Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (34 page)

No one mentioned anything about the exploding gate.

Without Hadrian to guide them, Sir Breckton led the detachment through Colnora. They crossed the Bernum using the Warpole Bridge and were midway across when they saw the warehouse ablaze near a bridge farther down the river, signaling their destination. Rather than backtrack, Breckton continued across the Warpole and arrived at the Langdon Bridge on the warehouse side, causing them to pass in front of the monstrous blaze.

The building was an inferno. The burning hulk mesmerized Arista. Huge spirals of flames reached to the sky. All four stories were on fire. The north wall blistered and snapped. The east wall curled and partially collapsed, releasing a burst of sparks and a rain of burning debris that hissed when it struck snow. White smoke billowed out from shattered windows and a nearby oak tree blazed, its naked limbs turned into a giant torch.

Arista heard a woman cry out.

“That’s Modina!” Amilia shrieked, pulling back so hard on her horse’s reins that the beast shook its head and backed up a step. “
She’s inside!
”

Sir Breckton and several of his men dismounted and rushed to the doorway. They broke down the bolted door, but the heat forced them back. Breckton pulled his cloak over his head and started to enter.

“Stop!” Arista shouted as she slid from her horse.

The knight hesitated.

“You’ll die before you reach her. I’ll go.”

“But—” Breckton said, then stopped. Rubbing his jaw, he looked at the fire and then back at Arista. “Can you save her?”

Arista shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, but I stand a better chance than you do. Just keep everyone else back.”

She pulled the sleeves of Esrahaddon’s robe over her hands and the hood up around her head and face as she approached the crumbling warehouse. Realizing she could sense the fire’s movements was exhilarating. The blaze moved and acted like a living thing. It withered, snapped, and fed on the old wood like a ravenous beast. It was hungry, starved for nourishment, a never-ending want, boundless greed. Approaching the blaze, she sensed it noticing her, and the fire regarded Arista with desire.

No
, she told it.
Eat the wood. Ignore me.

The fire hissed.

Leave me alone or I will snuff you out.

Arista knew she could conjure a rainstorm, or even a whirlwind, but rain would take too long, and wind would collapse the fragile building. Perhaps there was a way to eliminate the fire altogether, but she was not certain how to go about it and Modina could not wait for her to figure it out.

The fire snapped. She felt its elemental eye turn away and Arista entered the blackened doorway. She walked into an inferno of smoke and fire. Everything around her was burning. Hot currents of air whipped and gusted, blasting through the building’s interior. She moved through a raging river of smoky air that parted around her.

After finding the scorched wooden stairs, she carefully began to climb. Beneath her feet the planks fractured, splintered, and popped. With the protection of Esrahaddon’s robe,
she felt warmth but nothing more. Breathing through the material, Arista found fresh, cool air.

“Thanks, Esra,” she muttered, pushing forward into the thick, surging smoke.

She heard a muffled cry from above and climbed. On the third floor, she found Modina. The empress was in the center of a small room, hands and feet bound. The fire was busy enjoying the older, drier timber of the main brace on the far side of the room and ignored the greener floorboards where Modina lay. Running along the rafters, it ate into the supporting beams with wolfish delight.

“Not much time,” the princess said, glancing up. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Modina answered.

Arista cursed herself for not wearing a dagger as her fingers struggled to untie the empress’s hands. Once loose, they worked to free her feet.

Modina coughed and gagged. Arista removed the robe. Instantly the intense heat slammed into her. She wrapped the garment over their shoulders like a blanket and held one of the sleeves to her mouth.

“Breathe through the robe,” she told Modina over the roaring blaze.

The two women moved down the stairs together. Arista kept her focus on the fire’s intentions and warned it away when it came too close. A timber cracked overhead and crashed with the sound of thunder. The building shuddered with the blow. A step snapped under Arista, and Modina pulled her forward in time to save the princess from a two-story fall.

“We can thank the dungeon for you not weighing much,” Modina said through the sleeve pressed against her mouth.

They reached the ground floor and raced out together. The moment Modina emerged, Amilia threw her arms around her.

“There’s someone else up there,” Sir Breckton announced. “In that upper window near the end.”

“Help!” Saldur cried. “Someone help me!”

A few looked to Arista, but she made no move to reenter the building.

“
Help me!
” he screamed.

Arista stepped back to get a better view. The old man was in tears. His face was transfigured with horror.

