The Emerald Storm (35 page)

She ducked into the woodshed just as James and Higgles passed by on their return journey. After several minutes, Amilia crept forward, slipped around the well and entered the northeast tower—the
prison tower
as she now dubbe it.

Just as described, a Seret Knight stood at attention dressed in black armor with the red symbol of a broken crown on his chest. Decorated with a red feather plume, the helm he wore covered his face. He appeared not to notice her, which was odd, as all guards bowed to Amilia now. The seret said nothing as she stepped around him toward the stairs. She was shocked when he made no move to stop her.

Up she went, periodically passing cells. None of the doors were locked, and she pushed some open and stepped inside. Each room was small. Old, rotted straw lay scattered across the ground. Tiny windows allowed only a fraction of moonlight to enter. There were heavy chains mounted to the walls and the floor. Some had a stool or bucket, but most were bare of any furniture. Amilia felt uncomfortable while in the rooms. It was not just the cold, it was the thought that she might end up in just such a place.

James and Higgles were correct; the tower was empty.

She returned down the steps to the seret. “Excuse me, but what are you guarding? There is no one here.”

He did not respond.

“Where did the soup go?”

Again, the seret stood mute. Unable to see his eyes through the helm, and thinking perhaps he was asleep while standing up, she took a step closer. The seret moved and, as fast as a snake, his hand grabbed hold of his sword and drew it partway from its scabbard, allowing the metal to hiss, a sound that echoed ominously in the stone tower.

Amilia fled.

“Are you going to tell her?” Nimbus asked.

The two were in Amilia’s office finishing the last of the invitation lists for the scribes to begin working on. Parchments were everywhere. On the wall hung a layout of the Great Hall, perforated with countless pinholes from the shifting of guest positions.

“No, I will not add to that witch’s arsenal of insanity with tales of mysterious disappearing pots of soup! I’ve worked for months to put Modina back together. I won’t allow her to be broken again.”

“But what if—”

“Drop it Nimbus.” Amilia shuffled through her scrolls. “I should never have told you. I went. I looked. I saw nothing. I can’t believe I even did that much. Maribor help me. The witch even had me out in the dark chasing her phantoms. What are you grinning at?”

“Nothing,” Nimbus said. “I just have this impression of you slinking around the courtyard.”

“Oh, stop it!”

“Stop what?” Saldur asked as he entered unannounced.

The regent swept into her office and looked at each of them with a disarming smile.

“Nothing, Your Grace, Nimbus was merely having a little joke.”

“Nimbus? Nimbus?” Saldur repeated eyeing the man trying to recall something.

“He’s my assistant, and Modina’s tutor, a refugee from Vernes,” Amilia explained.

Saldur looked annoyed. “I’m not an idiot, Amilia, I know who Nimbus is. I was thinking about the name. The word is from the old imperial tongue. Nimbus, unless I am mistaken, it means mist or cloud, isn’t that right?” He looked at Nimbus for acknowledgement, but he merely shrugged apologetically. “Well, anyway,” Saldur addressed Amilia. “I wanted to know how things were proceeding for the wedding. It is only a few months away.”

“I was just sending these invitations to the scribes. I have them ordered by distance so those living the farthest away should have couriers leaving as early as next week.”

“Excellent, and the dress?”

“I finally got the design decided. We’re just waiting for material to be delivered from Colnora.”

“And how is Modina coming along?”

“Fine, fine,” she lied, smiling as best she could.

“She took the news of her wedded bliss well then?”

“Modina receives all news pretty much the same way.”

Saldur nodded at her pleasantly. “Yes, true…true.” He appeared so grandfathrly, so kind and gentle. It would be so easy to trust him if she had not seen first-hand the volcano that lurked beneath that warm surface. He brought her back to reality when he asked, “What were you doing in the northeast tower last night, my dear?”

She bit her tongue just in time to stop herself from replying with total honesty. “I bumped into some guards delivering soup there in the middle of the night which I thought odd, because…”

“Because what?” Saldur pressed.

“Because there’s no one in the tower. Well, besides a seret who appears to be standing guard over nothing. Do you know what that’s all about?” she asked pleased with how she managed to reinforce her innocence by casually turning the tables on the old man. She even considered batting her eyes, but did not want to push it. Memories of Saldur ordering the guard to “take her out of my sight” still rang in her head. She did not know what that order really meant, but she remembered the regret in the guard’s eyes as he approached her.

