“Almost three years,” Myron calculated.
“Not nearly as bad as I thought,” Hadrian remarked, “but still, three years of just sitting there—”
“I was not just sitting there. I fought a battle each day. ’Twas a force of great effort to fend off their attacks to learn my secrets. And I had to decipher the runes etched all around me. I was never bored. Moreover, I have learned patience as a practitioner of The Art. Although there were times…Well, who is to say what it means to be sane?”
When they approached the hall of faces, Esrahaddon looked down its length and paused. Hadrian noticed the wizard stiffen. “What is it?” he asked.
“Those art the workers who built this gaol. I came here during the last few days they wert building this place. There was a small city of tents and shacks around the lake then. Hundreds of artisans and their families traveled here at the imperial call to do their part out of patriotism for their fallen Emperor. Such was the character of His Imperial Majesty. They all mourned his passing, and few in the vast and varied Empire would not have gladly given their lives for him. They labeled me the betrayer, and I could see the hatred in their eyes as they passed me on their way to work. They were proud to be the builders of my tomb.”
The wizard’s gaze moved from face to face. “I recognize some of them: the stone cutters, the sculptures, the cooks, and their wives and children. The Church could not let them go for fear they would talk. They sealed them in. All these people, all these artists ensnared by a lie and murdered just to keep me here. How many people died, I wonder? How much was lost just to hide one absurd secret, which even a millennium hath not erased?”
“There’s no door down there,” Alric warned the wizard.
Esrahaddon looked up at Alric as if awoken from a dream. “Of course there is a door,” he said and promptly led them down the corridor at a brisk walk. “Thou wert merely out of phase with it before.”
Here, in the darkest segment of the prison, Esrahaddon’s robe grew brighter still, and he looked like a giant firefly. In time, they came to a solid stone wall, and without hesitation or pause, Esrahaddon walked through it. The rest quickly followed.
The bright sunlight of a lovely, clear autumn morning nearly blinded them the moment they passed through the barrier. Blue sky and the cool fresh air was a welcome change. Hadrian took a deep breath and reveled in the scent of grass and fallen leaves, a smell he had not even noticed prior to entering the prison. “That’s strange. It should be nighttime and raining, I would think. We couldn’t have been in there more than a few hours. Could we?”
“Funny things can happen when ye play with time.” Esrahaddon threw his head back and faced the sun. He stood and took long deep breaths of air, sighing contentedly with each exhale. “The question ye should be asking thyselves is what day ’tis? Today could be the same day you entered, or the one after. In theory, ’tis possible to be tens or hundreds of years in the future.” The wizard appeared amused at the shock on their faces. “Don’t worry too much. Most likely ye only skipped a few days or hours.”
“That’s rather unnerving,” Alric said, “losing time like that.”
“I have lost nine hundred years. Everyone I knew is dead, the Empire is gone, and who knows what else hath happened. If what thy sister tells me is correct, much hath changed in the world while I have been gone.”
“By the way,” Royce mentioned, “no one uses the words ’tis or hath anymore and certainly not thou or thy. You sound like a history book.”
The wizard nodded. “I noticed none of ye spoke properly. In my day, various classes had different forms of speech. Properly educated people used more sophistication than the lower classes as a mark of their rank. I assumed all of ye were merely of a lower station or, in the case of the king, poorly educated.”
Alric glared. “It is you who sound strange, not us.”
“I see. Then I wilt have to learn to speak as all of—you—do. Even though—it is—very difficult and sounds crude and guttural.”
Hadrian, Royce, and Myron began the task of saddling the horses, which remained standing where they had left them. Myron smiled, obviously happy to be with the animals once again. He petted them while eagerly asking how to tie a cinch strap.
“We don’t have an extra horse, and Hadrian is riding double already,” Alric explained. He glanced at Royce, who showed no indication of volunteering. “Esrahaddon will have to ride with me I suppose.”
“That won’t be necessary. I will be going my own way.”
“Oh no you’re not. You’re coming back to my castle with me. I have a great deal to speak with you about. You were the advisor to the Emperor and are obviously very gifted and knowledgeable. I have great need for such an advisor. You will be my Royal Counselor.”
“No. ’Twill…” he sighed and then continued. “It will come as a shock to—you—but I did not escape for the purpose of helping you with your little problems. I have more important matters to which I must attend, and I have been too long from them.”
The prince appeared taken aback. “What matters could you possibly have after nine hundred years? After all, it’s not as if you have to get home to tend to your livestock. If it is a matter of compensation, you will be well paid and live in as much luxury as I can afford. And if you are thinking of shopping around, only Ethelred of Warric is likely to offer as much and trust me, you don’t want to work for the likes of him. He’s a dogmatic Imperialist and a loyal church supporter.”
“I am not looking for compensation.”
“No? Look at you. You have nothing, no food, no place to sleep. I think you should consider your situation a bit more before refusing me. Besides, gratitude alone should compel you to help me.”
“Gratitude? Has the meaning of that word changed as well? In my day, it meant to show appreciation for a favor.”
“And it still does. I saved you. I released you from that place.”
Esrahaddon raised an eyebrow. “Didst thou help me escape as a favor to me? I think not. Thou freed me to save thyself. I owe thee nothing, and if I did, I repaid thee when I brought thou out.”
“But the whole reason I came here was to gain your assistance. I am inheriting a throne handed down by blood! Thieves abducted and dragged me across the kingdom in my first two days as king. I still don’t know who killed my father or how to find them. I am in great need of help. You must know hundreds of things the greatest minds of today have never known—”
“Thousands at least, but I am still not going with you. You have a kingdom to secure. My path lies elsewhere.”
Alric’s face grew red with frustration. “I insist you return with me and become my advisor. I can’t just let you wander off. Who knows what kind of trouble you could cause. You’re dangerous.”
“Yes indeed dear prince, so allow me to givest thee a bit of free counciclass="underline" doth not use the word insistin conjunction with me. Thine hath but only a small spill to contend with, do not tempt a deluge.”
Alric stiffened.
“How long before the Church starts hunting you?” Hadrian asked casually.
“What dost thou…” the wizard sighed. “What do you mean?”
“You locked things up nicely in the prison so no one will know you escaped. Of course, if we were to return and start bragging about how we broke you out, that might start inquiries.”
The wizard leveled his gaze at Hadrian. “Art thee attempting to blackmail me?”
“Why would I do that? As you already know, I have nothing to do with this, being just a scapegoat and all. Not to mention it would be pretty stupid of me to threaten a powerful wizard. The thing is though, the king here, he is not as bright as I am. He very well might get drunk and tell stories at the first tavern he arrives at, as nobles often do.” Esrahaddon glanced at Alric, whose red face now turned pale. “Fact is, we came all this way to find out who killed Alric’s father, and we really don’t know much more than we did before we set out.”