Theft of Swords (The Riyria Revelations #1-2)

“Are we in the wrong place?” Hadrian asked.

“It’s supposed to be a hidden prison,” Alric reminded them.

“I just assumed,” Hadrian said, “being up here in the middle of nowhere was what was meant by hidden. I mean, if you didn’t know the prison was here, would you come to such a place?”

“If this was made by the best minds of what was left of the empire,” Alric said, “it’s likely to be hard to find and harder to enter.”

“Legends hold it was mostly constructed by dwarves,” Myron explained.

“Lovely,” Royce said. “It’s going to be another Drumindor.”

“We had issues getting into a dwarf-constructed fortress in Tur Del Fur a few years back,” Hadrian explained. “It wasn’t pretty. We might as well get comfortable; this could take a while.”

Royce searched the cliff. The stone directly before the path was exposed, as if recently sheared off, and while moss and small plants grew among the many cracks elsewhere, none were found anywhere near the cliff face.

“There’s a door here; I know it,” the thief said, running his hands lightly across the stone. “Damn dwarves. I can’t find a hinge, crack, or seam.”

“Myron,” Alric asked, “did you read anything about how to open the door to the prison? I’ve heard tales about dwarves having a fondness for riddles, and sometimes they make keys out of sounds, words that when spoken unlock doors.”

Myron shook his head as he climbed down off the horse.

“Words that unlock doors?” Royce looked at the prince skeptically. “Are these fairy tales you’re listening to?”

“An invisible door sounds like a fairy tale to me,” Alric replied. “So it seems appropriate.”

“It’s not invisible. You can see the cliff, can’t you? It’s merely well hidden. Dwarves can cut stone with such precision you can’t see a gap.”

“You do have to admit, Royce,” Hadrian said, “what dwarves can do with stone is amazing.”

Royce glared over his shoulder at him. “Don’t talk to me.”

Hadrian smiled. “Royce doesn’t much care for the wee folk.”

“Open in the name of Novron!” Alric suddenly shouted with a commanding tone, his voice echoing between the stony slopes.

Royce spun around and fixed the prince with a withering stare. “Don’t do that again!”

“Well, you weren’t making any progress. I just thought perhaps since this was, or is, a church prison, maybe a religious command would unlock it. Myron, is there some standard religious saying to open a door? You should know about this. Is there such a thing?”

“I’m not a priest of Nyphron. The Winds Abbey was a monastery of Maribor.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Alric said, looking disappointed.

“I mean, I know about the Church of Nyphron,” Myron clarified, “but since I’m not a member, I’m not privy to any secret codes or chants or such.”

“Really?” Hadrian said. “I thought you monks were just sort of like the poorer, younger brother of the Nyphron Church.”

Myron smiled. “If anything, we’d be the older but still the poorer brother. Worshiping Emperor Novron is a relatively recent event that began a few decades after the emperor’s death.”

“So you monks worship Maribor while the Nyphrons worship Novron?”

“Close,” the monk said, “the Nyphron Church also worships Maribor but they just put more emphasis on Novron. The main difference comes down to what you are looking for. We monks believe in a personal devotion to Maribor—seeking his will in quiet places. It’s through ancient rituals, and in this silence, that he speaks to us in our hearts. We’re striving to know Maribor better.

“The Church of Nyphron, on the other hand, focuses on trying to understand Maribor’s will. They believe the birth of Novron demonstrates Maribor’s desire to take a direct hand in controlling the fate of mankind. As such, they are very involved in politics. You’re familiar with the story of Novron, aren’t you?”

Hadrian pursed his lips. “Um … he was the first emperor and defeated the elves in some war a long time ago. I’m not sure why that makes him a god.”

“He’s not, actually.”

“Then why do so many people worship him?”

“Novron is believed to be the son of Maribor, sent to aid us in our darkest hour. There are six actual gods. Erebus is the father of all of the gods and he made the world of Elan. He brought forth three sons and a daughter. The eldest son, Ferrol, is a master of magic and created the elves. His second son is Drome, the master craftsman who created the dwarves. The youngest is Maribor and he, of course, created man. It was Erebus’s daughter, Muriel, who created the animals, birds, and the fish in the sea.”

“That’s five.”

“Yes, there is also Uberlin, the son of Erebus and Muriel.”

“The god of darkness,” Alric put in.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him, but wait—are you saying the father had a child with his own daughter?”

“It was a terrible mistake,” Myron explained. “Erebus forced himself on Muriel while in a drunken rage. Their union resulted in the birth of Uberlin.”

“That must have been awkward at family gatherings—raping your own daughter and all,” Hadrian said.

“Quite. In fact, Erebus’s original sons, Ferrol, Drome, and Maribor, slew him because of the incident. When Uberlin tried to defend his father, all three turned on him and imprisoned their nephew, or would that be brother? I guess it’s really both, isn’t it? Well, anyway, they locked Uberlin in the depths of Elan. Even though he was born through a terrible violation, Muriel was heartbroken to lose her only son and refused to speak to her brothers again.”

“So now we’re back to five gods.”

“Not exactly. Many people believe that a god is immortal and cannot die. There are some cults that believe Erebus still lives and wanders Elan as a man searching for forgiveness for his crime.”

The day was growing dark and the wind picked up, heralding another possible storm. The horses started to become spooked, so Hadrian went to check on them. Alric got up and walked around, rubbing his legs and muttering about being saddle sore.

“Myron?” Hadrian called over. “Would you like to help me unsaddle them? I don’t think we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Of course,” the monk said eagerly. “Now, how do I do that?”

Together, Hadrian and Myron relieved the animals of their saddles and packs and stowed the gear under a small rock ledge. Myron summoned the courage every so often to stroke their necks. Once everything was put away, Hadrian suggested Myron gather some grass for the animals while he went to check on Royce.

His partner sat on the path, staring at the cliff. Occasionally, the thief would get up, examine a portion of the wall, and sit back down, grumbling.

“Well? How’s it going?”

“I hate dwarves,” Royce replied.

“Most people do.”