"The Crown conspiracy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sullivan Michael J.)

Chapter 5: Esrahaddon

They entered into total darkness. The air was dry, still, and stale. The only sound came from the rainwater dripping from their clothes. Hadrian took a few blind steps forward to make sure he was completely through the barrier before releasing Myron's hand. "See anything, Royce?" he asked in a whisper so quiet it could scarcely be heard.

"No, not a thing. Everyone stay still until Myron gets the lantern lit."

Hadrian could hear Myron fiddling in the dark. He tilted his head, searching in vain for anything to focus on. There was nothing. He could have had his eyes closed. Myron scraped the tiny metal lever on his tinder pad, and a burst of sparks emitted from the monk's lap. In the flare, Hadrian saw faces glaring from the darkness. They appeared briefly and vanished with the dying brilliance.

No one moved or spoke as Myron scrapped the pad again. This time the tinder caught fire, and the monk lit the wick of the lantern. The light revealed a narrow hallway, only five feet wide, and a ceiling which was so high it was lost in darkness. Lining both walls were carvings of faces, as if people standing on the other side of a gray curtain were pressing forward to peer at them. Seemingly caught in a moment of anguish frozen forever in stone, their terrible ghastly visages stared back at them with gaping mouths and wild eyes.

"Pass up the light," Royce ordered softly.

As the lantern moved from Myron to Royce, its light shone on more faces. To Hadrian, it seemed as if they screamed at the intruders, but the corridor remained still and silent. Some of the figures had eyes wide with fear, while others were shut tight, perhaps to avoid seeing something too frightening to look at.

"Someone certainly had a morbid taste in decorating," Royce said, taking the lantern.

"I'm just thankful they're only carvings. Imagine if we could hear them," Alric said.

"What makes you think they're carvings?" Hadrian asked, reaching out to gingerly touch the nose of a woman with glaring eyes. He half expected warm skin and was grateful when his fingers met cold stone. "Maybe they let go of their gemstones too soon."

Royce held the lantern up high. "The passage keeps going."

"More faces?" Alric asked.

"More faces," the thief confirmed.

"At least we're out of the rain," Hadrian said, trying to sound cheerful. "We could still be back…" When he turned around, he was shocked. The corridor extended behind them seemingly without end. "Where's the wall we just came through?" He took a step and reached out. "It's not an illusion. The hallway keeps going." Turning back, Hadrian saw Royce pressing on the sides of the corridor, unlike the wall outside, his hand did not penetrate the surface.

"Well, this is going to make matters difficult," the thief muttered.

"There must be another way out, right??er way o?? Alric asked, his voice a bit shaky.

The thief looked back, then forward, and sighed. "We might as well travel in the direction we entered. Here, Alric, take your ring back, although I'm not sure what good it will do you in here."

Royce led them down the corridor. He checked and tested anything that appeared suspicious. The passage went on for what seemed like eternity. Despite the hallway appearing perfectly straight and level, Hadrian began to wonder if the dwarves had built in an imperceptible curve that made the hallway loop back onto itself to form a circle. He also worried about the amount of oil left in Myron's lantern. It would not be long before they were cast back into utter darkness.

The lack of variation in their surroundings made it impossible to judge exactly how long they had been walking. After awhile something luminescent appeared in the distance. A tiny light bobbed and weaved. As the light drew closer, the echo of sharp, deliberate footsteps accompanied it. At last, Hadrian could discern the figure carrying a lamp. He was tall, trim, and wore a long-hooded hauberk. Over this was a scarlet and gold tabard that shimmered in the lamplight. The tabard was marked with a regal coat of arms depicting a celestial crown and a jeweled scepter above a shield divided into quarters and supported on either side by combatant lions. At his side was an ornate sword, and on his head, a pointed silver helm exquisitely etched with gold ivy trim. Below the helm was a pair of dark eyes, and an even darker look.

"Why are you here?" His tone was reproachful and threatening.

There was a pause before Royce replied. "We are here to see the prisoner."

"That is not allowed," he responded firmly.

"Then Esrahaddon is still alive?" asked Alric.

"Do not speak that name!" thundered the sentry. He cast a tense look over his shoulder into the darkness. "Not here, not ever here. You should not have come."

"That may be, but we are here and we need to see Esra-the prisoner," Royce replied.

"That will not be possible."

"Make it possible," Alric ordered. His voice was loud and commanding. He stepped out from behind the others. "I am King Alric of Melengar, lord of this land wherein you stand. You will not tell me what is and what is not possible within the boundaries of my own kingdom."

