused, then shook her head sadly. “No-no, I didn’t. What does that mean, I wonder.”

“I think it means we’re done.”

Arista nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Everyone is in the tomb. Why did you come over here?”

“I dunno,” she said. “I wanted to be alone, I guess. I was reviewing my life-all the things I regret. What I never did. What I should have. What I did that I wished I hadn’t. You know, fun, entertaining stuff like that. That kind of thinking is best done alone, you know? What about you? What were you thinking?”

“Same sort of thing.”

“Oh yeah? What did you come up with?”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Funny you should ask. There’s a whole lot of things I wished I hadn’t done, but… as turns out, there’s really only one thing I wished I had done but didn’t.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’re a fortunate man-almost as good as Myron.”

“Heh, yeah,” he said uncomfortably.

“What is it, this thing you haven’t done?”

“Well, it’s like this. I’m-I’m actually envious of Royce right now. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. Royce had the kind of life that mothers warn their children they will have if they don’t behave. It was like the gods had it out for him the day he was born. It’s little wonder he turned out as he did. When I first met him, he was quite scary.”

“Was?”

“Oh yeah, not like he is now- real scary-the never-turn-your-back brand of scary. But Arcadius saw something in him that no one else did. I suppose that’s something wizards can do, see into men’s souls. Notice what the rest of the world can’t about a person.”

Hadrian shifted uneasily, feeling the cold stone of the floor through a thick layer of fine dust. He crossed his legs and leaned slightly forward.

“It took Royce a long time to trust anyone. To be honest, I’m not even sure he fully trusts me yet, but he did trust her. Gwen changed Royce. She did the impossible by making him happy. Even now, the idea of Royce smiling-in a good way-is-I dunno, like snow falling in summer, or sheep curling up with wolves. You don’t get that kind of thing from just liking a girl. There was something special there, something profound. He only had her briefly, but at least he knows what that feels like. You know what I mean?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“That’s what I regret.”

“You can’t regret that,” she said, nearly laughing. “How can you regret never having found true love? That’s like saying you regret not being born a genius. People don’t have control over such things. It either happens or it doesn’t. It’s a gift-a present that most never get. It’s more like a miracle, really, when you think of it. I mean, first you have to find that person, and then you have to get to know them to realize just what they mean to you-that right there is ridiculously difficult. Then…” She paused a moment, looking far away. “Then that person has to feel the same way about you. It’s like searching for a specific snowflake, and even if you manage to find it, that’s not good enough. You still have to find its matching pair. What are the odds? Hilfred found it, I think. He loved me.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes, but not the way he wanted me to. Not the way he loved me. I wish I had. I feel I should have. It was the same with Emery. I actually feel guilty that I didn’t. Maybe with time I could have loved Emery, but I hardly knew him.”

“And Hilfred?”

“I don’t know. He was more like a brother to me, I suppose. I wanted to make him happy, the way I wanted to see Alric happy. But you see, that’s just what I’m talking about. Most people never come near their true love, or if they do, it’s one sided. That is perhaps more tragic than never finding love at all. To know joy lies forever just beyond your reach-in a way, it’s a kind of torture. So you see, if you don’t have control, if it’s not a choice, then not finding the one you love is really nothing to regret, is it?”

“Well, that’s just the thing. I did find her and I never told her how I feel.”

“Oh-that is awful,” she said, then caught herself and raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That was terrible of me. No wonder I was such a lousy ambassador. I’m just the embodiment of tact, aren’t I? Here your-Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed as a look of revelation came over her face. “I know who she is.”

Hadrian suddenly felt very warm; his skin prickled uncomfortably under his shirt.

“She’s very pretty, by the way.”

“Ah-” Hadrian stared at her, confused.

“Her name isn’t actually Emerald, is it? I heard someone call her that.”

“Emerald? You think I’m talking about-”

“Aren’t you?” She appeared embarrassed and cautiously said, “I saw her kissing you when we left.”

Hadrian chuckled. “Her real name is Falina and she is a nice girl, but no, I’m not speaking of her. No, the woman I’m talking about is nothing like her.”

“Oh,” the princess said softly. “So why have you never told her how you feel?”

“I have a list somewhere.” He patted his shirt with his hands, trying to be funny, but he just felt stupid.