“Arista!” he pleaded, spotting her. “In the name of Novron… help me, child.”

“It’s a shame,” she shouted back, her voice rising above the roar of the fire, “that
Hilfred
isn’t here to save you.”

There was another loud
crack
and Saldur’s eyes filled with panic. He grabbed the windowsill and clung to it as the floor gave way beneath him. With a final scream, his fingers slipped and Maurice Saldur, former bishop of the Nyphron Church, co-regent and architect of the New Empire, vanished from view into the flames.

Hadrian was bent over the bridge’s edge, looking over the side. His eyes fixated on the spot far below where the body had hit the river. A gust of wind revealed a familiar cloak that flapped out from below the skirt of the bridge.

His heart beat faster as he spotted four fingers clinging to a hidden lip that ran beneath the span. He hurriedly wrapped his feet around a lamppost and lowered himself farther. Royce was there, just out of reach. His left hand held the underside of the Langdon, his feet dangling free.

“Royce!” Hadrian called.

His partner did not look up.

“Royce—damn you, look at me!”

Royce continued to stare down into the foaming waters as the wind whipped his black cape like the broken wings of a bird.

“Royce, I can’t reach you,” Hadrian shouted, extending his arm toward his friend. “You have to help me. You need to reach with your other hand so I can pull you up.”

There was a pause.

“Merrick is dead,” Royce said softly.

“I know.”

“Gwen is dead.”

Hadrian paused. “Yes.”

“I—I burned Modina alive.”

“Royce, goddamn it! That doesn’t matter. Please, look at me.”

Slowly, Royce tilted his head up. His hood fell away and tears streaked his cheeks. He refused to meet Hadrian’s eyes.

“
Don’t do it!
” Hadrian yelled.

“I—I don’t have anything left,” Royce muttered, his words almost stolen by the wind. “I don’t—”

“Royce, listen to me. You have to hang on. Don’t let go. Don’t you dare let go. Do you hear me? Are you listening to me, Royce Melborn? You have to hang on, Royce. Please… give me your hand. Give me your hand!”

Royce’s head snapped up. He focused on Hadrian and there was a curious look in his eyes. “What—what did you say?”

“I said I can’t reach you. I need your help.”

Hadrian extended his arm farther.

Royce sheathed Alverstone and swung his body. The momentum thrust his right hand upward. Hadrian grabbed it and lifted.

M
iranda had been certain that the end of the world would begin like this—without warning, but with fire. Behind them, the sky glowed red as flames and plumes of sparks rose into the night sky. The university at Sheridan was burning.

Holding Mercy’s little hand, Miranda was terrified she might lose the girl in the dark. They had been running for hours, dashing blindly through the pine forest, pushing their way past unseen branches. Beneath the laden boughs, the snow was deep. Miranda fought through drifts higher than her knees, breaking a path for the little girl and the old professor.

Struggling somewhere behind, Arcadius called out, “Go on, go on, don’t wait for me.”

Hauling the heavy pack and dragging the little girl, Miranda was moving as fast as she could. Every time she heard a sound or thought a shadow moved, Miranda fought back a scream. Panic hovered just below the surface, threatening to break free. Death was on their heels and her feet were anchors.

Miranda felt sorry for the child and worried that hauling her forward was hurting her arm. Once, Miranda had pulled
too hard and dragged Mercy across the surface of the snow. The girl had cried when her face skimmed the powder, but her whimpering was short-lived. Mercy had stopped asking questions, stopped complaining about being tired. She had given up talking altogether and trudged behind Miranda as best she could. She was a brave girl.

They reached the road and Miranda knelt down to inspect the child. Her nose ran. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes. Her cheeks were red, and her black hair lay matted with sweat to her forehead. Miranda took a moment to brush several loose strands behind her ears while Mr. Rings kept a close eye on her. As if he were a fur stole, the raccoon curled around the girl’s neck. Mercy had insisted on freeing the animals from their cages before leaving. Once released, the raccoon had run up Mercy’s arm and held tight. Apparently, Mr. Rings also sensed something bad was coming.

“How are you doing?” Miranda asked, pulling the girl’s hood up and tightening the broach holding her cloak.

“My feet are cold,” she said. The child’s voice was little more than a whisper as she stared down at the snow.

“So are mine,” Miranda replied in the brightest tone she could muster.

