The Palace of the Four Winds Thranic was furious. Wesley refused to take any action against Royce, and the sentinel railed that under imperial law all elves were subject to arrest. Wesley had little choice but to acknowledge this, but added that given their circumstances, he had neither a prison nor chains. He also pointed out that they were not within the bounds of the New Empire, and until they were he was the sole judge of the law.
"It is my duty to see this mission to completion," Wesley told the sentinel. "A bound man will only be a hindrance to this effort, particularly when he is injured and exhibits no desire to flee."
Royce watched all this with an expression of mild amusement. Thranic went on relentlessly, until finally Wesley gave in and approached Royce. "Will you give me your word you will not attempt to escape me or Sentinel Thranic before this mission is over?"
"On my word, sir," Royce replied. "There is nothing that could make me willingly leave Sentinel Thranic's side."
"There you have it," Wesley concluded, satisfied.
"He is an elf! What good is the word of an elf?" As Thranic straightened and rose above Wesley the look on his face caused the young captain to take a step back. "As Sentinel of Erivan Affairs, appointed by the Patriarch, it is my duty to purge the empire of their foul influence. I demand you place the elf under my authority at once!"
Wesley hesitated. The challenge of a sentinel broke the nerve of many kings, and Thranic was more intimidating than any Hadrian had encountered. His hunched vulture demeanor and piercing glare were more than daunting.
Hadrian was tense. He knew the sentinel was already dead, but would prefer his partner to pick his own time and place. If Wesley agreed to surrender Royce, there would be a battle here and now that would see one of them dead. Hadrian let his fingers slip slowly to the pommels of his swords, and he marked the position of Defoe in anticipation.
Wesley locked his jaw and returned Thranic's glare. "He may be an elf, sir, but he is also one of my crew."
"Your crew? You no longer have a ship. You're nothing but a boy playing pretend captain!" the sentinel bellowed angrily.
Wesley stiffened. wit what were you playing at in the hold of the ship, sir? Was that what you call administering your authority?"
This took Thranic by surprise.
"Oh, yes, the officers knew of your nightly visits to the cargo. It's a small ship, sir, and the officers' bunks are just above. We heard you every night, torturing them and I fear a good deal more than that. I am no great fan of elves but, by Maribor, there are limits to the abuses conscience permits! No, sir, I don't think I will be turning Seaman Melborn over to your authority anytime soon. Even should I trust you to treat him honorably, I need all the hands I can get and, as we both know, you are not an honorable man."
"It is a pity to see such a young, promising lad throw his life away." Thranic fumed. " I'll see that you are executed for this."
"To do so, we must return to Avryn. Let's hope we both live to see that day."
At dawn the crew of the Emerald Storm left the village and once more plunged into the jungle, traveling northeast of the Oudorro valley, by a narrow, barely visible path. The rain left the ground swamped, but it had stopped at last. On the third day, cliffs and chasms barred their path. They followed ridgelines where a stumble could send a man falling hundreds of feet, walked perilous rope bridges that spanned raging rivers, and followed rocky clefts down into dark valleys. In the lower ravines it was dark, even at midday. Trees created phantom images. Rocks looked like crouching animals, and stunted, gnarled bushes appeared like monsters in the mist.
Royce's health steadily improved, though his disposition remained unchanged. He was able to walk on his own most of the day and thanks to Fan Irlanu's balm, his wounds no longer required a bandage.
On the fourth day out of Oudorro they found the bodies. Corpses laid on the path, dressed in clothes similar to those of Dilladrum and the Vintu. Flies hovered and the stench of decay lingered in the air. They had been dead for some time and many were missing limbs or showed evidence of bites.
"Animals?" Wesley asked.
"Maybe." Dilladrum looked off toward the east. "But perhaps the Panther is not able to contain his beasts, just as Burandu told us."
"You're saying the Ghazel did this?"
Dilladrum paused to study the jungle around them. "Impossible to say, and yet these bodies are weeks old and it is not like the jungle to let them rot. Animals don't like the smell of Ghazel and will avoid an area with their smell, even if it means passing up a free meal.
