Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (70 page)

How does he do it?

Her hands stopped shaking.

An arrow whizzed through Mauvin’s window, just missing him. It streaked a thick dark smoke that stank of sulfur. It flew to the far wall and bounced off the stone, continuing to smolder and burn. Two more managed to find their way into the narrow slits while outside it sounded as if it were raining. Then a line of smoke began to leak in through the cracks of the door.

“You have to try,” Hadrian told her.

She nodded. “But I want you with me. Don’t leave me… no matter what happens.”

“I swear I will not leave you.” His voice and the look in his eyes were so sincere, so resolute.

Degan began to cough, and Mauvin and Alric climbed down from the stairs.

“Everyone gather,” she told them in a soft voice, trying to keep her eyes on Hadrian. “I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. Just try and stay as close as you can, and don’t you let go of me, Hadrian.”

T
he smoke was growing thick and it was becoming hard to breathe as Arista remained standing still, muttering, her eyes closed, her hands twitching.

“Is she going to do something?” Gaunt asked, and followed this with a series of coughs.

“Give her a second,” Hadrian told him.

As if in response, a light breeze moved within the room. Where it came from Hadrian could not tell, but it moved around the chamber, swirling and stealing away the smoke. The wind grew stronger and soon it ruffled the edges of their cloaks, slapping their hoods and spinning the dust into little whirlwinds that twirled, dancing about. All at once, the flames in the lanterns went out and the wind stopped. Everything was deathly still for a heartbeat.

Then the front wall of the guildhall exploded.

Arista’s robe flared brilliantly as from beyond the missing wall, Hadrian heard the cries of goblins, like a million squealing rats. The square cast in darkness for a thousand years lay revealed, illuminated as if the sun had returned to the Grand Mar. They could finally see the beauty that once had been, the city of Novron, the city of Percepliquis, the city of light.

“Gather your things,” Arista shouted, opening her eyes, but Hadrian could tell she was not fully with them. She was breathing deep and slow, her eyes never focusing, as if blind to what was around her. She was not seeing with her eyes anymore.

Mauvin and Alric hoisted Gaunt between them. He grunted but said nothing as he hopped on his good leg.

“Come,” she told them, and began to walk toward the collapsed pile that had once been a palace.

“You’re doing great,” Hadrian told her. She showed no sign of hearing him.

The goblins stayed back. Whether they retreated from the explosion of stone, the harsh light, or some invisible sorcery that Arista was manifesting, all Hadrian could tell was that they refused to approach.

The party walked as a group clustered around Arista.

“This is crazy,” Gaunt said, his voice quavering. “They’ll kill us.”

“Don’t leave the group,” Hadrian told them.

“They’re fitting arrows,” Mauvin announced.

“Stay together.”

Struggling to shield their eyes as they bent their bows, the Ghazel launched a barrage. All of the party flinched except Arista. A hundred dark shafts flew into the air, burst into flame, and vanished into streaks of smoke. More howls arose from the Ghazels’ ranks, but no more arrows flew, and now more than ever, the goblins showed no willingness to advance.

“Find the opening!” she shouted, sounding out of breath, her tone impatient, like someone holding up heavy furniture.

“Magnus, try and find the hollow corridor,” Hadrian barked.

“To the left, up there, a gap. No over farther—there!”

Royce was on it, throwing rocks back. “He’s right—there’s an opening here.”

“Of course I’m right!” Magnus shouted.

“Something…” Arista said dreamily.

“What was that, Arista?” Hadrian asked. She mumbled and he did not catch the last few words. He kept his hands on her shoulders, squeezing slightly, although he was not certain if by doing so he was reassuring her or himself.

“Something… I feel something—something fighting me.”

Hadrian looked up and stared out over the Grand Mar at the colony of goblins, a writhing mass of insidiously twisted bodies, with dripping teeth and brilliant claws clacking along the length of spears and swords. He spotted what he looked for beyond them, moving in a ring around the Ulurium Fountain. The small, slim figure of the oberdaza, dressed in a skirt and headdress of feathers, shaking a tulan staff and dancing his methodic steps. He spotted two more joining the first.

“We need to get in now!” Hadrian shouted.

Royce threw Myron and a lantern inside the dark hole and then shoved Magnus after him before following them inside. Gaunt, Mauvin, and Alric followed.

“We need to go,” Hadrian told Arista.

Across the span of the square, he could hear chanting as two more witch doctors joined in the dance.

“Something,” Arista muttered again. “Something taking shape, something growing.”

“That’s why we need to get moving.”

A light appeared in the center of the square. No more than a candle flame, it wavered, hovering in midair; then it began to grow. The light swirled, flared, popped, and grew to the size of an apple. The host of the Ghazel army joined in the chant of the three oberdaza as the hovering ball of fire continued to grow and take shape. Hadrian began to see what looked like limbs and a head emerging from the withering fire.

“Okay, we
really
have to go,” Hadrian said, and grabbed
hold of the princess. The moment he did, she staggered back, looking shocked and frightened. The glow of her robe went out.

“What’s happening?” Arista asked.

He did not answer but merely grabbed her tightly by the wrist and drew her up the rubble to the opening, where he shoved her headfirst into the hole. Behind him he heard the thrum of a hundred arrows taking to the air and dove into the hole after her.

“Go! Crawl!” he shouted to Arista as he did his best to shove rocks up against the opening. She obeyed and somewhere in the darkness he heard her scream.

“Arista!” He turned and scrambled forward, only to fall.

Dropping ten feet, he landed next to her, and the two found themselves lying in a corridor illuminated by a lantern in Myron’s hand.

“You two all right?” Royce asked. “That drop is a bit of a surprise.”

