“Huge,” Royce told her.
She tried to remember the dream. She vaguely recalled the emperor on the floor of a large chamber with painted walls and a series of statues—statues that represented all the past emperors—a memorial hall.
“He seems to be doing pretty good,” Hadrian observed.
“He’s halfway to it,” Royce reported. “Walking real slow.”
“I think I can see it,” Arista said. Something ahead of Gaunt was finally illuminated by his light. It was big. “Is that it? Is that—Oh my god, that’s just its foot?”
“I said it was big,” Royce told her.
As Gaunt approached, his lantern revealed a mammoth creature. A clawed foot lay no more than ten feet away, yet its tail stretched too far into the darkness to see. Its two great leathery wings were folded at its sides as towering tents of skin stretched out on talon-endowed poles. Its huge head, with a long snout, raised ears, and fanged teeth, lay between its forefeet, making it seem as innocent as a sleeping dog—only it was not sleeping. Two eyes, each one larger than a wagon wheel, watched him, unblinking.
The moment it raised its head, Degan stopped moving. Even across the distance, they heard his labored, rapid breath.
“Don’t run,” Arista called, stepping forward into the room. “Tell it who you are. Tell it you are the heir. Order it to let you pass.”
The Gilarabrywn rose to its feet. As it did, its massive wings expanded. They sounded like distant thunder rolling and Arista felt a gust of air.
“Gaunt, tell it!”
“I—I—I am—I am Degan Ga—Gaunt, the Heir of Novron, and I—”
“Damn it!” Royce rushed forward.
Arista saw it too—the beast lifted its head and opened its mouth. Closing her eyes, she pushed out with her senses. There it was—the beast. In her mind’s eye, she could see its massive size, its overwhelming power, and it was pure magic. She could see it as such, hear its music, feel its vibration, and everything she sensed told her it was about to kill Degan.
“Run!” Hadrian shouted.
In that same instant, panic gripped her. The creature was not a force she could act upon; it was like smoke. She could not grasp, push, burn, or harm it. It was magic and acting upon it with magic would have no more effect than blowing at the wind or spitting in a lake.
She opened her eyes. “I can’t stop it!”
The beast arched its back to strike.
In one tremendous burst, Arista’s robe exploded with the brilliance of a star. Light filled the room, flooding every corner of the great vault. Gold and silver reflected the light, creating dazzling effects that blinded and bewildered. Even Arista could not see, but she heard the beast groan and sensed it recoil. The light went out as quickly as it had appeared, but still she could not see.
She heard footfalls running toward her. They brushed by and she was pulled through the doorway. Still blinking, her eyes still adjusting, she could barely make out Hadrian throwing back the bolts, sealing it out and them in. From the other side they heard a roar that shook the walls, then silence.
Royce and Gaunt lay on the floor panting. Hadrian collapsed near the door, and Arista found herself sliding down a wall to her knees. Tears filled her eyes.
It was over. Thranic had been right. No one was going to cross that room… ever.
CHAPTER 21
THE SACRIFICE
Hadrian raised the lantern and looked up at the collapse. Shattered rock and broken stone crushed into a solid wall blocked the corridor and obliterated the stair. He looked at Magnus at his side. “Well?”
The dwarf shook his head with a scowl. “If I had a month, perhaps two, I could tunnel it.”
“We have six, maybe seven, days’ worth of food and perhaps three days of water,” Hadrian told him. “And who knows how much air? I’m also guessing Wyatt and Elden won’t wait much beyond five days before setting sail home.”
“And don’t forget the Ghazel,” Magnus reminded him. “By now, how many do you think there might be? Five hundred? A thousand? Two thousand? How many more oberdaza have they brought up to deal with the princess? They will be watching the other end of this for some time, I think.”
Hadrian sighed. “It’s not looking good, is it?”
“No,” Magnus replied sadly. “I’m sorry.”
When they returned to the room, Arista was still sitting in the corner by herself. Since the attempt to cross the Vault of Days, she slept a lot and he wondered if she was looking for answers in her dreams. Mauvin lay on the floor, not bothering to use a blanket to cover the stone. He stared up at the ceiling blankly. Gaunt lay curled in the opposite corner from Arista, holding the amulet with both hands, his eyes closed.
By contrast, Royce and Myron sat chatting next to the last remaining lantern. To Hadrian the two appeared surreal. Myron spoke excitedly, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sifting through the piles of parchments he gathered around him. Each one had been carefully wiped clean of oil. Royce leaned comfortably against the wall, his feet up on Gaunt’s pack, his boots off as he flexed his toes. They could have been in the Dark Room at The Rose and Thorn or any cozy pub.
“The Ghazel conquered Calis,” Myron was saying. “They came out of the east on ships and attacked. Neither the men nor dwarves had ever seen them before. The men called them the spawn of Uberlin, but it was the dwarves that named them the Ba Ran Ghazel—sea goblins. They overran Calis and drove the clans of men west into Avryn while the dwarves returned underground. The elves warned men not to cross the Bernum River and when they did, the elves declared war.”
Myron stopped speaking as Hadrian and Magnus approached, both of them looking up expectantly. “No luck, then?” Royce asked, reading his face, which Hadrian was certain was no great feat.
“No,” he replied with a sigh. He was aware his shoulders were slumped, his head hanging. He felt beaten, defeated by stone, dust, and dirt. Exhausted, he lay down and, like Mauvin, stared at the ceiling. “There’s no way out of here.”
Magnus nodded. “The stone they used is solid and the princess did an excellent job as well. The collapse is hundreds of feet deep. I think she took out the entire stair and a good deal of the corridor beyond. Perhaps with a crew of twenty dwarves and a month to work with, I could clear the wreckage, build supports and reinforcements, and form a new stair, but as it is, we’ll be dead before I could tunnel a foot-wide hole.”
The dwarf sat down amidst the scrolls and, picking one up, glanced at it.
“Can you read Old Speech?” Myron asked.
“Not likely,” Magnus replied. “Dwarves aren’t even scholars in our own language. Are you finishing that story? The one about how the dwarves saved mankind?”
“Ah—well, yes, I suppose.”