"This man is Hingara." Dilladrum pointed to the body of a swarthy little man in a red cap. "He is a guide, like me. He set out for the Palace of the Four Winds with a party like ours, weeks ago. He was a good man. He knew the jungle well, and as you can see, his group was large-as many as thirty men in all. What kind of animal do you think would attack so large a company? A pack of wolves perhaps? A pride of lions? No, they would never attack a party this large. And what animal could kill without leaving a single body of their own behind? Ghazel, on the other hand…"
"What about them?" Wesley asked.
"They are like ghosts. Hingara could not have seen them coming. Imagine beings as nimble and at ease in these jungles as monkeys, but possessing the strength and ferocity of tigers. They have the instinct of beasts but the intelligence of men. On a rainy day, they can smell a human three leagues away. This was a safe path, but I fear things have changed."
"There are only about eighteen bodies here," Wesley observed. "If he set out with thirty men, where are the rest?"
Dilladrum let his sight settle on the naval officer. "Where indeed."
Wesley grimaced as he looked at the bodies. "Are you saying they took them to eat?"
"That's what they do." Dilladrum pointed to the torn and mutilated bodies. "They ate some on the spot in the fever following the battle, but I think they carried the rest back to their den where I can only guess they feasted by barbequing the bodies on spits and drinking warmed blood from the men's skulls."
"You don't know that!" Wesley challenged, a look of disgust filling his features.
Dilladrum shook his head. "As I said, I am guessing. No one truly knows what goes on in their camps, any more than a deer knows what goes on in the dining halls of a king."
"You make it sound as if they are our betters."
"In these jungles, they are. Here they are the hunters and we the prey. I told you the trip would be harder from now on. We will burn no fire, cook no food, and pitch no tent. Our only hope of survival lies in slipping though unnoticed."
"Should we bury them?" Wesley asked.
"What the animals do not touch neither should we. It would announce our presence to the whole jungle. It is also not wise to linger. We should press on with all haste."
They traveled steadily downward now, following a rapidly flowing river through a cleft in the mountains. The lower they went the higher the canopy rose and the darker their world became. They camped along a bank where the river swirled around a break of boulders. With no fire or tent it was not much of a camp. They huddled on a bare sandy patch exposed by a shift in the river's bend eating cold salted meat. Royce sat at the edge of the camp and watched Thranic watching him.
They had played this game each night since the village. Royce was certain Defoe had filled Thranic's head with numerous stories about his reign of terror against the Diamond. Thranic appeared aloof, but Royce was certain Defoe's words wormed in nonetheless. Without Staul, and with Defoe no longer a trusted ally, Thranic was dramatically weakened. The sentinel's confrontation with Wesley revealed Thranic's growing desperation-his failure another setback. The balance was shifting, he was slipping from the hunter to the hunted, and with each day Royce grew stronger.
Royce enjoyed the game. He liked watching the shadows growing under Thranic's eyes as he got less and less sleep. He savored the way Thranic spun whenever an animal rustled branches behind him on the trail, his eyes searching rapidly for Royce. Mental torture was never something Royce aimed for, but in Thranic's case he was making an exception.
Royce's quick turn had saved his life. Although he might have bled to death if Hadrian and the others had not found him or died from fever if the Tenkin woman had not helped, the wound itself was relatively superficial. For several days he had portrayed being weaker than he was. He had pain when pressing on his side, and was still experiencing some lack of movement, but for the most part he was his old self again.
Royce might have continued the game longer, but it was becoming too dangerous. Wesley's defiance changed the playing field. The sentinel's options were diminishing. That play to force Wesley's hand was his last civil gambit. As long as Wesley remained a legitimate leader, those like Wyatt, Grady, Derning, and Poe would side with him. It would be obvious to Thranic that Wesley was a pawn blocking his forward movement, one that would need to be removed. It was time to deal with Thranic.
Royce curled up to sleep with the rest of them, but selected a place hidden by a small thicket of plants. In the darkness he lay there only briefly, before leaving his blanket filled with brush and melted into the jungle.
