“I, ah-I punched Gaunt in the face.”
“Good for you,” Alric told him.
“About time someone did,” Mauvin said. “I’m just sorry you beat me to it.”
“What do you make of this?” Royce asked, still on his knees and pointing to something on the ground beside his lantern.
Hadrian bent down. It was a leather string with a series of stone beads, feathers, and what looked like chicken bones threaded through it.
“It’s a Trajan ankle bracelet,” he told them. “Worn for luck by warriors of the Ankor tribe of the Ghazel.”
“The ends aren’t torn,” Royce said. “But look how they are bent and twisted. I think it just came untied. And it is partially buried under the dirt, so I am thinking it’s been here awhile. Regardless, we are in their neighborhood, so we’d better start moving a bit more cautiously. See if you can keep the chatter down to a minimum.”
Hadrian looked at the bracelet and caught Royce by the arm as he was about to move forward again.
“Here,” he said, keeping his body positioned to block the view of the rest of the party. He placed Alverstone into Royce’s hand.
“I was wondering where that went.”
“Time to re-claw the cat, I think,” Hadrian said. “Just be a good boy, okay?”
“Look who’s talking.”
The party moved forward again. Hadrian did not return to the rear. He thought it was more likely they would encounter Ghazel from the front, and he also did not relish the idea of returning to Gaunt.
The corridor widened until they could walk three abreast. Then abruptly the passageway ended. It stopped in a small room where the far side narrowed to no more than a crack. In the center was nothing more than a sizable pile of rocks.
Gaunt shook his head in disgust. “I told you he was incompetent,” he said, pointing at Alric. “He was so sure this was the right passage, and here we are days later standing at a dead end.”
“You said I was incompetent?” the king asked, then looked to Hadrian. “No wonder you hit him. Thanks.”
“What about us?” Gaunt asked. “How many days of food do we have? How much time have we wasted? We’ve been down here-what? Three days now? And it took us two days from Aquesta. That’s five days. Add five days to get back and even if we were to leave right now, we will have been gone ten days! How long do you think we have until the elves reach Aquesta? Two weeks? We’ll blow most of that time just retracing our steps.”
“I did not hear you suggesting a different choice,” Arista said. “Alric picked as best he could and I don’t think anyone here could have chosen any better.”
“How surprising- his sister is defending him.”
Mauvin stepped toward Gaunt and drew his blade. The sword picked up the light from the lanterns on its mirrored surface and flashed as Mauvin raised the point to Gaunt’s neck. “I warned you before. Do not speak of my king without respect in my presence.”
“Mauvin, stop!” Arista ordered.
“I’m not going to kill him,” he assured her. “I’ll just carve my initials in his face.”
“Alric.” She turned to her brother. “Tell him to stop.”
“I’m not certain I should.”
“See! This is the oppression I spoke of!” Gaunt shouted. “The evils of a hereditary authority.”
“Somebody shut him up,” Royce snapped.
“Mauvin,” Hadrian said.
“What?” Mauvin looked at him, confused. “You punched him!”
“Yeah, well-that was then.”
“Lower your blade, Mauvin,” Alric said, relenting. “My honor can wait until we are through with this.”
Mauvin sheathed his weapon and Gaunt pushed himself away from the wall, breathing heavily. “Threatening me doesn’t change the situation. We are still at a dead end and it is-”
“It’s not a dead end,” Magnus stated. He stomped his boot twice, got to his knees, and placed his ear to the ground. Then he looked up and glared at the pile of rocks. He got back to his feet and began throwing the rocks aside. Beneath were several pieces of wooden planking and, below them, a hole.
“That was hidden on purpose,” Wyatt said.
“This doesn’t mean we are in the right passage,” Gaunt argued. “I don’t remember the monk ever saying anything about going in a hole. There’s no way to tell this is the right way.”
“It is,” Myron replied.
Gaunt turned on the little monk. “Oh, so you’re keeping information from us, is that it? Or are you merely incompetent and just forgot to tell us about this part of the journal?”
“No,” he said meekly. “There’s nothing in the journal about this.”
“Then surely you are more pious than I thought, for Maribor himself must be giving you information he keeps from the rest of us.”
“Maybe,” Myron replied. “All I know is that’s Edmund Hall’s mark.” He pointed. “See there, carved into the stone.”
Royce was first to it and, holding his light above the floor, revealed the etched inscription:
“E.H.,” Gaunt read. “How do we know that stands for Edmund Hall?”
“You think there’s a parade of people coming through here with those initials, do you?” Royce asked.
“That’s the exact way he wrote his initials in the journal,” Myron explained.
“What about these, Myron?” Royce asked as he pushed more rocks away to reveal more etchings. These were much brighter-fresher than the EH.
Myron glanced at them for only a moment before saying, “I don’t know anything about those.”
Hadrian stepped up, blew the dirt away. Then he turned to Arista and Alric. “Didn’t the Patriarch say he sent other teams?”
“Yes, he did,” Alric agreed. “Three of them, I think.”
“According to the empress, they all failed,” Arista added.
Hadrian glanced at Royce. “I think we know about the third group he sent, but they didn’t come this way. Still, I’m guessing these are the initials of either the first or the second team.” He looked at Royce again. “If you were going to handpick a group to come down here, and you could choose anyone, who would you pick to lead such a group?”
“Breckton, maybe,” Royce replied. “Or possibly Gravin Dent of Delgos.”
“Well, we know they didn’t pick Breckton, and look at the first initials, GD. Now when was the last time anyone saw Gravin? He wasn’t at the Wintertide games this year.”
“Not last year either,” Alric said.
“He was at Dahlgren,” Mauvin said.
“Yes, he was!” Arista confirmed. “I remember Fanen pointing him out and saying what a great adventurer he was and how he worked mainly for the Church of Nyphron. He called him something… a-a-”
“Quester?” Mauvin asked.
“Yes, that’s it!”
“Now let’s think about that,” Hadrian said. “They would need a scholar, a historian. Dent was at Dahlgren. Wasn’t there someone else too? That funny guy with the catapult, what was his name?”
“Tobis Rentinual?” Mauvin asked. “He was a real nut.”
“Yeah, but do you remember him saying something about how he named the catapult after Novron’s wife, because of all the research he did into ancient imperial history?”
“Yes. He said something about having to learn a language or something, didn’t he? He was all boastful about it, remember?”
“That’s right.” Hadrian was nodding. “Look at that second set of initials, TR.”
“Tobis Rentinual,” Mauvin said. “It even looks like how he would draw his letters.”
“What about the others?” Alric asked.
Hadrian shrugged. “I’m really only guessing at the first two. I have no idea about the others.”
“I do,” Magnus said. “Well, one of them, at least. HM, that’s Herclor Math.”
“Who?” Hadrian asked, and looked around, but everyone shrugged.
“Of course none of you would know him. He’s a mason-a dwarf mason-and a good one. I would recognize his inscription anywhere. The Maths are an old family. A Math even worked on the design team of Drumindor. His clan goes back a long way.”
“Why did they initial the stone?” Wyatt asked.
“Maybe to let anyone who might follow know they got this far,” Magnus replied.
“Why didn’t they mark the bloody three-choice passage?” Mauvin asked.