The Crimson Crown

  “We can enter from Gray Lady, or from Mount Marisa,” Crow said. “I suggest the Marisa route, since we are less likely to be intercepted that way.”

  “Mount Marisa?” Han stared at Crow, his heart sinking. What if Crow referenced a landmark that no longer existed? “I never heard of that.”

  “You must have heard of it,” Crow said. “It’s the tallest peak in the area, not far from the capital.” He extended his hand peremptorily. “Where’s the map?”

  Han unfolded it and handed it over.

  Crow studied it, his brow furrowed. “Right here,” he said, his forefinger stabbing down.

  Han looked over his shoulder. “You mean Hanalea? That’s the biggest peak around.”

  “Ah,” Crow said, nodding. “I knew it as Marisa. When…when Hanalea was still alive.” Pain creased his face and was gone.

  “So you’re saying there’s an entrance to the armory on Hanalea?” Han shook his head. “That’s ironic. Wizards are forbidden to go there, these days.”

  “In my day, wizards could go wherever they liked,” Crow said.

  “In your day, wizards nearly destroyed the world,” Han said.

  Han rode cross-country, wrapped in a glamour, sidestepping the main clan pathways from the city to Marisa Pines Camp and beyond. He hoped to avoid any Demonai patrols. Since his night in Hanalea’s garden with Raisa, he’d become more interested in his future, too.

  All the way up Hanalea, Crow said little. Either he was lost in his own thoughts, or he was worried that his voice inside Han’s head would be off-putting. Han felt his presence, though, as a kind of light pressure, as if he actually occupied space.

  The entrance to the armory was located on the southeast slope of Hanalea, which faced Gray Lady, across the Vale. It was an area infrequently traveled—pocked with geysers and hot springs and bubbling mudpots. The surface was a thin crust of baked mud that could collapse under an unwary foot. Han had been there before, hunting plants for the markets.

  He hobbled his horse well away from the steaming fissures and picked his way across the chancy surface toward a chasm that spewed a sulfurous vapor.

  “Here we are,” Crow said. “We go in through that fumarole.”

  “Is that real or a glamour?” Han asked.

  “It’s real,” Crow said. “I didn’t want to leave behind any magical residue to tip anyone off.”

  Han eyed it distrustfully. “Seems like I might get boiled alive.”

  “You have to go in between eruptions,” Crow said. “If I recall correctly, it erupts every twenty minutes.”

  “That might have changed in a thousand years,” Han said. “Willo says that geysers and springs come and go, and change their habits over time. We don’t even know when it last erupted.”

  So they had to sit and wait until it spewed, and then watch until it blew again, and mark the time between on Lucius’s old pocket watch.

  Fifteen minutes.

  “I hope it’s regular,” Han said. “Maybe we should time it again.”

  Sixteen minutes this time.

  Han sat on the edge of the fissure and dangled his feet into the chasm. He peered down between his knees into the steamy darkness.

  “How far down does it go?”

  “About ten feet,” Crow said. “Not far enough to break any bones.”

  “How do I get back out?”

  “Assuming you don’t want to ride the geyser, you’ll have to go out via Gray Lady.”

  “So this is a one-way entrance,” Han said.

  “There used to be a rope ladder. It will have rotted away by now. We should have brought one with us.”

  “I would have if you’d said anything.”

  “It’s been a thousand years. I forgot.”

  Han couldn’t argue with that. “What’s at the bottom? Boiling water?”

  “At the bottom of the shaft, a tunnel goes off in both directions. One way leads to the geyser pool. You need to go that way first.”

  “Wait a minute,” Han said, thinking he’d heard wrong. “I’m supposed to go toward the pool?”

  “Yes. Halfway down that tunnel you’ll find a carved stone set into the wall,” Crow said. “Behind that stone, there’s a key. Fetch that key and then go the other way as quickly as you can. The other tunnel leads to the armory.” He paused, and when Han didn’t move, said, “You’d better go. That’s probably four minutes gone already, and once the pool begins to heat, it gets uncomfortable in there.”