She smiled at him. He liked seeing her smile.

“No really-why?”

“I’m not kidding. I really do have a list. It’s just not written down. I keep adding items to it. There’s so many reasons on it now.”

“Give me a few.”

“Well, the big one is that she’s noble.”

“Oh, I see,” she said gravely, “but that’s not impossible. It depends on the girl, of course, but noble ladies have married common men before. It’s not unheard of.”

“Rich merchants, perhaps, but how many ladies do you know of that ran off with a common thief?”

“You’re hardly a common thief,” she chided him sternly. “But I suppose I can see your point. You’re right that there aren’t many noblewomen who could see past both a common background and a disreputable career. Lenare Lanaklin, for one-it’s not her, is it?” She cringed slightly.

“No, it’s not Lenare.”

“Oh, good.” She sighed, pretending to wipe sweat from her brow. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Lenare like a sister, but she’s not right for you.”

“I know.”

“Still, some women, even noblewomen, can be attracted to outlaws. They hear tales of daring and they can get swept away by the intrigue-I’ve seen it.”

“But what about obligations? Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t turn her back on her responsibilities. There are titles and land holdings at stake.”

“Another good point.”

“Is that what kept you from getting married?” he asked.

“Me? Oh dear Maribor, no.” She smiled bitterly. “I’m sure Alric wanted to marry me off to a number of prominent allies for that very reason. If my father hadn’t been killed, I’m sure I would be married to Prince Rudolf of Alburn right now.” She shivered dramatically for effect. “Thankfully, Alric was a kind man-I never would have expected it from him when we were younger, but he never would force me. I don’t know of too many others who would have done the same.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Marry, you mean?” She laughed a little uneasily. “You might find this hard to believe, Hadrian-given my immense beauty and all-but Emery was the first man to show an interest. At least, he was the first to actually say anything to me. I’m not like Lenare or Alenda. Men aren’t attracted to me and the whole witch thing doesn’t help. No, Emery was the first, and I honestly believe that if he’d gotten to know me better, he would have changed his mind. He didn’t live long enough to figure out it was just infatuation. It was the same with Hilfred.” She paused and looked away from him, a sadness overtaking her. “I suppose I should be happy that so few have ever showed an interest in me, or I might have more blood on my hands.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Only Emery and Hilfred expressed feelings for me.” She hesitated a moment. “And each time, within something less than a week, they died.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was my idea to stage the revolt that killed Emery, and it was my plan to save Gaunt that killed Hilfred. My plans-always my plans.”

“Emery would have died in the square if it wasn’t for you.”

“And Hilfred?” she taunted.

“Hilfred made his own choice, just as you did. I’m sure he knew the risks. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I still feel cursed, like I’m not supposed to be happy-that way.”

He thought she might speak again and waited. They sat in silence for several minutes. He watched her close her eyes and he took another breath. This was harder than he had expected.

“The real reason I never told her,” Hadrian went on, his own voice sounding awkward to him, odd and off key, “if I am honest with myself, is that I’m scared.”

She rolled her head to look at him with a sidelong glance. “Scared? You? Really?”

“I guess I was afraid she’d laugh at me. Or worse, become angry and hate me. That’s the worst thing I can think of-that she would hate me. I’m not sure I could live with that. You see, I’m very much in love with her, and I’d rather be drawn and quartered than have her hate me.”

He watched as Arista’s shoulders sank. Her eyes drifted from his face, and her mouth tightened. “Sounds like a lucky woman. It’s a shame she’s not here now. There’s not much to lose at this point. It could give you the courage to tell her, knowing that if she hates you, you’ll not have to endure the pain for long.”

Hadrian smiled and nodded.

Arista took a breath and sat up. “Do I know her?” She cringed again, as if expecting to be struck.

Hadrian sighed heavily.

“What?” she asked. “I do know her, don’t I? You would have told me her name by now if I didn’t. Oh come on. It hardly seems worth keeping the secret at this point.”

“That’s it exactly,” he said. “The reason I was thinking all this is because…” He paused, looking into her eyes. They were like pools he was preparing to jump into without knowing the temperature of the water. He braced himself for the shock. “The one thing I regret the most in my life is the one thing I can still change before it’s too late.”

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 they 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 shouted 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.

