“Why are we stopping?” Alric asked.
“Have you forgotten that this might be a trap?”
“No,” the prince said, “I am quite aware of that fact.”
“Good, then in that case good luck, Your Majesty,” Royce told him.
“You’re not coming?”
“Your sister only asked us to bring you here. If you want to get yourself killed, that is your affair. Our obligation is complete.”
“Then I suppose this is a perfect time to tell you I am officially bestowing the title of Royal Protectors upon you and Hadrian. Now that I am certain you aren’t trying to kill me. You two will be responsible for defending the life of your king.”
“Really? How thoughtful of you, Your Highness,” Royce grinned. “I also suppose this is a good time to tell you, I don’t serve kings—unless they pay me.”
“No?” Alric smiled wryly. “All right then, consider it this way. If I live to return to Essendon Castle, I will be happy to rescind your execution order and will forget your unlawful entry of my castle. If however, I should die here, or if I’m taken captive and locked away forever in this prison, you will never be able to return to Medford. My uncle will identify you, if he hasn’t already, and you will be labeled murderers of the highest order. I’m sure there are already men searching for you. Uncle Percy seems like a courtly old gentleman, but believe me, I have seen his other side and he can be downright scary. He’s the best swordsman in Melengar. Did you know that? So if sovereign loyalty isn’t good enough for you, you might consider the simple practical benefits of keeping me alive.”
“The ability to convince others that your life is worth more than theirs must be a prerequisite for being king.”
“Not a prerequisite, but it certainly helps,” Alric replied with a grin.
“It will still cost you,” Royce said and the prince’s grin faded. “Let’s say one hundred gold tenents.”
“One hundred?” Alric protested.
“It’s what DeWitt promised, so it seems only fair. And if we are to be your security, you’ll do as I say. I can’t protect you if you don’t, and since we aren’t just playing with your silly little life, but my future as well, I will have to insist.”
Alric huffed and glowered, but he eventually nodded. “Like all good rulers, it is understood there are times when we know it is best to listen to skilled advisors. Just remember who I am, and who I will be when I return to Medford.”
As the fighter and the monk caught up, Royce said, “Hadrian, we’ve just been promoted to Royal Protectors.”
“Does it pay more?”
“Actually it does. It also weighs less. Give the prince back his sword.”
Hadrian handed the huge sword of Amrath to Alric, who slipped the broad, ornate baldric over one shoulder and strapped on the weapon. Wearing it looked a bit less foolish now that he was dressed and mounted, but Royce thought it was still too large for him.
“Wylin took this off my father and handed it to me…was it only two nights past? It was Tolin Essendon’s sword, handed down from king to prince for seven hundred years. We are one of the oldest unbroken families in Avryn.”
Royce dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Hadrian. “I’m going to scout up ahead and make sure there are no surprises waiting.” He left with surprising swiftness in a hunched run. He entered the shadows of the ravine and vanished.
“How does he do that?” Alric asked.
“Creepy, isn’t it?” Hadrian remarked.
“How did he do what?” Myron asked, studying a cattail he plucked just before they left the lakeside. “These things are marvelous by the way.”
They waited for several minutes and when they heard a bird song, Hadrian ordered them forward. The broken road weaved to and fro a bit until they could once again see the lake below. They were now much higher, and the lake looked like a large bright puddle. The road narrowed until at last it stopped. To either side hills rose at a gradual slope. Directly in front the path ended at a straight sheer cliff extending upward several hundred feet.
“Are we in the wrong place?” Hadrian asked.
“It’s supposed to be a hidden prison,” Alric reminded them.
“I just assumed,” Hadrian said, “being up here in the middle of nowhere was what was meant by hidden. I mean, if you didn’t know the prison was here, would you come to such a place?”
“If this was made by the best minds of what was left of the Empire,” Alric said, “it is likely to be hard to find and harder to enter.”
“Legends hold it was mostly constructed by dwarves,” Myron explained.
“Lovely,” Royce said miserably. “It’s going to be another Drumindor.”
“We had issues getting into a dwarf-constructed fortress in Tur Del Fur a few years back,” Hadrian explained. “It wasn’t pretty. We might as well get comfortable; this could take a while.”
Royce searched the cliff. The stone directly before the path was exposed as if recently sheered off, and while moss and small plants grew among the many cracks elsewhere, none was found anywhere near the cliff face.
“There’s a door here I know it,” the thief said, running his hands lightly across the stone. “Damn dwarves. I can’t find a hinge, crack, or seam.”
“Myron,” Alric asked, “did you read anything about how to open the door to the prison? I’ve heard tales about dwarves having a fondness for riddles and sometimes they make keys out of sounds, words that when spoken unlock doors.”
Myron shook his head as he climbed down off the horse.
“Words that unlock doors?” Royce looked at the prince skeptically. “Are these fairytales you’re listening to?”
“An invisible door sounds like a fairytale to me,” Alric replied. “So it seems appropriate.”
“It’s not invisible. You can see the cliff, can’t you? It’s merely well hidden. Dwarves can cut stone with such precision you can’t see a gap.”
“You do have to admit, Royce, what dwarves can do with stone is amazing,” Hadrian added.
Royce glared over his shoulder at him. “Don’t talk to me.”
Hadrian smiled. “Royce doesn’t much care for the wee folk.”
“Open in the name of Novron!” Alric suddenly shouted with a commanding tone, his voice echoing between the stony slopes.
Royce spun around and fixed the prince with a withering stare. “Don’t do that again!”
“Well, you weren’t making any progress. I just thought perhaps since this was, or is, a Church prison, maybe a religious command would unlock it. Myron, is there some standard Church saying to open a door? You should know about this. Is there such a thing?”
“I am not a priest of Nyphron. The Winds Abbey was a monastery of Maribor.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Alric said, looking disappointed.
“I mean I know about the Church of Nyphron,” Myron clarified, “but I’m not a member of that religion so I wouldn’t be privy to any secret codes or chants or such.”
“What I don’t understand,” Hadrian said, dismounting and tying his horse to a nearby tree, “is why Arista sent us here knowing we couldn’t get in?”
The day was growing dark and the wind had picked up, heralding another possible storm. Hadrian was careful to lash the horses tightly for fear the wind might spook them. Alric walked about, rubbing his legs and muttering about being saddle sore. Myron continued to watch the horses with fascination, summoning the nerve every so often to stroke their necks.
“Would you like to help me unsaddle them?” Hadrian asked. “I don’t think we’ll be leaving soon.”
“Of course,” the monk said eagerly. “Now, how do I do that?”
Together, Hadrian and Myron relieved the animals of their saddles and packs, and stowed their gear under a small rock ledge. Hadrian suggested Myron gather some grass for the animals while he approached Royce, who sat on the path staring at the cliff. Occasionally, the thief would get up, examine a portion of the wall, and sit back down grumbling.