“So,” Hadrian began, “you monks worship Maribor while the Nyphron worship Novron?”

“Close,” the monk said, “the Nyphron also worship Maribor, they just put emphasis on Novron. The main differences are really in the manner of worship. The Church focuses on public worship. They are very involved in guiding society, as they believe the birth of Novron demonstrates Maribor wanted his worshipers to take a direct hand in controlling the fate of mankind. As such, they are very involved in politics and warfare. We monks believe in a more personal devotion to Maribor. We seek out his will in the quiet places, through the ancient rituals and in this silence; he speaks to us in our hearts. We don’t so much seek to do what Maribor wants, but rather to merely learn to know Maribor better.”

“Well, thank you, Myron,” Hadrian said. “That was very educational, but I’m afraid I didn’t find anything in that which would help us with our current situation.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a help,” Myron said in a disappointed tone.

During the monk’s tale, Hadrian had found a comfortable seat next to Alric, with his back against the cliff wall. After checking on the horses once more, Myron joined them. Royce remained studying the cliff. No one disturbed his concentration.

Storm clouds covered the sky and darkened the ravine. What light remained was an odd hue adding a sense of the surreal to the landscape. Soon the wind began gusting through the pass, blowing dirt into the air. In the distance, they could hear the low rumble of thunder.

“Any luck with the door, Royce?” Hadrian asked. His legs were outstretched, and he tapped the tips of his boots together. “Because it looks like we’re in for another cold, wet night, only tonight we won’t have any shelter.”

Royce muttered something none of them caught.

Down below them, framed by the walls of the ravine, they could still see the shimmering surface of the lake. It was still a pale gray, but now it shined like a mirror facing the sky. Every now and then, it would flash brilliantly when lightning flickered in the distance.

Royce grumbled again.

“What’s that?” Hadrian asked.

“I was just thinking about what you said earlier. Why would she send us here if she knew we couldn’t get in? She must have thought we could, maybe to her it was obvious.”

“Maybe it’s magic,” Alric said, pulling his cloak tighter.

“Enough with the enchanted words,” Royce told him. “Locks are mechanical. Believe me, I know a bit about this subject. Dwarves are very clever and very skilled, but they don’t make doors that unlock by a sound.”

“I just brought it up because Arista could do some, so maybe getting in is easy for her.”

“Do some what?” Hadrian asked.

“Magic.”

“Your sister is a witch?” Myron asked disturbed.

Alric laughed. “You could certainly say that, yes, but it has little to do with her magical capabilities. She studied at Sheridan University for a few years learning magical theory. It never amounted to much, but she was able to do a thing or two. She magically locks the door to her room, and I am certain she made the Countess Amril terribly sick one day when she betrayed a trust and told a squire Arista fancied him. Poor Amril was covered in boils for a week.”

Royce looked over at Alric. “What do you mean magically locks her door?”

“There’s never been a lock on it, but no one can open it but her.”

“Did you ever see your sister unlock her door?”

Alric shook his head. “I wish I had.”

“Myron,” Royce said, turning to the monk, “did you ever read about unusual locks, or keys? Maybe something associated with dwarves?”

“There’s the tale of Iberius and the Giant, where Iberius uses a key forged by dwarves to open the giant’s treasure box, but it wasn’t magical. It was just big. There’s also the Collar of Liem, from the Myth of the Forgotten, that refused to unlock until the wearer was dead—I guess that doesn’t help you. There’s also gemlocks.”

“What are gemlocks?”

“They’re not magical either, but they were invented by dwarves. Gems interact with other stones by creating a low resonance, or subtle vibrations. Gemlocks were created to be used when an individual key was impractical, for example when a great number of people needed to access the contents of a locked container, or when someone needed to be able to open a lock but would not be able to have access to a single key. All they needed to have was a gem of matching type. The wealthy sent messages in gemlocked boxes, using expensive stones for keys which made it hard for a poor courier to obtain. For particularly clever locks, the gemlock might require a specific cut, which modified the resonance. Truly gifted crafters could make a lock that actually changed with the seasons, allowing different gems to unlock it at different times of the year. This is what gave rise to the idea of birthstones, for certain stones have more strength at certain times.”

“That’s it,” Royce interrupted.

“What’s it?” Alric asked. Royce reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a dark blue ring. Alric jumped to his feet. “That’s my father’s ring! Give it to me!”

“Fine,” Royce said tossing it toward the prince. “Your sister told us to return it to you when we got to the prison.”

“She did?” Alric looked surprised. He slipped the ring on his finger, and like his sword, it did not quite fit and spun around from the weight of the gem. “I thought she took it. It has the royal seal. She could have used it to muster the nobles, to make laws, or to announce herself as steward. With it, she could have taken control of everything.”

“Maybe she was telling the truth,” Hadrian suggested.

“Let’s not make snap judgments,” Royce cautioned. “First, let’s see if this works. Your sister said you would need the ring to get into the prison. I thought she meant to identify you as the king, but I think she meant it a bit more literally. If I’m correct, touching the stone with the ring will cause giant doors to open.”

They all gathered at the cliff face close to Alric in anticipation of the dramatic event.

“Go ahead, Alric—do it.”

He turned the ring so the gem was on top, made a fist, and attempted to touch it to the cliff. As he did, his hand disappeared into the rock. Alric recoiled, wheeling backward with a cry.

“What happened?” Royce asked. “Did it hurt?”

“No, it just felt sort of cold, but I can’t touch it.”

“Try it again,” Hadrian said.

Alric did not look at all happy with the suggestion but nodded just the same. This time he pressed farther, and the whole party watched as his hand disappeared into the wall up to his wrist before he withdrew it.

“Fascinating,” Royce muttered, feeling the solid stone of the cliff. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Does that mean he has to go in alone?” Hadrian asked.

“I’m not sure I want to enter solid stone alone,” Alric said with fear in his voice.

“Well, you may have no choice,” Royce responded, “assuming you still want to talk to the wizard. But let’s not give up yet. Give me the ring a moment.”

Despite his earlier desire for the ring, Alric now showed no concern at handing it over. Royce slipped it on, and when he pressed his hand to the cliff face, it passed into the mountainside just as easily as Alric’s had. Royce pulled his hand back, then he took the ring off, and holding it in his left hand, he reached out with his right. Once more, his hand passed through the stone.

“So you don’t have to be the prince, and you don’t have to be wearing it. You only need to be touching it. Myron, didn’t you say something about the gem creating a vibration?”

Myron nodded. “They create a specific resonance with certain stones types.”

“Try holding hands,” Hadrian suggested.

Alric and Royce did so, and this time, both could penetrate the stone.