The dwarf continued to stare at him, now in fascination.
“How about you?” Wyatt asked. “What did you do?”
“I tried to steal a dagger.”
Now it was Wyatt’s turn to stare. “Really?”
“Sure, but you have to remember—I’m a dwarf. You’ll probably get a slap on the wrist. After all, you only destroyed a country. I’ll likely be ripped apart by wild dogs.”
The door to the chamber opened, and while Wyatt had never actually seen her before, there was no mistaking Empress Modina Novronian. She entered flanked by guards and a spindly man in a foppish wig.
“Both of you are guilty of crimes,” she said. “Punishable by execution.”
Wyatt was surprised at the sound of her voice. He had expected an icier tone, a shrill superiority common to high nobility. She sounded—oddly enough—like a young girl.
“Wyatt Deminthal,” the spindly man in the wig said formally. “For wanton acts that precipitated and enabled the invasion of Delgos and the destruction of Tur Del Fur by the Ba Ran Ghazel, you are hereby found guilty of high treason against mankind and this empire. Punishment will be execution by beheading, to be carried out immediately.”
The empress then turned to the dwarf and once more the thin man spoke. “Magnus the dwarf, for the murder of King Amrath, you are hereby found guilty and sentenced to death by beheading, also to be carried out at once.”
“Seems you left something out,” Wyatt said to the dwarf, who only grumbled in response.
“Both of your lives are over,” Modina said. Then: “When I leave this room, the headsman will escort you to the block in the courtyard, where your punishment will be administered. Is there anything you would like to say before I leave?”
“My daughter…” Wyatt began, “she’s innocent. So is Elden—the big guy with her. I beg you, please don’t punish them.”
“They are safe and free to go. But where do you think they will go once you’re dead? You’ve been caring for them both for many years, haven’t you? While Elden may make a fine babysitter, he’s not much of a provider, is he?”
“Why are you saying this?” It mystified Wyatt that such a young girl could be so cruel.
“Because I would like to make you an offer, Mr. Deminthal. I would like to make both of you an offer. Given your positions, I think it is a very good one. I want the two of you to do a task for me. It will involve a difficult journey that I suspect will be very dangerous. If you agree, then upon your return, I shall absolve you both of your crimes.”
“And if I don’t come back? What happens to Elden and Allie?”
“Elden will go with you. I need experienced sailors and strength. I think he’ll be useful.”
“What about Allie? I won’t have her going to some prison or orphanage. Can she come as well?”
“No, as I mentioned, the trip will be dangerous, so she will remain with me. I will be her guardian while you are away.”
“What if I don’t come back? What if neither Elden or I…”
“If that happens, I promise that I will personally adopt her.”
“You will?”
“Yes, Mr. Deminthal. If you succeed, you will be forgiven of all crimes you have committed. If you fail, I will make your daughter my daughter. Of course, you can refuse my offer, in which case I have to ask if you would prefer a blindfold or not. It’s your choice.”
“And me?” Magnus asked.
“I offer you the same thing. Do as I ask, and you’ll live. I’ll consider your service as fulfillment of your sentence. In your case, however, there is one additional stipulation. Mr. Deminthal has proved that his ties to his daughter are strong enough to hold him to his commitments. You, on the other hand, have no such attachments and have a talent for disappearing. I can’t afford to let you out of this cell without some insurance. I know a sorceress who can find anyone, anywhere, using only a strand of hair, and your beard is ever so long.”
Magnus’s eyes widened in alarm.
“It’s your choice, master dwarf, your beard or your neck.”
“Do we at least get to know where we are going, and what we will be doing?” Wyatt asked.
“Does it matter?”
Wyatt thought a moment, then shook his head.
“You’ll be accompanying a team to the ancient city of Percepliquis to find a very important relic that might just save mankind. If you succeed at that, I think you deserve to be forgiven for any crime.
“There is just one more thing. You’ll be accompanied by Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. As for you, Wyatt, they know nothing of your involvement with Merrick. I suggest you keep it that way. Merrick is dead, and nothing good can come from revealing your involvement in Tur Del Fur.”
Wyatt nodded toward the dwarf. “I already told him.”
“That’s all right. I doubt Master Magnus will be speaking to them much. Magnus has had, shall we say, his own misunderstandings with Riyria, not to mention the children of King Amrath, who will also be along for the trip. I suspect he’ll be on his best behavior, won’t you, Magnus?”
The dwarf’s face showed concern but he nodded.
“So, gentlemen, the choice is yours. Risk your lives for me and have a chance to become heroes of the empire, or refuse and die now as criminals.”
“That’s not much of a choice,” the dwarf growled.
“No—no, it isn’t. But it is all you have.”
Hadrian slowly climbed the steps. It felt like there were more of them this time. Aside from speaking to Myron, Hadrian had spent all night, and a good part of the next day, walking the corridors and courtyard, trying to formulate an argument—a reason that would convince Royce to go.
The guard heard him coming and was on his feet, key in hand. He looked bored. “You’ve come to take him?” he asked without interest. “I was told you’d be by—expected you earlier.”
Hadrian only nodded in reply.
“So much fuss about this little guy? From hearing the talk around the palace, you’d think he was Uberlin himself,” the guard continued as he placed the key in the lock. “He’s been quieter than a mouse. A few nights ago, I heard him crying—muffled sobs, you know? Not exactly the demon I was warned about.”
Royce had not moved. Nothing in the cell had changed since Hadrian’s last visit.
“You wanna give me a minute?” Hadrian asked the guard, who stood behind him.
“Huh? Oh—sure. Take your time.”
Hadrian stood silently at the open door. Royce did not move. He continued to sit with his head bowed.
Hadrian sighed. After all his searching, his thinking, his wandering, his solution seemed feeble at best. He had held dozens of mental debates in which he had played both sides of the arguments, but when he sat across from Royce, he had only one thing he could say. “I need your help.”
Royce looked up as if his head weighed a hundred pounds, his eyes red, his face ashen. He waited.
“One last job,” Hadrian told him, then added, “I promise.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Very.”