“Renwick, Elbright, Brand, Kine, Mince, come, we are going to have breakfast.”
Elbright was the first one out, emerging from the tarp carefully. His head turned from side to side. They each followed him slowly, squinting in the sunlight, and just as Elbright had described, four men stood before them in the small clearing. They looked terribly out of place. The man with the long white hair was wearing purple, red, and gold robes and he leaned on a staff. To either side stood the soldiers, in gold breastplates, helms, and sleeves. They also wore colorful pants of red, purple, and yellow. Each held a spear and wore a sword. The priest was the only normal-looking fellow, standing with his weight on one leg in the traditionally drab black habit of a Nyphron priest.
“Who are you?” Elbright asked.
“This is His Grace the Patriarch of the Nyphron Church,” the priest told him.
“Oh,” Elbright said, nodding. Mince could tell he was trying to sound like he knew who that was, but his friend knew better. Elbright was always doing that, making out like he was more worldly than he was.
“These are his bodyguards and I am Monsignor Merton of Ghent.”
“Guess you already know us,” Elbright said. “What are you doing here?”
“Just waiting,” the Patriarch replied. “Like you—waiting for them to climb back out of that hole and change the nature of the world forever. Certainly you can’t begrudge us the desire of a front-row seat.”
The old man looked at his guards and they trudged off.
“How’s Renwick?” Mince asked. “Did he make it to Aquesta?”
“I’m sorry,” Monsignor Merton replied kindly. “We traveled by sea around the horn to Vernes and then by coach. We left quite some time ago, so it is entirely possible that he arrived after we left. Was he a friend?”
Mince nodded.
“He rode to Aquesta with news that the elves were attacking from the southeast,” Brand said. “They came right by here, they did.”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” the priest said.
“Pleasant little place you have here,” the old man mentioned, looking around. “It’s nice that you put your camp under the holly tree. I like the splash of green on such a day as this, when it seems as if all the color has been stolen. It has been a long, cold winter, but it will soon be over. A new world is about to bloom.”
Mince heard the distant sound of music and instantly he threw his hands to his ears.
“Is that…?” Elbright asked, alarmed, raising his own hands as Mince bobbed his head.
“Relax, boys,” the Patriarch said. “That melody is not enchanted. It is the “Ibyn Ryn,” the Ervian anthem.”
“But it’s the elves!” Elbright said. “They’re coming!”
“Yes.” The Patriarch glanced up the hill and then down at the hole. “It’s a race now.”
CHAPTER 26
THE RETURN
I love this chamber,” Arista said as they spread out blankets on the same flat rock. Overhead the glowworms glimmered and winked, and she noticed for the first time how much she missed seeing the sky.
Magnus gathered his rocks in the center once more. “This is nothing compared to the wonders that I have seen in the deep. My grandfather once took me into the mountains of the Dithmar Range of Trent to a place only he knew. He told me that I needed to know where I came from. He took me deep into a crevasse to where a river went underground. We disappeared inside for weeks. My mother and father were furious when we finally returned. They didn’t want me to get ideas. They had already given up, but my grandfather—he knew.”
Magnus sparked a stone against another. “The things he showed me were amazing. Chambers hundreds of times the size of this one made of shimmering crystal so that a single glow stone could make it bright as day. Stone cathedrals with pillars and teeth, and waterfalls that dropped so far you could not hear the roar. Everything down there was so vast, so wide, so big—we felt immeasurably small. It is sometimes hard to believe in Drome, seeing what has become of his people, but in places like this, and certainly in halls like the ones my grandfather showed me, it’s like seeing the face of god firsthand.”
Arista spread her blanket next to Hadrian.
“What are you trying to do there, Magnus?” Hadrian asked.
“Provide a little light. There are lots of this kind of stone here. My grandfather showed me how to make them burn—smolder, really.”
“Let me help.” Arista made a modest motion and the trio of rocks ignited and burned as a perfect campfire.
The dwarf frowned. “No, no. Stop it. I can get it.”
Arista clapped and the fire vanished. “I just wanted to help.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not natural.”
“And making rocks glow by slamming them together is?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes—if you’re a dwarf.”
Magnus got his rocks glowing and the rest gathered around them to eat. They were each down to their last meals and hoped to emerge aboveground the following day, or the last leg of the trip would be a hungry one.
“Aha!” Myron said. He had laid his books out near the rocks, giddy that there was enough light to read by.
“Discover the proper pronunciation to another name?” Hadrian asked. “Is Degan’s real name Gwyant?”
“Hum? Oh, no, I found Mawyndul?—the one Antun Bulard and Esrahaddon spoke of.”
“You found him?”
“Yes, in this book. Ever since I read Mr. Bulard’s last scribbled words, I’ve been trying to find information on him. I reasoned that he must have read something shortly before he died. As these were the only books he had with him in the library, it stood to reason that Mawyndul? was mentioned somewhere in one of them. Wouldn’t you know it would be in the last book I read? Migration of Peoples by Princess Farilane. It is really a very biased accounting of how the Instarya clan took control of the elven empire. But it mentions Nyphron, the horn, and Mawyndul?.”
“What does it say?” Arista asked.
“It says the elves were constantly warring between the various tribes, and quite a bloody and violent people until they obtained the horn.”
“I mean, what does it say about Mawyndul??”
“Oh.” Myron looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. I haven’t read that yet. I just saw his name.”
“Then let’s be quiet and let the man read.”
Everyone remained silent, staring at the monk as he scanned the pages. Arista wondered if all the glaring distracted Myron, but as he rapidly turned page after page of dense script, she realized that the monk was unflappable with a book before him.
“Oh,” Myron finally said.
“ ‘Oh’ what?” Arista asked.
“I know why the horn didn’t make a sound when Degan blew it.”
“Well?” Hadrian asked.
The monk looked up. “You were right. Like you said in the tomb, it’s a horn of challenge.”
“And?”
“Degan’s already king. He can’t challenge himself, so it made no sound.”
“What does all this have to do with Mawyndul??” Arista asked.
Myron shrugged. “Still reading.”