The Emerald Storm Page 32

  “The lock was at the top right?” Royce asked.

  “Think so—yeah, Gravis was up there when we found him, right?”

  “Okay, I’ll handle this. Keep an eye out.”

  Royce leapt up to one of the smaller gears and walked up the teeth like a staircase. He jumped from one to the next until he reached the master gear. It was harder to climb, since the teeth were huge, but for Royce this was no problem. He was soon out of sight and a few minutes later a loud stone upon stone sound echoed as a giant post of rock descend from the ceiling, settling in the valley between two teeth, locking the great gear.

  When Royce returned he was grinning happily.

  “I’d love to see the look on Merrick’s face when this place doesn’t blow. Even if the Ghazel take the city, he’ll be scratching his head for months. There’s no way he can know about this master switch. Gravis only knew because it was his ancestor that designed the place.”

  “And we only know because we caught him in the act.” Hadrian thought a moment. “Do you think Merrick might be nearby, waiting for the fireworks?”

  Royce sighed. “Of course not. If it were me, I wouldn’t be within a hundred miles of this explosion. I don’t even want to be here now. Don’t worry, I know him. The fact that this mountain doesn’t explode will drive him nuts. All we have to do is drop the right hints to the wrong people and you won’t have to look for him—he’ll find us. Now come on, let’s see if we can find what is blocking the vents so we can put this back in place and cook some goblins.”

  Chapter 22

  Going Home

  Archibald Ballentyne stared out the window of the Great Hall. It looked cold. Brown grass, blowing dead leaves, clouds that looked heavy and full of snow, and geese that flew away before a veil of gray all reminded him the seasons and changed. Wintertide was less than two months away. He kicked the stone of the wall with his boot. It made a muffled thud and sent a pain up his leg making him wince.

  Why do I have to think of that? Why do I always have to think of that?

  Behind him, Saldur, Ethelred, and Biddings debated something, but he was not listening. He did not care anymore. Maybe he should leave. Maybe he should take a small retinue and just go home to Chadwick and the sanctity of his Gray Tower. The place would be a wreck by now and he could busy himself with repairing the damage the servants caused in his absence. Bruce was likely dipping into his brandy store and the tax collectors would be behind in their duties. It would feel nice to be home for the holiday. He could invite a few friends and his sister over for—he stopped and considered kicking the wall again, but it hurt enough last time. He decided against it.

  Sleeping in a tent this time of year would be miserable. Besides, what would the regents say? Moreover, what would they do in his absence? They treated him badly enough when he was here, how much worse would they conspire against him if he left?

  He did not really want to be home. Ballentyne Castle was a lonely place, all the more horrid in winter. He used to dream of how all that would change when he married, when he had a beautiful wife and children. He used to fantasize about Alenda Lanaklin. She was a pretty thing. He often imagined taking the hand of the King Armand’s daughter, Princess Beatrice. She was certainly appealing. He even spent many a summer evening watching the milkmaids in the field and contemplating the possibility of snatching one from her lowly existence to be the new Lady Ballentyne. How grateful she would be, how dutiful, how easily controlled. That was all before he came to Aquesta—before he met her.

  Even sleep gave him no solace as he dreamed about Modina now. He danced with her and it was their own wedding day. He despised wp. Archibald did not even care about the title anymore. He would give up the idea of being emperor if he could have her. He even considered that he would give up being earl—but she was marrying—Ethelred!

  He refused to look at the regent. The blackguard cared nothing for her. How could he be so cold as to force a girl to marry him just for the political benefit? The man was a blackguard.

  “Archie…Archie!” Ethelred was calling him.

  He cringed at the sound of the name he hated and turned from the window with a scowl.

  “Archie, you need to talk to your man Breckton.”

  “What’s wrong with him now?”

  “He’s refusing to take my orders. He insists he serves only you. You need to set him straight on the lay of things. We can’t have knights whose allegiance is strictly to their lords. They have to recognize the supremacy of the empire and the chain of command.”

  “Seems to me that’s what he is doing, observing the chain of command.”

  “Yes, yes, but it is more than that. He’s becoming obstinate. I’m going to be the emperor in a couple of months and I can’t have my best general requiring that I get your permission to give him an order.”

  “I’ll speak with him,” Archibald said miserably, mostly just so he could stop listening to Ethelred’s voice. If the old bastard was not such an accomplished soldier, he would seriously consider challenging him, but Ethelred had fought in dozens of battles, while Archibald had only engaged in practice duels with blunt tipped swords. Even if he wanted to commit suicide, he certainly would not give Ethelred the satisfaction of killing him.

  “What about Modina?” Ethelred asked.

  At the sound of the name, Archibald focused back on the conversation.

  “Will she be ready?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Saldur replied. “Amilia has been doing wonders with her.”

  “Amilia?” Ethelred tapped his forehead. “Isn’t she the maid you promoted to Imperial Secretary?”

  “Yes,” Saldur said, “and I’ve been thinking that after the wedding, I want to keep her on.”

  “We’ll have no use for her after the wedding.”