“Ah, well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” the old professor said while climbing the slope to join them. He puffed large clouds and shifted the satchel over his shoulder, his beard and eyebrows thick with snow and ice.

“And how are
you
doing?” Miranda asked.

“Oh, I’m fine, fine. An old man needs a bit of exercise now and again, but we need to keep moving.”

“Where are we going?” Mercy asked.

“Aquesta,” Arcadius replied. “You know what Aquesta is, don’t you, dear? That’s where the empress rules from a big palace. You’d like to meet her, wouldn’t you?”

“Will she be able to stop them?”

Miranda noticed the little girl’s gaze had shifted over the old man’s shoulder to the burning university. Miranda looked as well, watching the brilliant glow rising above the treetops. They were many miles away now, and yet the light still filled the horizon. Dark shadows flew above the fire’s light. They swooped and circled over the burning university, and from their mouths spewed torrents of flame.

“We can hope, my dear. We can hope,” Arcadius said. “Now let’s keep moving. I know you’re tired. I know you’re cold. So am I, but we have to go as fast as we can. We have to get farther away.”

Mercy nodded or shivered. It was difficult to discern which.

Miranda dusted the snow from the child’s back and legs in an attempt to keep her from getting wetter than she already was. This drew a cautious glare from Mr. Rings.

“Do you think the other animals got away?” Mercy asked.

“I’m certain they did,” Arcadius assured her. “They are smart, aren’t they? Maybe not as smart as Mr. Rings here—after all, he managed to get a ride.”

Mercy nodded again and added in a hopeful voice, “I’m sure Teacup got away. She can fly.”

Miranda checked the girl’s pack and then her own to ensure they were still closed and cinched tight. She looked down the dark road before them.

“This will take us through Colnora and right into Aquesta,” the old wizard explained.

“How long will it take to get there?” Mercy asked.

“Several days—a week, perhaps. Longer if the weather stays bad.”

Miranda saw the disappointment in Mercy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, once we are farther away, we will stop, rest, and eat. I’ll make something hot and then we’ll sleep for a bit. But for
now, we have to keep going. Now that we are on the road, it will be easier.”

Miranda took the little girl’s hand and they set off again. She was pleased to discover that what she had told the child turned out to be true. Trenches left by wagons made for easy going, even more so due to the downhill slope. They kept a brisk pace, and soon the forest rose to blot out the fiery glow behind them. The world became dark and quiet, with only the sound of the cold wind to keep them company.

Miranda glanced at the old professor as he trudged along, holding his cloak tight to his neck. The skin of his face was red and blotchy, and he labored to breathe. “Are you sure you are all right?”

Arcadius did not respond at first. He drew near, forced a smile, and whispered softly in Miranda’s ear, “I fear you may need to finish this journey without me.”

“What?” Miranda said too loudly, and glanced down at the little girl. Mercy did not look up. “We’ll stop soon. We’ll rest and take our time tomorrow. We’ve gone a good distance today. Here, let me take your satchel.” She reached out.

“No. I’ll hang on to it. It’s very fragile, as you know—and dangerous. If anyone dies carrying it, I want it to be me. As for resting, I don’t think it will make a difference. I’m not strong enough for this sort of travel. We both know that.”

“You can’t give up.”

“I’m not. I’m handing off the charge to you. You’ll manage.”

“But I don’t know what to do. You’ve never told me the plan.”

Arcadius chuckled. “That’s because it changes frequently. I had hoped the regents would have accepted Mercy as Modina’s heir, but they refused.”

“So now what?”

“Modina is on the throne now, so we have a second chance.
The best you can do is get to Aquesta and seek an audience with her.”

“But I don’t know how—”

“You’ll figure it out. Introduce Mercy to the empress. That will be a start in the right direction. Soon you will be the only one who knows the truth. I hate placing this burden on you, but I have no choice.”

Miranda shook her head. “No, it was my mother who placed the burden on me. Not you.”

“A deathbed confession is a weighty thing.” The old man nodded. “But doing so allowed her to die in peace.”

“Do you think so? Or is her spirit still lingering? Sometimes I feel as if she is watching—haunting me. I’m paying the price for her weakness, her cowardice.”

“Your mother was young, poor, and ignorant. She witnessed the death of dozens of men, the butchery of a mother and child, and narrowly escaped. She lived in constant fear that someday, someone would discover there were twins and she rescued one of them.”

