"I only have about five minutes to commit a crime."
Ivory recoiled, stepping back. No way! Her heart pounded. Not him! "What do you mean by that?"
"To kidnap a princess."
Ivory pulled out the oredite knife on her ankle, pointing it at him. "What in the world are you talking about?" A chill surged through her body. She felt the world was now a dream.
"What?" He stepped back. "I think killing me might take much longer than five minutes."
Does that mean he has reinforcements? She breathed heavily. "What are you doing, Kabel?"
"Ah." His eyes widened. "I think that's the first time you actually called my name. Odd you're doing it whilst holding a knife, but who knows. Anyway, I really think we should be going now."
"Huh?" Ivory was stunned.
"What?" He cocked his head.
"You called this a kidnapping."
"Yes, because that's what they will call it when they discover you are no longer here."
"So I'm being kidnapped?" She was confused.
"You could call it that, but I think it's more of a mind-clearing stroll."
Ivory snapped. "What in damnation are you talking about?"
"Halo!" He said, "That's a bad word. But I really think we should be going." A white orb floated down before him.
Eiya?
He listened, then said, "Nail of Valor is returning."
"What are you doing?" Ivory tried mentation; it returned nothing.
He studied her, his mouth making an O shape. "Oh no. I am not kidnapping you, princess, just taking you out for a stroll. To see your people. You know, those ones that you are to lead someday. I think you should meet them. Breathe in the misty air, feel the rain. At least before the full brunt of your incarceration begins."
So he knew about that? She lowered the blade. "You know this is a crime. Treason."
"Exactly what I said."
"You will be killed."
"I hope you find it in your heart to spare me."
Why was he doing this? Ivory looked to him, those eyes of his. Something genuine looked back, and it scared her. She hid it. "It's your funeral."
"Yes." He nodded. "Just a lowly aspirant trying to get a princess to smile so she does not grow up to become a tyrant. Maybe once I die, a story about it might be written."
"Kabel the fool."
"Nice title." He said, "But seriously, I have only three minutes to commit that crime or I die for no reason."
Ivory returned the blade into the sheath on her ankle, walked before him, and said, "Tell me this path I think you have found."
"So I lead?"
"Not in a thousand years."
——
Ron towered beside him. Behind were the witnesses, slaves, and then Davos. They walked a tight tunnel, stone-walled and high-ceilinged. Shadows dragged back, painting over the walls, swaying in their motions.
Merrin thought this was similar to a pilgrimage. A lark in his immediate awareness. But it mattered not. Not now. Not to his people. His care rested solely on the remaining witnesses. Them and Moeash….
Where are you? He softened, breathed, and observed the backs of the torch holders. They were young men—slaves, clothed in rags, most half burnt, with edges blackened and holes in them. He was like them, but they thought not. The torches danced beside them, and Merrin was concerned. What if they get caught in its blaze?
He prayed not, heaved, and touched the froststone fitted on his clothes. This bothered him more. How long before it required will? How long before all of them required will? Problems. Too many. Ever-growing despite the created solutions. I need a distraction, he thought. He chose to expand the auricle, picking up the sounds distant and sounds behind. Listening to their words. That was the needed diversion.
Very few spoke; those who did were non-witnesses. It seemed the latter sought to enjoy the somber air; the former cared little.
"Who do you think he is?" one of the slaves stationed behind whispered.
"How would I know?" another answered. "They call him sunBringer. I don't know that either."
"Maybe it's like some prophecy?"
"Like the churches?"
"Yeah, that." He said, "Maybe he's part of some clan."
"Come on. Look at him. Does he look like brightCrown? He has no white hair."
"But some ash."
"Ash ain't white."
Merrin imagined them nodding.
"But my grandma says Velira prophecies different. They say the savior or new god will come like a beggar or ragman or something."
"What's Velira?"
"Some fermen mistsence. I don't know."
Merrin perked. Now he was attentive.
"I never seen any type of Fermen."
"Neither." One said, "Maybe they don't even exist."
"I think they live in the free cities."
"You think or know."
The speaker was silenced.
