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

“Because,” the empress interrupted, “we have to help Arista.”


Amilia would have laughed at the absurdity if Modina had not looked so serious. In all the time she had taken care of her, Amilia had never seen her so focused, so clear-eyed. She felt out of her element. The hazy Modina was gone, but she was still speaking nonsense. She had to make her understand, for her own good. “Modina, guards are looking for this woman. They’ve been combing the city for days.”

“That’s why she’s going to stay here. It’s the safest place. Not even the regents will look for her in my bedroom. And it’ll make helping her that much easier.”

“Helping her? Helping her with what?” Amilia was nearly at the end of her own sanity just trying to follow this absurd conversation.

“We’re going to help her find Degan Gaunt, the true Heir of Novron.”





CHAPTER 14





CALIS





The port of Dagastan surprised first-time visitors from Avryn, who thought of everywhere else as less civilized or uncultured. Calis was generally held, by those who had never been there, to be a crude, ramshackle collection of tribal bands living in mud or wooden huts within a dense and mysterious jungle. It shocked most when they first laid eyes on the massive domes and elegant spires rising along the coast. The city was astonishingly large and well developed. Stone and gray-brick buildings sat densely packed on a graduated hillside rising from the elegant harbor that put Aquesta’s wooden docks to shame. Here four long stone piers stretched into the bay, along which stately towers rose at regular intervals, facilitating the needs of the bustling trade center. Masts of more than a hundred ships, nearly all of them exotic merchant vessels, lined the harbor.

Hadrian remembered the city the moment it came into view. The heat of the ancient stones, the spice-scented streets, the exotic women—all memories of an impetuous youth that he preferred to forget. He had left the east behind without regret, and it was not without reservations that he found himself returning.

No bells rang in the towers along the harbor as they entered. No alarm signaled as the bloodred sails of their Dacca-built tartane entered port. A pilot boat merely issued out and hailed them at their approach.

“En dil dual lon duclim?” the pilot called to them.

“I can’t understand you,” Wesley replied.

“What’s name of your vessel? And name of captain?” the pilot repeated.

“Oh, ah—it doesn’t have a name, I’m afraid, but my name is Wesley Belstrad.”

The pilot jotted something on a handheld tablet, frowning. “Where you outing from?”

“We are the remaining crew of the Emerald Storm, Her Imperial Eminence’s vessel out from the capital city of Aquesta.”

“What your business and how long staying will you be?”

“We are making a delivery. I am not certain how long it will take.”

The pilot finished asking questions and indicated they should follow him to a berth. Another official was waiting on the dock and asked Wesley to sign several forms before he would allow anyone to set foot on land.

“According to Seward’s orders, we are to contact a Mr. Dilladrum. I will go ashore and try to locate him,” Wesley announced. “Mr. Deminthal, you and Seaman Staul will accompany me. Seaman Blackwater, you will be in charge here until my return. See to it that the stores are secured and the ship buttoned down.”

“Aye, sir.” Hadrian saluted. The three disembarked and disappeared into the maze of streets.

“Wonderful luck we’ve had in picking up survivors, eh?” Hadrian mentioned to Royce as he met his partner on the raised aft deck of the ship.

The others remained at the waist or the bow, staring in fascination at the port around them. There was a lot to take in. Unusual sounds drifted from the urban landscape. The jangle of bells, the ringing of a gong, shouts of merchants in a strange musical language, and above it all the haunting voice of a man singing in the distance.

Dockworkers moved cargo to and from ships. Most were dressed in robes with vertical stripes, their skin a tawny brown, their faces bearded. Bolts of shimmering silks and sheer cloth waited to be loaded, as did urns of incense and pots of fragrant oil, whose scents drifted on the harbor breeze. The stone masonry of the buildings was impressive. Intricate designs of flowers and geometric shapes adorned nearly all the constructions. Domes were the most common architectural style, some inlaid in gold, others in silver or in colorful tiles. The larger buildings displayed multiple domes, each featuring a central spire pointing skyward.

For the first time in three days they had found an opportunity to speak alone. “I thought you showed great restraint, and I was impressed with your diplomatic solution to our little civil war,” Hadrian told Royce.

“I’m just watching your back, like Gwen asked.” Royce took a seat on a thick pile of netted ropes.

“It was a stroke of brilliance appointing Wesley,” Hadrian remarked. “I wish I had thought of it. I like that boy. Did you see the way he picked Staul and Wyatt to go with him? Wyatt knows the docks, and Staul knows the language and possibly the city. Perfectly sensible choices, but they’re also the two who would make the most trouble out of his sight. He’s a lot more like his brother than he thinks. It’s a shame they were born in Chadwick. Ballentyne doesn’t deserve them.”

“It’s not looking good. You know that, right?” Royce asked. “What with the weapons and Merrick’s payment going down with the Storm, and everyone in charge now dead. I don’t see where we go from here.”

Hadrian took a seat on the railing beside Royce. Water lapped against the wooden hull of the tartane and seagulls cried overhead.

“But we still have Merrick’s orders and that letter. What did it say?”

“I didn’t read it.”

“Weren’t you the one who called me stupid because—”

“I never had a chance. Wyatt grabbed them first. Then there was this little incident with a burning ship and lots of swimming. Now Wesley has them and he’s hardly slept. I’ve not had an opportunity.”

“Then we’ll have to stick to that letter until either you get a chance to take a peek or we solve this riddle. I mean, what is the empire doing sending weapons to Calis when they need them to fight the Nationalists?”

“Maybe bribing Calis to join the fight on their side?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Rhenydd could beat them in a war all by itself. There’s no organization down here, no central authority, just a bunch of competing warlords. The whole place is corrupt, and they constantly fight each other. There is no way Merrick could convince enough leaders to go fight for the New Empire—most of these warlords have never even heard of Avryn. And what’s with the elves? What were they doing with them?”