Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (52 page)

This thick throaty voice Aedan recognised
immediately. It was Ganavant, the prince’s big bullfrog of a councillor. The
other voice, then, was Burkhart’s.

“I am well aware of that, and I am glad that we
are the first to be shown beyond the vaults. How he managed to open them I’ll
never understand. Kings have been defied by those locks for five hundred years.”
The stone door ground closed. Burkhart’s voice was almost dreamy when he spoke
again. “I still can’t quite accept what my eyes told me … It might have been a
long way down, but there was no doubt – it moved! With supporting evidence like
this, he could put an end to all my plans.”

“That is why it must not be seen by anyone ever
again. You often say that truth is not necessarily the best thing to throw at
the masses. If people see what we just saw, it would cause panic like we have
never imagined. It might even send them fleeing towards Fennlor, perhaps even
the DinEilan of their wild stories rather than remaining here. We must close
the vaults again and seal this door immediately.”

“Yes, yes, Ganavant. You clutter the air with the
obvious. This room will certainly be blocked off with enough stone to bury
whatever is down there for good, but the dilemma of plugging the old windbag
remains. How is he to be silenced without raising widespread questions?”

There was a brief pause.

“Allow him the quest,” Ganavant said. “Let him go
and search for answers, but let it work for us too. Accidents can happen,
especially in a place unanimously rumoured to be under a curse. Men could be
paid to go along and witness that his theories were shown groundless shortly
before he and those loyal to him met their unfortunate ends. What if –”

“You speak of such things in the open! Your tongue
is growing loose, Ganavant. You risk attaching soil to my name!”

“Forgive me, Highness.” Despite the apology, the
councillor’s voice did not sound remorseful. It seemed to Aedan only a matter
of form. This councillor was not the bowing and scraping type. Aedan imagined
him to listen to reprimands while smiling inside, calculating.

The wooden door grated over the dirty stones as
they pulled it open and the two men walked out of the room, but the light did
not recede.

“What is it?” Burkhart asked.

“Did you not leave the door ajar?”

Aedan tensed. Fool!

“I do not clearly recall,” said the prince, his
voice betraying his annoyance.

“With your permission, I would like to make a
quick search inside.” The light grew stronger and the door creaked again. Aedan
held his breath and drew his feet as tightly against him as he could.
Overhearing such talk, even if he only partly understood it, would not be
punished by cane but by iron, the very sharp iron of an executioner’s axe.

Heavy steps re-entered the room.

“I do not believe I gave my permission,” Burkhart snapped,
his voice edged now, even dangerous. “I wonder if you are forgetting your place,
Ganavant.”

“Sorry, Highness.” Again, there was no sorrow in
the apology.

“Let us be gone.”

The light withdrew and Aedan was left in darkness.
He tried to understand what he had heard, that the prince and his councillor
were conspiring to assassinate an innocent man – Culver, by the description.

And what lay behind that door that it should be
sealed away forever?

He decided to wait in case anyone else emerged,
but after what felt like hours, he could wait no more. He struck the flint
until he raised a flame and lit his lantern, then crept out to inspect the
wall.

The concealed door had closed, leaving no trace of
its whereabouts. He was sure there would be a way to open it by pressing on a
stone or several stones, but he was also sure that there would be traps that
could swallow him if he pressed the wrong ones. Holding the lantern close to
the surface, he thought he could make out a slight shine on two of them,
perhaps from the oily deposits left from years of being pressed. But then this could
be a trick whereby the wrong stones were touched and the right ones pressed
through a garment.

He was considering anchoring himself with a rope
to guard against an opening floor trap when the same sharp click cut through
the wall. He blew out the lantern again and dived behind a stack of perished leather
harnesses as the door opened and someone entered the room. This time he was
poorly concealed. He had to crouch and wait until the light had disappeared,
but when it was dark again, he looked up and saw a robed, grey-haired figure striding
away.

He turned back to the door. Tonight would be his
last chance to discover what lay beyond it, what had lain undisturbed for five
hundred years and was now to be hidden for good. He checked the ropes, but they
were impossibly old, crumbling at his touch. He would have to fetch another if
he wanted an anchor capable of providing any security. There were several in
the training hall that he could borrow. He headed off in that direction, his lantern
unlit, staying well behind the man he assumed to be Culver.

