“And if I don’t come back? What happens to Elden and Allie?”
“Elden will go with you. I need experienced sailors and strength. I think he’ll be useful.”
“What about Allie? I won’t have her going to some prison or orphanage. Can she come as well?”
“No, as I mentioned, the trip will be dangerous, so she will remain with me. I will be her guardian while you are away.”
“What if I don’t come back? What if neither Elden or I…”
“If that happens, I promise that I will personally adopt her.”
“You will?”
“Yes, Mr. Deminthal. If you succeed, you will be forgiven of all crimes you have committed. If you fail, I will make your daughter my daughter. Of course, you can refuse my offer, in which case I have to ask if you would prefer a blindfold or not. It’s your choice.”
“And me?” Magnus asked.
“I offer you the same thing. Do as I ask, and you’ll live. I’ll consider your service as fulfillment of your sentence. In your case, however, there is one additional stipulation. Mr. Deminthal has proved that his ties to his daughter are strong enough to hold him to his commitments. You, on the other hand, have no such attachments and have a talent for disappearing. I can’t afford to let you out of this cell without some insurance. I know a sorceress who can find anyone, anywhere, using only a strand of hair, and your beard is ever so long.”
Magnus’s eyes widened in alarm.
“It’s your choice, master dwarf, your beard or your neck.”
“Do we at least get to know where we are going, and what we will be doing?” Wyatt asked.
“Does it matter?”
Wyatt thought a moment, then shook his head.
“You’ll be accompanying a team to the ancient city of Percepliquis to find a very important relic that might just save mankind. If you succeed at that, I think you deserve to be forgiven for any crime.
“There is just one more thing. You’ll be accompanied by Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. As for you, Wyatt, they know nothing of your involvement with Merrick. I suggest you keep it that way. Merrick is dead, and nothing good can come from revealing your involvement in Tur Del Fur.”
Wyatt nodded toward the dwarf. “I already told him.”
“That’s all right. I doubt Master Magnus will be speaking to them much. Magnus has had, shall we say, his own misunderstandings with Riyria, not to mention the children of King Amrath, who will also be along for the trip. I suspect he’ll be on his best behavior, won’t you, Magnus?”
The dwarf’s face showed concern but he nodded.
“So, gentlemen, the choice is yours. Risk your lives for me and have a chance to become heroes of the empire, or refuse and die now as criminals.”
“That’s not much of a choice,” the dwarf growled.
“No-no, it isn’t. But it is all you have.”
Hadrian slowly climbed the steps. It felt like there were more of them this time. Aside from speaking to Myron, Hadrian had spent all night, and a good part of the next day, walking the corridors and courtyard, trying to formulate an argument-a reason that would convince Royce to go.
The guard heard him coming and was on his feet, key in hand. He looked bored. “You’ve come to take him?” he asked without interest. “I was told you’d be by-expected you earlier.”
Hadrian only nodded in reply.
“So much fuss about this little guy? From hearing the talk around the palace, you’d think he was Uberlin himself,” the guard continued as he placed the key in the lock. “He’s been quieter than a mouse. A few nights ago, I heard him crying-muffled sobs, you know? Not exactly the demon I was warned about.”
Royce had not moved. Nothing in the cell had changed since Hadrian’s last visit.
“You wanna give me a minute?” Hadrian asked the guard, who stood behind him.
“Huh? Oh-sure. Take your time.”
Hadrian stood silently at the open door. Royce did not move. He continued to sit with his head bowed.
Hadrian sighed. After all his searching, his thinking, his wandering, his solution seemed feeble at best. He had held dozens of mental debates in which he had played both sides of the arguments, but when he sat across from Royce, he had only one thing he could say. “I need your help.”
Royce looked up as if his head weighed a hundred pounds, his eyes red, his face ashen. He waited.
“One last job,” Hadrian told him, then added, “I promise.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Very.”
“Is there a good chance I’ll get killed?”
“Odds are definitely in favor of that.”
Royce nodded, looked down at the scarf in his lap, and replied, “Okay.”
CHAPTER 7
Arista lugged her pack out into the cold. Three stewards and one soldier, an older man with a dark beard who held the door open, offered to carry it for her. She shook her head and smiled. The pack was light. Gone were the days of bringing six silk dresses, hoopskirts, corsets, girdles, and a headdress-just in case. She planned to sleep in the clothes she traveled in and learn to do without almost everything else. All she really needed was the robe. The wind blew snow in her face, freezing her nose. Her feet felt the cold, but the rest of her was immune, protected by the shimmering garment.
As she crossed the courtyard, the only light came from within the stable, and the loudest noise from her boots as they crushed the snow.
“Your Highness!” A boy chased after her, gingerly holding a steaming cup in both hands. “Ibis Thinly sent this to you.” He shivered, dressed only in light wool.
She took the cup. “Tell him thank you.”
The boy made a feeble bow and turned so fast to run back that his foot slipped and he fell to one knee.
The cup contained tea, and it felt wonderfully hot in her chilled fingers. The steam warmed her face as she sipped. Ibis had prepared a wonderful meal for everyone, laying it out across two tables. Arista had only glanced at the plates. It was too early to eat. She rarely ate breakfast. Her stomach needed time to wake up before going to work. That morning the thought of food was abhorrent. Her stomach was knotted and riding high. She knew she would pay later for skipping the meal. Somewhere along the road she would regret not having eaten something.
The stable smelled of wet straw and horse manure. Both doors stood open, leaving a path for the wind, which jingled the harnesses. Gusts harassed the lanterns and ripped through gaps in the walls, producing a loud fluttering howl as if a massive flock of sparrows were taking flight every few seconds.
“I’ll take that, Your Highness,” a groom offered. He was a short, stocky older man with a bristling beard and a knit hat that slumped to one side. He had two bridles draped around his neck and a bale hook hanging from his belt. He grabbed her pack and walked to the wagon. “You’ll be riding back here,” he told her. “I’ve made a right comfortable spot for you. I got a soft pillow from a chambermaid and three thick blankets. You’ll ride in style, you will.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be needing a horse and a sidesaddle.”
The groom looked at her with a blank stare, his mouth open, his lips thick and cracked. “But-Your Highness, where you’re going-it’s quite a ways from here, ain’t it? Right awful weather too. You won’t want to be atop no horse.”
She smiled at him, then turned and walked up the aisle between the stalls. The aisle was brick, the stalls were dirt, and everything lay covered in bits of straw. The rear ends of a dozen horses faced her, swishing tails and shifting weight from one hoof to the other. Cobwebs gathered in corners, catching hay and forming snarled nests even in the rafters. The walls all bore a stain a full foot from the bottom-the high manure mark, she guessed. She stopped without thinking before a stall. This was where she had spent a night with Hilfred, where he had held her, where he had stroked her hair-kissed her. A pleasant-looking gray mare was there now. The horse turned her head and Arista saw a white nose and dark eyes. “What do you call this one?”