Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

Hadrian shrugged and looked to Royce.

The thief, having completed his survey of the perimeter, took a seat around the glow of the rocks with the rest of them and fished in his pack for his meal. “At least a week.”

“What will we find up there?” she asked herself as much as anyone else. “What if we’re too late?”

“So the Uli Vermar is the reign of a king,” Myron said. “Usually three thousand years-the average life span of an elf, apparently.”

“Really?” Mauvin asked, and glanced at Royce. “How old are you?”

“Not that old.”

“Remember the emperors in the tomb?” Arista said. “Mixing elven blood with human reduces the life span.”

“Yeah, but he’ll still outlive everyone here, except maybe Gaunt, right?”

“Why me?” Gaunt, who had been miserably picking at the remains of his meal, looked up.

“You’re an elf too.”

Gaunt grimaced. “I’m an elf?”

“You’re related to Novron, right?”

“But… I don’t want to be an elf.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Royce smirked.

“Ah, here it is,” Myron said. “Mawyndule was a member of the Miralyith, and during the time before Novron, they were the ruling tribe.” He paused and, looking up, added, “Unlike us, elves don’t have consistent nobility. Whichever tribe the king is from becomes the ruling one and holds power over the rest, but only for one generation, or the length of the Uli Vermar. Then they face the challenge and if a new king wins the throne, his tribe becomes the new ruling elite.”

“But not anyone in the tribe can challenge for the chance to be king, I’ll bet,” Gaunt said. “There is still a hereditary nobility in the tribes, right? There always is.”

“For once I have to side with him,” Royce said. “People might like to give the appearance of giving up power, but actually giving it up-that doesn’t happen.”

“Technically, I think anyone can challenge,” Myron explained. “But true, traditionally it is the leader of a given tribe. However, he is elected by the clan leaders.”

“Interesting,” Mauvin said. “A society without nobility, where leaders are elected. See, Gaunt? You really are an elf.”

“So someone blows the horn, fights, wins the challenge, and becomes king,” Arista stated. “He’s expected to rule for three thousand years, but what if he doesn’t? If he dies in an accident, then the crown goes to his next of kin. That part I get. But what happens if the king dies and doesn’t have any blood relatives? Then what?”

“That would also end the Uli Vermar,” Myron said. “And the first person to blow the horn then becomes the new king, and he then presents it to anyone else to challenge him. And that’s exactly what appears to have happened.” Myron tapped the page in the book. “After the battle of Avempartha, as Nyphron was poised to invade his homeland-”

“Wait a second,” Mauvin said. “Are Nyphron and Novron the same person?”

“Yes,” Myron, Arista, and Hadrian all said together.

“Just as Teshlor is the bastardized pronunciation of the elf warrior Techylor, Novron is the bastardized form of Nyphron. So as I was saying, Nyphron was poised to invade his homeland when the Uli Vermar ended, and the elven high council presented the horn to Novron, making him king and ending the war.”

“The Uli Vermar ended just then? That sounds awfully convenient,” Royce said. “I’m guessing the elven king didn’t die of natural causes.”

Myron looked back down and read aloud. “ ‘And so it came to pass that in the night of the day of the third turn, thus was sent Mawyndule of the tribe Miralyith. And by the council he was thus charged with the…’ ” Myron stopped speaking, but his eyes raced across the page.

“What is it?” Arista asked, but Myron raised a finger to stall her.

They all watched as Myron reached up and turned another page, his eyes widening, his eyebrows rising.

“By Mar, monk!” Magnus erupted. “Stop reading and tell us.”

Myron looked up with a startled expression. “Mawyndule murdered the elven king.”

“And if he had any children, they were also murdered, weren’t they?”

“No,” Myron said, surprising Royce. “His only son survived.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Arista said. “If his son was alive, why didn’t he become king? Why did the Uli Vermar end?”

“Because,” Myron replied, “Mawyndule was his son.”

It took a moment for this to register. The timing was different for each of them as around the circle of flickering light, they each made a sound of understanding.

“So Mawyndule couldn’t become king because he had committed murder?” Hadrian asked.

“Regicide,” Myron corrected. “Significantly more deplorable in elvish society, for it places at risk the very foundation of their civilization and the peace that Ferrol granted them with the gift of the horn. As a result Mawyndule was banished-stricken from elvish society and cursed by Ferrol, thereby barred from Alysin, the elvish afterlife.”

“So why did he do it?” Arista asked.

“Princess Farilane doesn’t actually say. Perhaps no one knows.”

“So Novron blew the horn and became king and that ended the war.” Hadrian finished the last of his meal and folded up his pack.

“That was certainly the plan,” Myron said. “No one was supposed to blow the horn after Novron did. No one was supposed to challenge his rule. According to the laws of the horn, if it is presented but no challenger blows the horn within the course of a day, then the king retains his crown.”

“But someone challenged?”

“Mawyndule,” Myron said. “As it happens there are no restrictions on who can blow the horn other than they must be of elven blood. Even an outcast, even one cursed by Ferrol, can still challenge. And if he wins-”

“If he wins, he’s back in,” Royce finished.

“Yes.”

“But he lost, right?” Mauvin asked.

“Novron was a battle-hardened veteran of a lengthy war,” Hadrian concluded. “And Myron said Mawyndule was just a kid?”

“Yes.” The monk nodded. “It was a quick and humiliating defeat.”

“But this doesn’t make sense,” Arista said. “Esrahaddon told us he was convinced that Mawyndule was still alive.”

“Nyphron did not kill Mawyndule. While the challenge is usually a fight to the death, Nyphron let him live. Perhaps because he was so young, or maybe because as an outcast he was no threat. What is known is that Mawyndule was exiled, never allowed in Erivan again.”

“So how did Novron die?” Mauvin asked.

“He was murdered.”

“By who?”

“No one knows.”

“I would wager on Mawyndule,” Royce said.

“Hmm…” Arista pulled on her lower lip, deep in thought.

“What?” Royce asked.

“I was just thinking about what Esrahaddon said when he was dying. He warned that the Uli Vermar was ending and that I had to take the heir to Percepliquis to get the horn. But his very last words were ‘Patriarch… is the same…’ I always assumed that he was never able to finish the sentence before he died, but what if he said all he meant to? Myron, how many patriarchs have there been?”

“Twenty-two including Patriarch Nilnev.”

“Yes, and how old is he?”

“I don’t recall reading about his birth, but he’s been patriarch for sixty years.”

“Myron, what are some of the other patriarchs’ names?”

“Before Patriarch Nilnev was Patriarch Evlinn. Before him was Patriarch Lenvin. Before that-”

Arista’s eyes widened. “Is it possible?”

“Is what possible?” Royce asked.

Arista got to her knees. “Does anyone have anything to write with?”