Thranic had chosen to bed down near the river, which Royce thought considerate since he intended to dispose of his body in the strong current. Royce slipped around the outside of the camp until he came to where Defoe and Levy slept, only Thranic was missing.
Thwack! A narrow tree trunk splinteredAt the last moment Melborn had moved. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wood, where a second before he had been crouching.
Thranic struggled desperately to crank back the string on his weapon. "Did you think to find me in my bed?" he hissed. "Did you really think killing me would be that easy-elf? "
He cranked back on the gear.
"You shouldn't fear me as much as you do. I am here to help you. It is my burden to help all of you. I will cleanse the darkness in your hearts. I will free you of the burden of your disgusting offensive life. You no longer need to be an affront to Maribor. I will save you!"
"And who will save you?" Royce replied.
He was just a few feet from where he had been. Thranic glanced down to set the bolt in the track. He lifted the bow but when he looked up Royce was gone.
"What do you mean?" Thranic asked, hoping Royce would reveal his position.
"You see awfully well in the dark, Thranic," Royce said from his right.
Thranic turned and fired, but the bolt merely ripped through an empty thicket.
"Well, but not perfectly," Royce observed, appearing once more, but much closer and Thranic immediately began ratcheting back his bow.
He had two more bolts.
"You also managed to slip into the trees without me seeing you. And you crept up behind me. That's remarkable indeed. How old are you, Thranic? I'll bet you're older than you look."
The sentinel loaded the bolt, looked up, but once more Royce was gone.
"What are you driving at, elf?" Thranic asked, crossbow at his hip. Backing against a tree, he peered around the jungle.
"We're alike you and I," Royce said from behind him.
Thranic spun around. He saw movement slipping through the brush and fired. The shot went wide and he cursed. Thranic began cranking back the string once more.
"Is that why you do it?" Royce asked. "Is that why you torture elves? Tell me, are you purging them-or yourself?"
"Shut up!" Thranic's hand slipped on the gear and the string snapped back, slashing his fingers. He was shaking now.
"You can't kill the elf inside, so you torture and murder all those you find."
He was closer.
"I said, shut up!"
"How much elven blood does it take to wash away the sin of being one yourself?"
Closer still.
"Damn you!" he screamed, fighting with the bow that refused to cooperate with his shaking fingers.
He drew the string back again only to have it jump the track and snap free. He put a foot through the loop at the bow's nose and pulled. Now it was stuck. He pressed desperately on the ratchet handle. It refused to move. Crack! The winch snapped.
In horror, Thranic stopped breathing as he looked down. He struggled to pull the bowstring back with just the strength of his arms. He pulled with all his might, but he could not get it to the catch. He was giving Melborn too much time. He let the bow fall to the grass and drew his dagger.
He waited. He listened. He spun. He looked.
He was alone.
"Get up." Hadrian woke to Royce's voice as his friend moved through the camp. He knew the tone and instantly got to his feet.
"What is it?"
"Company," Royce told him, "Wake everyone."
"What's happening?" Wesley asked groggily as the camp slowly came alive.
"Quiet," Royce whispered. He crouched with his dagger drawn, staring out into the darkness.
"Ghazel?" Grady asked.
"Something," Royce replied. "A lot of somethings."
The rest of them heard it now, twigs snapping and leaves rusting. They were all on their feet with weapons drawn.
"Backs to the river!" Wesley shouted.
Ahead of them a light appeared, then disappeared, then another blinked. Two more flickered off to the right and left, and sounds of movemen grew louder and closer. Dovin Thranic stumbled back into camp, causing a brief alarm. Several people looked at him oddly, but said nothing.
Everyone's attention remained on sounds from the trees.
Shadowy figures carried torches within the thick weave of the jungle. Slowly they climbed out of the brush and into the clearing around the riverbank. Twenty approached from all sides at once. At first they appeared to be strange monstrous beasts, until they fully entered the clearing revealing themselves as men; stocky, bull-necked brutes with white painted faces, bone armor, and headdresses of long feathers. They moved with ease through the dense brush. In their hands were crude clubs, axes, and spears. They circled in silence, creeping forward.
