Percepliquis Page 36

  How much is real and how much imagination? Is the flame in the lantern dwindling?

  Everyone was sleeping, Gaunt in his corner, Magnus against the wall—even Myron was asleep, surrounded by scrolls. The princess lay curled up on her side, near the center of the room. She too was asleep, her eyes closed, head on hands, her face revealed by the lantern light. She was not as young as she once had been and no longer looked like a girl. Her face was longer, her cheeks less round, and there were small lines around her mouth and eyes. Smudges of dirt streaked her face. Her lips were chapped and dark circles formed under her eyes. Her hair was a mess. The lack of a brush left her with snarls and mats. She was beautiful, he thought, not despite these things, but because of them. Looking at her made him feel terrible. She believed in him—counted on him—and he had failed her. He had also failed Thrace and even her father. Hadrian had promised Theron that he would watch after his daughter and keep her safe. He had even failed his own father, who had left him this one last chance to bring meaning to his life.

  He sighed, and as he did, he noticed Royce was not among the sleeping. The thief was not even in the room. Getting up, Hadrian stepped into the hallway and found him sitting in the dark a few feet from the mound of stones piled over Thranic’s body. He could barely see Royce, as so little of the lantern light spilled into the corridor.

  Hadrian let his back slap against the corridor wall and slid down to the floor to sit beside his friend.

  “I’ve finally figured it out,” Royce said.

  “What, the perfect career for us? Not spelunking, I hope?”

  Royce looked at him and smirked. Hadrian could see his friend only by the single shaft of light that crossed the bridge of his nose and splashed his left cheek.

  “No. I realized that the key is you—you can’t die.”

  “I’m liking this so far—I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s starting out good.”

  “Well, think about it. This can’t be the end because you can’t die. That’s the whole thing right there.”

  “Are you planning on making sense anytime soon?”

  “It’s Gwen, remember? She said I had to save your life, right? She was adamant about it. Only I haven’t. Ever since she sent us out to search for Merrick, I’ve never once saved your life. So either she was wrong or we’re missing something. And as you know, Gwen has never been wrong. We must be missing something and now I know what it is. This is it. This is where I save your life.”

  “That’s wonderful, only how are you going to do that, pray tell?”

  “Our second plan—I’m the diversion.”

  “What?” Hadrian said, feeling like Royce had just hit him.

  “I’ll draw the beast’s attention just like Millie did in Dahlgren and you run, get the sword, and slay it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It makes perfect sense.”

  “You do remember what happened to Millie, right?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. The single word issuing out of the darkness sounded like a verdict. “But don’t you see? This is what I’m supposed to do. I’ve even considered if this was why she died. Maybe Gwen knew everything. She knew we could not go off and make a life together because I needed to be here to sacrifice myself. Maybe that’s why she was on the bridge that night, maybe she went to her death for me—or rather for you and everyone else, but at least so that I could have the strength to die for you.”

  “That’s a whole lot of ifs and maybes, Royce.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  There was a pause.

  “But it has to be,” Royce went on. “We know she had the sight. We know she knew the future. We know she planned for it, and that she said I would save your life. She knew that without me you would die, and from your death a horrible thing would occur. So if I save you now, we still have a chance to get the horn.”

  “But what if the future changed? What if we did something in the meantime to alter it?”

  “I don’t think it works that way. I don’t think you can alter the future. If you could, she would have seen that.”

  “I don’t know,” Hadrian replied, finding it hard to discuss rationally the virtues of Royce’s killing himself.

  “Okay, let me put it this way,” Royce said. “Can you think of any other way out of here?”

  Hadrian was starting to feel a little sick, the air harder to breathe than before.

  “So your plan is to draw it away and keep it occupied while I run for the sword?”

  “Yep, you get the sword and kill it. I think I can buy you at least two minutes, but I’m hoping for as much as five. More than that I think is dreaming. After five minutes of dodging it, I will get tired and it will get frustrated to the point of using fire. I can’t dodge that. Still, even two minutes should be plenty of time to cross that room and find the sword.”

