Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)

“Beryl! This way, run!” he shouted.

Beryl lashed out at the Dacca, then ran to Wesley. They were quickly surrounded, and the Dacca drove them farther and farther away from the forecastle. An arrow from the walls saved Wesley from decapitation as the two struggled to defend themselves. Pushed by the overwhelming numbers, they retreated until their backs hit the rail.

A Dacca blade slashed Beryl’s arm and then across his hip. He screamed, dropping his sword. Wesley threw himself between Beryl and his attacker. The young midshipman slashed wildly, struggling to defend the older man. Then Wesley was hit. He stumbled backward and reached out for the netting chains but missed them and fell overboard. Alone and unarmed, Beryl screamed as the Dacca swarmed him until they sent his head from his body.

No one noticed Wyatt or Royce creeping in the shadows around the stern, seeking a clear place to jump. They crouched just above the captain’s cabin windows. Royce was about to leap when he spotted Thranic stepping out from the hold. The sentinel exited, a torch in hand, as if he merely wondered what all the noise was about. He led the seret to the main deck, where they quickly formed a wall around the sentinel. Seeing reinforcements, the Dacca rallied to an attack. They charged, only to die upon the serets’ swords. The Knights of Nyphron were neither sailors nor galley slaves. They knew the use of arms and how to hold formation.

Gripping his bag to his chest, Wyatt leapt from the ship.

“Royce!” Wyatt shouted from the sea below.

Royce watched, impressed by the knights’ courage and skill, as they battled the Dacca. It looked as if they might just turn the tide. Then Thranic threw his flaming brand into the ship’s hold. A rush of air sounded, as if the ship were inhaling a great breath. A roar followed. A deep, resonating growl shook the timber beneath Royce’s feet. Tongues of flame licked out of every hatch and porthole, the air filling with screams and cries. And in the flickering glow of burning wood and flesh, Royce saw the sentinel smile.





Hadrian and the tiny crew of the stolen Dacca ship had only just reached the starboard side of the Storm when the area grew bright. The Emerald Storm was ablaze. Within little more than a minute, the fire had enveloped the deck. Men in the rigging had no choice but to jump. From that height, their bodies hit the water with a cracking sound. The rigging ignited, ropes snapped, and yards broke free, falling like flaming tree trunks. The darkness of the starless sea fell away as the Emerald Storm became a floating bonfire. Those near the rail leapt into the sea. Screams, cries, and the crackle and hiss of fire filled the night.

Looking over the black water, whose surface was alive with wild reflections, Hadrian spied a bit of sandy hair and a dark uniform. “Mr. Wesley, grab on!” Hadrian called, throwing a rope.

Hearing his name, Wesley turned, his face showing the same dazed expression as a man waking from a dream until he spotted Hadrian reaching out. He took the rope thrown and was reeled in like a fish and hoisted on deck.

“Nice to have you aboard, sir,” Hadrian told him.

Wesley gasped for air and rolled over, vomiting seawater.

“From that, I assume you’re happy to be here.”

“Wyatt!”Poe shouted.

“Royce!” Hadrian called.

“Over there!” Derning said, pointing.

Poe turned the tiller and they sailed toward the sound of splashing.

“It’s Bernie and Staul,” Grady announced from where he stood on the bow.

The two wasted no time scrambling up the ship’s ropes.

“More splashing over there!” Davis pointed.

Poe did not have to alter course, as the swimmers made good progress to them. Davis was the first to lend a hand. He reached out to help and a blade stabbed him in the chest before he was pulled overboard.

Hadrian saw them now—swarthy, painted brutes with long daggers, their wet, glistening skin shimmering with the light of the flames. They grabbed at the netting and scrambled like rats up the side of the tartane.

Hadrian drew his sword and lashed out at the nearest one, who dodged and stubbornly continued to climb. The Tenkin warrior, Staul, stabbed another in the face and the Dacca dropped backward with a cry and a splash. Bernie and Wesley joined in, thrashing wildly until the Dacca gave up and fell away into the darkness.

“Watch the other side!” Wesley shouted.

Staul and Bernie took positions on the starboard rail, but nothing moved.

“Any sign of Davis?” Hadrian asked.

“The man be dead now,” Staul said. “Be more careful who you sail to, eh?”

“Bulard!” Bernie said, pointing ahead to more swimmers.

“And three more over there,” Wesley announced, picking out faces in the tumultuous water. “One is Greig, the carpenter, and that’s Dr. Levy, and there is …”

Hadrian did not need Royce’s eyes to identify the other man. The infernal light coming off the burning ship suited the face. Sentinel Thranic swam toward them, his hood thrown back and his pale face gleaming. Derning, Bernie, and Staul were bad enough. Now they had Dovin Thranic, of all people.

Thranic needed no help as he climbed nimbly up the side of the little ship, his cloak soaked, his face angry. If he were a dog, Hadrian knew he would be growling, and for that he was pleased. Bulard, the man who had come aboard in the middle of the night, looked even paler than before. The reason became obvious the moment he hit the deck and blood mingled with seawater. Levy went to him and applied pressure to the wound.

“Hadrian … Poe!” Wyatt’s voice carried from the sea below.

Poe steered toward the sound as the rest stood on their guard. This time there was no need. Wyatt and Royce were alone swimming for the boat.

“Where were you?” Wyatt asked, climbing aboard.

“Sorry, boss, but it’s a big ocean.”

“Not big enough,” Derning said, looking over at what remained of the Storm, his face bright with the glow. “The Dacca are finally taking notice of us.”

The mainmast of the Emerald Storm, burning like a tree-sized torch, finally cracked and fell. The forecastle walls blazed. Seward, Bishop, and the rest had either been lost to blades or burned alive. The Storm had blackened and cracked, allowing the ship to take on water. The hull listed to one side, sinking from the bow. As it did, the fire was still bright enough to see several of the Dacca on the nearest vessel pointing in their direction and shouting.

“Wheel hard over!” Wyatt shouted, running for the tiller. “Derning, Royce, get aloft! Hadrian, Banner—the mainsail braces. Grady to the headsail braces! Who else do we have here? Bernie, join Derning and Royce. Staul, help with the mainsail. Mr. Wesley, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps you could assist Grady on the forward braces. Bring her round east-nor’east!”

“That will put us into the wind again!” Grady said even as Wyatt brought the ship round.