Crown of Dragonfire (28 page)

Meliora pointed. "But I
see an entrance."

An archway loomed
ahead, leading into shadows. Perhaps wooden doors had once stood within, rotted
away years ago. Two statues flanked the entrance, shaped as lions with long,
twisting necks that ended with women's heads. The statues were so large they
would have dwarfed dragons. Meliora led the way toward the archway, and the
others followed.

"Lower your weapons,"
Meliora said. "We don't want to appear threatening."

Lucem looked up and
down their bodies. "Scrawny, bruised vagabonds in rags sure are intimidating.
The smell is at least." He sniffed and grimaced.

As they walked between
the towering statues, it seemed to Meliora that the stone heads turned—just
the slightest!—that the statues' eyes moved, following the companions as they
entered the shadows.

A massive hall greeted
them—larger even than the great banquet halls in the ziggurat of Shayeen. Dust
and dirt covered the floor, hiding any fine tiles or mosaics that might lurk
below. Columns soared, so wide that they could have formed towers, their
limestone facades engraved with cuneiform writing in a language Meliora could
not read. Iron braziers, large enough to boil men, rose from the dust, their
embers long gone dark. Statues still stared with crystal eyes, shaped as
hideous beings formed from different species: women with heads of snakes and
wings of birds, men with the heads of horses, serpents with the faces of babes
and the wings of bats. The statues too were covered in dust, and cracks ran
across them.

"This place was built
by the ancient Terrans," Meliora whispered. "Thirteen city states of humans
once lived in this continent. Look, see that statue? A woman with a snake's
head? She is Shahazar, an ancient goddess of men. See that statue there, the
one of a man with his palms open? That's Taal, the Father God."

Lucem cocked an
eyebrow. "For a seraph princess, you know a lot about the lore of men."

Meliora smiled thinly. "My
brother used to boast of slaying the gods of men. He claimed he was the only
true god."

"Lovely fellow, he is,"
Lucem said. "Can't wait to roast his godly arse with dragonfire. Now come on,
enough sightseeing, more exploring. We need to find this Keymaker fellow." He
coned his hands around his mouth and cried, "Keymaker!"

The cry echoed through
the hall and chambers beyond, growing louder and louder. Dust rained from the
walls. The palace creaked. Meliora and Elory cringed.

It seemed to take ages
before the echoing died down and the dust settled. Meliora realized that she
was holding her breath, and she shakily exhaled.

"Lucem, hush!" Elory
said. "We don't know who else might be living here."

He looked around. "I
see nobody but statues. I—"

The palace creaked
again.

Dust showered.

Stones moved.

Meliora spun around
toward the sound in time to see a great stone door slide down from above the
archway, slam onto the floor, and seal them in the grand hall.

Darkness fell.

"Look what you did,
Lucem," Elory whispered.

Meliora cringed and
pulled back her hood. Her halo crackled to life, casting its light across the
hall. In the dancing shadows, the statues seemed to move.

A growl rose.

Meliora wrapped her
fingers around her sword's hilt.

"I don't suppose that
was your tater-craving stomach, Mel?" Lucem whispered.

She dared not answer,
not even breathe. The growl rose again in the darkness, and a shadow stirred.
Two bright eyes opened in the hall ahead, gleaming yellow in the blackness.

At her side, she heard
Elory and Lucem gasp and reach for their weapons.

Meliora forced herself
to release her hilt, to raise her open palms in a gesture of peace, mimicking
the statue of Taal which rose at her side.

"We are friends!" she
called out to those eyes in the distant shadows. "We come seeking aid. We come
seeking the Keymaker. I am Meliora, daughter of Queen Kalafi of the Thirteenth
Dynasty. I—"

The growl rose again,
louder this time, drowning out her words.

Meliora narrowed her
eyes and stepped closer. Her halo cast back the distant shadows. She inhaled
sharply. At first she thought the beast ahead just another statue, but its eyes
shone, and its chest rose and fell with breath. It had the body of a great
lion, thrice the size of any lion Meliora had ever seen in Shayeen's menagerie.
Its tawny fur was matted and dank. Its front paws were clawed, but its back
feet ended with hooves, and a goat's head sprouted from the lion's back, the
teeth bared, the horns curling. When the lion flicked its tail, Meliora saw
that a snake's head hissed upon the tail's tip.

