“Even I didn’t expect this. Perhaps there’s another way out.” Royce took a seat on one of the observation benches and assumed the same contemplative look he had worn when he was trying to determine how to get inside the prison.

Everyone remained silent for some time. Finally, Hadrian approached Royce and whispered, “Okay, buddy, this is where you tell me you have this wonderfully unexpected plan to get us out of here.”

“Well, I do have one. But it seems almost as frightening as the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“We do what the wizard says.”

They looked down at the man casually seated in the chair. His robe looked a slightly different shade of blue now. Hadrian waved the others over and explained Royce’s plan.

“Could this be a trick?” Alric asked quietly. “The clerk did warn us not to do anything he said.”

“You mean the nice clerk who took away our bridge and refuses to let us out?” Royce replied. “I am not seeing an alternative, but if any of you have another idea, I am willing to hear it.”

“I’d just like to feel my heart again,” Myron said holding his palm to his chest and looking sick. “This is very disturbing. I almost feel like I’m actually dead.”

“Your Majesty?”

Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. “I just want to say, for the record, as far as Royal Protectors go, you’re not very good.”

“It’s my first day,” Royce replied dryly.

“And already I am trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week.”

“Listen, I don’t see we have a choice here,” Royce told the group. “We either do what the wizard says and hope he can get us out, or we accept an eternity of sitting here listening to this dreadful singing.”

The mournful wail of the music was so wretched that Hadrian knew listening to it would eventually drive him mad. He tried to ignore it, but like Myron, it brought forth unpleasant memories of places and people. Hadrian saw the disappointment on his father’s face when he left to join the military. He saw the tiger covered in blood, gasping for breath as it slowly died, and he heard the sound of hundreds chanting the name “Galenti!” He had reached his conclusion. Anything was better than staying there.

Royce stood and returned to the balcony where the wizard waited calmly below. “I assume if we help you escape, you will see to it we get out as well?”

“Of course.”

“And there is no way to determine if you are telling the truth right now?”

The wizard smiled. “None whatsoever I am afraid.”

Royce sighed heavily. “What do we have to do?”

“Very little. I only need the king to recite a simple bit of poetry.”

“Poetry?” Alric pushed past Hadrian to join Royce at the balcony, “What poetry?”

The wizard stood up and kicked his chair to one side to reveal two stanzas of text crudely scratched into the floor.

“’Tis amazing what beauty ye can create given time,” the wizard said with obvious pride. “Speak it and it wilt be so.”

Hadrian silently read the lines brightly illuminated by the beam of the overhead light.

“How is that possible?” Alric asked. “You said spells don’t work here.”

“They do not, and thou art no spell-caster. Thou art merely granting me freedom as the law allows the rightful ruler of this land. The law predates Melengar, a law that made foolish assumptions about the longevity of power and those who would hold it. At this moment, thou do. Thou art the rightful and undisputed ruler of this land, and as such, the locks art thine to open. Not the physical ones mind thee, but the magical ones, because they art formed not of steel, but of words, and words in time can change their meaning.

“When this gaol stood on imperial ground, ’twas controlled by the Church of Nyphron who built this place. The Patriarch was the undisputed ruler, but civil war came; the Empire fell. Warlords sprang up as the central power weakened. These warlords became kings, and new lines appeared on the maps. Melengar was born and this land became the realm of House Essendon. What was once only the privilege of the leader of the Church of Nyphron has fallen to thou. After nine centuries of educational neglect, my jailers hath forgotten how to read their own runes!”

In the distance, Hadrian heard the grinding of stone on stone. Outside the cell, the great door was opening. “Speak those words, my lord, and thou wilt end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment.”

“How does this help?” Alric asked. “You said I can’t open the physical locks, and this place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?”

The wizard smiled a great grin. “Thy words wilt release the magical field, allowing me the freedom to use The Art once more.”

“You’ll cast a spell. You’ll disappear!”

Footsteps thundered on the bridge, which had apparently reappeared. Hadrian ran up the gallery stairs to look down the tunnel. “We have guards coming! And they don’t look happy.”

“If you’re going to do this, you’d better make it fast,” Royce told Alric.

“They’ve swords drawn,” Hadrian shouted. “Never a good sign.”

Alric glared down at the wizard. “I want your word you won’t leave us here.”

“Thou have it, my lord,” the wizard inclined his head respectfully.

“This better work,” Alric muttered and began reading aloud the words on the floor below.

Royce raced to join his partner who was already positioning himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard’s numbers. The larger fighter planted his feet while Royce took up position slightly behind him. In unison, they drew their weapons, preparing for the impending onslaught. At least twenty men stormed the gallery. Hadrian could see their eyes and recognized what burned there. He had fought numerous battles and he knew the many faces of combat. He had seen fear, recklessness, hatred, even madness. What came at him now was rage—blind, intense rage. Hadrian studied the lead man, estimating his footfalls to determine which leg his weight would land on when he came within striking range. He did the same with the man behind him. Calculating his attack, he raised his swords, but the prison guards stopped. Hadrian waited with his swords still poised, yet the guards did not advance.

“Let us be leaving,” he heard Esrahaddon say from behind. Hadrian whirled around and discovered the wizard was no longer on the stage below. Instead, he moved casually past him, navigating around the stationary guards. “Come along,” Esrahaddon called.

Without a word, the group hurried after the wizard. He led them through the tunnel and across the newly extended bridge. The prison was oddly silent, and it was then that Hadrian realized the music had stopped. The only remaining sound was their footfalls against the hard stone floor.

“Relax and just keep walking,” Esrahaddon told them reassuringly.

They did as instructed, and no one said a word. To pass the clerk, who stood peering through the great door, they needed to come within inches of his anxiety-riddled face. As Hadrian attempted to slip by without bumping him, he saw the man’s eye move. Hadrian stiffened. “Can they see or hear us?”

“No, not really. They might sense something. The hairs on the back of their neck might stand, and they might feel a disturbance in the air as thou moves by, but no, they do not know we are here.”