Merrin retrieved his awareness. Nothing important would be said anymore, though their words sparked curiosity. I wonder what a Fermen is like? He looked to Ron, the giant of a man. Did he know? The wonder remained, but another took precedence.
"Ron?"
The man looked down. "Ah. What?"
"What did they do to you?"
There was a twitch in Ron's brows—a tremble in his shoulders. Then he smiled. "That is past now." He said, "We leave the mines. And I forget. Everyone forget. That is good. Things change. Things must change. The past gone, future waits. Mom say I am big, so I look further into future. That I do now."
Merrin nodded. Do not pry into such things, he vowed to remind himself, but there was hatred steaming within. Anger at the leader. Repulsion for the mines. And more so for himself. His sin was weakness.
Catelyn's voice sounded. "We are here!"
They spilled into a moderate-sized chamber. Oval, but enough to hold the full entourage. Merrin first studied the walls, finding them old and rusted. Dark brown and red. Though the exact age remained elusive.
Catelyn stood before something, surrounded by the torchbearers like guards. Near menacing. Tall, too—some towering at two meters, obscuring his view. Annoying. So he cut through them. They noticed this and parted. Catelyn turned to him, and he saw what she backed.
A round door—metal, bulky. No inscriptions, just the faint dull redness of internal heat. Beside it, fitted on the wall, was a square stone slab. Lines crisscrossed within it, and round dots were scattered. Writings too. "What?"
"The map."
Merrin looked at it again and realized nothing. He knew nothing of it and drew no relevance from its depictions. "Where are we going?"
She smiled. "That path where the ri—sweat water flows connects to several… streets."
"Streets?"
"Yes." She added, "There is a chamber with a long spear. Meters long."
"Spear?"
"Something of a spire," she said.
"So long enough to reach the pit."
"Or at least, enough that screaming brings aid." Catelyn met his eyes downward, and she waited for a response.
He had none—not at the moment, at least. So he observed the slab, the writings at the edges of it. They were old, most fissured away, but he saw something. "This is old tongue, isn't it?"
Catelyn stayed silent a moment, then, "Yes."
"And that's how you know which is which?"
"Am I to blame for my intelligence?"
Merrin waved at her, leaning away from the slab. "I have no such intention. Just wondering. But…" He said, "Where are we going now?"
She did what he guessed. The ovate door—she pointed at it. "We need to open it." Catelyn regarded him. "Break it with casting."
If only.
"I think we should take the long way," Merrin said. "The end is the same."
She frowned. "What are you not saying?"
No awareness. Merrin was piqued. "Hush your words."
This was followed with a scanning of the chamber. After, she looked at him. "What is wrong?" Her words were milder now.
Yet, Merrin deliberated speaking. Of course, there was a reason for the refusal. The same one that prompted the original desire to take the familiar paths. He couldn't. He watched his marred palm; dark lines, bloodied cuts through them. Some healed, some fresh. Countless weaknesses. That limited him.
Better I show her. He opened his hand; she studied it, and the wind spun into a sphere. It blew against his clothes, fluttering. Pain came. Then it exploded, sending a wave across the chamber. Weak violence. Everyone was perked, and they watched, startled.
Catelyn specifically was bewildered. "What is going on?"
Merrin held his jaw, clenched tightly. Managed. "It hurts. It hurts everywhere."
"The strain?"
He nodded. But he knew his words were half a lie. Never had casting pained him. There was the weakness of force emptiness, the mud head. But not this. This one was a consequence of his days, fears, and actions. From the fact that the windshield did not protect him from the fall into the undermines, or the many more falls. He was a bludgeoned thing.
But she had no use for that information. So he allowed her the sweetness of half-knowing. Catelyn waited a moment, stared at the door, clicked her tongue, and called out. "Ron!"
A moment, and the giant moved through the group. He towered over them—even the torchbearers. Maddening. Merrin was like a child before him. It was frightening. Though his smile did well to calm the heart.
Catelyn said to him, "We need you to open that."
"Wait, what?" The words escaped Merrin. "What are you talking about?"
The door was dark red. A great flame was in the metal. Skin burning.