  “What if it’s locked?”

  “It’s not. I saw it when I was in there getting Gaunt. It’s standing open. Hadrian, you know I’m right. Besides, it’s not just you I’m thinking about. There are five other people who will die unless I do this—granted their lives don’t mean as much to me, but I know it matters to you.”

  “And you’re sure you want to do this?”

  “I want to do it for Gwen. Hadrian, what else do I have to live for? The only thing I have is to fulfill her last request. That’s all. After I do that…”

  Hadrian closed his eyes and rapped his skull against the wall behind him, creating a dull thud. There was a pressure behind his eyes, a throbbing in his head.

  “You know I’m right,” Royce said.

  “What do you want? You want me to say, ‘Hooray, thanks, pal, for saving us’?”

  “I don’t want anything, except for you to live—you and the rest of them—even Magnus and Gaunt. It’s what I can give you and the only thing I can give her. If I manage to save you, and you do get this stupid horn and it saves everyone, it will make her death mean something—mine too, I suppose. That’s more than either of us could have hoped for. A prostitute and a no-good thief saving the world—it’s not a bad epitaph. You can see I’m right, can’t you?”

  Hadrian let his head rest and stared out at the black. “Don’t you get tired of always being right?”

  “We made a good team, didn’t we?” Royce replied. “Arcadius wasn’t such a fool putting us together after all.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Watch it. I’m about to die to save your ass, so be nice.”

  “Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll be happy to be rid of me. You can go back to blacksmithing in Hintindar and live a quiet happy life. Do me a favor and marry some pretty farm girl and train your son to beat the crap out of imperial knights.”

  “Sure,” Hadrian told him. “And with any luck he’ll make friends with a cynical burglar who’ll do nothing but torment him.”

  “With any luck.”

  “Yeah,” Hadrian said. “With any luck.”

  The two sat in silence for a moment. In the room, Hadrian could hear Gaunt snoring.

  “We should do this sooner than later,” Royce told him. “Just in case the air is running out and while you still have plenty of water and food to escape with, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You know, when I’m dead, and it’s dead—assuming there’s anything left of me, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you laid me to rest in the tomb of Novron. Can’t ask for better accommodations, really, and tell Myron to say something nice, something poetic, something about Gwen and me.”

  “What? No!” Arista shouted.

  She was standing against the wall, a blanket pulled around her shoulders, her fingers white where they clutched the dark wool. Her head was shaking from side to side in a slow constant motion, like the ticking of a pendulum clock.

  Magnus and Mauvin flanked her. Neither said a word as Royce explained the plan. In their eyes, Hadrian could see concern, but also resignation. G
aunt was up and looking hopeful, his eyes bright for the first time since they had entered the room.

  “It’s the only way,” Royce assured her as he sat down on his pack, where he had left his boots. “And it will work. I know it will.”

  “You’ll die!” she shouted. “You’ll die and I won’t be able to save you.”

  Royce pulled his boots on. “Of course I will, and I don’t want you to,” he said, and paused a moment before adding, “It will all be over—finally.”

  “No, you’ll both die, I know it.” Arista looked up at Hadrian with the same expression of terror on her face. “Don’t do this. Please.”

  Hadrian turned away and unbuckled his belt, dropping his swords. He would be able to run faster without them. “Which way you gonna go, Royce?”

  “Right, I think,” he said, throwing off his cloak. “That will put me on its left; maybe it’s right-handed. I’ll try to keep it busy as long as possible, but we’ll see how fast it is. I’m going to try to sneak to the right corner and get as far in as possible before I draw its attention, so wait for me to yell. With luck, you’ll have an open field to run across.”

  “You’re doing it now?” The princess’s head was shaking even faster.

  Hadrian leaned against the wall and stretched his legs, then jogged in place for a few seconds. “No sense putting it off.”

