Percepliquis

CHAPTER 8

People were singing in the streets. They danced and it did not seem to matter with whom. Streamers flew through the air and explosions of light illuminated the sky like magic. Bands played and every face reflected their joy. The doors to all the shops were open, their wares free to the people on the street-free bread, free cakes, free meats, free drinks. People took whatever they liked and the owners smiled and waved.

“Good Founding!” they shouted to each other. “Good Founding to you! May Novron bless his home and people!”

She felt disturbed at this, although she did not know why. Something was wrong. She looked at the faces. They did not know.

Know what? she wondered. She had to hurry. Time was running out. Running out? What is going to happen?

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

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

She had to find Nevrik and Jerish.

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

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

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

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

Time to go.

Time to-

Arista woke up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He walked past her and Arista sighed and followed him.

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

The monk looked at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They climbed to the summit and dismounted.

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

“What did Royce find?” Arista asked.

“Tracks, but they’re old.”

“What kind of tracks?”

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

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

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

“What about the tracks?”

“What about them?”

“Have you followed them?”

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

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

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

“Hadrian?” She stopped him.

“Yeah?”

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

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

“But I’m still-”

Hadrian gave him a smirk.

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

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

“For you,” she heard him whisper.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whistle sounded.

“Found it!” Alric shouted.

The hole was not on the summit of the hill.

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

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

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

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

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

Magnus moved to grab the line.

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

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

“How ya doing, Royce?” Hadrian called.

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

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

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

“Can you reach the bottom?”

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

Hadrian looked at Arista.

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

“Not half good enough,” Royce replied.

“That’s a deep hole,” Hadrian said.

The rope shifted and twisted at the edge.

“What’re you doing, buddy?”

“Trying something.”

“Something stupid?”

“Maybe.” He sounded winded.

The rope stopped moving and went slack.

“Royce?” Hadrian called.

No answer.

“Royce?”

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

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

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

Hadrian and Mauvin tied the safety rope around his waist and legs. Once tethered, the king took hold of the guide rope and, sitting down on the snow, scooted forward. Mauvin and Hadrian were careful this time to let out the rope slowly, and soon Alric reached the thickets and peered through.

“Oh dear Maribor!” Alric exclaimed. “You have me, right?” he shouted back at them.

“You’re not going anywhere until you want to,” Mauvin replied.

“Oh lord,” he repeated several times.

Royce was offering suggestions, but too faintly for Hadrian to hear exactly what they were.

“Okay, okay, here I go,” Alric said. He turned himself over and, lying flat on his stomach, started backing into the hole, clutching tightly to the guide rope. “Slowly now,” he warned as Mauvin and Hadrian let out the tether, and inch by inch he slipped over the edge and out of view.

“Oh sweet Maribor!” they heard him exclaim.

“You okay?” Hadrian called.

“Are you crazy? Of course I’m not! This is insane.”

“Lower him,” Royce shouted.

They let out the line until Hadrian felt a tug that he guessed was Royce pulling Alric to the ledge. The rope went slack, Royce shouted the all clear, and they reeled up the empty harness. Feeling it best to send him early so they still had enough people to man the rope, they sent Elden next. He went over the side quietly, although his eyes told a story similar to Alric’s.

“Degan, you’re next,” Hadrian informed him.

“You are joking,” Gaunt replied. “You don’t expect me to go down there?”

“Kinda why you’re here.”

“That’s insane. What if the rope breaks? What if we can’t reach the bottom? What if we can’t get back up? I’m not doing this. It’s-it’s ridiculous!”

Hadrian just stared at him, holding the harness.

“I won’t.”

“You have to,” Arista told him. “I don’t know why, but I know the Heir of Novron must accompany us for this trip to be successful. Without you there’s no need for any of us to go.”

“Then fine, none of us go!”

“If we don’t, the elves will kill everyone.”

He looked at her and then at the others with a desperate, pleading face. “How do you know this? I mean, how do you know I have to come?”

“Esrahaddon told me.”

“That loon?”

“He was a wizard.”

“He’s dead. If he was so all-knowing, how come he’s dead? Huh?”

“Waiting down here,” Alric shouted up.

“You have to go,” Arista told him.

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t be emperor.”

“What good is being emperor if I’m dead?”

No one spoke; they all just looked at him.

Degan slumped his shoulders and grimaced. “How do you put this damn thing on?”

“Put your feet through the loops and buckle it around your waist,” Hadrian explained.

After Gaunt and Arista were down, Wyatt took over Hadrian’s position on the rope, freeing him to speak with Renwick. “You have supplies to last a week, perhaps more if you conserve,” he told him and the other boys as they gathered around. “Take care of the horses and stay off the hilltop. Make camp in that hollow. For your own safety, I’d avoid a fire in the daylight. The smoke will be visible at a distance. It would be best not to attract any uninvited guests.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Brand declared.

