Percepliquis Part 38

"We thought you died," Mauvin told her. "You stopped moving and even stopped breathing for such a long time. Hadrian slapped you a few times, but it did nothing."

"You hit me again?" She rubbed her cheek, feeling the soreness.

He looked guilty. "I was scared. And it worked last time."

She noticed the bandage on Mauvin's arm. "You're wounded?"

"More embarra.s.sed than anything. But that's bound to happen when you're a Pickering fighting beside Hadrian. Doesn't really hurt that much, honest."

"Hmm, let's see." She heard Hadrian rummaging around in a pack. "Would you like salt pork... or perhaps... let's see now... how about salt pork?" he asked with a smile, handing a ration to her. She tore it open with shaking hands.

"You sure you're all right?" he asked, and she was surprised at the concern in his voice.

"Just weak-like a fever broke, you know?" Hadrian did not indicate whether he knew, but sat watching her as if she might drop over dead any minute. "I'm fine-really."

Arista took a bite of the meat. The heavily salted and miserably dry pork was a joy to swallow, which she did almost without chewing.

"Alric?" she asked.

"He's in the corridor," Hadrian told her.

"You haven't buried him yet, have you?"

"No, not yet."

"Good, I would like to take him back to Melengar to be laid in the tomb of his fathers."

The others looked away, each noticeably silent, and she saw a disturbing grin stretch across Thranic's face. The sentinel appeared ghoulish in the lantern light; his malevolence chilled her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It doesn't look like we will be getting back to Melengar," Hadrian told her.

"The horn isn't here?"

"Apparently it's through that door, but we haven't-"

"Through that door is death," Thranic told her. He spoke for the first time, his voice a hissing rasp. "Death for all the children of Maribor. The last emperor's guardian watches the Vault of Days and will not suffer anyone's pa.s.sage."

"Guardian?" she asked.

"A Gilarabrywn," Hadrian told her. "A big one."

"Well, of course it's big, if it's a Gilarabrywn."

Hadrian smiled. "You don't understand. This one is really big."

"Is there a sword? There has to be a sword to slay it, right?"

Hadrian sighed. "Royce says there's another door on the far side. Maybe it's over there. We don't know. Besides, you realize there's no reason for the sword to be down here at all."

"We have to look. We have to..."

The sword.

"What is it?" Hadrian asked.

"Is the Gilarabrywn bigger than the one in Avempartha?"

"A lot bigger."

"It would be," she said, remembering her dream. "And the sword is there, on the far side of the room."

"How do you know?"

"I saw it... or at least, Esrahaddon did. Emperor Nareion created the Gilarabrywn himself. Esrahaddon enchanted the blade of the king's sword with the name and Nareion conjured the beast. Only he did it with his own blood. He sacrificed himself in the making, adding power to the Gilarabrywn and a.s.signing it the task of guarding the tombs where Esrahaddon hid the horn."

The sentinel eyed her curiously. "The Patriarch was not aware of its existence, nor did we realize it was there until we opened that door. No spell, no stealth, no army, no wishful thinking will grant anyone access to the room beyond. The quest for the horn ends here."

"And someone sealed the way out," Gaunt reminded her. He reclined on his pack. His fur-lined houppelande, pulled tight to his chin, was torn and stained. His chaperon hat was a rumpled mess, the folds ripped and pulled down over his ears. The liripipe was missing altogether and Arista only then realized the same black cloth of Gaunt's headdress wrapped Mauvin's arm. "Which means we're trapped in this room until we die of thirst or starvation. At least this b.u.g.g.e.r was able to live off goblins. What are we going to do, carve up each other?"

"Don't be so optimistic, Mr. Sunshine," Mauvin told him. "You might just get our hopes too high, and then we'll be disappointed in the end."

"We have to try something," she said.

"We will," Hadrian a.s.sured her. "Royce and I don't give up that easily-you know that-but you should rest more before we do anything. We might need you. By the way, what did you mean by 'he did it'?"