"We come in peace!" Hadrian heard Dilladrum shout in Tenkin, his voice sounding weak. "We have come to see Warlord Erandabon. We bear a message for him."
As they grew nearer, they began hooting and howling, shaking their weapons. Some brandished teeth, while others beat their chests or stomped naked feet.
Dilladrum repeated his statement.
One of the larger men, who carried a decorated war axe, stepped forward and approached Dilladrum. "What message?" the Tenkin asked in a harsh, shallow voice.
"It is a sealed letter," Dilladrum replied. "To be given only to the warlord."
The man eyed each of them carefully. He grinned and then nodded. "Follow."
It was clearly the best they could expect, although Dilladrum mopped his forehead with his sleeve as he explained the situation.
The Tenkin howled orders. Torches went out and the rest melted back into the jungle. The leader remained as they quickly broke camp. Then with a motion for them to follow, he ran back into the trees, his torch lighting the way. He led them at a brisk rate that had everyone panting for breath and Bulard near collapse. Dilladrum shouted forward for a rest, or at least a slower pace. The only response was laughter.
"Our new friends aren't terribly considerate of an old man." Bulard panted in between wheezing inhales.
"That's enough!" Wesley shouted, and raised a hand for them to stop. The crew of the Emerald Storm needed little persuasion to take a break. The Tenkin and his torch continued forward, disappearing into the trees. "If he wants to keep jogging on without us, let him!"
"He's not," Royce commented. "He's hiding in the trees up ahead with his torch out. There are also several on either side of us with more than a few to our rear."
Wesley looked around then said, "I don't see anything at all."
Royce smiled. "What good is it having an elf in your crew if you can't make use of him?"
Wesley raised an eyebrow, looked back out into the trees, then gave up altogether. He pulled the cork from his water bag, took a swig, and passed it around. Turning his attention to the historian, who sat in the dirt doubled over, he asked, "How you doing, Mister Bulard?"
Bulard's red face came up. He was sweating badly, his thin hair matted to his head. He said nothing, his mouth preoccupied with the effort of sucking in air, but he managed to offer a smile and a reassuring nod.
"Good," Wesley said, "let's proceed, but we will set the pace. Let's not have them exhausting us."
"Aye," Derning agreed, wiping his mouth after his turn at the water. "It would be just the thing for them to run us in circles until we collapse, then fall on us and slit our throats before we can catch our breaths."
"Maybe that's what happened to the others we spotted. Perhaps it was these blokes," Grady speculated.
"We're going somewhere," Royce replied. "I can smell the sea."
It was true. Hadrian had not noticed it until that moment, but he could taste the salt in the air. What he assumed was wind in the trees, he now realized, was the voice of he sea.
"Let's continue, shall we, gentlemen?" Wesley said and moved them out. As they did, the Tenkin's torch appeared once more and moved on ahead. Wesley refused to chase it, keeping them at a comfortable pace. The torch returned and after a few more tries to coax them, gave up and matched their stride.
Travel progressed sharply downward. The route soon became a rocky trail that plummeted to the face of a cliff. Below they could hear the crashing of waves. As dawn approached, they could see their destination. A stone fortress rose high on a rocky promontory that jutted into the ocean and guarded a natural harbor hundreds of feet below the rocky edge. The Palace of the Four Winds looked ancient, weathered by wind and rain until it matched the stained and pitted face of the dark granite upon which it sat. Built of massive blocks, it was inconceivable that men could have placed such large stones. Displaying the same austerity as the Tenkins, it lacked ornamentation. Ships filled the large sheltered bay on the lee side of the point. There were hundreds, all with reefed black sails.
When they approached the great gate, their guide stopped. "Weapons are not allowed past this point."
Wesley scowled as Dilladrum translated, but was not surprised. This was the custom even in Avryn. One did not expect to walk armed into a lord's castle. They presented their weapons, and Hadrian noted that neither Thranic nor Royce surrendered any.
Thranic had been acting oddly ever since stumbling into camp. He had not said a word and his eyes never left Royce.