Climbing that mountain of stairs in the darkness
was far from comfortable. This time he did use his hands. When he reached the
top, the robed man was gone. Aedan felt his way along the narrow passage, under
the chain, past the collapsing stairs, down the broad passage, through the
weapons hall and finally into the training hall. He knew the dimensions of the
space so well after the years of exercises that he did not need a light.

He rummaged about until he located a coil of rope,
then counted his paces back through the doors, across the weapons hall – only
bumping against one stone pillar – and into the broad passage again. Safe now
from observation, he lit the lantern, ran the rest of the way and approached
the forbidden corridor. He had put one foot under the chain when his dim light
revealed what he had not expected, not so soon. Three uniformed soldiers were
blocking the way.

“Halt,” the foremost shouted, and started forward.

Aedan knew that they would not let him walk free. The
soldiers were too far away to see his face, so he turned and ran. The man
chasing him was no mean athlete. Heavy steps were drawing nearer.

After only a few paces Aedan reached the stairs
and had to slow down as he climbed to avoid the traps. Behind him the distance
closed rapidly. He would not have enough of a lead to climb down from the
central feature.

A metallic clank was followed by a scrape of rock,
a yell, and a whoosh of air. The yell became a scream that ended in a cavernous
splash.

Aedan looked behind him. A large portion of the
stairway had hinged open, dropping the soldier into dark waters beneath. He
hoped the man would not drown. Then it occurred to him that he was holding a
rope, and that keeping it would only incriminate him. He slipped a quick loop
around a pillar and dropped the end into the water. When he felt it tighten, he
shinned up the rest of the stairs, replaced the cover, climbed down using the outraged
statue, returned it to its place, and crept back to his bed. Nobody stirred.

He lay awake until morning, curiosity scratching
at the edges of his mind, whining, demanding, keeping slumber well away. Too
many questions. What was down there that could drive a whole city to panic? What
had Culver discovered about the storms? Was there truly something to fear – and
beneath the very streets of Castath?

“Jump! Get off your beds, you lazy oxen!”

This time he really did jump, and grazed his fist against
a beam. He hoped Dun hadn’t noticed.

“We are looking for Aedan.”

The soldiers were from one of the special divisions
that wore the white tunics over their chain mail, setting them apart for royal
duties only. There was no hiding from these elite troops, not even in the
marshals’ quarter.

Kollis pointed.

“Come with us please,” the senior officer said.

Aedan’s pale face spoke eloquently. He stood and
followed the soldiers out the classroom. They gave him no explanation and were
silent in response to his questions.

They knew.

He considered running, but against such men he
would have little chance. They led him down the stairs which had been pulled up
and reset during the night. The landing at the bottom was filled with carts of
stone and mortar being wheeled towards the store room. Aedan understood now why
the morning training session had taken place in the display room.

He tried to think of some way to justify himself,
how he might bargain for a softer penalty. They continued on down the broad
passage, through the weapons hall and into a section of the buildings Aedan had
never been allowed to enter. They passed two doors and stopped outside the
third where they knocked.

The door was opened by another soldier and they entered
a large office. Not an inch of any wall was visible. Packed bookshelves reached
from corner to corner. The biggest desk Aedan had ever seen filled a good
portion of the room. He began to tremble as he saw Prince Burkhart, Ganavant,
and Culver whose private office he assumed this was.

“What’s the matter Aedan,” asked the prince,
smiling. “You look rather shaken.”

“N – n – nothing Your Highness,” Aedan said,
trying to keep his knees locked.

Burkhart laughed easily. “I suppose this
was
a somewhat disturbing way to bring you down here. Let me put your mind at rest.
We need your assistance on a matter of great importance.”

Aedan relaxed slightly at the prince’s easy tones,
but he noticed that Ganavant was fixing him with a relentless stare. Aedan kept
his attention on the prince.

“We need to send a party out to Kultûhm to
investigate something. It has come to my attention that you actually entered
this fortress. That would make you and your travelling companions the only
living experts on the place. We can find nobody else alive who has set foot
there.”

Aedan was not surprised at this. He wanted to
point out that he had seen no more of the place than the entrance courtyard, but
he did not yet trust his voice, and Ganavant was still looking at him with those
bulging, fly-hunting eyes.

“So I have assembled a group,” Burkhart continued,
“to accompany Culver and his assistant. Mistress Gilda tells me that you are
familiar with a dark-skinned foreign girl who can act as a nurse?”