“Of course I do. I am regent—I know
everything
that goes on.”

“The thing is…that was quite a lot of soup for one knight. And it vanished, pot and all in just a few minutes. But since you already know, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Saldur studied her silently for a moment. His expression was no longer the familiar one of condescension. She detected a faint hint of respect forming beneath his wrinkled brows.

“I see,” he replied at length. He glanced over his shoulder at Nimbus, who was smiling back as innocent as a puppy, and Amilia noticed to her chagrin that he did bat his eyes. Saldur took no apparent notice of his antics then reminded her not to seat the Duke and Lady Rochelle next to the Prince of Alburn before withdrawing from her office.

“That was creepy,” Nimbus mentioned after Saldur left. “You poke your head in the tower and the next morning Saldur knows about it?”

Amilia paced the length of her office, which only allowed her a few steps each way before having to turn, but it was better than standing still. Nimbus was right. Something strange was going on with the tower, something that Saldur himself kept careful watch over. She struggled to think of alternatives, but her mind kept coming back to one name—Degan Gaunt.

The corridor outside the Great Hall in the Palace of the Four Winds was deathly silent as the small band remained huddled in the niche.
Warriors took strategic positions, armed with imperial crafted crossbows, while the bulk of the Tenkin fighters moved back to allow them clear lines of sight. All of the
Emerald Storm’s
party now held swords salvaged from slain Tenkins, each one made from Avryn steel. Clustered in a tight group, Hadrian’s party made an easy target.

Erandabon stepped forward, but not so far as to block the path of the archers. “Erandabon did not recognize you, Galenti! Et ’as been many years, but you ’ave not lost your skill,” he said, looking down at the bodies of his fallen warriors. “Vie travel vis such creatures as deez, Galenti? Vie suffer dee ’umiliation? It voud be dee same for Erandabon to slizzer on dee forest floor with dee snakes, or vallow vis dee pigs. Vie do you do dis? Vie?”

“I came to see you, Gile,” Hadrian replied. Instantly there was a gasp in the hall.

“Ha-ha!” The warlord laughed. “You use my Calian name, a crime for vich dee punishment ez death, but I pardon you, Galenti! For you are not like deez.” He waved his hand gesturing vaguely. “You are in dee cosmos vis Erandabon. You are a star in dee heavens shining nearly as bright as Erandabon. You are a brother and I vill not kill you. You must come and feast vis me.”

“And my friends?”

Erandabon’s face soured. “Dey ’ave no place at dee table of Erandabon, dey are dogs.”

“I will not eat with you iws, w are ill-treated.”

Erandabon’s eyes moved about wildly in random circles, then stopped. “Erandabon vill ’ave dem locked up again—safely dis time—for deir own good. And you vill eat vis Erandabon?”

“I will.”

He clapped his hands and warriors tentatively moved forward.

Hadrian nodded and Royce and the others laid down their weapons.

The balcony looked out over the bay from a dizzying height. Moonlight revealed the vast fleet of Ghazel and Tenkin ships anchored in the harbor. Dotted with lights, the vessels bobbed on soft swells. Distant shouts rose with the cool breeze and arrived as faint whispers. Like the rest of the castle, the balcony was a relic of a forgotten time. While perhaps beautiful long ago, the stone railing had weathered over centuries to a dull, vague reminder of its previous glory. A lush covering of vines blanketed it with blooming white flowers the way a cloth might disguise a marred table. Beneath their feet, once-stunning mosaic tiles lay dirty, chipped, and broken. Several oil lanterns circled the balcony, but appeared to be more for decoration than illumination. On a stone table lay a massive feast of wild animals, fruits, and drink.

“Sit! Sit and eat!” Erandabon told Hadrian, as several Tenkin women and young boys hurried about, seeing to their every need. Aside from servants, the two were alone. Erandabon tore a leg from a large roasted bird and gestured with it toward the bay. “A beautiful sight eh, Galenti? Five ’undred ships, fifty ’zousand soldiers and all of dem under Erandabon’s command.”

“There are not fifty thousand Tenkin in all of Calis,” Hadrian replied. He looked at the food on the table dubiously, wondering if elf was somewhere on the menu, and selected a bit of sliced fruit.

“No,” the warlord said, regretfully. “Erandabon must make do vis dee Ghazel. Dey are like ants spilling out of deir island holes. Erandabon cannot trust dem any more dan Erandabon can trust a tiger, even if Erandabon raised it from a cub. Dey are vild beasts, but Erandabon needs dem to reach dee goal.”