  “I know, but I think I could use her elsewhere. She’s proven herself to be both intelligent and resourceful.”

  “Do whatever you like with her, I certainly don’t—”

  “Queens always have need of secretaries even when they have husbands,” Archibald interrupted. “I understand you’re going to assume total control of the empire, but she’ll still need an assistant.”

  Ethelred looked at Saldur with a puzzled expression. “He doesn’t know?”

  “Know what?” Archibald asked.

  Saldur shook his head. “I felt the fewer that knew the better.”

  “After the wedding,” Ethelred told Archibald, “once I am crowned emperor, I’m afraid Modina will have an unfortunate accident—a fatal accident.”

  ***

  “It’s all arranged,” Nimbus reported. Arista paced the room and Modina sat alone on the bed. “I got the uniform to him, and tonight the farmer will smuggle Hilfred into the gate just before sunset in the hay cart.”

  “Will they check that?” Arista asked pausing in her journey across the room.

  “Not anymore, not since they called off the witch hunt. Things are business as usual again. They know the farmer. He’s in and out every third day of the week.”

  Arista nodded, and resumed her pacing.

  “The same wagon will cart you all out at dawn. You will go out through the city gates. There will be three horses waiting at the crossroads for you with food, water, blankets, and extra clothing.”

  “Thank you, Nimbus.” Arista hugged the beanpole of a man, bringing a blush to his cheeks.

  “Are you sure this will work?” Modina asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” Arista said. “I’ll do just what I did last time. I’ll become ” and Hilfred will be a fourth floor guard. You’re sure you took the right uniform?”

  Nimbus nodded.

  “I’ll order the guard to open the entrance to the prison. We’ll grab Gaunt, and leave. I will instruct the seret to remain on duty and tell no one. Believing I’m Saldur, no one will know he’s gone for hours, maybe even days.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Modina looked puzzled. “Amilia said there was no prison in t
he tower and that all the cells were empty.”

  “There is a secret door in the floor. A very cleverly hidden door, sealed with a gemlock.”

  “What’s a gemlock?”

  “A precious stone cut to produce a specific vibration that when held near the door trips the lock open. I used a magical variation on my tower door back home and the church used a far more sophisticated version to seal the main entrance to Gutaria Prison. They are doing the same thing here, and the key is the emerald in the pommel of the sword the Seret Knight wears.”

  “So, you will make your escape tonight?” the empress asked.

  Arista nodded. The empress looked down, a sadness creeping into her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Arista asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just going to miss you.”

  ***

  Arista’s stomach twisted as she looked out the window and watched the sun set. Am I being foolish? Her plan had always been to merely locate Gaunt, not break him out. Now that she knew exactly where he was, she could return home and have Alric send Royce and Hadrian to rescue him. Only that was before—before she found Hilfred, before she was reunited with Thrace, and before she knew she could impersonate Saldur. It seemed like such an easy thing to do that leaving without Gaunt seemed an unnecessary risk. The smoke verified he still lived, but would he be alive several weeks from now?

  She was alone with Modina. They had not said a word to each other for hours. Something was troubling the empress—something more than usual. Modina was stubborn, and no force could move her once she decided on a course. Apparently, the course she decided on was not to talk.

  The gate opened and the hay cart entered.

  Arista watched intently. Nothing seemed amiss, no guards, no shouting, just a thick pile of hay and a slow walking donkey pulling it. The farmer, an elderly man, parked the cart by the stables, unhitched his donkey, hitched it to a new cart, and led the animal out again. Staring at the cart, she could not help herself. The plan had been to wait until just before dawn, but she could not leave Hilfred lying there. She managed to restrain herself only until she saw the harvest moon begin to rise, then she stood.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  Modina lifted her head.

  Arista walked to the middle of the room and knelt.

  “Arista I…” Modina began hesitantly.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing…Good luck.”

  Arista got up and crossed the room to hug her tightly. “Good luck to you too.”

  The empress shook her head. “You keep all of it—I’m not going to be needing any.”

  ***

  Arista traveled down the stairs, disguised as Regent Saldur, wondering what Modina had almost said. The excitement of the night, however, kept her thoughts jumping from one thing to the next. She discovered she could remain in her disguise for a long time. It broke when she slept, but it would last beyond what she would need that night. This gave her greater confidence. Although she was still concerned about bumping into the real Saldur, the thought of seeing Hilfred again was overwhelming.

  Her heart leapt just thinking about traveling home to Melengar with Hilfred once more at her side. It had been a long and tiring road and she wanted to be home. She wanted to see Alric and Julian, and to sleep in her own bed. She vowed she would treat Melissa better and planned to give her maid a new dfor Wintertide. Arista was occupied in a long list of Wintertide presents for everyone when she stepped outside. The broad face of the harvest moon illuminated the inner ward, allowing her to see as clear as if it were a cloudy day. The courtyard was empty as she crept to the wagon.

  “Hilfred!” she whispered. There was no response, no movement in the hay. “Hilfred.” She shook the wagon. “It’s me, Arista.”

  She waited.

  Her heart skipped a beat when the hay moved. “Princess?” it said hesitantly.