The sentry took a step back and eyed Alric critically. "You lack a crown, king."

Alric drew his sword. Despite its size, he handled it smoothly and extended the point at the sentry. "What I lack in a crown, I more than make up for in a sword."

"A sword will not avail you. None who dwell here fear death any longer." Hadrian could not tell whether it was the weight of the sentry's words or the weight of the sword, but Alric lowered his blade. "Do you have proof of your rank?"

Alric extended a clenched hand. "This is the seal of Melengar, symbol of the House of Essendon and emblem of this realm."

The sentry stared at the ring and nodded. "If you are the reigning sovereign of the realm, you do have the right to enter. But know this, there is magic at work here. You will do well to follow me closely." He turned and led them back the way he had come.

"Do you recognize the emblem on the guard?" Hadrian whispered to Myron as they followed him.

"Yes, that is the coat of arms of the Novronian Empire, worn by the Percepliquis Imperial City Guard. It is very old."

Their guide led them out of the corridor filled with faces, and Hadrian was grateful to be free of it. The hallway opened into a massive cavern with a vaulted ceiling carved from and supported by pillars of natural stone. Torches lining the walls revealed a magnificent expanse. It appeared large enough to hold all of Medford. They traversed it by crossing narrow bridges that spanned chasms and traveling through open arches that rose like great trees whose branches supported the mountain above.

There was no visible sign of wood, fabric, or leather. Everything-chairs, benches, desks, tables, shelves, and doors-was made of stone. Huge fountains hewn from rock gurgled with water from unseen springs. The walls and floors lacked the adornment of tapestries and carpets. Instead, carved into virtually every inch of the stone were intricate markings-strange symbols of elaborate twisted designs. Some of them were chiseled with a rough hand, while others were smoothly sculpted. At times, from the corner of his eye, Hadrian thought he saw the carved markings change as he passed them. Looking closely, he discovered it was not an illusion. The shifts were subtle, like cobwebs moving in the wake of their passing.

They moved deeper, and their escort did not pause or waver. He walked at a brisk pace, which at times caused Myron, who had the shortest legs, to trot in order to keep up. Their footfalls bounced off the hard walls throughout the stone chamber. The only other sounds Hadrian heard were voices, distant whispers of hidden conversations, but they were too faint for him to make out the words. Whether the sounds were from inhabitants around an unseen corner, or the result of some trick of the stone, it was impossible to tell.

Farther in, sentinels began to appear, standing guard along their path. Most were dressed identical to their guide, but others found deeper in the prison wore black armor with a simple white emblem of a broken crown. Sinister-looking helms hid their faces as they stood at perfect attention. None of them moved or said a word.

Once more Hadrian asked Myron about the emblem these men wore.

"The crest is used by the ancient order of the Seret Knights," the monk explained quietly. "They were first formed eight hundred years ago by Lord Darius Seret, who was charged by Patriarch Venlin with the task of finding the lost Heir of Novron. The broken crown is symbolic of the shattered Empire which they seek to restore."

Finally they reached what Hadrian assumed was their final destination. They entered an oval chamber with an incredibly tall door dominating the far wall. Carved of stone, it stood wreathed in a glittering array of fine spider web-like designs, which appeared organic in nature. Like the veins of a leaf or the delicate, curling tendrils of sprawling roots, the doorframe spread out until its artistry was lost in the shadows. On either side of the door stood dramatic obelisks covered with runes cut deep in beveled stone. Between these and the door, blue flames burned in braziers mounted on high pedestals.

A man sat on a raised chair behind a six-feet-tall stone desk that was exquisitely sculpted with intricate patterns of swirling lines. On two sides of the worktable, barrel-thick candles twice the height of a man burned. So many melted wax tears streaked down their sides that Hadrian thought they might once have been as tall as the great door.

"Visitors," their guide announced to the clerk who, until then, had been busy writing in a massive book with a black feathered quill. The man looked up from his work. His gray beard hung all the way to the floor. Deeply lined with wrinkles, his face looked like the bark of an ancient tree.

"What are your names?" the clerk asked.

"I am Alric Brendon Essendon, son of Amrath Essendon, King of Melengar, Lord of the Realm, and I demand an audience with the prisoner."

"The others?" the clerk motioned toward the rest.

"They are my servants, the Royal Protectors and my chaplain."

The clerk rose from his seat and leaned forward to examine each party member in more detail. He looked into each of their eyes for a moment before he resumed his seat. He dipped his feather quill and turned to a new page. After a few moments of writing, he asked, "Why do you wish to see the prisoner?" With his quill poised, he waited for a reply.