The chieftain stared at him, shocked, and for a moment, Hadrian was equally bewildered, until he felt the weight as he moved. Slung on his back was Jerish’s shield, which was so light Hadrian had forgotten about it. The thin metal had stopped the arrows like a block of stone.

They had killed Arista. They had killed Wyatt and Elden. Hadrian felt the blood pound in his ears and his swords moved on their own. Three Ghazel died in seconds, including the chieftain. Somewhere beside him Mauvin was fighting, but he hardly noticed as he cast caution aside and fought forward, dashing madly, wildly through the ranks, killing as he went. Another round of arrows flew at Hadrian as he charged. Without a shield to protect him, with no time to turn, he was dead. He expected to feel the shafts pierce his chest and throat. They never reached him. Instead the arrows exploded in flame and burst into ash an instant after leaving their bows.

Hadrian cleaved the archers aside.

Only the oberdaza remained.

A wall of fire erupted between the two of them and flared up whenever Hadrian tried to move toward him. The song and dance of the Ghazel witch doctor changed to a scream of terror as his own wall rushed back at him. The flames attacked their master like dogs too often beaten and the oberdaza was consumed in a pillar of fire that left no more than a charred black spot in the deck and a foul smell in the air.

Arista?

Hadrian turned and saw her standing unharmed in her glowing robe. The finisher lay dead on the deck with a length of rope around his neck. Royce stood beside her. Mauvin and even Gaunt waited with blood-covered blades. There were smears on Degan’s face and a dark stain on his chest, and his arms and hands were dripping.

“Are you all right?” Hadrian asked.

Gaunt nodded with a surprised expression. “They still fight with one arm,” he replied, sounding a little dazed.

“Magnus!” Arista shouted as she rushed forward.

The dwarf lay facedown in a pool of dark blood.

They carefully rolled him over. The wound was in his stomach and spewed rich, dark blood. Magnus was still awake, still alert, his eyes rolling around as he looked at each of their faces.

His hand shook as the dwarf fumbled at his belt. He managed to knock Alverstone loose and it fell to the deck. “Give to-Royce-won-der-ful blade.”

His eyes closed.

“No!” Arista shouted at him. She sat down, laid a hand on his chest, and started humming.

“Arista, what are you doing?” Hadrian asked.

“I’m pulling him back,” she replied.

“No! You can’t! Last time you-”

She grabbed his hand. “Just hold on to me and don’t let go.”

“No! Arista!” he shouted, but it was too late. He could tell she was already gone. “Arista!”

She knelt with her eyes closed, her breathing quick. A soft, gentle humming came from her, as if she were a mother cat. Hadrian cradled her small hand in both of his, trying not to squeeze too hard but making certain to keep a tight hold. He had no idea what good it did, but because she had told him not to let go, he swore that only death would break his grip.

“Nothing else around,” Hadrian heard Royce say. “There’s a Ghazel ship down the coast, but it’s about a mile away and I didn’t see any activity. Is he dead?”

“I think so,” Mauvin replied. “Arista is trying to save him.”

“Not again,” Royce said dismally. “Didn’t that almost kill her last-”

“Shut up, okay?” Hadrian snapped. “Both of you, just shut up!”

Hadrian stared at her face, watching her head droop lower and lower, as if she were falling asleep.

What does that mean? Is she losing? Slipping away? Dying?

Frustration gripped him. His stomach twisted and every muscle tensed.

Her shoulders slumped and she tilted. He caught her with his free hand and pulled her to him, pressing her limp head to his chest.

Still humming-is that a good sign?

He thought it was. He cradled her with his left hand while still holding tight with his right, his palm growing slick with sweat.

Arista jerked her head as if she were having a dream. She did it again and her humming stopped and she mumbled something.

“What is it?” he asked. “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Another mumble, too soft, too slurred.

She jerked again and appeared to cry out. He held tight as her body went limp against him, her head hanging.

“Arista?” he said.

She stopped breathing.

“Arista!”

He shook her. “ Arista! ”

Her head flopped, her hair whipping back and forth.

“Arista, come back! Come back to me! Goddamn it! Come back!”

Nothing.

She lay like a dead weight against him, as loose as a doll.

He pulled her tight. “Please,” he whispered. “Please come back to me. Please. I can’t lose you-not now.”