“But,” Miranda said bitterly, “what she did was wrong and unconscionable. And the worst part is she couldn’t let the sin die with her. She had to tell me. Make it my responsibility to correct her mistakes. She should—”

Mercy came to an abrupt halt, tugging on Miranda’s arm.

“Honey, we need to…” She stopped upon seeing the girl’s face. The faint light of an early dawn revealed fear as Mercy stared ahead to where the road dipped toward a large stone bridge.

“There’s a light up ahead,” Arcadius said.

“Is it…?” Miranda asked.

The old teacher shook his head. “It’s a campfire—several, it looks like. More refugees, I suspect. We can join with them and the going will be easier. If I’m not mistaken, they are
camped on the far bank of the Galewyr. I had no idea we’d come so far. No wonder I’m puffing.”

“There now,” Miranda said to the girl as they once more started forward. “See? Our troubles are already over. Maybe they will even have a wagon that an old man can ride in.”

Arcadius gave her a smirk but allowed himself a smile. “Things may be looking up at that.”

“We’ll be—”

The girl squeezed Miranda’s hand and stopped once more. Up the road, figures on horseback trotted toward them. The animals snorted white fog as their hooves drove through the iced tracks. The riders sat enveloped in dark cloaks. With hoods drawn up and scarves wrapped, it was difficult to determine much, but one thing was certain—they were just men. Miranda counted three. They came from the south but not from the direction of the campfires. These were not refugees.

“Who do you think?” Miranda asked. “Highwaymen?”

The professor shook his head.

“What do we do?”

“Hopefully nothing. With luck they are just good men coming to our aid. If not…” He patted his satchel grimly. “Get to those campfires and ask for shelter and protection. Then see to it that Mercy reaches Aquesta. Avoid the regents and try to tell the empress Mercy’s story. Tell her the truth.”

“But what if—”

The horses approached and slowed.

“What do we have here?” one rider asked.

Miranda could not tell who spoke, but guessed it was the foremost. He studied them while they stood still, listening to the deep throaty pant of the horses.

“Isn’t this convenient?” he said, and dismounted. “Of all the people in the world—I was just coming to see you, old man.”

The leader was tall and held his side gingerly, moving stiffly. His piercing eyes glared out from under his hood, his nose and mouth shrouded by a crimson scarf.

“Out for an early stroll in a snowstorm?” he asked, closing the distance between them.

“Hardly,” Arcadius replied. “We’re in flight.”

“I’m sure you are. Clearly if I had waited even a day, I would have missed you, and you might have slipped away. Coming to the palace was a foolish mistake. You exposed too much. And for what? You should have known better. But age must bring with it a degree of desperation.” He looked at Mercy. “Is this the girl?”

“Guy,” Arcadius said, “Sheridan is burning. The elves have crossed the Nidwalden. The elves have attacked!”

Guy!
Miranda knew him, or at least his reputation. Arcadius had taught her the names of all the church sentinels. From the professor’s viewpoint, Luis Guy was the most dangerous. All sentinels were obsessed, all chosen for their rabid orthodoxy, but Guy had a legacy. His mother’s maiden name was Evone. She had been a pious girl who had married Lord Jarred Seret, a direct descendant of the original Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Venlin to find the heir of the Old Empire. In the realm of heir hunters, Luis Guy was a fanatic among fanatics.

“Don’t play me for a fool. This is the girl-child you spoke to Saldur and Ethelred about, isn’t it? The one you wanted to groom as the next empress. Why would you do that, old man? Why pick
this
girl? Is this another ruse? Or were you actually trying to slip her past us? To atone for your mistake.” Guy crouched down to get a better look at Mercy’s face. “Come here, child.”

“No!” Miranda snapped, pulling Mercy close.

Guy stood up slowly. “Let go of the child,” he ordered.

“No.”

“Sentinel Guy!” Arcadius shouted. “She’s just a peasant girl. An orphan I took in.”

“Is she?” He drew his sword.

“Be reasonable. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I think I do. Everyone was so focused on Esrahaddon that you went by unnoticed. Who could have imagined that you would point the way to the heir not just once, but twice?”

“The heir? The Heir of Novron? Are you insane? Is that why you think I spoke to the regents?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. “I came because I suspected they hadn’t thought about the question of succession, and I wanted to help educate the next imperial leader.”