"My business is not your concern," Alric answered in a kingly voice.

"That may be, however, this prisoner is my concern, and if you have dealings with him, it is my business. I will know your purpose, or I will not grant you entry, king or not."

Alric stared at the clerk for sometime before relenting. "I wish to ask him questions concerning the death of my father."

The clerk considered this a moment, then scratched his quill on the page of the great book. When he finished, he looked up. "Very well. You may enter the cell, but you must obey our rules. They are for your own safety. The man to whom you wish to speak is no ordinary man. He is a thing, an ancient evil, a demon that we have successfully trapped here. Above all else, we are dedicated to keeping him confined. As you might imagine, he very much desires to escape. He is cunning and perpetually tests us. Constantly he is looking for a weakness, a break in a line, or a crack in the stone.

"First, proceed directly down the path to his confinement; do not tarry. Second, stay in the gallery; do not attempt to descend to his cage. Third, and this is the most important, do nothing he asks. No matter how insignificant it may sound. Do not be fooled by him. He is intelligent and cunning. Ask him your questions; then leave. Do not deviate from these rules. Do you understand?" Alric nodded. "Then may Novron have mercy on you."

Just then, the great doors split along the central seam and slowly started to open. The loud grinding of stone on stone echoed until at last the doors stood wide. Beyond them lay a long stone bridge that spanned an abyss. The bridge was three-feet wide, as smooth as glass, and appeared no thicker than a sheet of parchment. At the far end of the span rose a column of black rock. An island-like tower, its only visible connection to the world appeared to be the delicate bridge.

"You may leave your lantern. You will have no need for it," the clerk stated. Royce nodded but kept the lantern nevertheless.

As they stepped through the doorway, Hadrian heard a sound like singing, a faint mournful song as if a thousand voices joined in a somber dirge. The sad, oppressive music brought to mind the worst memories of his life and filled him with a misery so great it sapped his resolve. His feet felt weighted, his soul chilled. Moving forward became an effort.

Once the party crossed the threshold, the great doors began to close, shutting with a thundering boom. The chamber was well lit, although where the light source was not apparent. It was impossible to judge the height or the depth of the chasm. Both stretched into seeming emptiness.

"Are other prisons like this?" Myron asked, his voice quivering as they began to inch their way across the bridge.

"I would venture to guess this is unique," Alric replied.

"Trust me, I know prisons," Royce told them. "This is unique."

The party fell into silence during the crossing. Hadrian was in the rear concentrating on the placement of his feet. Part way across he paused and glanced up briefly to check on the others. Myron was holding his arms out at his sides like a tightrope walker. Alric, half-crouching, reached out with his hands as if he might resort to crawling at any minute. Royce, however, strode casually forward with his head tilted up, and he frequently turned from side to side to study their surroundings.

Despite its appearance, the bridge was solid. They successfully crossed it to a small arched opening into the black tower. Once off the bridge, Royce turned to face Alric. "You were fairly free about revealing your identity back there, Your Majesty," he reproached the monarch. "I don't recall discussing a plan where you walk in and blurt out, 'Hey, I'm the new king, come kill me.'"

"You don't actually think there are assassins in here, do you? I know I thought this was a trap, but look at this place! Arista never could have arranged this. Or do you honestly think others will be able to slip in the same cliff door we entered through?"

"What I think is that there is no reason to take unnecessary chances."

"Unnecessary chances? Are you serious? You don't consider crossing a slick, narrow bridge over a gorge, which is who knows how high, not a risk? Assassins are the least of our worries."

"Are you always this much trouble to your security?"

Alric's only response was a look of disdain. The archway led to a narrow tunneled corridor, which eventually opened into a large round room. Arranged like an amphitheater, the gallery contained descending stairs and stone benches set in rings, each lower than the one before it, which focused all attention to the recessed center of the room. At the bottom of the steps was a balcony, and twenty feet below it lay a circular stage. Once they descended the stairs, Hadrian could see the stage was bare except for a single chair and the man who sat upon it.

An intense beam of white light illuminated the seated figure from high above. He did not appear terribly old, with only the start of gray entering into his otherwise dark, shoulder-length hair. Dark, brooding eyes gazed out from beneath a prominent forehead. No facial hair marred his high cheekbones, which surprised Hadrian because the few wizards and magicians he knew about all wore long beards as a mark of their profession. He wore a magnificent robe the color of which Hadrian could not quite determine. The garment shimmered somewhere between dark blue and smoky gray, but where it was folded or creased, it looked to be emerald green or at times even turquoise. The man sat with the robe gathered around him, his hands, lost in its folds, placed on his lap. He sat still as a statue, giving no indication he was aware of their presence.