He lifted her head. She appeared to be sleeping, the way he had seen her dozens of times. There was a beauty about her face when she slept that he could never explain, a calm softness-only she was not sleeping now. There was no reassuring rise of her chest, no breath on his face. He pressed his lips against hers. He kissed her, but her lips did not move. They remained slack, lifeless, and when he pulled back, she still hung in his arms. He hoped that maybe some power from within him could awaken her, like in a fairy tale. That the kiss-their first-could somehow call her back, awaken her. But nothing happened. Their first kiss-their last-and she never felt it.

“Please,” he muttered as tears began running down his cheeks. “Oh dear Maribor, please, don’t do this.”

His own breath shortened, his chest too tight. It felt as if a blade had sliced through his stomach and he was falling to his own death. He held tight to her, pressing her body against his, her cheek against his face, as if holding her could keep him-

Her hand jerked.

Hadrian held his breath.

He felt a squeeze.

He squeezed back, harder than he had planned.

Her body stiffened. Her head flew back. Her eyes and mouth opened wide and she inhaled. Arista sucked in a loud breath, as if she just surfaced from a deep dive.

She could not speak and drew in breath after breath, her body rocking with the effort. Slowly she turned to look at him and her expression filled with sadness. “You’re crying,” she said as her hand came up and wiped his cheek.

“Am I?” he replied, blinking several times. “Must be the sea air.”

“Are you all right?”

Hadrian laughed. “Me? How are you?”

“I’m fine-tired as usual.” She grinned. “But fine.”

“He’s alive!” Mauvin shouted, stunned.

They simultaneously turned their heads just in time to see the dwarf rising groggily. Magnus looked at Arista and immediately began to weep.

“The wound,” Mauvin said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s healed.”

“Told you I could do it,” she whispered.

Arista woke to the gentle motion and creaking of the ship at sea. She felt physically drained again, her body weighted. Both arms shook when she lifted them, her hands quivering. She found her pack left beside the bed and reached in, feeling around for food. She pulled out a travel meal and silently thanked Ibis Thinly as if he were the god of food. Just as before, she devoured the salt pork, hard bread, and pickle. She swallowed three mouthfuls of water and leaned back against the wall for a moment. Eating exhausted her.

In the dark, she listened to the ship. It creaked and groaned-verse and chorus-riding up and down. She let the movement rock her head, feeling the food work its magic.

She thought of Alric and in the darkness saw his face. Young and yet strangely lined, with that silly beard that had never looked right on him-his kingly beard-meant to make him appear older. It had never fully filled in. She thought of her father and the hairbrushes he had brought her-his way of saying he loved her. She remembered her mother’s swan mirror, lost when the tower collapsed. It was all gone now, certainly all of Medford, perhaps all of Melengar as well. She could still hear the sound of her mother’s voice and remembered how it had come to her from out of the light.

What is that place?

She had come close to it twice now. It had been easier with Magnus; she had not seen her loved ones, only his. They spoke to him in dwarvish. She did not know the words, but the meaning was clear-kindness, forgiveness, love.

What is that place? What is it like inside?

She sensed peace and comfort and knew it would be a good place to rest. Arista needed rest, but not there, not yet. Taking the remaining walnuts from her meal, she climbed out to the deck. The length of the ship lay before her, illuminated by the green sea. Royce was in the rigging with an unpleasant, sickly look on his face. Hadrian was at the stern, both hands on the wheel, his teeth clenched as he focused intently on the rising and falling waves. Myron and Degan worked together near the bow, tying off a loose rope that was allowing the jib to flap. Gaunt pulled and Myron tied. Magnus sat at the waist coiling a length of rope, looking like a bearded child left to play on the floor.

“The sleeping princess awakes!” It was Mauvin calling down from the yard above. She smiled at him and he waved back.

“Forget her,” the thief barked. “Get to the end of that yard!”

Arista walked across the deck, pausing once reaching the dwarf. She popped another walnut into her mouth. “Feeling all right?” she asked.

The dwarf nodded without looking at her.

“Oh good.” She sat down beside him. A warm wind came off the sea and blew through her hair, clearing her face. She looked up and spotted Hadrian taking a precious moment away from steering to look at her and wave with a smile. She waved back, but by then his eyes had turned back to the problems of the sea.