“I’m sure you can, but still it would be best not to wander, and try to keep unnoticed.”

“I want to go with you,” Renwick said.

“Me too,” Mince added.

Hadrian smiled. “You’re all very brave.”

“Not me,” Elbright said. “A man would have to be a royal fool to go into something like that.”

“So you’re the sensible one,” Hadrian told him. “Still, we need all of you to do your job here. Keep the camp, and take care of the horses for us. If we aren’t back in a week, I suspect we won’t be coming back and it will probably be too late if we do. If you see fire in the north or west, that will likely mean the elves have overrun Aquesta or Ratibor. Your best bet would be to go south. Perhaps try to catch a ship to the Westerlins. Although I have no idea what you’ll find there.”

“You’ll be back,” Renwick said confidently.

Hadrian gave the boy a hug, then turned to look at the monk, who was, as usual, with the horses. “Com’on, Myron, it’s nearly your turn.”

Myron nodded, petting his animal one last time, whispering to it. Hadrian put an arm around him as they walked toward the ridge, where Wyatt and Mauvin were in the process of lowering Magnus.

“What did you say to Royce last night?” Hadrian asked the monk.

“I just spoke with him briefly about loss and coping with it.”

“Something you read?”

“Sadly, no.”

Hadrian waited for more, but the monk was silent. “Well, whatever it was, it worked. He’s-I don’t know-alive again. Not singing songs and dancing, of course. If he did that, I suppose I’d worry. But you know, kinda normal, in a Royce sort of way.”

“He’s not,” Myron replied. “And he’ll never be the way he was again. There’s always a scar.”

“Well, I’m just saying the difference is like summer and winter. You should be thanked, even if Royce will never say it. There aren’t many who would face him like that. It’s like pulling a thorn from a lion’s paw. I love Royce, but he is dangerous. The life he’s lived denied him a proper understanding of right and wrong. He wasn’t kidding when he said he might have killed you.”

“I know.”

“Really?”

Myron nodded. “Of course.”

“You didn’t even seem worried. What happened to my little naive shut-in who walked in awe of the world? Where did all the wisdom come from?”

Myron looked at him, puzzled. “I’m a monk.”

Hadrian was the last to enter the hole, lowering himself hand over hand, sliding on his stomach to the edge, where at last he looked over and saw what Alric and the rest already had. An abyss opened below him. From the rim of the bowl, the opening looked small, but it was an illusion. The aperture was huge, an almost perfect circle of irregular rock, like the burrow of some enormous rabbit, and it went straight down. As in the pass, long icicles decorated the upper walls, stretching down from stony cliffs, and snow dusted the crevices.

He could not see the bottom. The setting sun cast an oblique light across the opening and against the far wall, leaving the depths lost to darkness. Far below, so far he would not have ventured an arrow shot, swallows flew, their tiny bodies appearing as insects, highlighted by the sunlight and brilliant against the black maw as they swirled and circled.

A bit light-headed, Hadrian stared down into the space below his feet. His stomach lightened and it took conscious effort to breathe. He got a firm hold of the rope, slipped over the side, and dangled in midair. The sensation was disturbing. Only the thin line separated him from eternity.

“You’re doing great,” Arista called to him as if she were an old pro now, her voice hollow as it echoed across the mouth of the shaft. He felt Royce pulling him in toward the side. Looking down, he saw all of them crouched on a narrow ledge that was glassy with ice, their gear stacked at one end.

He touched down, feeling hands on his waist pulling him to the safety of the wall.

“That was fun,” he joked, only then realizing how fast his heart was racing.

“Yeah, we should do this all the time,” Mauvin said, and followed it with a nervous laugh.

“Want us to leave the rope or untie it?” Renwick called down.

“Have him leave it,” Royce said. “That lip will be a problem otherwise. From this point on, I’ll come last and bring the rope with me. Wyatt, you have the most climbing experience. Why don’t you find the next ledge?”

Hadrian could see tension on the sailor’s face as they tied on the harness.

The interior of the hole was a wall of stone with many handholds. Hadrian guessed that even he could climb it with little fear if not for the ice and the knowledge that he was hundreds of feet from the ground.

Wyatt found a landing point, a new ledge some ways down, and they began the moving process again. The next ledge was narrower and shorter. There was not enough room for everyone, and Wyatt was forced to move on before all of them were down. Royce brought up the rear, untying the rope, coiling it around his body, and climbing down untethered, using just his claws.

The next two levels Hadrian did not consider ledges at all. They were merely a series of hand-and footholds where only three could pause. As they were forced to cling to the rock without ropes, their gear was left to dangle.