"What now?" Alric whispered.

"You talk to him," Royce replied.

The prince looked around thoughtfully. "That man down there can't really be a thousand years old, can he?"

"I don't know. In here, anything seems possible," Hadrian said.

Myron looked around the room and up toward the unseen ceiling, a pained expression on his face. "That singing…it reminds me of the abbey, of the fire, as if I can hear them again…screaming." Hadrian gently put a hand on Myron's shoulder.

"Ignore it," Royce told the monk and then turned to glare at Alric. "You have to talk to him. We can't leave until you do. Now go ahead and ask him what you came here to find out."

"What do I say? I mean, if he is, you know, really a wizard of the Old Empire, if he actually served the last Emperor, how do I approach him?"

"Try asking what he's been up to," Hadrian suggested, which was met by a smirk from Alric. "No, seriously look down there. It's just him and a chair. He has no books, no cards, nothing. I nearly went crazy with boredom cooped up in The Rose and Thorn last winter during a heavy snowfall. How do you suppose he's spent a thousand years just sitting in that chair?"

"And how do you not go insane, listening to that sound all that time," Myron added.

"Okay, I've got something." Alric turned to address the wizard. "Excuse me, sir." The man in the chair slowly raised his head and blinked in response to the bright light from above. He looked weary, his eyes tired. "Sorry to disturb you. I am Alric Ess-"

"I know well who thou art," Esrahaddon interrupted. His tone was relaxed and calm, his voice gentle and soothing. "I have expected thou ere long." He raised an arm to shelter his eyes and peered at them. "Where doth thy sinlister be?"

"My what?"

"Thy sinlister, Arista art her name."

"Oh, my sister."

"Sis-ter," the wizard repeated carefully and sighed, shaking his head.

"She is not here."

"Why did she not come?"

Alric looked first to Royce and then to Hadrian.

"She asked us to come in her place," Royce responded.

Looking at the thief, the wizard asked, "And thou art?"

"Me? I'm nobody," Royce replied.

Esrahaddon narrowed his eyes at the thief and raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

"My sister instructed me to come here and speak with you," Alric said, drawing the wizard's attention back to him. "Do you know why?"

"Because I told her to."

"Neat trick since you're locked in here," Hadrian observed.

"Neat?" Esrahaddon questioned. "Dost thou mean to say, 'twas a clean thing? Or a well-done effort?" The four men responded with looks of confusion. "No matter, Arista hath been in the habit of visiting me for the last year. At least I think it hath been a year. 'Tis quite difficult to tell the time in this gaol. She fancies herself a student of The Art, only there art no schools for wizards left. She learned all she could and then sought me. She wished to be mine apprentice and I her grinder. I was bored, as thee can imagine. So I obliged her. She entertained me with news of the outside world and teacheth me to speak the new language style. I taught her some neat tricks." His attention turned to Hadrian as he accentuated the last words.

"Tricks?" Alric asked concerned. "What kind of tricks?"

"Do not worry, dear boy, 'tis nothing of consequence. I believe thy father 'twas ill not long ago. I teacheth her to make a henth bylin." They all looked at him puzzled. Esrahaddon's gaze left them. He appeared to search for something. "Arista called it a…a…" His face strained with concentration. "Alas, I cannot remember."

"A healing potion?" Myron asked.

The wizard eyed the monk carefully. "Yes, that is what she called the henth bylin-a healing potion."

"You taught her to make a potion to give to my father?"

"Frightening, is it not? Such a devil as I, administering potions to a king. 'Tis nothing to concern thyself. I did not poison thy father. She had the same concern. I instructed her to bring a taste of the draught, and I drank it myself to prove there was no danger. She also sampled it for her own peace of mind. Neither of us died, nor grew horns, and thy father felt better, yes?"

"That doesn't explain why Arista sent me here."

"Was thy father recently killed?"

"Yes," Alric said.

"That wouldst be why. I told her if thy father was killed, or died in a mysterious accident, to send thou here. She did not believe me. Why should she? But I suppose thy father's death changed her mind. 'Tis a shame." Esrahaddon looked deliberately at Hadrian, Royce, and then Myron. "Ye three must be the scrapegars? The ones accused of the murder? I told Arista not to trust anyone except the accused killers as they wouldst most likely be completely innocent."

