Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 49

The door creaks open, whining loudly through the trove and a flickering flame bounces against each wall. But behind the large pile of coins and treasure, making our way up the fallen beam, we're protected in the dark.

Lord Cavanaugh mutters something about accidentally leaving the door unlocked once he realizes no one is in here, stealing what he values most. The rest of the group with him agrees and already, they're stepping over coins and carefully moving around the piles of chests and diamond-rimmed chalices to avoid having to pay for something that doesn't belong to them.

They couldn't afford it, each one of these pieces is worth more than their life and although Lord Cavanaugh may be in his last months, along with his wife, that doesn't mean these people can ruin what they wish. The treasures are still valuable; that's why he's kept them down here instead of finding a home amongst those that actually need the money.

These treasures could have paid for Arego to be the size of Mailan with palaces and castles included. Who knows what other solid gold creations are hidden underneath the large piles of others—there's no telling the actual worth here but if I can swim in all of it...that's enough to tell me that there's plenty.

I climb up the angled beam and Renit follows behind me, crouching low so his shadow doesn't stretch onto the wall. We climb up beam after beam, those that stretch along the wall horizontally from the fallen. My arms burn with every time I hoist myself up but Renit is there, pushing me higher until we're out of the direction of the flickering torch.

Bracing my hands against the beam over my head, I lean forward and survey the scene below. Lord Cavanaugh is the one holding the torch over the many piles of coins and treasures. Those that he brought down with him look on in awe, their eyes sparkling with all they could spend on things they don't need. Judging by the finery of their clothes, they have enough already.

Standing next to me, Renit watches as well. We're hidden in the dark, out of the eye of anyone that looks this way. If they do, all they'll see is the stone wall when in reality, two huddled figures dressed all in black are watching their every move.

The group isn't any bigger than ten; they seem to be Lord Cavanaugh's closest friends as he allows them to walk through the trove without supervision. No guards, no one to protect the Lord, and definitely not an assassin that can snap their necks.

I spot an older man at the edge of the trove, sliding a handful of coins into his pocket. If he was smart, he only would have stolen one or two. Now, every time he walks, he'll be no better than a horse with a bell around their neck. Whether or not Cavanaugh will punish him remains to be seen as the Lord's urgency has yet to show itself. Maybe he doesn't care that these people are stealing from him when he turns his back on them.

Another woman examines a golden chalice, holding it up to the light of the torch, and purses her lips together. She says something about a decoration piece for her entryway, it would work well with the domed ceilings, but Lord Cavanaugh merely shrugs her off and continues on.

"Let's go," Renit whispers in my ear.

He's already hoisting himself to another beam and extends a hand down to me. With all his strength and one hand braced against the wall, he pulls me up. Hardly an effort, considering he's moving again seconds later.

We reach a beam that turns in the other direction, towards the middle of the trove and extends out to the opposite wall. The wall with the door leading out into the palace. If we can make it out and to another servant passageway, leaving Lord Cavanaugh and his guests to the dark of the trove, this can all be over. All of it.

Renit takes the beam that changes direction, walking carefully with his arms extended out at his side. I do the same, being careful not to fall to the ground. The drop is too dangerous and if either of us finds ourselves falling, that will be our last moment before our bodies splatter onto the stone—likely impaling ourselves with some form of gold.