They entered the fortress where a dozen well-equipped guards looked down from ramparts while another dozen lined their route. The exterior looked nearly ruined. Stone blocks had fallen left broken on the ground.
Inside the castle, the decor was no more cheerful. Here, too, the withering decay of centuries of neglect left the once great edifice little more than a primordial cave. Roots and fungi grew along the corridor crevices, dead leaves clustered in corners where the swirl of drafts deposited them. Dust, dirt, and cobwebs obscured the ancient decorative carvings, sculptures, and chiseled writings.
The Tenkins had strung crude banners over the walls, long pennants that depicted a white Tenkin-style axe on a black field. Just as in Oudorro, row upon row of shields hung from the ceiling like bats in a cavern. A massive fireplace occupied one whole side of the great chamber, a massive gaping maw of a hearth in which an entire tree trunk smoldered. Upon the floor lay the skin of a tiger whose head stared with gleaming emerald eyes and yellowing fangs. A stone throne stood at the far end of the hall. The base of the chair had cracked where a vine intertwined the legs making it list to one side, its seat draped in a thick piling of animal skins.
A wild-eyed man sat upon the throne. His head sported a tempest of hair jutting in all directions, long and black with streaks of white. Deep cuts and burns scarred his face. Thick brows overshadowed bright, explosive eyes that darted about rapidly, rolling in his skull like marbles struggling to free themselves from the confines of his head. He was bare-chested except for an elaborate vest of small-laced bones. His long fingers absently toyed with a large, bloodstained axe lying across his lap.
"Who is this?" the warlord asked in Tenkin his loud disturbing voice echoed from the walls. "Who is this that enters the hall of Erandabon unannounced and unheralded? Who treads Erandabon's forest like sheep to be gathered? Who dare seek Erandabon in his den, his holy place?"
A strange assortment of people surrounded him and all eyes were on the party as they entered. Toothless tattooed men spilled drinks while women with matted hair and painted eyes swayed back and forth to unheard rhythms. One lounged naked upon a silk cushion, with a massive snake coiled about her body as she whispered to it. Beside her, an old hairless man ellow nails as long as his fingers painted curious designs on the floor, and everywhere the hall was choked with the smoke of burning tulan leaves that smoldered in a central brazier.
In the darkest shadows were others. Hadrian could barely make them out through the fog of smoke and the flickering firelight. They clustered in the dark, making faint staccato chattering sounds like the whine of cicadas. Hadrian knew that sound well. He could not see them, merely the suggestion of movement cast in shadows upon stone. They shifted nervously, anxiously, like a pack of hungry dogs, their motions jittery and too fast to be human.
Dilladrum shooed Wesley forward. Wesley took a breath and said, "I am Midshipman Wesley Belstrad, acting captain of what remains of the crew of Her Imperial Majesty's ship the Emerald Storm, out of Aquesta. I have a message for you, Your Lordship." He bowed deeply, which looked comical to Hadrian that a lad of such noble bearing should bow before the likes of Erandabon Gile who was just shy of a madman.
"Long Erandabon 'as waited for vord," the man upon the throne spoke in Apelanese. "Long Erandabon 'as counted dee moons and dee stars. Dee vaves crash nightly, dee ships approach and gather, dee darkness grows, and Erandabon vaits. Sits and vaits. Vaits and sits. Dee great shadow is growing in dee north. Dee gods come once more bringing death and horror to all. Dee undying will crush dee vorld beneath deir step, and Erandabon ez made to vait. Vere ez dis message? Speak! Speak!"
Wesley took a step forward as he pulled the letter from his coat, but paused, noticing the broken seal. As he hesitated, an overly thin man dressed in feathers and paint snatched the letter away. He growled at Wesley like a dog showing his teeth. "Not approach dee great Erandabon vis unclean 'ands!"
The feather man handed the message to the warlord who studied it for a moment, his eyes racing madly back and forth. A terrible grin grew across his face, and he tore the note into pieces and began eating it. It did not take long, and while he ate no one said a word. With his final swallow, the warlord raised his hand then and said, "Lock them away."