"A chimera," she
whispered.

Lucem leaned close to
her. "It's mixed of different things! Sort of like you, Mel."

"Hush!" Meliora glared
at the boy, then looked back at the chimera. "Guardian of the mountain! Noble
beast! I've come seeking the man known as the Keymaker. Does he live here?
Does—"

"I am the Keymaker," said
the chimera. All three heads spoke at once—the lion, the goat, and the snake,
their voices metallic, otherworldly. "I forged the ancient collars to block the
magic of dragons. I forged the Keeper's Key. I emblazoned the runes upon them.
I am the keeper of magic, the dealer of secrets, the master of power. I make
keys and locks and riddles. I do not guard this mountain, but I guard the magic
of men."

Meliora glanced back at
the shut doorway, then returned her eyes to the chimera. She reached into her
pocket, pulled out the crumpled Keeper's Key, and held it out in her palm. Her
halo's light fell upon the crushed ball of metal, its runes hidden.

"The Keeper's Key is
broken, Keymaker. I've come to beseech you to fix it."

The chimera's lion head
growled, the sound so loud the chamber shook. Upon his back, the goat's head
screamed, sharp teeth shining, horns rising. The snake tail lashed, hissing,
baring its fangs.

"Broken!" the beast
cried. "An ancient work of mastery—crushed as one crushes the skull of an
enemy. Shame, woe! Shame upon the seraphim that they should mock our magic!"

Lucem and Elory reached
for their weapons, but Meliora shook her head.

"There is a seraph who
mocks you, chimera," she said. "One who breaks all things. Ishtafel, son of
Kalafi, broke this key. He crushed it in his palm, spitting upon the mastery
that went into its magic. He slew Kalafi, your ally. He sees the collars you
forged as mere iron, no more impressive than scrap metal."

The chimera reared,
clawing the air. "Scrap metal! The iron collars are works of great mastery, of
ancient magic, each one a greater triumph than this entire palace. Scrap metal!"
The lion roared. The hall shook. Stones rained from the ceiling. "I should tear
Saraph apart for spitting upon precious gifts they cannot comprehend."

"Scrap metal is all
they are now," Meliora said. "All they are without the Keeper's Key. Ishtafel
now sits upon the bloody throne of Saraph, no key in his hand, the iron collars
left to rust. But I fight him! I am Meliora, daughter of Kalafi, and I will see
Ishtafel cast off his ill-gained throne. And I beg you, Keymaker—grant me a
new key. I will treat it as a precious gift, as the masterpiece of a wise deity."

Somehow, Meliora
figured that a monster that had created hundreds of thousands of slave collars
cared not for tales of uprising and freedom. No. This beast worked for the art;
justice or cruelty were meaningless to him.

The chimera stared at
her, eyes glimmering, saying nothing. The snake hissed. The goat glared with
red eyes. The lion contemplated.

"Well?" Elory said,
stepping forward.

Meliora's heart skipped
a beat. Elory would surely speak of Requiem! She would tell a noble tale of an
oppressed people struggling for freedom, of trapped dragons who had to rise, of
collars to discard—simply infuriating the creature further.

But Elory was,
apparently, wiser than Meliora had given her credit for.

"Well?" the girl
repeated. "Will you let Ishtafel simply treat your collars as useless,
magicless trifles?" Elory scoffed. "I hear he's even collaring new slaves with
iron collars made by seraph smiths. He forges them on anvils in the heat and
sweat of Shayeen, and he calls them equal to these." She tugged at her own iron
collar. "Without a key, Ishtafel says, his collars are just as good as yours,
chimera."

The chimera roared. The
creature bucked, clawed the air, and slammed his paws down. The palace shook.

"To compare works of
brilliance to crude iron! That is like comparing the Frescos of Felinar to a
scribble drawn in mud. You've come here to mock me?"

Meliora shook her head.
"We've come to worship your skill, O Master Keymaker!" She stepped closer and
held out the broken key. "Please, Master. Fix this key or forge us a new one,
and I vow to you: For eternity, the children of Saraph will admire your
masterwork."

The chimera stared at
her, a slyness in his eyes. The snake's tongue slipped out with a hiss.