  Turning so he faced the wall of the shaft, Han slid his body into the fissure, gripping the lip of the shaft with his fingertips and lowering himself until his arms were straight. He let go and landed on his feet on the slippery stone floor, nearly falling.

  If I fall and crack my head, I’ll be boiled alive, Han thought. So he kept his feet.

  “It seems deeper than before,” Crow murmured.

  To the right, the tunnel sloped downward. It was definitely hot, spitting wisps of sulfurous mist. Han hurried down it, scanning the walls to either side.

  There it was—a stone the size of Han’s head, bearing the Waterlow ravens, high on his left. Wedging his fingers in around the stone, he pried it loose, dropping it to the ground and thrusting his hand into the niche behind.

  His fingers closed on something metal. He pulled out a large gold key.

  Without bothering to replace the stone, Han turned the other way. Once past the geyser shaft, he was too tall to stand upright in the tunnel, so he ran crouched over, stumbling forward as fast as he could in that position, feeling his way, igniting his fingertips for light. He blessed every twist and turn, hoping the stone would protect him when the geyser blew.

  About the time he thought his lungs would burst, he heard a roar behind him. Pressing himself against the wall, he lathered himself with magic as a blast of blistering steam threatened to smash him flat. It seemed to go on and on, and by the time it subsided, he felt boiled like a piece of tough meat.

  “I’m just as glad not to come back this way,” he muttered.

  After that, the tunnel widened and straightened and went on for what seemed like miles. Now and then light leaked through openings over his head.

  “How much farther is it?” he asked, like a small child on a long journey.

  “A ways,” Crow said. “We are, in fact, crossing the Vale from Hanalea to Gray Lady by a very direct route. This web of tunnels allowed me and mine to cross the Vale without being seen.”

  Han thought of the farm fields and villages overhead, the city with its devious streets and crooked people. He could have used these tunnels. It seemed he’d always been on the run from somebody.

  Eventually, the tunnel began to slope upward, and Han knew they were beginning the long climb into the uplands again.

  He pressed on, conscious of the passage of time, wondering what his enemies were up to. He ate dried fruit as he walked, and drank from his water bottle. At least there were no more geysers to jump into. Still, he was footsore and hungry by the time he entered the warren of caves and tunnels that formed the Demon King’s lair under Gray Lady.

  “Sorry, Alister,” Crow said, overhearing Han’s thoughts. “Lacking a body, I tend to forget about the necessity of eating. And it’s a shorter distance from Gray Lady than from Hanalea. It should be fairly accessible from your new quarters on Gray Lady.”

  New quarters? Right. He was High Wizard now, at least until he was arrested and executed.

  Now they were running into magical barriers and traps. Crow whispered directions as Han navigated the dangerous labyrinth.

  “Strange,” Crow muttered. “I don’t remember some of these barriers at all.” Still, he had no difficulty coming up with the charms so that Han could disable them.

  “How does it feel,” Han asked, “to be back here again after so long?”

  After a long pause, Crow said, “Now that I’m here, it seems like it was just yesterday that I had dreams and aspirations. Hopes for the future. A woman I loved more than
life itself.”

  Han kept quiet after that.

  “We’re getting close,” Crow said finally. “Up ahead, there’s a door, if you peel away the spellwork.”

  Han did, and there was a door, buried in magic, inscribed with runes. “Wait. Don’t open it,” Crow added quickly as Han reached for the latch. “I just remembered something. How are you at singing?”

  “Singing?” Han said blankly. “Not very good, to tell the truth.”

  “Are you loud, at least?” Crow asked. “Can you carry a tune?”

  “Why is that important at this particular time?” Han asked, exasperated.

  “The next chamber is full of songbirds, if I remember right. Their music is like turtleweed. It will put you to sleep if you listen to it. They sleep most of the time, so the best thing is to pass through without waking them up. If they do awaken, then you must sing loud enough to drown out their music.”

  “Great,” Han said. “Whose idea was that?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Crow said. “I was an excellent singer.”