"What?"

"When you woke up, you said, 'He did it.' It sounded important. Another one of your dreams?"

"Oh, that, yeah," she said, confused for a moment, trying to remember. Already the memory was fogged and blowing away. "It was Esrahaddon, he did this."

"Did what?"

"All this," she said, pointing up and whirling her hand around. "He destroyed the city-just like they said he did. You remember what I did at the stairs? Well, he was a bit more powerful. He collapsed the entire city, sunk and buried it."

"So he wasn't kidding when he said he was better with hands," Royce observed.

"And the people?" Mauvin asked.

"They were having a Founder's Day celebration. The city was packed with people, all the dignitaries, all the knights and Cenzars, and... yes, he killed everyone."

"Of course he did!" Thranic shouted as best he could. "Did you think the church lied? Esrahaddon destroyed the empire!"

"No," she said. "He tried to save it. It was Patriarch Venlin who betrayed the emperor. He was behind it all. Somehow, he convinced the Teshlor and the Cenzar to join him. He wanted to overthrow the emperor, kill him and wipe out his entire family. I think it was his intention to become the new ruler. But Esrahaddon stopped him. He got the emperor's son, Nevrik, out, then destroyed the city. I think he was trying to kill everyone a.s.sociated with the rebellion, literally crushing all the enemies of Nevrik in one stroke. He expected to die along with them."

"But Esrahaddon survived," Hadrian said.

"So did Venlin," she added. "I don't know how. Maybe Yolric, or no-Venlin may have done something-cast some spell."

"The Patriarch was a wizard?" Hadrian asked.

She nodded. "A very powerful one, I think. More powerful than Esrahaddon."

"That's blasphemy!" Thranic said accusingly, and then fell into a coughing fit that left him exhausted.

"He was so powerful that Esrahaddon never even considered fighting him. He knew he'd lose and Esra was capable of destroying this entire city and nearly everyone in it."

Arista paused and turned her head back the way they had come. "They were all out there, lining the streets. I think they were having a parade. Each of them singing, cheering, eating sweets, dancing, drinking Trembles, enjoying the spring weather-then it all ended.

"I can still feel the chords Esrahaddon used. The deep chords, like the ones I touched on the ship just before you hit me. I barely touched those strings, but Esrahaddon played them loudly. His heart broke as he did it. A woman he loved lived in the city, a woman he planned to marry. He didn't have time to get her out."

"This is larger than your loss! It is larger than the loss of a hundred kings and a thousand fathers. Do you think I enjoyed it? Any of it? You forget-I lost my life as well. I had parents of my own, friends, and-"

Arista finally knew the unspoken words from their last meeting in the Ratibor mayoral office. Her hand touched the material of the robe as she remembered the way she had treated him. She had had no idea.

As a wizard, you must understand personal vengeance and gain are barred to you. We are obligated to seek no recognition, fame, nor fortune. A wizard must work for the betterment of all-and sacrifices are always necessary.

She stared at the floor, recalling the memory of the dream and the memories of the past, feeling sadness and loss. Beside her, Hadrian began humming a simple tune and then sang softly the words to the old song: Gala halted, city's doom Spring warmth chilled with dust and gloom Darkness sealed, blankets all Death upon them, fall the wall.

Ancient stones upon the Lee Dusts of memories gone we see Once the center, once the all Lost forever, fall the wall.

"I grew up believing it was all just nonsense, something kids made up. We used to join hands, forming lines, and sing that while someone tried to pull the others down or break the line. If they did, they could take their place. We had no idea what any of it meant."

"Lies! All of it, lies!" Thranic shouted at them, straining to his knees. He was shaking, but Arista couldn't tell if it was from weakness or rage-perhaps both.

"I don't think so," Myron said from within a pile of scrolls.

"You shouldn't be reading those," the sentinel snapped. "The church placed a ban on all literature found here. It is forbidden!"