Wesley stood stunned as Tenkin guards approached and grabbed him. "What's happening?" he protested. "We are officials of the Empire of Avryn! You can't-"
Gile laughed as the guard dragged them down the hall.
"Wait!" another voice bellowed. "It was arranged!" It was Thranic, who deftly dodged the guards advancing on the warlord angrily. "My team and I are to be given safe passage. I am here to pick up a Ghazel guide who will take us safely through Grandanz Og!"
Erandabon rose quickly to his feet faster than he looked. He raised his axe, halting Thranic mid-step. "Veapons did you bring? Food for dee Many did you deliver to Erandabon?" the warlord shouted at him.
"It sank!" Thranic yelled back. "And the deal wasn't based on the weapons or the elves."
The chattering sounds from the darkness grew louder. The noise appeared to disturb even the Tenkin. The hairless man stopped drawing his designs and shuddered. The woman with the snake gasped.
Erandabon remained oblivious to the rise in their tenor as he gibbered in glee. "No! Based on dee open gates of Delgos! Vaat proof of dis? Vaat proof does Erandabon 'ave? You vait 'ere. You stay sealed and if Drumindor does not fall, you vill be food for dee Many! Erandabon decrees it! Ou are you to defy Erandabon?"
"Who are you to defy Erandabon?" chanted the crowd. The warlord waved his hand in the air and the chattering grew loud again. The guards moved in with spears.
"Now we know what the empire has been doing with the elves they've been rounding up," Royce muttered as he ran his fingers lightly along the length of the doorjamb. Hadrian noticed Wyatt turning away sharply.aboenkin locked them in cells buried in the foundation of the fortress. There were no windows. The only light came from the small barred opening of the door beyond which torches mounted in iron sconces flickered intermittently. Hadrian and Royce were fortunate enough to share a cell with Wyatt and Wesley, while the others were in similar cells within the same block. The sounds of their independent conversations echoed as indiscernible whispers.
"It's ghastly," Wesley said, collapsing on the stone floor and dropping his head in his hands. "Admittedly, I've never held any love for those of elven blood," he gave Royce and apologetic glance, "but this-this is loathsome beyond human imagining. That the empire could sanction such a vile and dishonourable act is…is…"
"And now we also know what that fleet of ships in the bay is for," Hadrian said. "They're planning to invade Delgos, and it would appear we delivered the orders for them to attack."
"But Drumindor is impregnable from the sea," Wesley said. "Do you think this Erandabon fellow knows that? All those ships will be burned to cinders the moment they enter the bay."
"No, they won't," Royce said. "Drumindor has been sabotaged. The spouts are blocked and when they vent at the next full moon there will be an explosion, destroying it and I suspect Tur Del Fur as well. After that, the armada can sail in unopposed."
"What?" Wesley asked. "You can't possibly know that."
Royce said nothing.
"Yes, he does," Hadrian said.
Realization crossed Wesley's face. "The seal was broken. You read the letter?"
Royce continued exploring the door.
"How is it going to explode?" Hadrian asked.
"The vents have been blocked."
"No…" Hadrian shook his head. "Only Gravis knew how to do that, and he's dead."
"Merrick found out somehow. He's doing the same thing Gravis tried. He's blocked the portals and when they try to vent during the harvest moon the gas and molten rock will have nowhere to go. The whole mountain will blow. And that's what Merrick meant about turning the tide of war for the empire. Delgos supports the Nationalists, funded largely by Cornelius DeLur. When they eliminated Gaunt, they cut off the rebellion's head. Now they will cut out its legs. Destroying Delgos will mean the New Empire will only need to deal with Melengar."
"But those ships we saw in the harbor were not just Tenkin. The vast majority were Ghazel," Hadrian pointed out. "Gile thinks he can use them as muscle, as his attack dogs, but goblins can't be tamed. He can't control them. The empire is handing Delgos over to the Ba Ran Ghazel. Once they entrench themselves the goblins will become a greater threat to the empire than the Nationalists ever were."
"I doubt Merrick cares," Royce opined.