She looked around the deck again; then her head tilted up and she scanned the rigging. Everything was illuminated eerily from below by the glowing sea, which gave the whole ship a ghostly appearance.

“Where’re Wyatt and Elden?” she asked Magnus.

“Dead,” the dwarf said coldly.

“Oh,” she replied, unsettled by the blunt response. She leaned back on her hands, forgetting to chew the walnut as she remembered the two sailors. She had liked them both and regretted now that she had never spoken to either very much, but then, she guessed no one but Myron had spoken much to Elden. She slipped her hand in her pocket and withdrew the little figurine Elden had carved of her and rubbed it with her thumb.

“Poor Allie,” she said, shaking her head sadly. Then a thought came to her. “Are you sure they’re dead? Or did the goblins just take them? Did anyone actually see-”

“Found them partially eaten,” Magnus growled. “Wyatt’s legs and arms were gone, his chest torn open-gnawed out like a turkey ready for stuffing. Only half of Elden’s face was there, the skin hung off one side and bite marks on his-”

“That’s enough!” She stopped him, raising her hands up before her face. “I understand! You don’t have to be so-so graphic!”

“You asked,” he said tartly.

She stared at him.

He ignored her.

Magnus huffed, stood up, and began to walk away.

“Magnus,” she said, stopping him. “What’s wrong?”

“Whatcha mean?” he said, but did not turn. He looked out over the side of the ship, watching the luminous waves roll.

“You act as if you’re angry with me.”

He grumbled to himself, something in dwarvish, still refusing to face her.

Overhead the wind was still ruffling the jib. Myron and Gaunt had paused in their work, both staring at them. Royce was yelling at Mauvin about mainstays and yards.

“Magnus?” she asked.

“Why did you do it?” the dwarf blurted out.

“Do what?”

He whirled at last to face her. His eyes were harsh and accusing. “Why did you save my life?”

She did not know what to say.

“What do you care if I die!” he snapped at her, his eyes fiery. “What difference does it make-you’re a princess, I’m just a dwarf! You forced me on this trip. I never wanted to come. You took half my beard. Do you know what a beard means to a dwarf? Of course you don’t, I can see it in your eyes. You don’t know anything about dwarves!” He flicked the bottom of his severed whiskers at her. “You got what you wanted out of me-you have the blasted horn! And you can find your own way back out. You don’t need me anymore. So why, then? Why’d ya do it? Why did you-why did you-” He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head away.

She sat back, shocked.

“Why did you risk your life to save mine?” he said, his voice now little more than a whisper. “Hadrian said you almost died- you stopped breathing like you did with Alric. He said he thought for sure you were dead this time. He was your brother!” Magnus shouted. “But me… I murdered your father! Have you forgotten that? I was the one who locked you in the tower. I closed the door on you and Royce and sealed you all in the dungeon under Aquesta, leaving you to starve to death. Did all that just slip your mind? Now Alric is dead. Your family is gone. Your kingdom is gone-you have nothing, and Royce…”

He pulled out the glistening dagger. “Why did he give me this? I wanted to see it, yes! I would have been his slave for the chance to study it for a week. And then he just gave it to me. He hasn’t taken it back or even said a word. This-this-this is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen-worth more than a mountain of gold, more than all that back in the tomb. He just gave it to me. After what I did… he should have killed me with it! He should still kill me. So should you. Both of you should have laughed and sang when I…” A hand went to his stomach and he bit his lower lip, making the remains of his beard stand up. “So why did you do it? Why? ”

He stared at her now with a desperate look on his face-a pained expression, as if somehow she were torturing him.

“I didn’t want you to die,” she said simply. “I didn’t really think beyond that. You were dying and I could save you, so I did.”

“But you could have died-couldn’t you?”

She shrugged.

Magnus continued to glare at her as if he might either attack her or burst into tears.

“Why is this such a problem for you? Aren’t you happy to be alive?”

“ No! ” he shouted.

Over his shoulder, she saw Myron and Gaunt still staring, but now with concerned faces.

“You should have let me die-you should have let me die. Everything would have been fine if you had just let me die.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why would it have been better?”

“I don’t deserve to live, that’s why. I don’t and now…” A dark expression came over him and he looked back out at the sea.

“What? What happens now?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve hated you for so long.”

