“Indeed,” Magnus put in.
“It can’t be,” Mauvin declared.
Hadrian looked at the face in fascination. Like the outer lid, it was sharp and delicate in feature, with angled eyes and unmistakably pointed ears. The hands were elegant, with long thin fingers still graced with three rings, one of gold, another silver, and one of black stone. They were neatly folded over a metal box on which were scraped the words
To Nevrik
From Esrahaddon
“Careful,” Royce said, studying the hands.
“There’s something there,” Arista told him. “I sense magic.”
“You should if it’s the horn, right?” Hadrian asked.
“It’s not the horn. It’s something on the box—a charm of some kind.”
“It will likely strike dead anyone but the heir,” Magnus guessed.
They all looked to Gaunt.
“Can’t I just poke it with a stick or something?” he asked.
“Esrahaddon wouldn’t have done anything that could hurt you,” Arista told him. “Go on, take it. He left it for you, more or less.”
Gaunt took hold of his medallion and rubbed, then reached out and grabbed hold of the box, pulling it free of Novron’s hands.
Sconces around the walls burst into blue flame. A cold breeze coursed around the tomb and Gaunt dropped the box.
“Welcome, Nevrik, mine old friend,” a voice said, and they all spun to see the image of Esrahaddon standing before them. He was dressed in the same robe Arista wore, except it was perfectly white. He looked the same as when Hadrian had last seen him in Ratibor.
“If thine ears to these words attest, then terror’s shadow hast fled and thou art emperor. Wish I but knew if Jerish stood at thy side. On chance that dreams abide in mortal spheres, I offer to him that which I withheld in life—my gratitude, my admiration, and my love.
“Stained upon my hands, the blood of innocents brands my soul with such a crime forgiveness gapes appalled. ’Tis my sin that shattered stone and rent flesh. ’Twas I who laid waste to our beloved home. Though to speak of it now feels like folly, for yet hath spark been struck. Still, committed am I. For not a breath nor heartbeat flutter can be granted onto a single Cenzar or Teshlor when the morrow comes. Their evil with me shall I take, the threat resolved, the night consumed, that thou may walk beneath the sun of a better day.
“Convinced stand I, here within these hallowed halls of thy father’s reckoning and their solemn rest, certain that Mawyndul? yet lives. Their whispers become a wail as mine eyes focus upon a murder left two thousand years unavenged. Foul is the spirit that haunts these walls, for beyond imaginings are the depths to which his depravity strains. We knew but half! Banned by horn and god alike, ’tis my belief the fiend aims with intent to outlast the law. A crevice hath he found and stretched to slip, for no restriction blocks his way should after a trio of a thousand years he survive. I go now to ensure he does not. While master beyond my art, my art will end him. To slay a fiend, a fiend I must become. Murderer of thousands, I will be stained and accept this as price paid for extinguishing this flame that seeks consumption of all.
“The horn be thine. Render it safe. Deliver it unto thine children with warning against the day of challenge to present same at Avempartha. Look to Jerish as champion—the secrets of the Instarya remain the thread upon which all hope dangles.
“Fare thee well, emperor’s son, mine emperor, my student, my friend. Know that I go now to face Mawyndul? honored to die that you might live. Make me proud—be a good ruler.”
Esrahaddon’s image vanished as quickly as it had appeared and the fires in the sconces died, leaving them once more with only the light of the lantern between them and the darkness.
“Did everyone catch that? I wish I had something to write it down with,” Hadrian said. Then, noticing Myron, he smiled. “Even better.”
Royce knelt down and examined the box. There was no lock and he carefully lifted the lid. Inside was a ram’s horn. It was plain, without gold, silver, gems, or velvet. The only adornment it possessed were numerous markings that ringed the surface, letters in a language he could not read but that he recognized.
“Not much to look at, is it?” Magnus observed.
Royce placed the horn back in the box.
“What does this all mean?” Mauvin asked. Looking doleful, he sat down on a gold chair in the pile of treasure. His eyes moved from one to another, searching.
“Novron was an elf,” Royce said. “A pure-blooded elf.”
“The first true emperor, the savior of mankind, wasn’t even a man?” Magnus muttered.
“How can that be?” Mauvin asked. “He led the war against the elves. Novron defeated the elves!”
“Legends tell of Novron falling in love with Persephone. Perhaps he did it out of love,” Myron offered as he wandered around the room, looking at the objects.