"Do you know, then, who killed my father?"

"I do not have a name, if that is what thou ask. I am not a fortune-teller, nor am I clairvoyant. I merely know how things work. Thy father was killed by a man to be sure, but that man is in league with an organization. I suspect it is the same one which holds me captive."

"The Nyphron Church," Myron muttered softly, yet still the wizard heard and his eyes narrowed once more at the monk.

"Why would the Church of Nyphron wish to kill my father?"

"Sadly, 'twas nothing more than a foolish case of mistaken identity. 'Twas merely a potion exercise for Arista and a remedy for thy sick father, but the Church, well, they listen to me day and night. Overhearing mine instructions to thy sinlist-sis-ter, they must have assumed thy father wert the Heir of Novron."

"Wait a minute," Alric interrupted, "the Church doesn't want to murder the heir. Their whole existence revolves around restoring him to the throne and creating a new Imperial Era."

"'Tis what they want thee to thinketh. In truth, they wish him dead. They desire the bloodline erased. 'Tis the true reason why they seeketh the heir even after all this time. And why they have imprisoned me for all these years."

"Why?"

"Because I know it was the Church who betrayed the Emperor, who murdered him and every member of his family save one. If the heir is found, it wilt prove my innocence and their treachery."

"The way we heard the story you were the one who killed the imperial family. You are responsible for the destruction of the entire Empire," Hadrian said.

"And where didst ye learn that, the Church? Dost thou really think one man could do so much? Dost thou hast any idea just how ludicrous that sounds?"

"What makes you think they killed the Emperor?" Alric inquired.

"I do not think. I know. I was there, and 'twas I who saved the Emperor's only son from death at their hands. I helped him escape in those last desperate hours of the Empire."

"So you are telling us that you lived at the time of the Emperor. Do you expect us to believe that you are over nine hundred years old?" Royce asked.

"I do not expect anything. I am merely answering Thy Majesty's question."

"That's just an answer like this is just a prison," Royce countered.

"I still don't understand what all this has to do with my father. Why would the Church kill him?"

"'Tis because I showed an interest in him. When the Empire fell, I was not killed like so many others. They kept me alive through powerful enchantments for centuries because I alone know what happened to the Emperor's son and can find an heir if one still exists. They keep me alive in hope that I wilt lead them to him. As I said they art always listening. When I helped thy sister learn magic and I cured thy father of sickness, they must have thought I deemed it important for him to live. They must have suspected that Arista, thy father, and thou were descendents of the heir. While I thought there might be a danger, I did not think they would be so bloodthirsty in their eagerness to end the Novron line. I warned the princess if something happened to her father, something strange, unexpected, and deadly, that she and thou might be the next targets."

"And that is why you wanted me brought here? To explain all this to me, to make me understand?"

"No. That is why thy sister asked thou to come. I brought thou here for another reason entirely."

"And what is that?"

The wizard looked up at them, his expression revealing a hint of amusement. "To help me escape."

No one said anything. Myron took the moment to sit down on the stone bench behind him and whispered to Hadrian, "You were right. Life outside the abbey is much more exciting than books."

"You want us to help you to escape?" Royce asked incredulously. He held out his hands and looked around the black stone fortress. "From here?"

"'Tis necessary I am afraid."

"'Tis also impossible. I have gotten out of a number of difficult situations in my time, but nothing like this."

"And thou art aware of only a small fraction of the measures used to contain me. All thou sees art the walls, guards, and the abyss. There art also magical forces at work. Magical locks art on all the doors here, just as 'twas on the door through which ye entered the gaol. They disappear upon closing. 'Tis the same enchantment on the bridge ye came across. Go look and ye wilt find it so. 'Tis no longer there. 'Tis not invisible-'tis gone."

Royce raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Alric, I need your ring." The prince handed it to the thief, who climbed the steps and disappeared into the tunnel. He returned a few minutes later and gave the ring back to Alric. A slight shake of his head confirmed what Hadrian already suspected.

Hadrian turned his attention back to the wizard, and Esrahaddon continued. "Still, 'tis not the most serious of the barriers in use here. Perhaps ye saw the runes which line these walls? They create a powerful magical force protecting the stone from magic or physical damage. These enchantments create a magical barrier. Inside this field, no new magic can be cast, and the passing of time is suspended. It is why I have lived for so long. None of ye has aged a second since ye entered this cell. Due to the field created by the runes, what ye perceive as a singing noise, ye will not get hungry or thirsty, or at least not more than ye were when ye entered. Ye will not become sleepy. Ye wilt remain just as ye art. 'Tis really quite remarkable all the trouble they went through to contain me."