  “Can’t I just put my hands over my ears?” Han said.

  “Do that, too,” Crow advised. “But there’s always the chance that the sound will filter through. If you fall asleep, you’ll never wake up.”

  “This is the easy way, right? That’s what you said, right?”

  “Shhh,” Crow said. “Not so loud.”

  Han struggled to think of a song long enough to carry him through the rock chamber. The only one that came to mind was a bawdy tavern song about Hanalea and the Demon King.

  He eased open the door.

  Perches lined the room, each occupied by scores of brilliant jewel-toned birds with extravagantly long tails. They huddled together, their heads tucked under their wings—ruby, emerald, sapphire, and bright yellow.

  They’re beautiful, Han thought. What a shame they’re hidden underground.

  Keeping his eyes on the birds, Han soft-footed it across the room toward a door on the opposite side. Halfway there, he stepped on something that rolled under his foot and hit the wall with a clatter, nearly tumbling him to the ground.

  Crow swore inside Han’s head. Han looked to see what he’d stepped on, and realized it was a skull. It was then that he noticed the floor was littered with piles of bones, completely clean of flesh.

  He looked up to see that several birds had pulled their heads from under their wings and opened their eyes.

  Feeling like a fool, Han clapped his hands over his ears and began singing in a loud voice as he strode across the room.

  Oh, the Gray Wolf Queens are lusty, as lusty as can be.

  If you’re a man of woman born, they’ll bring you to your knees.

  Hanalea the Warrior, the northern armies led.

  But the greatest war she ever won was the battle of the bed.

  Oh, the Demon King, he came to her, his weapon long and hard….

  Acutely aware of Crow listening in, Han faltered, embarrassed, forgetting the next lines. And then he heard it—the most marvelous music, music that tugged at his heart. He lowered his hands and looked up, transfixed. The birds opened their beaks, their ruby throats vibrating with sweet music that clouded his head and soothed his worries.

  He sank to his knees, enchanted, besotted, drunk with pleasure. He forgot the Armory of the Gifted Kings—he could no longer remember his own name.

  “Alister! Alister, what did I tell you?” Crow shouted in his ear, but it was like the buzzing of a nasty wasp next to this beautiful melody. Han wanted to follow it wherever it led. He slid forward until he lay flat, cradling his head on his arms, knowing that, whatever happened, however long he slept, his dreams would be sweet.

  Han heard the soft whisper of wings as birds alighted on his back and shoulders. He flinched a bit when their needle-sharp beaks tore through his clothing and into his flesh. Ah, well, he thought dreamily, you have to pay the piper, after all.

  C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - O N E

  THE ARMORY

  OF THE

  GIFTED KINGS

  And then, suddenly, he was picking himself up off the floor and lurching forward, waving his arms, wildly brushing birds from his body.

  “But it’s beautiful,” Han tried to say, but found that he was no longer in control of his voice. Please, he thought. I want to stay and listen.

  But his pleas never made it past his lips. A wave of nausea stormed over him. Crow was in command of Han’s body once more. He staggered past heaps of bones and scraps of cloth—the remnants of past visitors—to the door on the opposite side of the chamber.

  Screaming silent protests, Han pulled the door open and half fell through the doorway. Turning, he gripped the latch and banged it shut, catching several birds between the doorframe and the door, sending brilliant feathers spiraling down to land like shards of colored glass on the stone floor.

  A pair of birds clung to his clothes, and he swatted them away, stamping on them. Until, at last, they were silent—heaps of blood and feathers. The witchy music was gone.

  Blood trickled down his back where the birds had pierced his skin. Like a puppet whose strings had snapped, Han slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, horrified.

  “I told you not to wake them up,” Crow said, his voice low and fierce and frightened. “I told you to sing loud. It didn’t have to be good. Can’t you follow the simplest directions?”

  Suddenly, Han could speak. “I…forgot the words,” he croaked, feeling just a bit faint. “You didn’t tell me they would rip me to shreds.”

  “I forgot about that until I saw the bones.”

