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

“I guess you can’t believe everything you read in books. But don’t spread that around, or I’ll be out of a job.”


When they reached the village center, the Vintu went about their work and began unpacking. They moved with stoic familiarity. The party waited, listening to the hiss of rain on the fire and the murmur of the crowd gathering around them. With an expectant expression, Dilladrum struggled to see over their heads. He exchanged looks with Wesley but said nothing. Soon a small elderly Tenkin dressed in a leopard wrap entered the circle. His skin was like wrinkled leather, and his hair like gray steel. He walked with a slow dignity and an upturned chin. Dilladrum smiled and the two spoke rapidly. Then the elderly Tenkin clapped his hands and shouted. The crowd fell back and he led the crew of the Emerald Storm into the largest of the buildings. It had four tree-sized pillars holding up a latticework of intertwined branches overlaid with thatch. The interior lacked partitions and stood as an open hall lined with tanned skins and pillows made from animal hides.

Waiting inside were four Tenkins. Three men and a woman sat upon a raised mound covered in luxurious cushions. Their leopard-clad guide bowed deeply to the four, then left. Outside, the rain increased and poured off the thatched roof.

Dilladrum stepped forward, bowed with his hands clasped before him, and spoke in Tenkin, which was a mix of the old imperial tongue and Ghazel. Hadrian had mastered a working knowledge of the language, but the isolation between villages had caused each to develop a slightly different dialect. While Hadrian missed a number of Dilladrum’s words, he recognized that formal introductions were being made.

“This is Burandu,” Dilladrum explained to the Emerald Storm’s crew in Apelanese. “He is Elder.” Dilladrum paused to think, then added, “Similar to the lord of a manor, but not quite. Beside him is Joqdan, his warlord—chief knight, if you will. Zulron is Oudorro’s oberdaza.” He gestured at a stunted, misshapen Tenkin, the only deformed one Hadrian had ever seen. “The closest thing to his office in Avryn might be a chief priest as well as doctor, and next to him is Fan Irlanu. You have no equivalent position for her. She’s a seer, a visionary.”

“Welcome, peoples of great Avryn.” Burandu spoke haltingly in Apelanese. Despite his age, betrayed only by a head of startling white hair, he looked as strong and handsome as any man in the village. He sat adorned in a silk waistcloth and kilt, a broad necklace of gold, and a headdress formed from long, brightly colored feathers. “We are pleased to have you in our home.”

“Thank you, sir, for granting us an invitation,” Wesley replied.

“We enjoy company of those Dilladrum brings. Once brothers in ancient days—is good to sit, to listen, to find each other. Come, drink, and remember.”

Zulron cast a fine powder over a brazier of coals. Flames burst forth, illuminating the lodge.

They all sat amid the pillows and hides. Royce found a place within the shadows against the rear wall. As always, Thranic and Bernie kept their distance from the rest of the party. They sat close to the four Tenkins, where the sentinel watched Zulron with great interest. Bulard invited Hadrian to sit beside him.

“This explains a great deal,” said the old man, pointing to the decorations in the hut. “These are people lost in time. Do you see those decorated shields hanging from the rafter with the oil lamps? They used to do that in the ancient imperial throne room, and the leaders mirror the imperial body, represented by a king and his two councilors, always a wizard and a warrior. Although the seer is probably an addition of the Ghazel influences. She’s lovely.”

Hadrian had to agree: Fan Irlanu was stunning, even by Tenkin standards. Her thin silk gown embraced her body with the intimacy of liquid.

Food and wine circulated as men carried in jugs and platters. “After eating,” Burandu said to Wesley, “I ask you, Dilladrum, and your second to meet at my durbo. I discuss recent news on the road ahead. I fear the beasts are loose and you must be careful. You tell me of road just traveled.”

Wesley nodded with a mouthful of food, then, after swallowing, added, “Of course, Your, ah …” He hesitated before simply adding, “Sir.”

Bulard looked with suspicion at the sliced meat set before him. Hadrian chuckled, watching the old man push it around his plate. “It’s pork. Wild pigs thrive in these jungles and the Tenkin hunt them. You’ll find it a little tougher and gamier than what you’re used to back home, but it’s good—you’ll like it.”

“How do you know so much about them?” the old man asked.

“I lived in Calis for several years.”

“Doing what?”

“You know, I still ask myself that.” Hadrian stuffed a hunk of pork in his mouth and chewed, but Bulard’s expression showed he did not understand. At last Hadrian gave in. “I was a mercenary. I fought for the highest bidder.”

“You seem ashamed.” Bulard tried a bit of fruit and grimaced. “The mercenary profession has a long and illustrious history. I should know.”

“My father never approved of me using my training for profit. In a way, you might say he thought it sacrilegious. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”

“So were you any good?”

“A lot of men died.”

“Battles are sometimes necessary and men die in war—it happens. You have nothing to be ashamed of. To be a warrior and live is a reward Maribor bestows on the virtuous. You should be proud.”

“Except there was no war, just battles. No cause, just money. No virtue, just killing.”

Bulard wrinkled his brows as if trying to decipher this and Hadrian got up before he could think of anything else to ask.

When the meal was over, three Tenkin boys held large palm branches over the heads of Burandu, Wesley, Dilladrum, and Wyatt as they ventured out into the rain. With the Elder gone, formalities relaxed. The Vintu headed out to resume camp preparations before all daylight was lost. Across the hall, Thranic and Levy spoke quietly with the oberdaza, Zulron, and all three left together. Poe, Derning, and Grady helped themselves to a jug of wine and reclined casually on the pillows.

Hadrian went over to sit beside Royce. “Wanna try the wine?”

“It’s not time for drinking yet,” the hood replied.

“How you feeling?”

“Not good enough.”

“You need to get the dressing on your wound changed?”

“It can wait.”

“Wait too long and it’ll fester.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You should at least eat. The pork is good. Best meal you’ll have for a while, I think. It’ll help you heal.”

There was no reply. They sat listening to the wind and rain on the grassy roof and low conversations punctuated by the occasional laugh and clink of ceramic cups.