Arista stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I hired two men to steal a sword from this tower.”
“You hired Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater?” Arista asked, stunned.
“Yes.”
“How did you—” She gave that thought up. “It knows Royce is coming,” Arista told her. “It pretended to fly away, letting him see it leave.”
The Gilarabrywn’s ears perked up, suddenly tilting forward toward the false door. Abruptly, but quietly, it stood and, with a gentle flap of its wings, lifted off. Catching the thermals, the beast soared upward above the tower. Thrace and Arista heard movement somewhere below, footsteps on stone.
A figure appeared in a black cloak. It stepped forward, passing through the solid stone of the false door, like a man surfacing from below a still pond.
“It’s a trap, Royce!” Arista and Thrace shouted together.
The figure did not move.
Arista heard the whispered sound of air rushing across leathery wings. Then a brilliant light abruptly burst forth from the figure. Without a sound or movement, it was as if a star appeared in place of the man, the light so bright it blinded everyone. Arista closed her eyes in pain and heard the Gilarabrywn screech overhead. She felt frantic puffs of air beat down on her as the beast flapped its wings, breaking its dive.
The light was short-lived. It faded abruptly though not entirely and soon they could all see the man in the shimmering robe before them.
“YOU!” The beast cursed at him, shaking the tower with its voice. It hovered above them, its great wings flapping.
“Escaped thy cage beast of Erivan, hunter of Nareion!” Esrahaddon shouted in Old Speech. “I shall cage thee again!”
The wizard raised his arms, but before he made another move, the Gilarabrywn screeched and fluttered back in horror. It beat its great wings and rose, but in that last second, it reached down with one talon, snatching Thrace off the tower. It dove over the side, vanishing from sight. Arista raced to the railing, looking down in horror. The beast and Thrace were gone.
“We can do nothing for her,” the wizard said sadly.
She turned to see Esrahaddon and Royce Melborn beside her, both looking over the edge into the dark roar of the river below. “Her fate lies with Hadrian and her father now.”
Arista’s hands squeezed the railing stiffly. She felt the drowning sensation again. Royce grabbed her by the wrist. “Are you all right, Your Highness? It’s a long way down, you know.”
“Let’s get her downstairs,” Esrahaddon said. “The door, Royce. The door.”
“Oh right,” the thief replied. “Grant entry to Arista Essendon, Princess of Melengar.”
The archway became a real door that stood open. They all entered a small room. Off the pile, safe behind walls, Arista felt the impact at last and she was forced to sit before she fell.
She buried her face in her hands and wailed, “Oh god, dear Maribor. Poor Thrace!”
“She may yet be all right,” the wizard told her. “Hadrian and her father are waiting with the broken sword.”
She rocked as she cried but she did not cry only for Thrace. The tears were the bursting of a dam that could resist the flood no longer. In her mind flashed images of Hilfred and that last unspoken word; of Bernice and the cruel way she had treated her; and of Fanen and Mauvin, all of them lost. So much sorrow could not be put into words; instead, the emotions exploded out of her as she shouted, “The sword, what sword? What is all of this about a sword? I don’t understand!”
“You explain,” Royce said. “I need to find the other half.”
“It’s not there,” Arista told him.
“What?”
“You said the sword was broken?” Arista asked.
“In two parts. I stole the blade half yesterday; now I need to get the hilt half. I’m pretty certain it is in that pile up there.”
“No it isn’t,” Arista said, shocked that her brain was still working enough to connect the dots. “Not anymore.”
The wizard led the way down the long crystalline steps, pausing from time to time to peer down a corridor, or at a staircase. He would think for a moment, then shake his head and push on, or mutter, “Ah, yes!” and turn.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Avempartha,” the wizard replied.
“I got that much already. What is Avempartha? And don’t say it’s a tower.”
“It is an elven construction, built several millennia ago. More recently it has been a trap that has held the Gilarabrywn, and more recently still, it has apparently been its nest. Does that help?”
“Not really.”