"You stole the letter from me and read it?" Wesley asked Royce. "And you had us deliver it to the warlord knowing it would launch an invasion?"
"Are you saying you wouldn't have? Those were your orders, sanctioned by the regents themselves."
"But giving Delgos to that…that…insane man and the Ghazel, it's…it's…"
"It's your sworn duty as an officer of the empire."
Wesley stared, aghast. "My father used to say, 'A knight draws his sword for three reasons: to defend himself, to defend the weak, and to defend his lord', but he always added, 'Never defend yourself against the truth, never defend the weakness in others and never defend a lord without honor.' I don't see how anyone can find honor in feeding a child to goblins or handing over a nation of men to the Ghazel horde."
"Why did you let him deliver the letter?" Hadrian asked.
"I just read it tonight during the water break. It was my last chance to get a look, and I figured if we showed up completely empty handed we'd be killed right away."
"I won't be party to this…this…atrocity! We must prevent Drumindor's destruction," Wesley announced.
"You realize interfering with this would be treason?" Royce told Wesley.
"By ordering the delivery of every man, woman, and child in Tur Del Fur into the bloodthirsty hands of the Ba Ran Ghazel, the empress has committed treason to her subjects. It is I who remain loyal…loyal to the cause of honor."
"It might comfort you to know that it is highly unlikely that Empress Modina gave this order," Hadrian told him. "We know her-met her before she became empress. She would never sanction anything like this. I was in the palace the day before we sailed from Aquesta and she is not in charge. The regents are the ones behind this."
"One thing's for sure, if we foil Merrick's plan we won't have to look for him anymore. He'll find us," Royce added.
"This is all my fault." Wesley sighed. "My first command and look where it has led."
"Don't beat yourself up. You did fine." Hadrian patted him on the shoulder. "But your duty is done now. You completed the task your lord set for you. Everything after this is of your own choosing."
"Not much of a choice, I'm afraid," he said, looking around their cell.
"How long before the rise of the harvest moon?" Royce asked.
"About two weeks I would guess," Hadrian replied.
"It would take us too long to travel back by land. How long would it take us to get there by sea, Wyatt?"
"With the wind at our backs, we'd make the trip in a fraction of the time it took us to come out. Week and a half, two maybe."
"Then we still have time."
"Time for what?" Wesley asked. "We're locked in the dungeon of a madman at the edge of the world. Merely surviving will be a feat."
"You are far too pessimistic for one so young," Royce told him.
Wesley let out a small laugh. "All right, Seaman Melborn, how do you propose we sneak down to the harbor, capture a ship loaded with Ghazel warriors, and sail it out of a bay past an armada, when we can't even get out of this locked cell?"
Royce gave the door a gentle push and it swung open. "I unlocked it while you were ranting," he said.
Wesley's face showed his astonishment. "You're not just a seaman, are you?"
"Wait here," said Royce, slipping out.
He was gone for several minutes. They heard no sound. When he returned Poe, Derning, Grady, Dilladrum and the Vintu followed and Royce had blood on his dagger and a ring of keys in his hand.
"What about the others?" Wesley asked.
"Don't worry I won't forget about them," Royce said, with a devilish grin. When he left, the others followed. A guard lay dead in a pool of blood and Royce was already at the door of the last cell.
"We don't need to be released," Defoe said, from behind the door. "I could open it myself if I wanted to get out."
"I'm not here to let you out," Royce said, opening the door.
Defoe backed up and drew his dagger.
"Stay out of this, Defoe," Royce told him. "So far you've just been doing a job. I get that, but stand between me and Thranic and it gets personal."
"Mister Melborn!" Wesley snapped. "I can't let you kill Thranic."
Royce ignored him, and Wesley appealed to Hadrian who shrugged in response. "It's a policy of mine not to get in his way, especially when the other guy deserves it."
Wesley turned to Wyatt whose expression showed no compassion. "He burned a shipload of elves, and for all I know was responsible for taking my daughter. Let him die."
