“Are we in the wrong place?” Hadrian asked.

“It’s supposed to be a hidden prison,” Alric reminded them.

“I just assumed,” Hadrian said, “being up here in the middle of nowhere was what was meant by hidden. I mean, if you didn’t know the prison was here, would you come to such a place?”

“If this was made by the best minds of what was left of the Empire,” Alric said, “it is likely to be hard to find and harder to enter.”

“Legends hold it was mostly constructed by dwarves,” Myron explained.

“Lovely,” Royce said miserably. “It’s going to be another Drumindor.”

“We had issues getting into a dwarf-constructed fortress in Tur Del Fur a few years back,” Hadrian explained. “It wasn’t pretty. We might as well get comfortable; this could take a while.”

Royce searched the cliff. The stone directly before the path was exposed as if recently sheered off, and while moss and small plants grew among the many cracks elsewhere, none was found anywhere near the cliff face.

“There’s a door here I know it,” the thief said, running his hands lightly across the stone. “Damn dwarves. I can’t find a hinge, crack, or seam.”

“Myron,” Alric asked, “did you read anything about how to open the door to the prison? I’ve heard tales about dwarves having a fondness for riddles and sometimes they make keys out of sounds, words that when spoken unlock doors.”

Myron shook his head as he climbed down off the horse.

“Words that unlock doors?” Royce looked at the prince skeptically. “Are these fairytales you’re listening to?”

“An invisible door sounds like a fairytale to me,” Alric replied. “So it seems appropriate.”

“It’s not invisible. You can see the cliff, can’t you? It’s merely well hidden. Dwarves can cut stone with such precision you can’t see a gap.”

“You do have to admit, Royce, what dwarves can do with stone is amazing,” Hadrian added.

Royce glared over his shoulder at him. “Don’t talk to me.”

Hadrian smiled. “Royce doesn’t much care for the wee folk.”

“Open in the name of Novron!” Alric suddenly shouted with a commanding tone, his voice echoing between the stony slopes.

Royce spun around and fixed the prince with a withering stare. “Don’t do that again!”

“Well, you weren’t making any progress. I just thought perhaps since this was, or is, a Church prison, maybe a religious command would unlock it. Myron, is there some standard Church saying to open a door? You should know about this. Is there such a thing?”

“I am not a priest of Nyphron. The Winds Abbey was a monastery of Maribor.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Alric said, looking disappointed.

“I mean I know about the Church of Nyphron,” Myron clarified, “but I’m not a member of that religion so I wouldn’t be privy to any secret codes or chants or such.”

“What I don’t understand,” Hadrian said, dismounting and tying his horse to a nearby tree, “is why Arista sent us here knowing we couldn’t get in?”

The day was growing dark and the wind had picked up, heralding another possible storm. Hadrian was careful to lash the horses tightly for fear the wind might spook them. Alric walked about, rubbing his legs and muttering about being saddle sore. Myron continued to watch the horses with fascination, summoning the nerve every so often to stroke their necks.

“Would you like to help me unsaddle them?” Hadrian asked. “I don’t think we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Of course,” the monk said eagerly. “Now, how do I do that?”

Together, Hadrian and Myron relieved the animals of their saddles and packs, and stowed their gear under a small rock ledge. Hadrian suggested Myron gather some grass for the animals while he approached Royce, who sat on the path staring at the cliff. Occasionally, the thief would get up, examine a portion of the wall, and sit back down grumbling.

“Well? How’s it going?”

“I hate dwarves,” Royce replied.

“Most people do.”

“Yes, but I have a reason. The bastards are the only ones that can make boxes I can’t open.”

“You’ll open it. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be soon, but you’ll open it.”

Royce sat on his haunches, his cloak draped out around him. His eyes remained focused, but he was frustrated. “I can’t even see it. If I could see it then maybe, but how can I break a lock when I can’t even find the door?”

“Maybe more information would help,” Hadrian suggested. He looked around and found Myron walking back to the horses with a few handfuls of weeds he had plucked. “Myron, tell me, what is the difference between Nyphrons and you monks?”

“Well, how much do you know about religion in general?”

Royce let out a small chuckle. Hadrian ignored him. “Just start at the beginning, Myron. And pretend I don’t know much at all.”

“Oh,” the monk nodded. “Well,” he began as if reciting a well-remembered liturgy. “Erebus created Elan, which, of course, is the known world, everything we see, the sky and ground. He made it so his children would have a place to rule. He had three sons and one daughter. His eldest son he named Ferrol. Ferrol is a master of magic and created the elves. His second son was Drome. He is the master craftsman, and he created the dwarves. His youngest son is Maribor and he created Man. His daughter is Muriel, and she created the animals, the birds, and the fish in the sea.

“Now, Ferrol being the oldest, his children, the elves, dominated the entire surface of Elan. Drome’s children also grew great and controlled the world underground. Maribor’s children, mankind, had no place. We struggled to survive in the most wretched, desolate places that the elves and dwarves didn’t want.

“Then it came to pass that Erebus, in a drunken rage, forced himself on Muriel. From this union was born Uberlin, the Dark One. He, too, created children in Elan, and they are the Ghazel, the Dacca, and all the other creatures of shadow. Outraged at the crime, Ferrol, Drome, and Maribor attacked their father and slew him. Uberlin tried to defend his father, and they turned on him. They nearly killed Uberlin as well, but Muriel, sickened at her father’s death, begged for his life. Instead, they cast Uberlin down and locked him within the depths of Elan.

“His children, however, grew in number and began to take what little the children of Maribor had managed to acquire. Losing their tiny footholds, mankind begged Maribor for help, and he heard their pleas. He tricked his brother Drome into forging the great sword Rhelacan, although in some very old text it is referred to as a great horn. He convinced his other brother Ferrol to enchant the weapon. Then Maribor came to Elan in disguise and slept with a mortal woman. The union brought forth Novron the Great. Armed with the Rhelacan, Novron led mankind in a war against the elves, the dwarves, and the forces of shadow. In a few short years, mankind subdued them all.

“Angry about the subjugation of their children by a demigod, Ferrol and Drome unleashed Uberlin with the promise of permanent freedom if he slew Novron. Twisted and misshapen after eons of darkened captivity, their half brother met Novron in battle. They fought for three days that shook Elan. In the end, Uberlin, severely wounded, crawled back into the bowels of the world, but Novron was worse. The mortal son of Maribor was pierced through the heart and died, his spirit returning to his father’s side.

“Novron’s son became the new Emperor, and soon the Great Church of Nyphron was established to pay homage to Novron as god and the son of Maribor. The Nyphron Church became the official religion of the Empire, but farther away from the imperial capital of Percepliquis, people remembered the old ways and continued to worship Maribor as they always had. The people called these wandering priests of the old religion Monks of Maribor. Eventually, with the fall of the Empire, the monks became more prominent and established monasteries. There is much more to the story, of course, but that is a basic overview,” Myron said.