  “Please,” Arista begged in little more than a whisper. Taking a step toward Hadrian, she reached out and then stopped.

  Royce approached Magnus, who took a step back. The thief reached into his cloak and pulled out Alverstone, still in its sheath. He held it out to the dwarf. “I was wondering if you could watch after this for me.”

  “Are you serious?” the dwarf asked.

  Royce nodded.

  Slowly, warily, Magnus touched the weapon gingerly with both hands, cradling it like a newborn.

  “You’re really going to do this?” the dwarf asked, nodding at the Vault of Days.

  “It’s all that’s left to try.”

  “I—I could go,” Magnus said, still looking at the dagger. “I could take a lantern—”

  “With your little legs?” Royce laughed. “You’d just get Hadrian killed.”

  Magnus looked up, his brows running together, his lips shifting as if he were chewing something. “I should be the last person…” The dwarf stopped.

  “Let’s just say recent events have made me realize I’ve done a number of things I shouldn’t have. Bad things. Worse, I suppose, than what you’ve done. Right now, hating you seems… stupid.” Royce smiled.

  The dwarf nodded. “I’ll—I’ll hold on to it for you, take good care of it, but just until you need it again.”

  Royce nodded and moved to the door. He reached up and drew back the seals. “Shall we, partner?”

  “See you on the other side, pal.”

  Hadrian threw his arms around the thief and, surprisingly, felt Royce hug him back. With one final smile, Royce pushed open the door and disappeared into the darkness of the Vault of Days.

  Hadrian waited at the doorway. He could not see anything, nor could he hear a sound, but he did not expect to.

  “Do you want the lantern?” Myron whispered.

  “No,” Hadrian replied. “I’ll run faster without it, but maybe the princess could stand here and make her robe bright when I start to run.” He said this without turning, without looking at her.

  “Of… course,” he heard her say, her voice strained, stalling in her throat.

  They all waited, staring into the black room, listening carefully. Hadrian peered into the dark, trying to guess where it was, where either of them was.

  “Hadrian, I—” Arista began in a whisper and he felt a light hand on the small of his back.

  “Over here, monster!” Royce shouted, his voice booming across the great darkened expanse, echoing off the distant walls. “Come get me before I find the sword with your name on it and drive it through your foul excuse for a heart!”

  Royce watched as Arista’s robe lit up, throwing white light in the room, at the sound of his voice. It was not nearly as bright as before, but enough to reveal the far wall, the open door, and the great beast in the middle of the room.

  The Gilarabrywn was looking right at him. Royce braced himself, trying to decide whether it would strike with its mouth or a taloned foot.

  How fast is it? How quickly can it cover the distance between us? Royce was far enough away that even as big as it was, the beast would have to take at least ten steps to reach him. He wondered if it would lumber due to its size. He reminded himself it was not a real creature; it was magic and perhaps the same rules might not apply. It was possible that it could sprint like a tiny lizard or lash out like a snake. He stayed on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight back and forth, waiting for the lunge.

  “Come on,” he shouted. “I’m in your lousy room. You know you want me.”

  The beast took a slow step toward him, then another.

  “Go!” Royce shouted.

  Hadrian ran out the door. He had cleared only five strides when the monster whirled on him. Hadrian dug in his heels and slid to the ground as the giant head snapped around with amazing speed.

  “Get back!” Arista screamed.

  Royce ran forward. “Over here! You stupid thing,” he shouted, waving his hands over his head.

  The Gilarabrywn ignored Royce and charged Hadrian, who scrambled back toward the light of Arista’s robe, which once more brightened.

  “Gilarabrywn!” Royce called. The beast stopped its pursuit. “Over here, you stupid thing! What? Don’t you like me? Am I too thin?” The beast looked toward Royce but did not move away from the door.

  “By Mar!” Royce exclaimed in frustration.