"I don't believe you," Alric challenged.

"Put a hand to thy chests. Ye wilt find the lack of a beating heart."

Myron inched his hand across his breast and let out a tiny squeak.

"And with all these obstacles, you expect us to help you escape?" Hadrian said.

"I am counting on it," the wizard replied with an impish grin.

"Although I am dying to ask how," Royce said. "I am even more compelled to ask why? If they went through this much effort to seal you here, it seems to me they might have had a good reason. You've told us what we came to hear. We're done. So why would we be foolish enough to try and help you escape?"

"Because ye hast little choice in the matter."

"We have a great many choices," Alric countered bravely. "I am king and rule here; it is you who is powerless."

"Oh, I will not be the one stopping ye. As ye understand rightly, I am helpless, a prisoner with no ability to do much of anything. They were very careful to ensure my subjugation. 'Tis the guards who will stop ye. When thee call for them, they wilt not come. They can hear ye. They hath heard every word we hath spoken. Just as they killed your father, they wilt also kill you, Your Majesty."

"But if they are listening, they also know I am not the heir," Alric said, the courage in his voice melting away.

"They cannot be sure if thou art or not. It wilt not matter to them. They wilt not take a chance. Besides, now that I told thee of their secret, they wilt never let thee leave-any of ye. Thee wilt be imprisoned here, just as I am, or they wilt kill thee outright."

Alric's concern showed on his face as he looked first to Hadrian and then to Royce. "He may be right," the thief said quietly.

Concern turned to panic, and the prince began to shout commands for their release. There was no response, no sound of the great door opening nor of approaching protectors to escort them to the exit. Everyone except the wizard looked worried. Alric wrung his hands, and Myron stood and held onto the rail of the balcony, as if letting go would allow the world to spin away from him.

"It was a trap after all," Alric said. He turned to Royce. "My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia."

"Even I didn't expect this. Perhaps there's another way out." Royce took a seat on one of the observation benches and assumed the same contemplative look he had worn when he was trying to determine how to get inside the prison.

Everyone remained silent for some time. Finally, Hadrian approached Royce and whispered, "Okay, buddy, this is where you tell me you have this wonderfully unexpected plan to get us out of here."

"Well, I do have one. But it seems almost as frightening as the alternative."

"What's that?"

"We do what the wizard says."

They looked down at the man casually seated in the chair. His robe looked a slightly different shade of blue now. Hadrian waved the others over and explained Royce's plan.

"Could this be a trick?" Alric asked quietly. "The clerk did warn us not to do anything he said."

"You mean the nice clerk who took away our bridge and refuses to let us out?" Royce replied. "I am not seeing an alternative, but if any of you have another idea, I am willing to hear it."

"I'd just like to feel my heart again," Myron said holding his palm to his chest and looking sick. "This is very disturbing. I almost feel like I'm actually dead."

"Your Majesty?"

Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. "I just want to say, for the record, as far as Royal Protectors go, you're not very good."

"It's my first day," Royce replied dryly.

"And already I am trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week."

"Listen, I don't see we have a choice here," Royce told the group. "We either do what the wizard says and hope he can get us out, or we accept an eternity of sitting here listening to this dreadful singing."

The mournful wail of the music was so wretched that Hadrian knew listening to it would eventually drive him mad. He tried to ignore it, but like Myron, it brought forth unpleasant memories of places and people. Hadrian saw the disappointment on his father's face when he left to join the military. He saw the tiger covered in blood, gasping for breath as it slowly died, and he heard the sound of hundreds chanting the name "Galenti!" He had reached his conclusion. Anything was better than staying there.

Royce stood and returned to the balcony where the wizard waited calmly below. "I assume if we help you escape, you will see to it we get out as well?"

"Of course."

"And there is no way to determine if you are telling the truth right now?"

The wizard smiled. "None whatsoever I am afraid."

Royce sighed heavily. "What do we have to do?"

"Very little. I only need the king to recite a simple bit of poetry."

"Poetry?" Alric pushed past Hadrian to join Royce at the balcony, "What poetry?"

The wizard stood up and kicked his chair to one side to reveal two stanzas of text crudely scratched into the floor.

"'Tis amazing what beauty ye can create given time," the wizard said with obvious pride. "Speak it and it wilt be so."

Hadrian silently read the lines brightly illuminated by the beam of the overhead light.

As lord of this realm and keeper of keys,