“It’s stupid! That’s what it is—stupid!”
“Think of it this way,” Hadrian told him. “If you fail and that thing eats you, it will be over like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Don’t do it, and you linger here starving to death for days.”
“Or smother,” Royce put in. Everyone looked at him. He rolled his eyes. “The air is getting stale. We have a limited amount.”
“If you’re going to die, why not die doing something noble?” Hadrian told him.
Gaunt just shook his head miserably.
“That’s just it,” Mauvin said, disgusted. He held his wound, a pained look on his face. “Hadrian, you’ve got it right there. Gaunt is not noble. He doesn’t even know what it means. You want to know the real difference between you and Alric? You made fun and lurid speeches about nobility, about blue blood and incompetence, but while you might have the blood of the emperor in you, it must be diluted until it is practically nonexistent. Your lineage has long forgotten its greatness—your base side is firmly in control. Your wanton desire is unchecked by purpose or honor.
“Alric might not have been the best king, but he was courageous and honorable. The idea of walking through that door, of facing death, must terrify you. How terrible it must be to give up your life when you’ve never taken the chance to live it. How cheated you must feel, like losing a coin before spending it. To what can you hang on to and feel pride? Nothing! Alric could have walked through that door, not because he was king, not even because he was noble-born, but because of who he was. He wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes, but never on purpose, never with an intent to do harm. He lived his life the best way he knew how. He always did what he felt was right. Can you say that?”
Gaunt remained silent.
“We can’t force you to do this,” Arista told him. “But if you don’t, Hadrian is right—we will all die, because there is no going back, and there is no going forward without you.”
“Can I at least finish my meal before I answer?”
“Of course,” she told him.
She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. She was still so tired—so exhausted—and everything was so hard now. She knew it would be difficult to convince Gaunt, but worse than that, she had no idea what to do if he tried and failed.
Gaunt raised a bite to his lips, then stopped and frowned. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes drooping, his lip quivering, his breathing coming loudly through his nose. “I knew this would happen.” His hand rose absently to his neck as if searching for something. “Ever since I lost it, ever since they took it, nothing’s been the same.”
“Took what?” she asked.
“The good luck charm my mother gave me when I was a boy, a beautiful silver medallion. It warded off evil and brought me the most marvelous luck. It was wonderful. When I had it, I could get away with anything. My sister always said I lived a charmed life, and I did, but he took it.”
“Who did—Guy?” Arista asked.
“No, another man. Lord Marius, he called himself. I knew nothing would be the same after that. I never had to worry—now it’s all falling on me.” He looked at the door to the Vault of Days. “If I go in there, I’ll die. I know it.”
Hadrian reached into his shirt and pulled a chain over his head. Gaunt’s eyes widened as the fighter held it up. “Esrahaddon made the medallion you wore, just as he made this one. Just as you received yours from your mother, my father left me this. I am certain they are the same. If you agree to go in—to try and cross the room—I will give it to you.”
“Let me see it!”
Hadrian handed the necklace to him. Gaunt fell to his knees next to the lantern and studied the amulet’s face. “It is the same.”
“Well?” Hadrian asked.
“Okay,” Gaunt replied. “With this I’ll do it… but I’ll keep it afterward, right? It’s mine for good now, yes? I won’t do it otherwise.”
“I will let you keep it, but on one more condition. Modina keeps the crown.”
Gaunt glared at him.
“Tear up the contract you had with her. If you agree to let her remain empress, then you can keep it.”
Gaunt felt the medallion between his fingers. He rubbed it, his eyes shifting in thought. He looked back at the door to the vault and sighed. “Okay,” he said, and slipped the chain over his head, smiling.
“The agreement?”
Gaunt scowled, then pulled the parchment from his clothes and gave it to Hadrian, who tore it up, adding the scraps to the pile on the floor.
“How about you?” Hadrian asked Arista.
“Still a bit tired, but I won’t get any sleep now.”
Hadrian stood up and walked to the door. “Myron, you might want to start praying.”
The monk nodded.
“Degan?” Arista called. “Degan?”
Gaunt looked up from his new necklace with an annoyed expression.
“When you get across,” Arista told him, “look for the horn in the tomb. I don’t know where it will be. I don’t even know what it will look like, but it is there.”
“If you can’t find it,” Hadrian said, “look for a sword with writing on the blade. You can kill the Gilarabrywn with it. You just have to stab it. It doesn’t matter where. Just drive the word written on the blade into its body.”
“If something goes wrong, run back and I will try to protect you,” Arista said.
Hadrian handed Gaunt the lantern. “Good luck.”
Gaunt stood before them, clutching his new medallion and the light. His long cloak was discarded in tatters on the floor, his hat disheveled, his face sick. Hadrian and Royce slid the latches and drew back the bolts. The metal made a disturbing squeal; then the door came free. Hadrian raised his foot and kicked the door open. It swung back with a groan, a large hollow sound that suggested the vast volume of the chamber beyond.
Gaunt took a step, raised the lantern, and peered in. “I can’t see anything.”
“It’s there,” Royce whispered to him. The thief stood behind Gaunt. “Right in the middle of the room. It looks like it’s sleeping.”
“Go on, Degan,” Arista said. “Maybe you can sneak by.”
“Yeah—sneak,” he said, and stepped forward, leaving Arista and Royce standing side by side in the doorway with Hadrian looking over their shoulders.
“Stop breathing so hard,” Royce snapped. “Breathe through your mouth, at least.”
“Right,” he said, and took another step. “Is it moving?”
“No,” Royce told him.
Gaunt took three more steps. The lantern in his hand began to jingle a bit as his arm shook.
“Why doesn’t he just scream, ‘Come eat me!’?” Royce hissed in frustration.
Arista watched as the lantern bobbed. The light revealed nothing of the walls or ceiling and illuminated only one side of Gaunt as he appeared to walk into a void of nothingness.
“How big is this room?” she asked.