“Liru? – she would have called her Lee’runda.”

“Yes, that was the one that was … recommended. She
will accompany you. You leave at first light tomorrow. Do you have any
questions?”

It sank in. This was not about being asked for
information. He was actually being ordered to return to that dreaded place,
that stronghold of unsleeping watchfulness and death. If they knew he had been
there then they would know the account. They would know that the ground even
within the fortress was treacherous. Last time, he had barely escaped with his
life. How did they expect him to slip the noose again?

Over the past four years, Kultûhm had haunted the
worst of his nightmares. His only comfort on waking had been that he would
never see the place again. And now they wanted to send him back.

Aedan’s jaw fell and his face greyed.

“I think I can guess your worries,” Burkhart said.
“You are wondering, with the months lost on the journey, if you will pass the
year.”

Aedan had been wondering if he would survive the
year.

“Culver,” Burkhart indicated the robed chancellor standing
on his left, “holds the academy’s high seat. He is the most learned man I know.
I hereby task him with the matter of your continued education. You shall not
fail the year on account of your service.”

The austere man gave a stiff nod.

Aedan, in spite of his fears was embarrassed – the
prince might as well have asked the chancellor to do Aedan’s laundry.

“Right then,” said Burkhart, “I shall be on my
way. I wish you all luck. Culver, may you find the answers you seek.”

The prince smiled as he left, but Aedan followed
him with his eyes and, just before the door, saw the slackening of the
unguarded face, as if drained by inner conflict. Ganavant’s parting glance,
however, was little short of a smirk. Both worried him.

“Be ready by dawn,” Culver said. He did not even
look at Aedan as he gathered sheets of paper from his laden wheatfield of a
desk. “Meet us at the stables with your belongings packed. Saddlebags only. Dun
has been briefed and will provide you with equipment and light weapons. I
expect you to be punctual. Captain Senbert and his men will be waiting for us
at the city gates.”

Aedan spent the rest of the day in a flurry of
preparation. Dun provided a sleeping roll, weatherproof cloak, and a small
hunting knife, but no more weapons, not even a sling or bow. Aedan was
surprised that he was to be so lightly armed, especially in the context of the
Fenn crisis. It looked more like being disarmed. When he asked, Dun’s answer
was quick and stiff – the knife would be sufficient for the purposes of a
guide; soldiers would deal with any threats. It sounded like Dun was repeating
what he had been told rather than actually answering. Aedan sensed that
argument would be futile.

There was much excitement among Aedan’s friends,
and he was assailed with many questions he could not answer. But underneath all
the well-wishing, a horrible fear was beginning to gnaw at him. If ever he had
needed advice, it was now, but he was not sure whom he could trust other than
Osric. Reaching Osric would require leaving the academy during class hours. He
could sneak out – it wouldn’t be the first time – but he decided under the
circumstances to play by the rules and ask permission.

Dun refused him. Like before, his response was unusually
quick, as if he had been primed, so Aedan asked Skeet and was allowed out.

He found Osric at his house, preparing a gruesome
dinner that contained turnip, potato and partridge, and that had somehow been
transformed into axle grease – a sticky, opaque black mass that glared up from
the bottom of the pot like the dead eye of some giant fish. It smelled even
worse than it looked. Aedan refused so much as a sample taste.

Osric stormed and bothered about second-rate
ingredients and partridges not fit for cockroaches until Aedan was able to
contain his frustration no longer.

“I’ve been sent to Kultûhm,” he blurted.

Osric dropped the spoon into the poisonous
concoction with a thick plop. “Culver’s quest?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think. I overheard
something last night and I’m worried that we are being sent to our graves.”

He told Osric about the conversation he had
overheard in the store room, how Dun had armed him with nothing but a midget
knife that would be questionable protection against a block of cheese, and how
nobody of importance was being included. “Liru and I are both disposable.
Culver and his assistant are the only two of any real standing and the rest will
be common soldiers. I think they are hoping that the fortress will be our end
and if it isn’t, the soldiers will probably have orders to finish the job.”

