The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(93)

Griswold bowed his head. “Just three of us, only three. I had to, you see, as a kind of safeguard. A way to ensure no single person, no one sect had more power than the others, and so each race would have equal power. I was one, your husband another . . .”

She glared. “Who was the last?”

“Villar,” Royce said cutting Hadrian’s bonds free.

The dwarf’s eyes indicated agreement.

“Mercator figured it out,” Royce said. “He never left any note with demands. He used Leopold’s lack of action to fuel dissent and his bloody little war. He was trying to stop us from getting to the duke. Mercator tried to talk him out of it, but it didn’t go so well.”

“Did you get into the Estate? Were you able to see the Duke?” Hadrian asked.

Royce nodded. “And he has Wyberg and a group of guild leaders in the meeting hall right now. They’re discussing the duke’s intentions and what changes will be coming. Looks like Mercator accomplished that much at least. There won’t be any revolution.” He looked at Hadrian. “I told Roland we’d take care of getting the duchess back to the Estate.”

Hadrian’s fingers suffered the dreaded pins and needles as blood flowed back to them. To his surprise, Seton, whose face was streaked with tears, took his hands and rubbed them.

With his hands returning to normal, Hadrian clapped and rubbed them together. “Let me get my swords, and we’ll get going. So, where is she?” he asked Royce.

“Don’t know.” He looked to Griswold.

The dwarf began shaking his head, though Hadrian doubted the dwarf was aware of it. He had a lost, horrified look, as if he’d just woken up with blood on his hands. “I don’t know. No one does.”

“What do you mean no one?” Hadrian asked.

“The duchess was the mir’s responsibility, and only Villar and Mercator know where they took her. But the duchess isn’t the real problem.”

“Then what is?” Hadrian asked.

“If Villar doesn’t want reforms and is only after bloodshed and violence, then . . .”

“Then nothing. He has no mob to follow his—”

“He doesn’t need anyone’s help. You don’t understand,” Griswold interrupted, his face white. “He knows how to create a golem. You have no idea how much damage they can do.”

“Think I have a pretty good idea,” Royce said. “Had one chasing me most of the night.”

“Trust me it can be much worse.”

“But why?” Hadrian asked. “Why would Villar be so bent on violence?”

Royce shrugged. “Frustration, revenge, hate. He blames others for his lot in life. His father never appreciated him. The weather has been cloudy. Take your pick. People have an inexhaustible supply of excuses to wreak havoc.”

“In this case, however, Villar has a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Griswold said. “He can raise an unstoppable monster and later today, all the nobles of Alburn, the very people Villar blames for his misfortunes, are going to be gathered in one place. It’d take no time for him to tear through that crowd.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Villar’s last golem had to have made an impression. It’ll keep everyone away. People are probably fleeing the city as we speak.”

“We’re talking about nobles vying for the crown,” Royce said. “No one is going anywhere.”

Selie Nym nodded. “It’s Villar that we have to find.” She turned to the dwarf. “Maybe you don’t know exactly where he is, but you know something—some way to narrow the search.”

Griswold nodded. “To raise a golem, you have to be on consecrated ground.”

“What does that mean?” Royce asked.

“It has to have been blessed, sacred. Otherwise, you’re committing suicide.”

“How so?”

“Raising a golem requires trapping a demon and forcing it inside a statue. They don’t like that, and the first person they’ll kill is their creator. Golems can’t step on consecrated ground, so that’s the only safe place to raise one. If they can’t reach the summoner, they’re forced to act as his puppet.”

“Does that have something to do with the boxes you were handing out? Do they have to spread it around or something?” Hadrian asked.

“No, the boxes are filled with the residue, the waste bits and chips, that were chiseled off the statues when they were created. Using them, the summoner can animate the statue related to its corresponding bits. The plan had been for Erasmus, myself, and Villar to raise golems to aid in the uprising. I was going to use the church near the graveyard. The place where you saw me give Erasmus his box of gravel.”

“So, where else can this be done?” Hadrian asked. “Will any graveyard work? Any church?”

“That’s the thing. There aren’t many places in Rochelle that meet the requirements. It’s not like anyone can throw salt around and say some magic words. The site must be on a focal point.” Griswold looked at them and sighed again. “It’s hard to explain if you aren’t a dwarf. Even hard for some of us to understand. So many of the old ways have been lost since we were scattered to the winds by the empire.” He cupped his hands. “It’s like this. There are places—natural places—in the world that are centers of power. You’ve heard of Avempartha, right? That’s an example. Drumindor is another. Power rises to the surface in places like that, and people have built structures on them to harness that strength, sometimes without even knowing why.”