Michael Sullivan - The emerald storm

"They'll be kicking themselves tomorrow."

They found the stairs-short shallow steps built for little feet, that they took two and three at a time. Ducking under low archways, Hadrian nearly had to crawl through the entrance to the Big Room. This was a name Hadrian gave it the last time they visited. The room itself was huge, but the name came from the master gear. It stood on edge and what they could see was as high as a castle tower, but most of its bulk sunk beneath the floor and through a wall, leaving only a quarter of the gear visible. Its edge was crenellated like the merlons on a castle battlement, only larger-much. It meshed with two other gears, which connected to a dozen more that joined the dwarven puzzle.

"The lock was at the top right?" Royce asked.

"Think so-yeah, Gravis was up there when we found him, right?"

"Okay, I'll handle this. Keep an eye out."

Royce leapt up to one of the smaller gears and walked up the teeth like a staircase. He jumped from one to the next until he reached the master gear. It was harder to climb, since the teeth were huge, but for Royce this was no problem. He was soon out of sight and a few minutes later a loud stone upon stone sound echoed as a giant post of rock descend from the ceiling, settling in the valley between two teeth, locking the great gear.

When Royce returned he was grinning happily.

"I'd love to see the look on Merrick's face when this place doesn't blow. Even if the Ghazel take the city, he'll be scratching his head for months. There's no way he can know about this master switch. Gravis only knew because it was his ancestor that designed the place."

"And we only know because we caught him in the act." Hadrian thought a moment. "Do you think Merrick might be nearby, waiting for the fireworks?"

Royce sighed. "Of course not. If it were me, I wouldn't be within a hundred miles of this explosion. I don't even want to be here now. Don't worry, I know him. The fact that this mountain doesn't explode will drive him nuts. All we have to do is drop the right hints to the wrong people and you won't have to look for him-he'll find us. Now come on, let's see if we can find what is blocking the vents so we can put this back in place and cook some goblins."

Going Home Archibald Ballentyne stared out the window of the Great Hall. It looked cold. Brown grass, blowing dead leaves, clouds that looked heavy and full of snow, and geese that flew away before a veil of gray all reminded him the seasons and changed. Wintertide was less than two months away. He kicked the stone of the wall with his boot. It made a muffled thud and sent a pain up his leg making him wince.

Why do I have to think of that? Why do I always have to think of that?

Behind him, Saldur, Ethelred, and Biddings debated something, but he was not listening. He did not care anymore. Maybe he should leave. Maybe he should take a small retinue and just go home to Chadwick and the sanctity of his Gray Tower. The place would be a wreck by now and he could busy himself with repairing the damage the servants caused in his absence. Bruce was likely dipping into his brandy store and the tax collectors would be behind in their duties. It would feel nice to be home for the holiday. He could invite a few friends and his sister over for-he stopped and considered kicking the wall again, but it hurt enough last time. He decided against it.

Sleeping in a tent this time of year would be miserable. Besides, what would the regents say? Moreover, what would they do in his absence? They treated him badly enough when he was here, how much worse would they conspire against him if he left?

He did not really want to be home. Ballentyne Castle was a lonely place, all the more horrid in winter. He used to dream of how all that would change when he married, when he had a beautiful wife and children. He used to fantasize about Alenda Lanaklin. She was a pretty thing. He often imagined taking the hand of the King Armand's daughter, Princess Beatrice. She was certainly appealing. He even spent many a summer evening watching the milkmaids in the field and contemplating the possibility of snatching one from her lowly existence to be the new Lady Ballentyne. How grateful she would be, how dutiful, how easily controlled. That was all before he came to Aquesta-before he met her.

Even sleep gave him no solace as he dreamed about Modina now. He danced with her and it was their own wedding day. He despised wp. Archibald did not even care about the title anymore. He would give up the idea of being emperor if he could have her. He even considered that he would give up being earl-but she was marrying-Ethelred!

He refused to look at the regent. The blackguard cared nothing for her. How could he be so cold as to force a girl to marry him just for the political benefit? The man was a blackguard.

"Archie…Archie!" Ethelred was calling him.

He cringed at the sound of the name he hated and turned from the window with a scowl.

"Archie, you need to talk to your man Breckton."

"What's wrong with him now?"

"He's refusing to take my orders. He insists he serves only you. You need to set him straight on the lay of things. We can't have knights whose allegiance is strictly to their lords. They have to recognize the supremacy of the empire and the chain of command."

"Seems to me that's what he is doing, observing the chain of command."

"Yes, yes, but it is more than that. He's becoming obstinate. I'm going to be the emperor in a couple of months and I can't have my best general requiring that I get your permission to give him an order."

"I'll speak with him," Archibald said miserably, mostly just so he could stop listening to Ethelred's voice. If the old bastard was not such an accomplished soldier, he would seriously consider challenging him, but Ethelred had fought in dozens of battles, while Archibald had only engaged in practice duels with blunt tipped swords. Even if he wanted to commit suicide, he certainly would not give Ethelred the satisfaction of killing him.

"What about Modina?" Ethelred asked.

At the sound of the name, Archibald focused back on the conversation.

"Will she be ready?"

"Yes, I think so," Saldur replied. "Amilia has been doing wonders with her."

"Amilia?" Ethelred tapped his forehead. "Isn't she the maid you promoted to Imperial Secretary?"

"Yes," Saldur said, "and I've been thinking that after the wedding, I want to keep her on."

"We'll have no use for her after the wedding."

"I know, but I think I could use her elsewhere. She's proven herself to be both intelligent and resourceful."

"Do whatever you like with her, I certainly don't-"

"Queens always have need of secretaries even when they have husbands," Archibald interrupted. "I understand you're going to assume total control of the empire, but she'll still need an assistant."

Ethelred looked at Saldur with a puzzled expression. "He doesn't know?"

"Know what?" Archibald asked.

Saldur shook his head. "I felt the fewer that knew the better."

"After the wedding," Ethelred told Archibald, "once I am crowned emperor, I'm afraid Modina will have an unfortunate accident-a fatal accident."

"It's all arranged," Nimbus reported. Arista paced the room and Modina sat alone on the bed. "I got the uniform to him, and tonight the farmer will smuggle Hilfred into the gate just before sunset in the hay cart."

"Will they check that?" Arista asked pausing in her journey across the room.

"Not anymore, not since they called off the witch hunt. Things are business as usual again. They know the farmer. He's in and out every third day of the week."

Arista nodded, and resumed her pacing.

"The same wagon will cart you all out at dawn. You will go out through the city gates. There will be three horses waiting at the crossroads for you with food, water, blankets, and extra clothing."