“Well? How’s it going?”
“I hate dwarves,” Royce replied.
“Most people do.”
“Yes, but I have a reason. The bastards are the only ones that can make boxes I can’t open.”
“You’ll open it. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be soon, but you’ll open it.”
Royce sat on his haunches, his cloak draped out around him. His eyes remained focused, but he was frustrated. “I can’t even see it. If I could see it then maybe, but how can I break a lock when I can’t even find the door?”
“Maybe more information would help,” Hadrian suggested. He looked around and found Myron walking back to the horses with a few handfuls of weeds he had plucked. “Myron, tell me, what is the difference between Nyphrons and you monks?”
“Well, how much do you know about religion in general?”
Royce let out a small chuckle. Hadrian ignored him. “Just start at the beginning, Myron. And pretend I don’t know much at all.”
“Oh,” the monk nodded. “Well,” he began as if reciting a well-remembered liturgy. “Erebus created Elan, which, of course, is the known world, everything we see, the sky and ground. He made it so his children would have a place to rule. He had three sons and one daughter. His eldest son he named Ferrol. Ferrol is a master of magic and created the elves. His second son was Drome. He is the master craftsman, and he created the dwarves. His youngest son is Maribor and he created Man. His daughter is Muriel, and she created the animals, the birds, and the fish in the sea.
“Now, Ferrol being the oldest, his children, the elves, dominated the entire surface of Elan. Drome’s children also grew great and controlled the world underground. Maribor’s children, mankind, had no place. We struggled to survive in the most wretched, desolate places that the elves and dwarves didn’t want.
“Then it came to pass that Erebus, in a drunken rage, forced himself on Muriel. From this union was born Uberlin, the Dark One. He, too, created children in Elan, and they are the Ghazel, the Dacca, and all the other creatures of shadow. Outraged at the crime, Ferrol, Drome, and Maribor attacked their father and slew him. Uberlin tried to defend his father, and they turned on him. They nearly killed Uberlin as well, but Muriel, sickened at her father’s death, begged for his life. Instead, they cast Uberlin down and locked him within the depths of Elan.
“His children, however, grew in number and began to take what little the children of Maribor had managed to acquire. Losing their tiny footholds, mankind begged Maribor for help, and he heard their pleas. He tricked his brother Drome into forging the great sword Rhelacan, although in some very old text it is referred to as a great horn. He convinced his other brother Ferrol to enchant the weapon. Then Maribor came to Elan in disguise and slept with a mortal woman. The union brought forth Novron the Great. Armed with the Rhelacan, Novron led mankind in a war against the elves, the dwarves, and the forces of shadow. In a few short years, mankind subdued them all.
“Angry about the subjugation of their children by a demigod, Ferrol and Drome unleashed Uberlin with the promise of permanent freedom if he slew Novron. Twisted and misshapen after eons of darkened captivity, their half brother met Novron in battle. They fought for three days that shook Elan. In the end, Uberlin, severely wounded, crawled back into the bowels of the world, but Novron was worse. The mortal son of Maribor was pierced through the heart and died, his spirit returning to his father’s side.
“Novron’s son became the new Emperor, and soon the Great Church of Nyphron was established to pay homage to Novron as god and the son of Maribor. The Nyphron Church became the official religion of the Empire, but farther away from the imperial capital of Percepliquis, people remembered the old ways and continued to worship Maribor as they always had. The people called these wandering priests of the old religion Monks of Maribor. Eventually, with the fall of the Empire, the monks became more prominent and established monasteries. There is much more to the story, of course, but that is a basic overview,” Myron said.
“So,” Hadrian began, “you monks worship Maribor while the Nyphron worship Novron?”
“Close,” the monk said, “the Nyphron also worship Maribor, they just put emphasis on Novron. The main differences are really in the manner of worship. The Church focuses on public worship. They are very involved in guiding society, as they believe the birth of Novron demonstrates Maribor wanted his worshipers to take a direct hand in controlling the fate of mankind. As such, they are very involved in politics and warfare. We monks believe in a more personal devotion to Maribor. We seek out his will in the quiet places, through the ancient rituals and in this silence; he speaks to us in our hearts. We don’t so much seek to do what Maribor wants, but rather to merely learn to know Maribor better.”
“Well, thank you, Myron,” Hadrian said. “That was very educational, but I’m afraid I didn’t find anything in that which would help us with our current situation.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t a help,” Myron said in a disappointed tone.
During the monk’s tale, Hadrian had found a comfortable seat next to Alric, with his back against the cliff wall. After checking on the horses once more, Myron joined them. Royce remained studying the cliff. No one disturbed his concentration.
Storm clouds covered the sky and darkened the ravine. What light remained was an odd hue adding a sense of the surreal to the landscape. Soon the wind began gusting through the pass, blowing dirt into the air. In the distance, they could hear the low rumble of thunder.
“Any luck with the door, Royce?” Hadrian asked. His legs were outstretched, and he tapped the tips of his boots together. “Because it looks like we’re in for another cold, wet night, only tonight we won’t have any shelter.”
Royce muttered something none of them caught.
Down below them, framed by the walls of the ravine, they could still see the shimmering surface of the lake. It was still a pale gray, but now it shined like a mirror facing the sky. Every now and then, it would flash brilliantly when lightning flickered in the distance.
Royce grumbled again.
“What’s that?” Hadrian asked.
“I was just thinking about what you said earlier. Why would she send us here if she knew we couldn’t get in? She must have thought we could, maybe to her it was obvious.”
“Maybe it’s magic,” Alric said, pulling his cloak tighter.
“Enough with the enchanted words,” Royce told him. “Locks are mechanical. Believe me, I know a bit about this subject. Dwarves are very clever and very skilled, but they don’t make doors that unlock by a sound.”
“I just brought it up because Arista could do some, so maybe getting in is easy for her.”
“Do some what?” Hadrian asked.
“Magic.”
“Your sister is a witch?” Myron asked disturbed.
Alric laughed. “You could certainly say that, yes, but it has little to do with her magical capabilities. She studied at Sheridan University for a few years learning magical theory. It never amounted to much, but she was able to do a thing or two. She magically locks the door to her room, and I am certain she made the Countess Amril terribly sick one day when she betrayed a trust and told a squire Arista fancied him. Poor Amril was covered in boils for a week.”
Royce looked over at Alric. “What do you mean magically locks her door?”
“There’s never been a lock on it, but no one can open it but her.”
“Did you ever see your sister unlock her door?”
Alric shook his head. “I wish I had.”
“Myron,” Royce said, turning to the monk, “did you ever read about unusual locks, or keys? Maybe something associated with dwarves?”