and making himself king of both the elves and men.”
“I don’t see how this helps us,” Gaunt said. “Why did we bother coming down here? How is this supposed to stop the elven army?”
“By blowing it, Gaunt just announced his challenge for the right to rule them,” Arista said. “ ‘ So all may gather none need fear. ’ My guess is they have to stop fighting now and await the outcome of the one-on-one combat between Gaunt and their king.”
“What?” Gaunt looked up, concerned.
“Only Gaunt didn’t blow it,” Hadrian said. “It’s like it’s busted or something.”
So the horn isn’t getting us out of here?” Gaunt asked.
“No,” Arista said sadly. “No, it’s not.”
“Well, let’s see what a dwarf can do, then,” Magnus said, and taking out his hammer, began examining the walls, tapping here and there, placing his ear to them, even licking the stone. He circled Novron’s tomb and then moved out into the larger crypt of kings. The rest of them wandered around, looking at the contents of the tomb, while Hadrian looked through the packs.
“There’s probably thousands of pounds of gold here,” Gaunt said, picking up a vase and staring at it miserably, as if it were mocking him by its mere existence. “What good is it?”
“I’d trade it all for a nice plate of Ella’s apple pie right now,” Mauvin said. “I wouldn’t even mind her stew-and I never really liked her stew.”
“I never had her stew, but I remember her pie,” Myron said. He was crouched against the wall, still studying the horn. “It was very nice.”
They all listened quietly for a time to the tapping of the dwarf’s hammer in the other room. Its faint tink! jarred Arista’s nerves.
“I pretended to be Ella when I worked at the palace,” Arista said. “But I just scrubbed floors. I didn’t cook. She did make great apple pie. Did she-”
Mauvin shook his head. “She was killed during the flight.”
“Oh.” Arista nodded.
“What do you think this is?” Gaunt asked, holding up a statuette that looked to be a cross between a bull and a raven.
Arista shrugged. “Pretty, though.”
“How much?” Mauvin asked as Hadrian sat down on the wheel of the chariot.
“Three days,” he said, “if we conserve.”
The sound of the dwarf’s hammer stopped and Magnus returned. His long face said everything. He entered and sat on a pile of gold coins, which jingled gaily. “There are worse places to be buried, I suppose.”
“Alric,” Arista said suddenly. “I suppose we should put him to rest properly, then.”
“He’ll be well buried,” Myron told her. “And in a king’s tomb.”
She nodded, trying to appear comforted.
“Royce and I will get him,” Hadrian said.
“I think I should be one of his pallbearers as well,” Mauvin said, and followed them out.
They returned with his body and gently laid it on a golden table. Arista draped a blanket over him, and they gathered around it in a circle.
“Dear Maribor, our eternal father,” Myron began, “we are gathered here to say farewell to our brother Alric Essendon. We ask that you remember him and see him across the river to the land of the dawn.” He looked to Arista, whose eyes were already tearing again.
“Alric was my broth-” She stopped short as tears overtook her. Hadrian put his arm around her shoulders.
“Alric was my best friend,” Mauvin continued. “My third brother, I always said. He was my rival for women, my fellow conspirator in plans of adventure, my prince, and my king. He was crowned before his time, but we did not know then how little time he had left. He ruled in an era of terror and he ruled well. He showed valor and courage befitting a king right to the end.” He paused and looked down at the blanketed form and laid a hand on Alric’s chest. “The crown is off now, Alric. You are free of it at last.” Mauvin wiped the tears from his face.
“Does anyone else-” Myron began when Gaunt stepped forward, and all eyes turned cautiously toward him.
“I just wanted to say”-he paused a moment-“I was wrong about you.” He hesitated for several seconds, as if he might say more, and then glanced awkwardly at the others before stepping back. “That’s all.”
Myron looked to Arista again.
“He’s fine,” she said simply while nodding. “At least I know that.”
“And so, Lord,” Myron continued with a bowed head, “we say farewell to our king, our brother, and our good friend. May the light of a new dawn rise upon his soul.”
Myron then began the song of final blessing, and all of them, even Magnus, joined in. Unto Maribor, I beseech thee Into the hands of god, I send thee Grant him peace, I beg thee Give him rest, I ask thee May the god of men watch over your journey.
Mauvin stepped out of the tomb into the crypt and returned with a dusty crown, which he lay upon Alric’s chest. “Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.”
Arista could not stay any longer. She felt like she was suffocating and walked out into the crypt. Entering one of the alcoves, she crouched down and hid behind one of the sarcophagi. She sat with her back in the crux of the corner. Her knees were up, and once settled, she let herself cry. She shook so hard that her back bounced against the wall. Tears ran down her face. She let them run unabated, dripping onto the robe, which dimmed until it went out.
She wanted to believe that when Gaunt blew the horn it had stopped the elves, that perhaps they had heard and were coming to dig them out, but it felt like a lie. She was deluding herself because there was nothing else to hope for, nothing to expect beyond despair. In the darkness, she laid her head down on her arms and cried until she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 23
The booming thunder continued shaking the walls and the floors beneath their feet as the metalsmith hammered the last rivet into the helm. The old man’s face was etched with deep lines partially hidden behind a mass of gray bristles, a beard he had no time to shave away. “There you are, lad. As fine a helm as you’ll find. It will take care of you. Protect that noggin of yours right well. War is upon us, my boy, but don’t worry-that’s only thunder yer hearing.”
“It’s their thunder,” Renwick replied.
The metalsmith looked at him curiously for a moment; then Renwick saw fear cross the man’s face as he put the pieces together.
“Yer the boy, aren’t you? The one who warned us? The one who rode up ahead of the elven army. You’ve seen ’em, haven’t you?”
Renwick shook his head. “Not me, but yes, my friend did.”
“Did he tell you what the devils look like? Rumor has it anyone seeing an elf turns to stone.”
“No, but I wouldn’t turn an ear to their music.”
“You’re Breckton’s squire now, eh? Aide-de-camp to the marshal-at-arms?”
Renwick shrugged. “I don’t even know what an aide-de-camp is.”
The old smith chuckled, wiping the sweat from his face with a filthy cloth as overhead an especially loud roll of thunder boomed. Renwick felt it in his chest.
“An adjutant,” the smith told him. Renwick shrugged again. “You’re like his butler, messenger, and squire all rolled into one, except you’re more like an assistant than a servant, which means you’ll get some respect.”
“But what am I supposed to do?”
