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 Mawyndule 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 Mawyndule 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.
“Techylor and Cenzlyor were elves, then?” Hadrian said. “They may even have been Novron’s actual brothers.”
“That explains the small number of sarcophagi,” Myron pointed out. “The generations were longer. Oh! And Old Speech isn’t old speech at all-it’s elvish. The native language of the first emperor. Imagine that. The language of the church is not similar to elvish… it is elvish.”
“That’s why Thranic was lopping heads off statues,” Royce said. “They were accurate depictions of the emperors, and perhaps Cenzlyor and Techylor.”
“But how could it have happened?” Mauvin asked. “How could an elf be the emperor? This has to be a mistake! Novron is the son of Maribor, sent to save us from the elves-the elves are-”
“Yes?” Royce asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mauvin said, shaking his head. “But this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
“It isn’t what the church wanted to be known,” Royce said. “That’s why they locked up Edmund Hall. They knew. Saldur knew, Ethelred knew, Braga knew-”
“Braga!” Arista exclaimed. “That’s what he meant! Before he died, he said something about Alric and me not being human-about letting filth rule. He thought we were elves! Or that we had retained at least some elven blood. If the Essendons were heirs to Novron, then we would have. That’s the secret-that’s why they have hunted the heir. The church has been trying to wipe out the line of Novron so that elves would no longer rule mankind. That’s what Venlin was trying to do. That’s how he persuaded the Teshlor Guild and the Cenzar Council to unite against the emperor-for the greater good of mankind-to rid them of elven rule.”
“Instarya,” Myron muttered from the corner, where he looked at a worn and battered shield that hung in a place of prominence.
“What’s that?” Hadrian asked.
“The markings on the shield here,” he said. “They are of the elven tribe Instarya, the warriors. Novron was from the Instarya clan.”
Arista asked, “Why was it that Novron fought his own people?”
“None of this matters,” Gaunt told them. “We’re still trapped. Unless one of you spotted a door I didn’t see. This treasure-filled tomb is a dead end unless, of course, blowing on this does something.” Gaunt looked down at the horn.
“No, wait!” Arista shouted, but it was too late.
Everyone cringed as Gaunt lifted the horn to his lips and blew.
Nothing happened.
Not even a sound emanated from the instrument. Gaunt merely turned red-faced, his cheeks puffed out silently as if he were performing a pantomime of a trumpeter. He looked down at it, frustrated. He put his eye to the mouthpiece and peered inside. He stuck his pinky finger in and wiggled it around, then tried to blow it again. Nothing. He blew again and again and then finally threw it to the floor, disgusted. Without a word, he walked to the chariot and sat down, putting his back against a golden spoked wheel.
Arista picked up the instrument and turned it over in her hands. It was just a simple horn, a bit over a foot in length, with a pleasant arc. It was dark, almost black, near the point and faded rapidly to near white at the wide end. Several rings of finely etched markings circled it. There was nothing special about it. The horn just looked old.
“Myron?” she called, and the monk looked up from the treasures. “Can you read any of this?”
Myron took the horn near the lantern and peered at it. “It’s Old Speech-or elvish, I suppose, now isn’t it?” He looked at the horn and squinted, his mouth and nose crinkled up as his eyes worked and his fingers rotated the horn. “Ah!”
“What?”
“It says ‘ Sound me, ’O son of Ferrol, spake argument with thine lord, by mine voice wilt thee challenge, no longer by the sword.’ ”
“What does that mean?” Mauvin asked.
Myron shrugged.
“Is that all?” Arista asked.
“No there’s more. It also says: Gift am I, of Ferrol’s hand these laws to halt the chaos be, No king shall die, no tyrant cleaved save by the perilous sound of me. Cursed the silent hand that strikes forever to his brethren lost, Doomed of darkness and of light so be the tally and the cost. Breath upon my lips announce the gauntlet loud so all may hear, Thine challenge for the kingly seat so all may gather none need fear. But once upon a thousand three unless by death I shall cry, No challenge, no dispute proceed a generation left to die. Upon the sound, the sun shall pass and with the rising of the new, Combat will begin and last until there be but one of two. A bond formed betwixt opponents protected by Ferrol’s hand, From all save the blade, the bone, and skill of the other’s hand. Should champion be called to fight evoked is the Hand of Ferrol, Which protects the championed from all and champion from all-save one-from peril. Battle is the end for one for the other all shall sing. For when the struggle at last is done the victor shall be king.
“It’s not a weapon at all,” Hadrian said. “It’s just a horn. It’s used to announce a ceremonial challenge for the right of leadership, like throwing down a gauntlet or slapping someone’s face. Myron, remember you told us that the elves had troubles in the old days with infighting between the clans? This must have been the solution. How the elves decide who rules them. It said that they are only allowed to challenge once-What did you say? A thousand and three years?”
“I actually think that means once every three thousand years.”
“Right, well, Novron must have used it to challenge the king of the elves to combat and won, ending the war
