“When this gaol stood on imperial ground, ’twas controlled by the Church of Nyphron who built this place. The Patriarch was the undisputed ruler, but civil war came; the Empire fell. Warlords sprang up as the central power weakened. These warlords became kings, and new lines appeared on the maps. Melengar was born and this land became the realm of House Essendon. What was once only the privilege of the leader of the Church of Nyphron has fallen to thou. After nine centuries of educational neglect, my jailers hath forgotten how to read their own runes!”
In the distance, Hadrian heard the grinding of stone on stone. Outside the cell, the great door was opening. “Speak those words, my lord, and thou wilt end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment.”
“How does this help?” Alric asked. “You said I can’t open the physical locks, and this place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?”
The wizard smiled a great grin. “Thy words wilt release the magical field, allowing me the freedom to use The Art once more.”
“You’ll cast a spell. You’ll disappear!”
Footsteps thundered on the bridge, which had apparently reappeared. Hadrian ran up the gallery stairs to look down the tunnel. “We have guards coming! And they don’t look happy.”
“If you’re going to do this, you’d better make it fast,” Royce told Alric.
“They’ve swords drawn,” Hadrian shouted. “Never a good sign.”
Alric glared down at the wizard. “I want your word you won’t leave us here.”
“Thou have it, my lord,” the wizard inclined his head respectfully.
“This better work,” Alric muttered and began reading aloud the words on the floor below.
Royce raced to join his partner who was already positioning himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard’s numbers. The larger fighter planted his feet while Royce took up position slightly behind him. In unison, they drew their weapons, preparing for the impending onslaught. At least twenty men stormed the gallery. Hadrian could see their eyes and recognized what burned there. He had fought numerous battles and he knew the many faces of combat. He had seen fear, recklessness, hatred, even madness. What came at him now was rage—blind, intense rage. Hadrian studied the lead man, estimating his footfalls to determine which leg his weight would land on when he came within striking range. He did the same with the man behind him. Calculating his attack, he raised his swords, but the prison guards stopped. Hadrian waited with his swords still poised, yet the guards did not advance.
“Let us be leaving,” he heard Esrahaddon say from behind. Hadrian whirled around and discovered the wizard was no longer on the stage below. Instead, he moved casually past him, navigating around the stationary guards. “Come along,” Esrahaddon called.
Without a word, the group hurried after the wizard. He led them through the tunnel and across the newly extended bridge. The prison was oddly silent, and it was then that Hadrian realized the music had stopped. The only remaining sound was their footfalls against the hard stone floor.
“Relax and just keep walking,” Esrahaddon told them reassuringly.
They did as instructed, and no one said a word. To pass the clerk, who stood peering through the great door, they needed to come within inches of his anxiety-riddled face. As Hadrian attempted to slip by without bumping him, he saw the man’s eye move. Hadrian stiffened. “Can they see or hear us?”
“No, not really. They might sense something. The hairs on the back of their neck might stand, and they might feel a disturbance in the air as thou moves by, but no, they do not know we are here.”
The wizard led them without hesitation, making turns, crossing bridges, and climbing stairs with total confidence.
“Maybe we’re dead?” Myron whispered, glaring at each frozen guard he passed. “Maybe we’re
Hadrian thought Myron might be on to something. Everything was so oddly still, so empty. The fluid movement of the wizard and his billowing robe, which now emitted a soft silvery light far brighter than any lantern or torch, only heightened the surreal atmosphere.
“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Alric asked, stepping around a pair of black-suited guards who watched the third bridge. He waved his hand before the face of one of them, who did not respond.
“Actually, ’tis only this way because we are in this gaol. No one person hath the power to stop time, but this gaol was designed for just such a purpose. ’Tis a giant
