“That is not allowed,” he responded firmly.
“Then Esrahaddon is still alive?” asked Alric.
“Do not speak that name!” thundered the sentry. He cast a tense look over his shoulder into the darkness. “Not here, not ever here. You should not have come.”
“That may be but we are here and we need to see Esra—the prisoner,” Royce replied.
“That will not be possible.”
“Make it possible,” Alric ordered. His voice was loud and commanding. He stepped out from behind the others. “I’m King Alric of Melengar, lord of this land wherein you stand. You will not tell me what is and what is not possible within the boundaries of my own kingdom.”
The sentry took a step back and eyed Alric critically. “You lack a crown, King.”
Alric drew his sword. Despite its size, he handled it smoothly and extended the point at the sentry. “What I lack in a crown, I more than make up for in a sword.”
“A sword will not avail you. None who dwell here fear death any longer.” Hadrian could not tell whether it was the weight of the sentry’s words or the weight of the sword but Alric lowered his blade. “Do you have proof of your rank?”
Alric extended a clenched hand. “This is the seal of Melengar, symbol of the House of Essendon and emblem of this realm.”
The sentry stared at the ring and nodded. “If you are the reigning sovereign of the realm, you do have the right to enter. But know this: there is magic at work here. You will do well to follow me closely.” He turned and led them back the way he had come.
“Do you recognize the emblem on the guard?” Hadrian whispered to Myron as they followed him.
“Yes, that’s the coat of arms of the Novronian Empire, worn by the Percepliquis Imperial City Guard. It’s very old.”
Their guide led them out of the corridor filled with faces, and Hadrian was grateful to be free of it. The hallway opened into a massive cavern with a vaulted ceiling carved from natural stone and supported by pillars of the same. Torches lining the walls revealed a magnificent expanse. It appeared large enough to hold all of Medford. They traversed it by crossing narrow bridges that spanned chasms and traveling through open arches that rose like great trees whose branches supported the mountain above.
There was no visible sign of wood, fabric, or leather. Everything—chairs, benches, desks, tables, shelves, and doors—was made of stone. Huge fountains hewn from rock gurgled with water from unseen springs. The walls and floors lacked the adornment of tapestries and carpets. Instead, carved into virtually every inch of the stone were intricate markings—strange symbols of elaborate twisted designs. Some of them were chiseled with a rough hand, while others were smoothly sculpted. At times, from the corner of his eye, Hadrian thought he saw the carved markings change as he passed them. Looking closely, he discovered it was not an illusion. The shifts were subtle, like the movement of cobwebs in the wake of their passing.
They moved deeper, and their escort did not pause or waver. He walked at a brisk pace, which at times caused Myron, who had the shortest legs, to trot in order to keep up. Their footfalls bounced off the hard walls throughout the stone chamber. The only other sounds Hadrian heard were voices, distant whispers of hidden conversations, but they were too faint for him to make out the words. Whether the sounds were from inhabitants around an unseen corner, or the result of some trick of the stone, was impossible to tell.
Farther in, sentinels began to appear, standing guard along their path. Most were dressed identically to their guide, but others, found deeper in the prison, wore black armor with a simple white emblem of a broken crown. Sinister-looking helms hid their faces as they stood at perfect attention. None of them moved or said a word.
Hadrian asked Myron about the emblem these men wore.
“The crest is used by the ancient order of the Seret Knights,” the monk explained quietly. “They were first formed eight hundred years ago by Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Linnev with the task of finding the lost Heir of Novron. The broken crown is symbolic of the shattered empire, which they seek to restore.”