  “Yes, it’s me. Just follow.” She led him into the stables and to the last stall, which was vacant. “We need to wait here until it is nearly dawn.”

  Hilfred stared at her dubiously, keeping a distance.

  “How…?” he began but faltered.

  “I thought Nimbus explained I would appear like this?”

  “He did.”

  Hilfred’s eyes traveled up and down her figure, a look on his face as if he had just tasted something awful.

  “The rumors are true,” she admitted, “at least the ones about using magic.”

  “I’ve known that, but your hair, your face, your voice.” He shook his head. “It’s perfect. How do I know you’re not the real Saldur?”

  Arista closed her eyes, and in an instant Saldur disappeared and the Princess of Melengar returned.

  Hilfred stumbled backward until he hit the wall of the stall. His eyes wide and his mouth open.

  “It is me,” she assured him. Arista took a step forward and watched him flinch. It hurt her to see this, more than she would have expected. “You need to trust me,” she told him.

  “How can I? How can I be certain it’s really you, when you trade skins so easily?”

  “Ask me a question that will satisfy you.”

  Hilfred hesitated.

  “Ask me, Hilfred.”

  “I have been with you daily since I was a very young man. Give me the names of the first three women I fell in love with and the name of the one I lost because of the scars on my face.”

  She smiled and felt her face blush. “Arista, Arista, Arista, and no one.”

  He smiled. She did not wait for him. She knew he would never presume upon her to take such a step on his own. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She could feel the sudden shock in the tightening of his muscles, but he did not pull away. His body relaxed slowly and his arms surrounded her. He squeezed so that her cheek pressed against his, her chin resting on his shoulder.

  “Maribor help me if you really are Saldur,” Hilfred whispered in her ear.

  She laughed softly and wondered if it was the first time she had done so since Emery died.

  Chapter 23

  The Harvest Moon

  Royce and Hadrian began investigating the spouts, the giant tunnels bored out of the rock through which molten lava would blast on its way to the sea. There were dozens, each one aiming in different directions, their access to the mountain’s core sealed off by gear controlled portals. They climbed the interior until they reached the opening and the sky.

  The sun was up and the sight below forced Hadrian’s stomach into his mouth. They were well above the bridge level. The world looked very small and very far away. Tur Del Fur was a small cluster of petite buildings crouched in the elbow of a little cove. Beyond it rose mountains that looked like little hills. Directly below, the sea appeared like a puddle with tiny flashes of white that took Hadrian a moment to realize were the crests of waves. What he thought might be insects were gulls circling far below.

  None of the spouts were blocked, none of the portals tampered with.

  “Maybe it’s in the other tower?” Hadrian asked after they climbed out of the last tunnel.

  Royce shook his head. “Even if that one is blocked, the pressure will vent here. Both have to be closed. It’s not the spouts or the portals, it’s something else—something we’ve oerlooked—something that can seal all the exits at once to make the mountain boil over. It has to be another master switch, one that locks all the portals closed.”

  “How are we going to find that? Do you see how many gears are in here? And it could be any one. We should have brought Magnus.”

  “Sure, with him it would be easy to find—in a year or two. Look at this place!” Royce gestured at the breadth of the tower, where the sun’s light pierced through skylights spraying the tangled riddle of a million stone gears. Some spun, some whirled, some barely moved, and everywhere were levers. Like arrows peppering a battlefield, stone arms protruded. Just as the gears came in various sizes, so too did the levers—some tiny and others the size of tree trunks. “It’s a wonder
they ever learned how to vent the core.”

  “Exactly,” Hadrian said. “No one knows what most of this stuff does anymore. The Port Authority leaves it alone for fear they might destroy the world or something, right? So, whatever Merrick did, it’s a sure bet the folks in charge here don’t know anything about it. It has to be a lever that hasn’t been moved in centuries, maybe even thousands of years. It might show signs of recent movement, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, we just need to find it.”

  Royce stared at him.

  “What?”

  “We only have a few hours left, and you’re talking about looking for a displaced grain of sand on a beach.”

  “I know, and when you come up with something better we’ll try it. Until then, let’s at least look.”

  Hours passed and still they found nothing. Adding to the dilemma was the interior of Drumindor itself, which was a maze of corridors, archways, and bridges. Often they could see where they wanted to go but did not know how to get there. When they arrived, they discovered it was not what they expected and had to backtrack. Luck remained on their side, however, as they saw precious few people. They spotted only a handful of workers and even fewer guards, all of them were easily avoided. The sunshine passing through the skylights shone with the brilliance of midday, then passed to evening, and they still had not found their goal.

  Finally, they headed for the bottom of the tower.

  It was their last resort as the Drumindor defensive garrison fortified the first three floors. Approximately forty soldiers guarded the base, and they had a reputation for their harsh treatment of intruders. Still, whatever Merrick did, he most likely did to the mechanism that controlled the lava’s release. Descending yet another winding staircase, they paused in a sheltered alcove just outside a large chamber. Peering in, they saw it was similar to an interior courtyard, or a theater, with four gallery balconies ringing it with pillared archways stacked one upon another.