A man sat on a raised chair behind a six-feet-tall stone desk that was exquisitely sculpted with intricate patterns of swirling lines. On two sides of the worktable, barrel-thick candles twice the height of a man burned. So many melted wax tears streaked down their sides that Hadrian thought they might once have been as tall as the great door.
“Visitors,” their guide announced to the clerk who, until then, had been busy writing in a massive book with a black feathered quill. The man looked up from his work. His gray beard hung all the way to the floor. Deeply lined with wrinkles, his face looked like the bark of an ancient tree.
“What are your names?” the clerk asked.
“I am Alric Brendon Essendon, son of Amrath Essendon, King of Melengar, Lord of the Realm, and I demand an audience with the prisoner.”
“The others?” the clerk motioned toward the rest.
“They are my servants, the Royal Protectors and my chaplain.”
The clerk rose from his seat and leaned forward to examine each party member in more detail. He looked into each of their eyes for a moment before he resumed his seat. He dipped his feather quill and turned to a new page. After a few moments of writing, he asked, “Why do you wish to see the prisoner?” With his quill poised, he waited for a reply.
“My business is not your concern,” Alric answered in a kingly voice.
“That may be, however, this prisoner is
Alric stared at the clerk for sometime before relenting. “I wish to ask him questions concerning the death of my father.”
The clerk considered this a moment, then scratched his quill on the page of the great book. When he finished, he looked up. “Very well. You may enter the cell, but you must obey our rules. They are for your own safety. The man to whom you wish to speak is no ordinary man. He is a thing, an ancient evil, a demon that we have successfully trapped here. Above all else, we are dedicated to keeping him confined. As you might imagine, he very much desires to escape. He is cunning and perpetually tests us. Constantly he is looking for a weakness, a break in a line, or a crack in the stone.
“First, proceed directly down the path to his confinement; do not tarry. Second, stay in the gallery; do not attempt to descend to his cage. Third, and this is the most important, do nothing he asks. No matter how insignificant it may sound. Do not be fooled by him. He is intelligent and cunning. Ask him your questions; then leave. Do not deviate from these rules. Do you understand?” Alric nodded. “Then may Novron have mercy on you.”
Just then, the great doors split along the central seam and slowly started to open. The loud grinding of stone on stone echoed until at last the doors stood wide. Beyond them lay a long stone bridge that spanned an abyss. The bridge was three-feet wide, as smooth as glass, and appeared no thicker than a sheet of parchment. At the far end of the span rose a column of black rock. An island-like tower, its only visible connection to the world appeared to be the delicate bridge.
“You may leave your lantern. You will have no need for it,” the clerk stated. Royce nodded but kept the lantern nevertheless.
As they stepped through the doorway, Hadrian heard a sound like singing, a faint mournful song as if a thousand voices joined in a somber dirge. The sad, oppressive music brought to mind the worst memories of his life and filled him with a misery so great it sapped his resolve. His feet felt weighted, his soul chilled. Moving forward became an effort.
Once the party crossed the threshold, the great doors began to close, shutting with a thundering boom. The chamber was well lit, although where the light source was not apparent. It was impossible to judge the height or the depth of the chasm. Both stretched into seeming emptiness.
“Are other prisons like
“I would venture to guess this is unique,” Alric replied.
“Trust me, I know prisons,” Royce told them. “This
The party fell into silence during the crossing. Hadrian was in the rear concentrating on the placement of his feet. Part way across he paused and glanced up briefly to check on the others. Myron was holding his arms out at his sides like a tightrope walker. Alric, half-crouching, reached out with his hands as if he might resort to crawling at any minute. Royce, however, strode casually forward with his head tilted up, and he frequently turned from side to side to study their surroundings.