“I’m sorry,” Arista was saying, rubbing her back. “I couldn’t hold them. There was something fighting me, something I’ve never felt before, another power.”

“It’s okay,” Hadrian told her. “You did great. We’re in.”

“We are?” the princess asked, looking around, surprised.

“What about getting back out?” Gaunt asked.

“I’d be more concerned about them following us right now,” Hadrian told him. “The narrow passage will slow their progress, but they’ll be coming.”

“Talk as you walk,” Royce said. “Or run if you’re up to it. Give me the lantern, Myron. I don’t want to fall into any more holes.”

“Maybe we should stay behind and kill them as they come down,” Mauvin said to Hadrian.

“You’ll run out of strength before they run out of goblins,”
Hadrian told him. “And then there’s that—that thing the oberdaza were making.”

“
Thing?
” Arista asked.

They jogged down the corridor with Royce out front holding the lantern high. To either side were white marble walls, and beneath them, a dark polished floor of beautiful mosaic design.

“I don’t suppose you saw a map of this place,” Royce said to Myron.

“Actually, yes, but it was very old, and parts were missing.”

“Better than nothing. Any idea where we are?”

“Not yet.”

At first Hadrian thought they stumbled into a room—a great hall, by the size of it—but soon it became clear that it was a corridor, but far larger than any Hadrian had ever before seen. Suits of armor, each similar to the one he had found in Jerish’s room, stood on either side. The walls were sculptured relief images of men, scenes of battles, scenes of remembrance; they flashed, frame by frame, as the party raced past.

Hadrian saw a long succession of men being crowned, with the cityscape in the background; in each one the city was smaller, the crowning ceremony less lavish. Two things caught his notice as they ran. The first was that in every instance, the head of the man being crowned was scratched out, deliberately chipped away. The second was that in each depiction, although the crowd always appeared different, Hadrian could swear the artist used the same model for one figure—a tall, slender man—who appeared in the forefront in each scene. And while in the dim fluttering lantern light it was difficult to tell, Hadrian was certain he had seen the man before.

They came to a four-way intersection. To the left was an
incredible door, five stories tall, made completely of gold and inlaid with stunning geometric designs of such artistry each of them expelled a sound of awe.

“The imperial throne room,” Myron said. “In there once sat the ruler of the world.”

“You know where we are, then?” Royce asked.

Myron nodded, looking at the walls. “Yes… I think so.”

“Which way to the crypts?”

The monk hesitated, closing his eyes for a second. “This way.” He pointed forward. “Down two doors, then we take a stair down on the left.”

They quickly reached the stair and Royce led them down. Gaunt grunted, limping along with one arm around Myron’s shoulders, his fist holding on to the monk’s rope belt.

“Oberdaza?” Arista said to Hadrian as they chased the end of the line. “You mentioned them before, when we were in Hintindar, didn’t you? You said they were witch doctors who used Ghazel magic.”

“Scary little buggers.”

“What was that
thing
they were making?”

“No idea, but it was on fire and growing.”

“I could sense something, something disrupting the rhythm, breaking my pattern, my connection. I’ve never encountered anything like that before. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I think you did great,” he told her. “You controlled it real well too—didn’t even get close to losing you this time.”

In the dim light he managed to catch a little smile on her face. “I did control it better, didn’t I? You helped. I could sense you near me, this warm light I could cling to, an anchor to keep me grounded.”

“You were probably just afraid I’d hit you again.” Behind them, down the corridor, echoed a tremendous
boom!
The ground shook under them and dust blew off the walls. “Uh-oh.”

They reached another stair.

“We keep going down, right?” he heard Royce ask. “This tomb-thing is at the bottom?”

“Yes,” Myron replied. “The imperial crypt is on the lowest level. The palace was actually built over the tomb of Novron as a shrine to glorify his memory. It became a ruling palace long after.”

They came to still another stair and raced down it, Magnus grunting with each drop. At the bottom lay corridors smaller and narrower, with shorter ceilings. They moved single file now, Gaunt struggling, hopping. A three-way intersection stopped them. Three statues of long-bearded men holding shields stood before them, staring back.

“Well?” Royce asked the monk.

“This is where the map was torn,” he replied apologetically. “The rest is just white space.”

“Great,” Royce said.

“But we should be close. There wasn’t much room left, so it has to be—Look!” The monk pointed at the wall on the right corridor, where an
EH
was scratched.

“Let’s hope the Ghazel can’t read,” Royce said, pushing on.

“They don’t need to; they can smell,” Hadrian explained.

They ran as best they could, chasing the bobbing lantern. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit grew as the Ghazel gained on them. They passed doors on either side of the corridor, which Royce ignored as he rushed forward. Some were partially open. Hadrian tried to look inside, yet the interior of each was too dark to see anything.

Drums echoed, and the blast of a horn rang down the stone corridors. Gaunt was bleeding again. Hadrian could see dark drops on the floor behind them. If the Ghazel had had any trouble tracking them before, they would have none now.

Again they stopped, this time at a T-intersection at the
center of which stood a large stone door beside a stone table. They all saw letters above it, carved deep into the arch.

“Myron, translate,” Royce ordered.

“This is it,” he said excitedly. “ ‘
Tread lightly, with fear and reverence, all ye who enter these halls, for this is the eternal resting place of the emperors of Elan, rulers of the world.
’ ”

Before Myron finished reading, Hadrian heard the chilling sound of claws on stone. “They’re coming!”

Royce pulled on the door and struggled with it. Hadrian and Mauvin pushed forward. Together they grabbed hold of the edge and pulled to the sound of heavy stone grinding.