"I do not forge runes
for free," said the chimera, speaking from all three heads. "Not for Queen
Kalafi. Not for you."

Meliora winced. "Master
Keymaker, I have no money. But I promise that if you grant me this key, I will
return with payment once I dethrone Ishtafel. I will bring you many jewels,
golden coins, gemstones, and—"

"Do not mistake me for
a vain son of Saraph!" The chimera clawed the floor. "I care not for your
glittering baubles. I care for wisdom, for locks, for keys, for artistry. I am
a keymaker, a keeper of knowledge, a master of riddles." Sly smiles spread
across the chimera's three heads. "Each of my heads will ask you a riddle,
daughter of Saraph. If you answer all three correctly, I will make you a new
key. But if you fail . . . your bones will join the dust on the floor."

Meliora looked down at
the dust, wondering how much of it was comprised of old bones. She looked back
up at the chimera and nodded.

"Ask me your riddles,"
she said.

In his mountain hall of
shadows, the chimera seemed almost to enter a trace. His body relaxed, and two
of his heads—the goat and the snake—drooped and closed their eyes. Only the
lion head remained alert. With narrowed, gleaming eyes, the lion turned to gaze
at those who had entered his chamber. He spoke with a low voice, like a spirit
from long ago.

"I inspire the poet

And the warrior's sword.

I send forth rivers of blood.

I raise wonders

And heal broken lands.

I destroy like wildfire and
flood.

All crave my wonders.

Men seek me

In fields of enemies slain.

Yet finally claim me

And gain my love

You'll find only yoke and
chain."

Meliora frowned. She
glanced over at her companions. Lucem too was frowning and tapping his chin,
while Elory had closed her eyes and was mumbling to herself, repeating the
words.

"What inspires poets?"
she whispered. "Landscapes? Sunrises?"

"Beautiful naked women!"
Lucem said, eyes brightening.

Elory groaned. "Beautiful
naked women don't destroy like wildfire and floods."

"Oh don't they?" Lucem
asked.

"Shush!" Meliora
clenched and unclenched her fists, thinking over the words. "The answer is . .
. something obviously powerful but dangerous too. Something men craved yet
which enslaves them."

Lucem nodded sagely. "I
told you. Beautiful women. The ol' yoke and chain."

"And I told you—shush!"
Meliora glared at him.

And yet she
wondered—was Lucem right? Surely men had fought wars over beautiful women, and
surely beautiful women could be dangerous. But . . . no. Whatever the answer
was, it healed broken lands—lands, not hearts.

"Answer!" said the lion's
head. He bared his fangs. "Answer now, for I grow weary of waiting." He licked
his lips. "Answer or I will feed upon your flesh, for I have no use for fools
who cannot answer my riddles."

The chimera took a step
closer to them.

"Wait!" Meliora said,
and her halo of dragonfire crackled with fear. "Wait, we need time to think.
We—"

"Answer!" demanded the
lion, rearing and roaring.

Meliora winced and
sweat dripped down her brow. She couldn't die here. She had to answer. She had
to fix the key if she were ever to lead her people home. They needed her. Her
father. All her people in chains. They needed her—the daughter of King
Aeternum—to lead them home, yet would she die here in the darkness, food to an
ancient beast? She wiped her brow. Her damn crown of fire was too hot, and—

"The answer is beauti—"
Lucem began.

"No!" Meliora shouted,
leaping forward and shoving him aside. "The answer is: Crown!"

The chimera remained
very silent, the lion head staring with narrowed eyes, the other heads still
lowered. The companions stared, holding their breath.

Finally the lion
nodded. "Truth." Its eyes closed, and it lowered its head.

Meliora breathed out a
shaky breath of relief.

"I still think it was
beautiful women," Lucem whispered. Elory gave him an angry elbow to the ribs.

Upon the chimera's back,
the goat head rose, and its eyes opened. It stared at them, and its horns
curled upward into the shadows. It too spoke.

"When the sun shines

I lurk in the shade.

When the moon glows

I stab like a blade.

Men create me yet cannot
slay me.

Kill your enemies

And I'll soil your victory.

Escape a drowning ship

But you can't escape me."

The goat stared at
them, waiting, and lowered its horns as if ready to thrust them.

The companions frowned
again, thinking, mumbling to themselves.