Doctor Levy stepped aside leaving Thranic alone at the back of the cell with only his dagger for protection. By his grip and stance, Hadrian knew the sentinel was not a knife fighter. The sentinel was sweating, his eyes tense as Royce moved inp›"Might I ask why you're killing Mister Thranic?" Bulard asked suddenly, stepping between them. "Those of you intent on fleeing could make better use of your time than butchering a man in his cell, don't you think?"
"Won't take but a second," Royce assured him.
"Perhaps, perhaps, but I ask you not to. I am not saying he does not deserve death, but who are you to grant it? Thranic will die, and quite likely soon given where we are headed. Regardless, our mission is vital not just to the empire, but to all of mankind, and we will need Thranic if we are to have any hope to complete it."
"Shut up, you old fool," the sentinel growled.
This caught Royce's attention, though he kept his eyes on Thranic. "What mission?"
"To find a very old and very important relic called the Horn of Gylindora that will be needed very soon I'm afraid."
"The horn?" Hadrian repeated.
"Yes, given our precarious situation I don't think it wise to give you a history lesson just now, but suffice to say it is in all of our best interest to leave Thranic alive-for now."
"Sorry," Royce replied, "but you'll just have to make do without-"
The door to the cellblock opened, and a pair of soldiers with meal plates stepped in. A quick glance at the dead guard and they ran.
Royce sprinted after them. Defoe quickly closed his cell door again.
"Go, all of you!" Bulard urged.
The party ran out of the cellblock and up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, the hallway was filled with loud voices.
"They got away," Royce grumbled.
"We gathered that from the shouting," Hadrian said.
They faced a four-way intersection of identical narrow stone corridors. Wall-mounted flames burned from iron cradles staggered at long intervals, leaving large sections of shifting shadows.
Royce glanced back toward the cellblock and cursed under his breath. "That's what I get for hesitating."
"Any idea which way now?" Wyatt asked.
"This way," Royce said.
He led the way, trotting rapidly then stopped, abruptly motioning all of them into a doorway. Moments later a troop of guards rushed by. Wesley started forward and Royce hauled him back. Two more guards passed.
"Now, we go," he told them, "but stay behind me."
Royce continued along the multitude of corridors and turns, pausing from time to time. They climbed two more sets of stairs and dodged another group of soldiers. Hadrian saw the wonderment reflected in the party's faces at Royce's skill. It was as if he could see through walls, or knew the location of every guard. For Hadrian it was nothing new, but even he was impressed at their progress given that Royce was towing a parade.
A door unexpectedly opened and several Tenkins literally bumped into Dilladrum and one of the Vintu. Terrified, Dilladrum fled down a corridor, the Vintu following. The stunned Tenkins were not warriors and were as scared as Dilladrum, and retreated inside. Royce shouted for Dilladrum to stop, but it was no use.
"Damn it!" Royce cursed chasing after them. The rest of the crew raced to keep up as they ran blindly through corridor after corridor. After rounding a corner Hadrian nearly ran into Royce, whose way was blocked by Tenkin warriors. The dead bodies of Dilladrum and the Vintu lay on the floor, blood pooling across the stone. Behind them, a small army cut off their retreat.
"Who are you to defy Erandabon?" chanted the crowd of Tenkin warriors.
"Get back!" Hadrian ordered, pushing Wesley and the others into a niche that afforded at least a small amount of defense. He pulled a torch from the wall and together with Royce formed a forward defense.
The Tenkin soldiers charged, screaming as they attacked.
Royce appeared to dodge the advance but the foremost warrior fell dead. Hadrian drove the flame of his torch into the seconnkin's face. Using his feet, Royce flipped the dead man's sword to Hadrian who caught it in time to decapitate the next challenger.
Two Tenkins charged Royce, who simply was not where they expected him to be when they arrived. His movements were a blur, and two more collapsed. Hadrian advanced as Royce kicked the dead men's weapons behind to where Wyatt, Derning, and Wesley picked them up. Hadrian stood at the center now.
Three attacked. Three fell dead.
The rest retreated, bewildered, and Hadrian picked up a second blade.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The warlord walked toward them applauding and grinning. "Galenti, et ez you. So good to 'ave you back!"