The next ledge was the widest yet, being the width of a country lane, and upon reaching it, several of them collapsed, lying down on their backs, their chests heaving, sweat dripping. Hadrian joined them, yawning to relieve the growing pressure in his ears. When he opened his eyes, he saw a circle of white light above them that was no larger than his thumb held at arm’s length. A seemingly solid shaft of light, like a pale gray pillar, beamed down into the hole. Through its luminescent column, the swallows swooped at eye level, rising and falling, dancing through the shaft. The far wall was still so distant it appeared hazy in the ethereal light.

“It’s like being bloody spiders,” Alric remarked.

“I’m not sure even being ruler of the world is worth all this,” Degan moaned.

“I can see how Edmund Hall fell now, but he must have gotten down a long way to have survived,” Arista said. “Could you imagine doing this alone?”

“He wasn’t alone,” Myron said. “He had two friends and several servants.”

“What happened to them? Were they locked up as well?”

“No,” Myron replied.

“They didn’t survive, did they?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Hadrian sat up. His clothes were wet. Around him droplets fell, cascading down the walls. Looking across the shaft, he could see a clear division between a bright level of ice and snow and a much darker level of damp stone. “It’s warmer,” he said.

“We need to keep going,” Royce told them. “The light is fading. Anyone want to do this holding a torch?”

“Try and find thicker ledges,” Alric told Wyatt.

“I find what I find.”

The lower they went, the darker it became, regardless of the daylight, which, to Hadrian’s dismay, was fading quickly. They dropped down four more ledges. Their efficiency grew with repetition, but their progress was being hampered by the failing light. The walls were black, while overhead the opening had changed from a brilliant gray to a sickly yellow, with one side dipping into a rosy purple as the sun began to set.

Arista was on the rope, climbing down, when he heard her scream. Hadrian’s heart skipped. He was holding the rope-had it wrapped around his waist-when he felt her weight jerk him.

“Arista!” he shouted.

“I’m all right,” she called up.

“Did you slip?” Alric yelled from farther below.

“I–I put my hand on a bat,” she said.

“Everyone quiet,” Royce ordered.

Hadrian could hear it too, a faint squeaking, but on a massive droning scale. That was followed by a hum, a vibration that bounced within the shaft until it grew to a thunder. The air moved with a mysterious wind, swirling and gusting.

“What’s going on?” Arista called out, her voice hard to hear behind the growing roar.

“Hang on!” Hadrian shouted back.

They felt a rushing movement, like an eruption that issued from below, as the world filled with the fluttering of endless wings and high-pitched squeals. Hadrian braced himself, holding tight to the rope, as Arista screamed once more and the shaft filled with a cloud of bats that swirled with the force of a cyclone.

With his head down, Hadrian clutched the rope, wrapping it tight around his forearm. Mauvin and Royce grabbed hold of him. Arista was not going anywhere.

In less than a minute the hurricane of bats passed by.

“Lower me down!” Arista called. “Before something else happens.”

He felt her touch down, and as he reeled up the harness, Hadrian looked up. The small patch of mauve sky was filled with a dark swirling line. A cloud of bats snaked like the tail of a serpent, twisting, looping, circling. Like a magic plume of smoke, they were mesmerizing to watch. Hadrian guessed there had to be millions.

Looking back down, he noticed there was a light below, a bright light that filled the shaft, revealing the glistening walls.

“What’s going on down there?” he called.

“I’m tired of not being able to see,” Arista yelled back.

“She’s got her robe glowing,” Alric said uncomfortably.

When Hadrian got down, he saw the princess perched on an outcropping of rock. Her legs dangled over the edge, scissoring in the air, her robe glowing white. Whenever she moved, the shadows shifted. Everyone stole repeated glances, as if it might be impolite to stare. Gaunt had no such reservation as he gaped, openly horrified.

On they went, following the same order, all of them doing their job with a rhythm. They traveled in silence except for the necessary calls of “down” and “clear.” It took five more descents before he heard Wyatt call up, “Stop! I’m at the bottom!”

“You’re still on the rope,” Hadrian shouted back, confused. “You haven’t touched down yet? You need more slack?”

“ No! No slack! I would prefer not to touch down.”

“River?” Arista asked.

“Nope, but it’s moving.”

“What is?”

“Can’t really tell. It’s too dark down here. Give me a minute to find a place to land.”

In time, they all descended to an island of rock that jutted up from the floor of the cavern. Even with Arista beside him, it was too dark for Hadrian to see clearly what lay around them. All he knew was that they stood on an island within a sea of dark movement. He smelled a foul odor and heard a soft chattering coming from the floor. The smell was very much like an old chicken coop. “What is it, Royce?”

“I really think you need to see this for yourself,” Royce replied. “Arista, can you turn that thing up?”

Before he finished his sentence, Esrahaddon’s robe increased in brilliance, a phosphorous light illuminating the entire base of the shaft. What they saw left them speechless. They were not actually at the bottom. They stood on the tip of an up-thrusted rock, tall enough to breach the surface of a monolithic pile of bat droppings. The cone-shaped mound of guano stood easily three hundred feet high. Every inch of it moved, as across its surface scurried hundreds of thousands of cockroaches.