“Me?” she asked, shocked. “What did I-”

“All of you-humans. The water flooded the caverns, so we came to you for help-not a handout, but a fair trade, work for payment. You agreed and to a fair price. Then you herded us into the Barak Ghetto in Trent. We mined the Dithmar Range and you paid us all right, then came the taxes. Taxes for living in your filthy shacks, taxes on what we bought and sold, taxes on crops we raised, taxes for not being members of the Nyphron Church-taxes for being dwarves. Taxes so high a number of us turned their backs on Drome to worship your god, but still you did not accept us. You denied us the privilege to carry weapons, to ride horses. We worked night and day and still did not make enough to feed ourselves. We fell into your debt and you made slaves of us. Your kind whipped my kin to make us work, and killed us when we tried to leave. They called us thieves, just for trying to be free.” He shook his head miserably. “My whole family-Clan Derin-slaves to humans.” He spat the words. “The elves never treated us that badly. And it wasn’t just my family, it was all the dwarves.”

He hooked a thumb at Myron. “He knows. He told you how centuries ago the dwarves helped you, saved you when you were desperate. And how did you repay us? Tell me, Princess, can a dwarf be a citizen in Melengar?” He did not wait for her answer. “Dwarves are never granted citizenship anywhere. Without it you can’t practice a trade. You can’t join a guild or open a business. You can’t legally work at all. And even in Melengar you put us in the most vile corners, the downhill alleys where all the sewage runs, where the shacks are rotting, and where on a warm day you can’t breathe. That’s what you’ve done to us-to dwarves. My great grandfather worked on Drumindor!” He straightened up as he spoke the name of the ancient dwarven fortress. “Now humans defile it.”

“Not anymore,” she reminded him.

“Good for them, you deserve what you got.”

He placed his hands on the rail and stared down the side of the ship.

Myron left Gaunt alone with the rope to listen.

“I’m the last of Clan Derin-the only one to escape-a fugitive, an outlaw because I chose to be free. They hunted me for years. I got good at disappearing. You found that out too, didn’t you?

“Your people disgraced and killed mine. Your kind never did anything unless it was for profit-and you call us greedy! I’ve heard your tales of evil dwarves kidnapping, killing, imprisoning-but that was all your doing. Why would a dwarf kidnap a princess or anyone? That was you using us as an excuse for your own sins.

“Every few years, knights would come into the ghettos and burn them. Those so-called defenders of the law and decency would come in the middle of the night and set fire to our miserable shacks in the dark-and always in winter.”

He turned and faced her once more. “But you…” He sighed, his eyes losing their fire, fogging instead with bewilderment and weariness. “You risked yourself and saved my life. It doesn’t make sense.”

He sat down, looking exhausted. “I’ve hated you for so long and you go and do this.” He put his face in his hands and began to rock forward and back.

“Maybe,” Myron said, coming behind the dwarf and placing a hand on his back. “Maybe Magnus did die.”

The dwarf looked up and scowled.

“Maybe you should let him die,” the monk added. “Let the hate, fear, and anger die with him. This is a chance to start over. The princess has given you a new life. You can choose to live it any way you want starting right now.”

The dwarf lost his scowl.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” Myron said. “Imagining a different life? I was scared too, but you can do it.”

“He’s right,” Arista said. “This could be a new start.”

“That all depends,” Magnus replied, “and we’ll find out soon enough.”

The dwarf stood up.

“Royce!” he shouted. “Come down a second.”

The thief looked irritated but grabbed a line and slid down, touching the deck lightly.

“What is it? I can’t leave Mauvin up there alone, and I’m not feeling very well as it is.”

Magnus held out Alverstone. “Take it back.”

Royce narrowed his eyes. “I thought you wanted it.”

“Take it. You might need it-sooner than you think.”

Royce took the dagger suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Magnus glanced at Arista, and Myron, and lastly at Gaunt, who had finally secured the jib and walked over.

“Before we left Aquesta, I made a bargain with the Patriarch.”

“What kind of bargain?” Royce asked.

“I was supposed to kill Degan after we found the horn, but before we left the caves. I was hired to kill him and return the horn to His Grace.”

“You planned to betray us-again?” Royce asked.

“Yes.”

“You were going to kill me?” Gaunt asked.

Royce stared at Magnus and looked down at the dagger.