“And what is that?”

“Drumindor,” he said simply, and followed the word with a swallow of wine, much of which spilled unnoticed down the front of his chin. “Erandabon needs a shelter from dee storm, Galenti, a strong place to veather it. For centuries, dee Ghazel dey ’ave known dat only Drumindor can stand against dee vinds about to blow. Dis ez vie dey ’ave struggled so ’ard to take et. Time ez running out, dee sand spills from dee glass and dey are desperate to flee dee islands. Erandabon could ’ave fifty ’zousand, perhaps ’undred ’zousand. Ants, Galenti, dey are everywhere in deez isles. Erandabon vill make do vis deez, too many ants spoil a picnic eh, Galenti?” he laughed.

A servant refilled the wine glass that Hadrian had barely touched.

“What do you know about Merrick Marius?” Hadrian asked.

Erandabon spat, “’E is dirt, or pig, or pig in dirt. ’E promise weapons…dere is none. ’E promise food for dee Many…and dere is none. ’E will make it ’ard for Erandabon to control dee ants. I vish ’e vas dead.”

“I might be able to help you with that, if you tell me where he is.”

The warlord laughed. “Oh, Galenti, you voud do dis for you I dink, not for Erandabon. But Erandabon does not know vere ’e ez.”

“Do you expect him to visit again?” Hadrian pressed.

“No, dere be no need. Erandabon vill not be ’ere long. Dis place ez old. Et ez not good.” He rolled a fallen block of granite from the balcony. “Erandabon and ’is ants vill go to dee great fortress vere even dee Old Ones cannot reach us. Erandabon vill vatch dee return of dee gods and dee burning of dee vorld. You could ’ave a seat beside Erandabon. You could lead dee ants.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Drumindor will be destroyed. There will be no fortress f you and your ants. If you release me and my friends we can stop this from happening.”

Erandabon roared a great laugh. “Galenti, you make big joke. You dink Erandabon is dumb like dee ants? Vie do you try to tell me such lies? You vill say anything to leave ’ere vis your dog friends.”

He finished off the leg by ripping the meat from the bone and chewed it with an open mouth, spitting out bits of gristle.

“Galenti, you offer Erandabon so much ’elp. You must see ’ow great Erandabon ez and vish to please me. Erandabon likes dis. I know of someting you can do to please Erandabon.”

“What is that?”

“Dere is a Ghazel chieftain, called Uzla Bar.” He spat on the ground. “’E defies Erandabon. ’As even challenged Erandabon for control of dee ants. Now vis no food for dee Many ’e be big problem for Erandabon. Uzla Bar attacks caravans from Avryn stealing dee veapons and the Many’s food to veaken Erandabon in dee eyes of dee ants. Uzla Bar challenge Erandabon to fight. But Erandabon ez no fool. Erandabon knows none of ’is varriors can vin against dee speed and strength of dee Ba Ran Ghazel. But den dee stars shine on Erandabon and bring you ’ere.”

“You want me to fight him?”

“Dee challenge ez by Ghazel tradition. Dey are clan, not single fighters. Dey do not fight one to one. For dem single combat ez not known. Dee battle will be five against five in dee arena.”

“Who will I be fighting with? You?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Erandabon does not dirty ’is ’ands so.”

“Your warriors?”

“Vie should Erandabon use Tenkin Varriors. Erandabon need dem to control dee ants. I saw dose dogs dat you lead. Dey fight good. Ven backed in a corner Erandabon saw dee bravery in deir eyes. Dey vill do vell vis you to lead dem. Erandabon knows you ’ave succeeded in dee arena vis lesser men. And if you lose—Erandabon ez same as before.”

“And why would I do this?”

“Did you not offer to ’elp Erandabon, twice already?” he paused. “I can see you like your dogs. But you and dem keel many of my men. For dat you must die. But…if you do dis…Erandabon vill let you live. Do dis, Galenti, dee heavens voud be less bright vis out all etz stars.”

Hadrian pretended to consider the proposal in silence. He waited so long that Erandabon became agitated. It was obvious the warlord had nearly as much riding on this fight as Hadrian did.

“You answer Erandabon now!”

Hadrian remained quiet for a few moments longer and then said, “If we win, I want our immediate release. You will not hold us until the full moon. I want a ship, a small, fast ship, fully provisioned and waiting the moment the battle is won.”