  “Minith Dar,” the Gilarabrywn said, and its voice rumbled the chamber like thunder.

  “It spoke,” Royce said, stunned.

  “That’s right. They talk in Old Speech.” He heard Arista.

  “What did it say?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know the language well. I think he said, ‘Comprehension is missing,’ but I don’t know,” she shouted.

  “I do.” It was Myron’s voice coming into the darkness. “It said, ‘I don’t understand.’ ”

  “It doesn’t understand what?”

  “Royce can’t hear a shrug, Myron,” Hadrian said.

  “I don’t know,” the monk replied.

  “Ask it,” Arista suggested.

  There was a pause; then Myron spoke again. “Binith mon erie, minith dar?”

  The creature ignored Myron and continued to stare at Royce.

  “Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

  Myron shouted louder. Still the beast ignored him, his eyes fixed on Royce.

  “By Mar,” Royce said again.

  “Minith Dar,” the Gilarabrywn replied.

  “That’s it!” Myron shouted. “Bimar! Bimar means hungry in Old Speech.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Arista confirmed. “But it only seems to hear Royce.”

  “He’s elvish,” Hadrian said. “Maybe—”

  “Of course!” the princess shouted. “It’s just like Avempartha! Say something to it in Old Speech, ask it a question. Say, ‘Ere en kir abeniteeh?’ ”

  “Ere en kir abeniteeh?” Royce repeated.

  “Mon bir istanirth por bon de havin er main,” the Gilarabrywn replied.

  “What’d I say—and what did it say?”

  “You asked its name, and it said…” Arista hesitated.

  “It said,” Myron started, taking over, “ ‘My name is written upon the sword of my making.’ ”

  “You can talk to it, Royce!” Arista told him.

  “Wonderful, but why isn’t it eating me?”

  “Good question,” the princess replied. “But let’s not ask that. No sense giving it any ideas.”

  Royce stepped forward. The Gilarabrywn did not move. He took another step, then another, staying on the balls of his feet. He kne
w the beast was clever and this was just the sort of ploy it might use to get him off his guard. Another step and then another. He was within striking distance; still the Gilarabrywn did not move.

  “Careful, Royce,” Hadrian told him.

  Another step, then another and the Gilarabrywn’s tail was just inches away.

  “I wonder how it feels about having its tail pulled.” Royce reached out and touched it. Still the Gilarabrywn did not move. “What’s wrong with it? Myron, how do you say move away?”

  “Vanith donel.”

  Royce stood before the giant creature and in a strong voice ordered, “Vanith donel!”

  The Gilarabrywn backed up.

  “Interesting,” Royce said. He closed the distance between them. “Vanith donel!”

  Again the Gilarabrywn retreated.

  “Try coming out,” Royce said.

  The moment Hadrian set foot outside the door, the Gilarabrywn advanced once again. Hadrian retreated into the room.

  “How do you say stop?”

  “Ibith!”

  Royce ordered it to halt and it froze.

  “Myron, how do you say do not harm anyone?”

  Myron told him and Royce repeated the phrase.

  “And how do you say allow their passage through this room?”

  “Melentanaria, en venau brenith dar vensinti.”

  “Really?” Royce said, surprised.

  “Yes, why?”

  “I know that one.” Esrahaddon had taught him Melentanaria, en venau in Avempartha. Once more Royce repeated Myron’s words, and for a third time Hadrian stepped out of the room into the Vault of Days. This time, the Gilarabrywn did not move.

  “Vanith donel!” Royce shouted, and the Gilarabrywn stepped back, granting them passage.

  “This is amazing,” Arista said, entering the room with Hadrian. “It’s obeying you.”

  “I wish I had known I could do this back in Avempartha,” Royce said. “It would have been real handy.”

  Royce herded the Gilarabrywn back against the far wall, the great beast stepping backward before the tiny figure of the thief, its head glaring down at him, but showing no signs of violence.

  “Alminule means stay,” Myron said.