The corridor outside the great hall in the Palace of the Four Winds was deathly silent as the small band remained huddled in the niche. All of the Emerald Storm’s party now held swords salvaged from slain Tenkins, each one made from Avryn steel. Warriors took strategic positions, armed with imperial-crafted crossbows, while the bulk of the Tenkin fighters moved back to allow them clear lines of sight. Clustered in a tight group, Hadrian’s party made an easy target.
Erandabon stepped forward, but not so far as to block the path of the archers. “Erandabon did not recognize you, Galenti! Many years it has been, but you have not lost your skill,” he said, looking down at the bodies of his fallen warriors. “Why travel with such creatures as these, Galenti? Why suffer the humiliation? It would be the same for Erandabon to slither on the forest floor with the snakes or wallow with the pigs. Why do you do this? Why?”
“I came to see you, Gile,” Hadrian replied. Instantly there was a gasp in the hall.
“Ha-ha!” the warlord laughed. “You use my Calian name, a crime for which the punishment is death, but I pardon you, Galenti! For you are not like these.” He waved his hand, gesturing vaguely. “You are in the cosmos with Erandabon. You are a star in the heavens shining nearly as bright as Erandabon. You are a brother and I will not kill you. You must come and feast with me.”
“And my friends?”
Erandabon’s face soured. “They have no place at the table of Erandabon. They are dogs.”
“I’ll not eat with you if they are ill-treated.”
Erandabon’s eyes moved about wildly in random circles, then stopped. “Erandabon will have them locked up again—safely this time—for their own good. Then you will eat with Erandabon?”
“I will.”
He clapped his hands and warriors tentatively moved forward.
Hadrian nodded, and Royce and the others laid down their weapons.
The balcony looked out over the bay from a dizzying height. Moonlight revealed the vast fleet of Ghazel and Tenkin ships anchored in the harbor. Dotted with lights, the vessels bobbed on soft swells. Distant shouts rose with the cool breeze and arrived as faint whispers. Like the rest of the castle, the balcony was a relic of a forgotten time. While perhaps beautiful long ago, the stone railing had weathered over centuries to a dull, vague reminder of its previous glory. A lush covering of vines blanketed it with blooming white flowers the way a cloth might disguise a marred table. Beneath their feet, once-stunning mosaic tiles lay dirty, chipped, and broken. Several oil lanterns circled the balcony but appeared to be more for decoration than illumination. On a stone table lay a massive feast of wild animals, fruits, and drink.
“Sit! Sit and eat!” Erandabon told Hadrian as several Tenkin women and young boys hurried about, seeing to their every need. Aside from the servants, the two were alone. Erandabon tore a leg from a large roasted bird and gestured with it toward the bay. “A beautiful sight, eh, Galenti? Five hundred ships, fifty thousand soldiers, and all of them under Erandabon’s command.”
“There are not fifty thousand Tenkin in all of Calis,” Hadrian replied. He looked at the food on the table dubiously, wondering if elf was somewhere on the menu. He selected a bit of sliced fruit.
“No,” the warlord said regretfully. “Erandabon must make do with the Ghazel. They are like ants spilling out of their island holes. Erandabon cannot trust them any more than Erandabon can trust a tiger, even if Erandabon raised it from a cub. They are wild beasts, but Erandabon needs them to reach the goal.”
“And what is that?”
“Drumindor,” he said simply, and followed the word with a swallow of wine, much of which spilled unnoticed down the front of his chin. “Erandabon needs a shelter from the storm, Galenti, a strong place, a safe place. For many moons the ants fight for Drumindor. They know it can stand against the coming wind. Time is running out, the sand spills from the glass, and they are desperate to flee the islands. Erandabon promises he can help them get it. He could have fifty thousand, perhaps a hundred thousand ants, Galenti. They are everywhere in the islands, but Erandabon will make do with these. Too many ants spoil a picnic, eh, Galenti?” He laughed.
A servant refilled the wineglass Hadrian had barely touched.
“What do you know about Merrick Marius?” Hadrian asked.
Erandabon spat. “He is dirt. He is pig. He is pig in dirt. He promise weapons … there is none. He promise food for the Many … and there is none. He makes it hard for Erandabon to control the ants. Erandabon wish he was dead.”
“I might be able to help you with that, if you tell me where he is.”
The warlord laughed. “Oh, Galenti, you do not fool Erandabon. You would do this for you, not for Erandabon. But it matters not. Erandabon does not know where he is.”