Merrin awoke to a strangeness. A room. One that he had no bearings for. Where was it? Much more was the fact that his back was laid on a softness. Since when was the ground so soft? He had no idea but sensed a certain danger in his continual presence in the unknown. Rousing off the sponginess, his arm tapped across the floor, or whatever it was his back had been laid on.
It was black. Bouncy and covered in a sleek sheet. Almost like the one Ron had given him in the mines, except these seemed far higher in quality. Lowlander things had an oddness to them. He heaved, scanning next the space he had awoken to.
It was a room with walls black and sleek, like the Nights had a fondness for doing, with lines of blue glowing at the edges of the walls. That and the few froststones that had been embedded in the walls. Much more was the absurd vastness of the room. Looking up, the ceiling was at the very least fifteen meters from the ground, with the width spanning out like the base of a mountain.
And worse was the complete emptiness.
Cold, with floors like black mirrors—a similarity shared with certain rooms in Este's Heaven's Spear. For radiance, light spewed from the base of the walls: blocks of white that had been fitted into the structure. Elegant, as it reminded him of the Halls of the Castle of Valor—one that he had seen through the eyes of the Ardent.
For a moment, he observed its totality through the greyness, taking a peek at its collective symbols. Their shapes, their forms, their size… learning. After all, given the means Enavro's mother had taken mastery of the Greyworld for creation, grasping the trueness of all and every symbol existed as a certain priority.
He nodded, taking a step off the nearly glossy black bed. Feet padding softly on the cold chill of the ground. Once again, he marveled that such people enjoyed such coldness. Of course, the froststones and their cold fields provided some level of cool, but this current intensity was absolutely unnecessary.
Yet another thing that could be noted as the greed of the lowlanders.
Not that it was any concern for his—no. In the current moment, the situation at hand presented itself in a more problematic sense. He had been carried here, brought by whoever had found his body in that street. Perhaps using all that force was a thing of utter stupidity. What if, behind these walls, was the very daughter of the Hashur?
Reality had a way of acting out like that.
But he did pray against it. Nonetheless, Merrin continued his wandering across the grand space of the room, feeling the smoothness of the walls. Not that he desired to—no—but given the last time he had seen such a structure, a bump that acted as an entry had existed. Thus, via that rule, there existed some possibility that the same existed even here.
He could only hope. That was all that remained in the end.
So with his eyes searching through the colossal space, Merrin spent a great deal of time on this. One that, after thirty minutes, came to no outcome.
Mist this!
There was nothing. No bump or hole, or key outside the room. He had even searched the ceiling for some potentiality via the means of wind-marshaled light, Merrin had felt his way across the rather chilly roof of the room. The outcome was rather infuriating.
Am I trapped here?
His mind spun itself into scenarios. One: the Hashur's daughter had found and trapped the man who had caused the death of her own father—that and the insult that came with the whole refusal-for-marriage thing. Plus, her father was among those killed in Aman. Those who died from his arrogance. To the Fallen.
Merrin sighed, hovering down from the surface above. It was as though he had dived from the darkness of the sky, landing feet-first on the glossy grounds.
This is useless… he thought, eyes searching once more across the room, ending finally on the sleek, sheeted bed.
This isn't me staying out of situations… he thought. This is me trapped in one.
Almost like some joke of reality.
What should I do now? Staring at the bed, Merrin made his way towards it, settling himself on its comfy surface. In the end, that was the sum total of what he could do. Not the destruction of the building, or some sneaky getaway… no, just to sit and wait for whatever it was he had stumbled upon.
But what was left with him was the silence—the chill, the dimness, and the mirror-like veneer of the room. Normally, the Ashman within would have enjoyed the silence brought about by the moment—except now…
Merrin's feet trembled on.
I need to know what's going on!
But he couldn't… There was nothing, no sound—
He paused, his teeth biting softly atop his lips.
What are the chances that this room was fully proof against all sounds?
Quickly…
He sealed his eyes, sinking inwards to the calm conditioning of the Ashman. And in it, with it, he listened to the silence. Heeded the nothing-sounds that could have flowed if they were to flow. There was little hope for any success, but that was far better than the maddening wait for an event.
He had to know.
He had to understand.
And far more important: he had to escape it all. By any means….
Merrin breathed in through the nose, out the mouth in recursive patterns. That was the only sound that could be heard—the huff-puff of air out of his lungs. Like a tempest, it roared across his ears, but he listened for more. Waiting for anything outside that known note.
And just then, something came flowing into his ears.
A voice.
Low… further than he expected, but it was there. A dual of tones, one far deeper than the other. A male, for sure. And the other—now that one progressed with a certain familiarity. He knew it.
"I think killing that man is the best choice viable!" the male said.
"You might be right," the female voice. "Except he called himself sunBringer…you know, out there in the sea."
Wait…
"So?" the male asked.
"Stannis, tell me… Since when did an Ashman know anything about the Oral History?"
"He could have heard it in any multitude of ways," Stannis said. "After all, the Ashmen Shamans are a lot like the Aspirants, Scholae, or even the loremasters of the Valor Clan. They have their own information and its sources."
"Yes, but why take the name, though?" she said. "If he knew what the title meant. If he knew of Baldwin Sevrez and the halfDragons of valeHall, of the sunBringer's conquest, why take the name?"
"Ah… Shae!" Stannis cursed. "Even if he knew these things, it does little for our cause. What do we care about the history of Eastos?"
Shae? Merrin froze. She's the one who brought me here?
"True." She paused. "But to have taken that title, and the things I've seen him do. Oh, I believe he can play the role expertly for what we nee—"
"You shouldn't be eavesdropping on people, you know."
Merrin startled, leaping to the side, eyes wide, heart pounding in his ears. What had happened? When did someone get here?
He knew not.
The person, however, the stranger, was a small, thin man. Pale-skinned and clothed in that same common black wrapped wear of the nightSailers. And there he was, standing merely two steps from the bed, casual in a certain timid way.
How did he get so close?
"Who in the mist are you?"
"I'm Gregor," he said, flat-toned. "And as I said before, it's not good to listen to other people's conversations. At least be better at it so as not to get caught…" His eyes drifted down. "You could be killed for it, you know."
Merrin clenched.
A square of the wall suddenly sank in—like a door, pulling upwards, revealing suddenly, two figures standing on the other side. Two persons. One was known, and the other was not.
A guess: Shae and Stannis.
Shae, as he remembered, was dressed in black, unhooded, with her short hair still tied in a bun. Stannis, on the other hand, was a huge fellow of a man. Much like Ron, he was dressed in a black robe, his hair dark with just a hint of a reddish hue. And more, his face, square, had that tinge of deep brutishness.
Were all Odiums big? Merrin knew only the Odium Clan as fellows with the hair in the shades of blood.
With the simple exception of Ron, of course.
Stannis smiled, stepping in. "It appears you have met Gregor here… My deepest apologies if he startled you."
He talks normal?
"But you see, he is rather harmless." His eyes beamed with some excitement. "And ah, yes, I'm such a fool…You see, my name is Stannis."
"I know," Merrin said.
He chuckled. "Mmmm…those are good ears you have… good eyes too."
That chilled within.
And Merrin, for some reason, recalled the name: Black Eyes!
By the Almighty, what have I gotten myself into?