Myron and Arista watched him closely, tense, waiting.

“Why are you telling me this?”

The dwarf hesitated briefly. “Because… Magnus died before he could go through with it.”

Royce stared at the dwarf, turning Alverstone over and over in his hands and pursing his lips. He glanced at Arista and at Myron, then nodded. “You know, I never did like that short son of a bitch.” He held out the dagger. “Here, I don’t think I’ll be needing it.”

Magnus did nothing for several minutes but stare at the dagger. He seemed to have trouble breathing. He finally stood up straight. “No.” The dwarf shook his head. “Magnus thought-when you gave him that dagger-it was the most valuable gift he could ever receive. He was wrong.”

Royce nodded and slipped Alverstone back into the folds of his cloak. He gripped the rope and began to climb.

Magnus stood looking lost for a moment.

“Are you all right?” Myron asked.

“I don’t know.” He looked down at the deck. “If Magnus died, then who am I?”

“Whoever you want to be,” the monk said. “It’s a pretty wonderful gift.”

“How far are we?” Arista asked Hadrian, sitting down on the wheel box beside him. The fighter was still grappling with the ship, still struggling to keep its sails balanced.

“Not sure, but judging from the last crossing, we should see land in the next hour, unless Royce and I messed up really bad on the course or I wreck us. Too far this way and the sails collapse and we lose headway, which means we can’t steer. Too far the other way and the wind will flip us. Wyatt made this look so easy.”

“Is it true what Magnus told me? Did you really find them?”

Hadrian nodded sadly. “He was a good man-they both were. I keep thinking of Allie. They were the only family she had. Now what’s going to happen to her?”

She nodded. So much death, so much sadness there were times she felt she might drown. Overhead the canvas fluttered, like the sheet of a maid making up a bed. The rings rattled against the poles and the waves crashed into the hull.

She watched Hadrian standing at the wheel, his chin up, his back straight, and his eyes watching the water. The breeze blew back his hair, showing a worn face, but not hard or broken. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the muscles of his forearms stood out. She noted several scars on his arms. Two looked new-red and raised. His hands were broad and large, and his skin so tanned that his fingernails stood out lighter. He was a handsome man, but this was the first time she had really noticed. His looks were not what attracted her. It was his warmth, his kindness, his humor, and how safe it felt to sit beside him on a cold, dark night. Still, she had to admit that he was a handsome man in his tattered, coarse cloth and raw leather. She wondered how many women had noticed, and how many he had known. She glanced back across the sea behind them; the crypt of emperors seemed very far away.

“You know, we really haven’t had a chance to talk since getting out.” She looked at the waves breaking at the bow. “I mean-you said some things in there that-well, maybe they were only meant for in there. We both thought we were dying and people can-”

“I meant every word,” he told her firmly. “How about you, do you regret it?”

She smiled and shook her head. “When I woke up, I thought it might have been a beautiful dream. I never really considered myself the kind of woman men wanted. I’m pushy, controlling, I butt into places I shouldn’t, and I have far too many opinions on far too many subjects-subjects women aren’t supposed to be interested in. I never even bothered to try to make myself more appealing. I avoided dances and never presented myself with my hair up and neckline down. I don’t have a clue about flirting.” She sighed and ran a hand over her matted hair. “I never cared how I looked before, but now… for the first time I’d like to be pretty… for you.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“It’s dark.”

“Oh, wait.” Hadrian reached over to his backpack. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it and hold out your hands.”

She did as instructed, feeling a bit silly as she heard him rummaging through his pack, then silence. A moment later she felt something in her hands. Her fingers closed and she knew what it was before she opened her eyes. She began to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Hadrian asked in a sudden panic.

“Nothing,” she said, wiping the tears away and feeling foolish. She had to stop this. He was going to think she cried all the time.

“Then why are you crying?”

“It’s okay. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Hadrian asked skeptically.

She nodded, smiling at him as tears continued to run down her cheeks.

“It’s not worth getting all that excited over, you know. Everything else in that place was gold and encrusted in jewels. I’m not even sure this is real silver. I was actually so disappointed that I considered not giving it to you, but after what you said-”

“It’s the most wonderful gift you could have given me.”

Hadrian shrugged. “It’s just a hairbrush.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “It really is.”