“Exactly, the man is a fool.”
“All right, it might not have been the smartest choice, but it did show courage and an unwillingness to sit back in safety while sending others into peril. That right there gives him credit in my book. But okay, I see your point. He might not be the smartest leader. So if you want someone with brains and merit, then Princess Arista is your clear choice.”
Degan chuckled, apparently taking his comments as a joke. When he saw Hadrian’s scowl, he stopped. “You’re not serious? She’s a woman—an irritating, manipulative, bossy woman. She shouldn’t even be on this trip. She’s got Alric wrapped around her finger and it will get us all killed. Did you know she tried to free me from that dungeon all by herself? She failed miserably, got herself captured and her bodyguard killed. That’s what she does, you know. She gets people killed. She’s a menace. And on top of that she’s also a wit—”
Degan struck the wall with the back of his head, bounced off, and fell to his knees. Hadrian felt the pain in his knuckles and only then realized he had hit him.
Gaunt glared up, his eyes watering, his hands cupping his face. “Crazy fool! Are you mad?”
“What’s going on?” Arista called back down the line.
“This idiot just punched me in the face! My nose is bleeding!”
“Hadrian did?” the princess said, stunned.
“It was… an accident,” Hadrian replied, knowing it sounded feeble, but not knowing how else to describe his actions. He had not meant to hit Gaunt; it had just happened.
“You accidentally punched him?” Wyatt asked, suppressing a chuckle. “I’m not sure you have a full understanding of the whole bodyguard thing.”
“Hadrian!” Royce called.
“What?” he shouted back, irritated that even Royce was going to join in this embarrassing moment.
“Come up here. I need you to look at something.”
Degan was still on his knees in a pool of water. “Um—sorry ’bout that.”
“Get away from me!”
Hadrian moved up the line as Wyatt, Elden, and Myron pressed themselves against the walls to let him pass, each one looking at him curiously.
“What did he do?” Arista whispered as he reached her.
“Nothing, really.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You punched him for no reason?”
“Well, no, but—it’s complicated. I’m not even sure I understand it. It was sort of like a reflex, I guess.”
“A… reflex?” she said.
“I told him I was sorry.”
“Anytime today would be nice,” Royce said.
Arista stepped aside, looking at him suspiciously as he passed.
“What was all that about?” Alric asked as he approached.
“I, ah—I punched Gaunt in the face.”
“Good for you,” Alric told him.
“About time someone did,” Mauvin said. “I’m just sorry you beat me to it.”
“What do you make of this?” Royce asked, still on his knees and pointing to something on the ground beside his lantern.
Hadrian bent down. It was a leather string with a series of stone beads, feathers, and what looked like chicken bones threaded through it.
“It’s a Trajan ankle bracelet,” he told them. “Worn for luck by warriors of the Ankor tribe of the Ghazel.”
“The ends aren’t torn,” Royce said. “But look how they are bent and twisted. I think it just came untied. And it is partially buried under the dirt, so I am thinking it’s been here awhile. Regardless, we are in their neighborhood, so we’d better start moving a bit more cautiously. See if you can keep the chatter down to a minimum.”
Hadrian looked at the bracelet and caught Royce by the arm as he was about to move forward again.
“Here,” he said, keeping his body positioned to block the view of the rest of the party. He placed Alverstone into Royce’s hand.
“I was wondering where that went.”
“Time to re-claw the cat, I think,” Hadrian said. “Just be a good boy, okay?”
“Look who’s talking.”
The party moved forward again. Hadrian did not return to the rear. He thought it was more likely they would encounter Ghazel from the front, and he also did not relish the idea of returning to Gaunt.
The corridor widened until they could walk three abreast. Then abruptly the passageway ended. It stopped in a small room where the far side narrowed to no more than a crack. In the center was nothing more than a sizable pile of rocks.
Gaunt shook his head in disgust. “I told you he was incompetent,” he said, pointing at Alric. “He was so sure this was the right passage, and here we are days later standing at a dead end.”
“You said I was incompetent?” the king asked, then looked to Hadrian. “No wonder you hit him. Thanks.”
“What about us?” Gaunt asked. “How many days of food do we have? How much time have we wasted? We’ve been down here—what? Three days now? And it took us two days from Aquesta. That’s five days. Add five days to get back and even if we were to leave right now, we will have been gone ten days! How long do you think we have until the elves reach Aquesta? Two weeks? We’ll blow most of that time just retracing our steps.”
“I did not hear you suggesting a different choice,” Arista said. “Alric picked as best he could and I don’t think anyone here could have chosen any better.”
“How surprising—his sister is defending him.”
Mauvin stepped toward Gaunt and drew his blade. The sword picked up the light from the lanterns on its mirrored surface and flashed as Mauvin raised the point to Gaunt’s neck. “I warned you before. Do not speak of my king without respect in my presence.”
“Mauvin, stop!” Arista ordered.
“I’m not going to kill him,” he assured her. “I’ll just carve my initials in his face.”
“Alric.” She turned to her brother. “Tell him to stop.”
“I’m not certain I should.”
“See! This is the oppression I spoke of!” Gaunt shouted. “The evils of a hereditary authority.”
“Somebody shut him up,” Royce snapped.
“Mauvin,” Hadrian said.
“What?” Mauvin looked at him, confused. “You punched him!”
“Yeah, well—that was then.”
“Lower your blade, Mauvin,” Alric said, relenting. “My honor can wait until we are through with this.”
Mauvin sheathed his weapon and Gaunt pushed himself away from the wall, breathing heavily. “Threatening me doesn’t change the situation. We are still at a dead end and it is—”
“It’s not a dead end,” Magnus stated. He stomped his boot twice, got to his knees, and placed his ear to the ground. Then he looked up and glared at the pile of rocks. He got back to his feet and began throwing the rocks aside. Beneath were several pieces of wooden planking and, below them, a hole.
“That was hidden on purpose,” Wyatt said.
“This doesn’t mean we are in the right passage,” Gaunt argued. “I don’t remember the monk ever saying anything about going in a hole. There’s no way to tell this is the right way.”