  “You. Forgot. Right. I can see how that might happen,” Han muttered.

  “It’s coming back to me now,” Crow said. “They’re called magic eaters. They’ll eat any kind of flesh, but they are especially fond of the gifted. Magic does no good against them; it’s fuel to them. They can pick a body clean in a matter of minutes. And I’m guessing they are very hungry after a thousand years. Though, based on their leavings, it seems a few other people have found their way in.”

  Han shuddered. “Where did you find them? The birds, I mean.”

  “Bought them off a pirate from Carthis,” Crow said. “He seemed eager to be rid of them.”

  When Han’s heart slowed a bit, he looked around for the first time. They were in another stone chamber, smaller and nearly round. The only way in appeared to be the door they’d come through.

  “Is this a dead end?” Han asked, his mouth going dry at the thought of passing through the bird chamber again.

  “No,” Crow said. “Use the reveal charm.”

  Gripping his amulet, Han obeyed. A wall of magic appeared at the far end, covering another door, this one small and plain.

  “Go ahead,” Crow said. “Tear it away.”

  “There aren’t more flesh-eating birds behind this door, are there?” Han asked.

  “No birds,” Crow said. “I promise.”

  Gently, Han stripped away the magic that overlaid the wall, exposing an arched wooden door, reinforced with metal, amazingly solid after more than a thousand years underground. He pressed his palm against the surface, as if it might open at a touch.

  “Use the key,” Crow said.

  Han pulled the key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The mechanism moved smoothly, no evidence of rust or ruin. He pushed the door open, launching a flare of light ahead of him. It arced up toward the ceiling, revealing a glittering underground treasure vault.

  Han took a step forward, then another, squinting against the brilliance of hundreds of reflective surfaces. Wands, staffs, and eyepieces. Ornate swords, daggers, armor, amulets, and talismans. Goblets and drinking cups inscribed with runes.

  The Armory of the Gifted Kings.

  There was other magical jewelry—jinxpieces of all kinds, from tiaras to belts, from torcs to rings and bracelets. Tables were loaded with smoky crystal scrying glasses. Shelves were piled with masks, cloaks
, and clothing. Mirrors and painted panels and elaborate cages with nothing in them lined the walls. Bolts of cloth shot with silver and gold stood in bins next to shelves of books and scrolls, which Han assumed contained secrets of magical mayhem.

  Crystal decanters held mysterious potions in lurid colors, alongside jars of powders and pastes. Would the potions be any good after a thousand years? Or would they be too dangerous to chance?

  “Don’t touch anything without asking me,” Crow said, overhearing Han’s thoughts. “It’s mostly weaponry of one sort or another, or objects and devices useful in warfare. Much of it was collected before my time, so there are a few things I was never sure of.”

  It looked to be enough to outfit a magical army. The old flash amulets alone would be worth a fortune these days. If Han sold this lot, he could build a palace for every resident of Ragmarket and Southbridge and have enough left over to retire to his castle on the Firehole.

  He thought of the Bayars, of his colleagues on the Wizard Council, and how eager they would be to get their hands on this hoard.

  “What did you plan to do with all this?” Han asked, thinking his ancestor had been a thief, just like him.

  “I took it mainly to keep it away from my enemies,” Crow said. “I kept it in reserve, in case things went wrong. As it turned out, I never had a chance to use it, since I was taken by surprise.” His voice trailed off. “I had so many plans, and then—nothing.”

  “I’m going to use this to make everybody back off and leave me alone.”

  Crow laughed. “Good luck. It didn’t work all that well for me.”

  Han scanned the room, overwhelmed by the taking. “I need something portable that I can take away and use to prove I’ve found it, without giving away its location. Are there well-known pieces here? Something so distinctive that there could be no mistake?” Han waved a hand at the movables around him.

  “I wouldn’t tell anybody that you know where the armory is,” Crow said. “Not if you want to stay alive.”

  “I’ll pick the time and place,” Han said. “I’ll do it on my turf, on my terms.”