“By Mar!” Mauvin exclaimed.

“That’s disgusting,” Alric said.

There was more there than cockroaches. Hadrian spotted something white and spidery darting across the surface-a crab, and there was not just one, but hundreds all scuttling along. There was a faint squeal lower down and he saw a rat. The rodent was scrambling to escape the pile as a horde of beetles swarmed it. The rat toppled and was pulled onto its back, where it floundered, struggling in the soft guano. It squealed again. Its feet, tail, and head quivered and thrashed above the surface as an endless mob of beetles pulled it down, until only the trembling, hairless tail was visible, and then it too vanished.

“ ‘Crawling, crawling, crawling. They eat everything,’ ” Myron quoted.

“Anyone want to try walking across that?” Royce asked.

Wyatt replied with an uncomfortable laugh, then said, “No, seriously, how do we get down?”

“What if we jump and run real fast?” Mauvin offered.

This idea garnered several grimaces.

“What if it’s not solid? Can you imagine it being so soft that you went under, like water?” Magnus muttered.

“You’re thinking something,” Hadrian said to Royce. “You saw this from above. You wouldn’t have come down if you didn’t have some kind of plan.”

He shook his head. “Not me, but I was hoping she would.” He gestured at Arista.

All eyes turned to the princess and she returned the looks with an expression of surprise and self-doubt.

“You need to provide us with a path or something,” Royce told her. “Some means of getting down the slope of this pile. There’s an opening over there, a crack in the wall-see it?” He pointed. “It will be tight, but I think we can get through. Of course, we’ll have to crawl, possibly even dig our way out. So really, anything you can do to distract the meat-eating beetles would be nice.”

She nodded and sighed. “I really don’t have a lot of experience at this.”

“You do what you can,” Hadrian told her.

“The only other alternative is Mauvin’s idea-we run for it and hope to get out before we’re completely eaten.”

Arista made a face and nodded again. “Everyone should stand behind me. I don’t know exactly what will happen.”

“What’s she gonna do?” Gaunt asked. “What’s going on?”

“Just do as she says,” Royce told him.

The princess took a position on the edge of the rock and faced the mound. The rest gathered behind her, shifting their feet so as not to fall. Arista stood with her arms at her sides, rotating her palms out toward the mound, and slowly, softly, she began to hum. Then the light of her robe went out.

Darkness swallowed them.

Their only reference point was the tiny circle of starlit sky that lingered overhead, and in the absence of sight, the chattering sounds of a million roaches echoed. They all stood close to each other, huddled against the black, when tiny lights began appearing. Pinpricks flashed and died in the air before them. While the sparks lived, they swirled and drifted, riding currents of spinning air. More appeared, until Hadrian felt he was seeing the top of a giant campfire. There was no flame, only the swarm of sparks that rose high into the air, carried up as if the shaft were an enormous chimney.

In addition to the sparks, there was heat. It felt as if Hadrian stood before his father’s forge. He could feel it baking his clothes and flushing his skin. With the heat came a new smell; far worse than the musty ammonia scent, this was thick and overpowering-the gagging stench of burning hair. As they watched, the pile before them began to radiate light, a faint red glow, like embers in a neglected fireplace. Then spontaneously flames caught, flaring here and there, throwing tall demonic shadows dancing on the walls.

“All right! All right!” Alric shouted. “That’s enough! That’s enough! You’re burning my face off!”

The flames subsided, the red glow faded, and the soaring sparks died. Arista’s robe once more glowed, but fainter and with a bluish tint. Her shoulders slumped and her legs wavered. Hadrian grabbed hold of her by the elbow and waist.

“Are you all right?”

“Did it work? Is anyone hurt?” she asked, turning to look.

“A little seared, perhaps,” he said.

Royce ventured a foot out onto the pile. There was an audible crunch, as if he were stepping on eggshells. The surface of the mound looked dark and glassy. Nothing moved anymore.

Royce took two steps, then returned promptly to the island. “Still a tad warm. We might want to wait a bit.”

“How did you do that?” Degan asked, astonished, while at the same time shifting away from her as far as the tiny perch allowed.

“She’s a witch,” Magnus said.

“She’s not a witch!” In the otherwise silent cave, the volume of his own voice embarrassed Hadrian. It echoed twice. He noticed Alric looking at him, surprised, and he felt suddenly crowded. He stepped off and started walking.

He felt the surface of the pile crackle beneath his weight, the heat under his boots as if he were striding across sunbaked sand. He shuffled down the side of the pile, kicking the roasted remains of crabs aside. Light bobbed behind him and he knew at least Arista followed. They reached the crack. It was larger than it had seemed at a distance, and he was able to pass through without so much as ducking.