The Crown Conspiracy

“See!” Alric exclaimed. “Arista is lying. She probably picked up the name Esrahaddon in her studies at Sheridan University and didn’t realize when he lived. There is no way Esrahaddon could still be alive.”

“He might be,” Myron said casually, stirring the potatoes in the pot over the fire.

“How’s that?” Alric queried.

“Because he’s a wizard.”

“When you say he was a wizard,” Hadrian asked, “do you mean that he was a learned man of wisdom or that he could do card tricks and slight of hand or maybe he was able to brew a potion to help you sleep? Royce and I know a man like that, and he is a bit of all three, but he can’t hold off death.”

“According to the accounts I have read,” Myron explained, “wizards were different back then. They called magic The Art. Most of the knowledge of the Empire was lost when it fell. For instance, the ancient skills of Teshlor combat, which made warriors invincible, or the construction techniques that could create vast domes, or the ability to forge swords that could cut stone. Like these, the art of true magic was lost to the world with the passing of the true wizards. Reports say in the days of Novron, the Cenzars—that’s what they called wizards—were incredibly powerful. There are stories of them causing earthquakes, raising storms, even blacking out the sun. The greatest of these ancient wizards formed into a group called the Great Cenzar Council. Members were part of the inner circle of government.”

“Really,” Alric said thoughtfully.

“Did you ever read anything about exactly where the prison was located?” Royce asked.

“No, but there was a bit about it in Mantuar’s Thesis on Architectural Symbolism in the Novronian Empire

. That’s the parchment I mentioned where the name Esrahaddon was changed to prisoner and Gutaria was listed as Imperial Prison. Stuffed on a back shelf for years, I found it one day while clearing an old portion of the library. It was a mess, but it mentioned the date of construction, and a bit about the people commissioned to build it. If I hadn’t first read The Letters of Dioylion, I never would have made the connection between the two because, as I said, it never mentioned the name of the prison or the prisoner.”

“I don’t understand how this prison could exist in Melengar without my knowing about it,” Alric said shaking his head. “And how does Arista know about it? And why does she want me to go there?”

“I thought you determined she was sending you there to kill or imprison you,” Hadrian reminded him.

“That certainly makes more sense to me than a thousand year old wizard,” Royce said.

“Maybe,” Alric muttered, “but…” The prince, his eyes searching the ground before him for answers, tapped a finger on his lips. “Consider this, if she really wanted me dead, why choose such an obscure place? She could have sent you to this monastery and had a whole army waiting, and no one would hear a scream. It’s unnecessarily complicated to drag me to a hidden place no one has heard of. Why would she mention this Esrahaddon or Gutaria at all?”

“Now you think she’s telling the truth?” Royce asked. “Do you think there really is a thousand-year-old man waiting to talk to you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but…well, consider the possibilities if he does exist. Imagine what I could learn from a man like that, an advisor to the last Emperor.”

Hadrian chuckled at the comment. “You’re actually starting to sound like a king now.”

“It might merely be the warmth of the fire or the smell of boiling potatoes, but I am starting to think it might be a good idea to see where this leads. And look, the storm is breaking. The rain will be stopping soon I think. What if Arista isn’t trying to kill me? What if there really is something there I need to discover, something that has to do with the murder of our father?”

“Your father was killed?” Myron asked. “I’m so sorry.”

Alric took no notice of the monk. “Regardless, I don’t like this ancient prison existing in my kingdom without my knowledge. I wonder if my father knew about it, or his father. Perhaps none of the Essendons were aware of it. A thousand years would predate the founding of Melengar by several centuries. The prison was built when this land still lay contested during the Great Civil War. If it is possible for a man to live for a thousand years, if this Esrahaddon was an advisor to the last Emperor, I think I should like to speak to him. Any noble in Apeladorn would give his left eye for a chance to speak to a true imperial advisor. Like the monk said, so much knowledge was lost when the Empire fell, so much forgotten over time. What might he know? What advantages would a man like that be to a young king?”

“Even if he’s just a ghost?” Royce asked. “It’s unlikely there is a thousand-year-old man in a prison north of this lake.”

“If the ghost can speak, what’s the difference?”