"I can see why," Myron replied.

"You are defying the Church of Nyphron by even touching them!"

"Luckily, I am not a member of the Church of Nyphron. The Monks of Maribor have no such canon."

"You're the one who ripped up these other scrolls," Hadrian said accusingly.

"They are evil."

"What was on them? What was so terrible? You were the one that burned the library. What are you trying to hide?" Hadrian thought a moment, then gestured toward the statue. "And what's with the heads? You did that too. Not just this one, but all throughout the city. Why?"

When Thranic remained silent, Hadrian turned to Myron. "What did you find out?"

"Many things. The most significant is that elves were never enslaved by the empire."

"What?" Royce asked.

"According to everything I've read since we've entered, elves were never enslaved. There's overwhelming evidence that the elves were equal citizens-even revered."

"I demand that you stop!" Thranic shouted. "You will bring down the judgment of Novron upon us all!"

"Careful, Myron," Mauvin said. "We wouldn't want matters to take a bad turn."

"Blasphemers! Wretched fools! This is why it was wrong to allow those outside the church to learn the Old Speech. This is why the Patriarch locked up Edmund Hall and sealed off the entrance, because he knew what could happen. This is why the heir had to die, because one day you would come down here. I failed to reach the horn, but I can still serve my faith!"

Thranic moved with a speed unexpected from his withered appearance; he reached out and grabbed the lantern. Before even Royce could react, he threw it at Myron, smashing it. The gla.s.s burst with a popping sound. Oil splashed across the parchments, across the floor, across Myron. Flames rushed forth, low blue tongues licking along the glistening oil pool. Fire blazed over the scrolls and raced up Myron's legs, chest, and face.

Then vanished.

With an audible crack, the room went black.

"That wasn't very nice," Arista said in the dark. Her robe began to glow, revealing the room in a cold bluish radiance. She was glaring at Thranic. The pulsating light shining up from underneath lent her a fearful image. "Are you all right, Myron?"

The monk nodded as he sat wiping the oil from his face. "Just a little warm," he replied. "And I think my eyebrows are gone."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Mauvin shouted at Thranic, getting to his feet and reaching for his sword. "You could have killed him! You could have killed all of us!"

Even Gaunt was on his feet, but Thranic took no notice. The sentinel did not move. He slouched backward, resting against the wall in an odd twisted position. Thranic's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but he was not breathing.

"What's wrong with him?" Gaunt asked.

Mauvin reached out. "He's... dead."

Heads turned.

"I only extinguished the flames," Arista told them.

Heads turned again.

Royce was sitting in a different place than he had been before the fire. Arista looked back at Thranic's body. Blood dripped from a thin red line at the neck.

Mauvin let go of his sword and sat back down. "You sure you're all right, Myron?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Myron stood up. He walked to the sentinel's side and knelt down. He took a moment to close Thranic's eyes, and taking the sentinel's hand, he bowed his head and softly sang: Unto Maribor, I beseech thee Into the hands of G.o.d, I send thee Grant him peace, I beg thee Give him rest, I ask thee May the G.o.d of men watch over your journey.

"How can you do that?" Gaunt asked. "He tried to kill you. He tried to burn you alive. Are you so ignorant that you don't see that?"

Myron ignored Gaunt and remained beside Thranic, his head bowed, his eyes closed. A silence pa.s.sed; then Myron folded Thranic's hands over his chest and stood up. He paused before Gaunt. " 'More valuable than gold, more precious than life, is mercy bestowed upon he who hast not known its soft kiss'-Girard Hily, Proverbs of the Soul."

The monk took another lantern out of Mauvin's pack. "Starting to run low on these," he said, opening it and reaching for the tinder kit.

"Better let me," Hadrian said. "A stray spark could light you up instead."

The monk handed the lantern over and looked at the rest of them. "Will anyone help me bury him?"

Degan made a sound like a laugh and limped away.