“Hmm.” Osric sat down, causing the chair to
screech with the strain, and folded his arms. “I very much doubt the soldiers
would actually take you as far as the fortress if they have been given such
orders. Our soldiers can be a superstitious lot, and Kultûhm is a name that
some even fear to speak. They will probably travel a few days out, cut some
throats, wait three months and return with a well-honed story. Soldiers who
have accepted orders to commit murder would not think twice about rearranging
the orders to save themselves trouble and danger.”

“Wouldn’t they be worried the prince would learn
the truth if he investigated?”

“I think we both know that the prince’s first
concern right now is not with truth. Any soldiers given the orders you suspect
would know it too. As long as the result and the story are expedient, Burkhart
would probably be satisfied. Of late he has not been toasted for his integrity.”

Aedan let his head drop forward onto the table
with a thump. “How did I land myself with this?”

“I suspect that the prince does not actually want
you dead, but it is well known in our circles that you were at Kultûhm, and if
he did not send you along it would raise questions. It is also necessary for a
nurse to accompany the party considering the possible dangers. He probably felt
that this foreign girl was the one he could most afford to lose. Did he look
happy about the arrangement to you?”

“I think he was trying to. Trying really hard. But
he looked like he was going to be sick when he walked out.”

“I would have thought so. He wants to be a good
man, but there are things he wants more. I doubt he enjoyed making that
decision, and he’ll be partly relieved when you all return.”

“What do you mean – ‘when we all return’? How is
that likely?”

“Because I shall see that it happens.”

Aedan prepared to ask a string of questions, but the
general held up his hand.

“Yes, I know the prince would intervene if he
thought I intended to join the party, but in two days I’m heading out with a
small patrol for a routine inspection of some of the outlying posts. Seeing as
I decide where to patrol, I’m going to head east, and when I find your trail
and then your camp, I’ll join the quest and assume command, having a strong desire
to see the fortress for myself. I have often wanted to assess it as a
prospective outpost.”

“Will Burkhart not arrest you on your return?”

“I’ll send another officer to do the rounds. No
duties will be left unattended. But even if they were, the prince would be bold
to move against me. I have a unique position here – I answer to the king, to
the crown in Tullenroe. I am really just on loan to Castath.”

Aedan considered what Osric had said. “What if
they make a move before you get there?”

“That is going to be your challenge – making sure
that they don’t. They will not risk thinning the party until they have travelled
well beyond the last of the hamlets. That would take five days on horseback
going quick and steady, but it could be done in fewer. It is vital that you
slow the pace somehow.”

He got up, fetched a small leather pouch from a cupboard
and handed it over. “Ground frogweed. Five or six pinches of this will leave a
horse very unhappy for a day or two. Won’t get much more than a stiff walk and
an evil wind.”

Aedan took the bag and smelled the contents. It
reminded him of silage. There would be no difficulty getting a horse to swallow
this.

“I’ll try to send a message to Culver,” Osric
resumed, “but chances are he’s worked it out already. If you need to
communicate without the soldiers understanding, use Sulese. There are only a
handful of them that know it, and they are all posted outside the city. Act as
if you are practicing languages. Next best would be Fenn.”

Some of the weight had lifted from Aedan’s mind,
but much remained. Without thinking about it, he buried his head in his hands while
the thoughts tumbled. Gradually he became aware of Osric’s voice. “I’m sorry,”
he said. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said there’s something else, isn’t there? You
have the look of a beaten animal, a look that nobody gets overnight. Giddard
tells me you have started acting strangely this year. You pay no attention in
classes, you keep apart from your friends, and you’re either lost in your own
thoughts or snappish.”

“It’s nothing.”

Osric regarded him. “Neither of us believes that,”
he said.

“It’s my concern. I really don’t want to talk
about it. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”

“Look, if it …”

“Osric, please. I mean it. I’m grateful that you
want to assist, but you can’t. And thank you for being willing to help us with
this quest or sham of a quest or whatever it is.”

Osric’s granite features remained fixed as he
searched Aedan’s face for answers, but Aedan was locked down, tight as a hatch
in a gale. Finally the general sat back, “It will be my pleasure,” he said. “Now
you can repay me by cooking up something that a man can swallow without pain
while we go through as many contingencies as the time will allow, beginning
with the possibility that no murderous orders have been given. That the prince
considered Ganavant’s suggestion, we know, but whether he actually gave the
order is not certain.”

When Aedan returned to the academy, Dun was waiting at his
dorm, white with rage. “You dared to go behind my back!” he shouted, striding
forward.