“Why did you let him deliver the letter?” Hadrian asked.
“I just read it tonight during the water break. It was my last chance to get a look. I figured if we showed up completely empty-handed, we’d be killed.”
“I won’t be party to this …this … atrocity! We must prevent Drumindor’s destruction,” Wesley announced.
“You realize interfering with this would be treason?” Royce told Wesley.
“By ordering the delivery of every man, woman, and child in Tur Del Fur into the bloodthirsty hands of the Ba Ran Ghazel, the empress has committed treason to her people. It is I who remain loyal … loyal to the cause of honor.”
“It might comfort you to know that it’s highly unlikely that Empress Modina gave this order,” Hadrian told him. “We know her—met her before she became empress. She would never sanction anything like this. I was in the palace the day before we sailed from Aquesta, and she’s not in charge. The regents are the ones behind this.”
“One thing’s for sure: if we foil Merrick’s plan, we won’t have to look for him anymore. He’ll find us,” Royce added.
“This is all my fault.” Wesley sighed. “My first command, and look where it has led.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You did fine.” Hadrian patted him on the shoulder. “But your duty is done now. You completed the task your lord set for you. Everything after this is of your own choosing.”
“Not much of a choice, I’m afraid,” Wesley said, looking around their cell.
“How long before the harvest moon?” Hadrian asked.
“About two weeks, I would guess,” Royce replied.
“It would take us too long to travel back by land. How long would it take us to get there by sea, Wyatt?” Hadrian asked.
“With the wind at our backs, we’d make the trip in a fraction of the time it took us to come out. Week and a half, maybe two.”
“Then we still have time,” Hadrian said.
“Time for what?” Wesley asked. “We are locked in the dungeon of a madman at the edge of the world. Merely surviving will be a feat.”
“You are far too pessimistic for one so young,” Royce told him.
Wesley let out a small laugh. “All right, Seaman Melborn, how do you propose we sneak down to the harbor, capture a ship loaded with Ghazel warriors, and sail it out of a bay past an armada when we can’t even get out of this locked cell?”
Royce gave the door a gentle push and it swung open. “I unlocked it while you were ranting,” he said.
Wesley’s face showed his astonishment. “You’re not just a seaman, are you?”
“Wait here,” Royce said, slipping out.
He was gone for several minutes. They heard no sound. When he returned, Poe, Derning, Grady, Dilladrum, and the Vintu followed. Royce had blood on his dagger and a ring of keys in his hand.
“What about the others?” Wesley asked.
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget about them,” Royce said with a devilish grin. When he left, the others followed. A guard lay dead in a pool of blood and Royce was already at the door of the last cell.
“We don’t need to be released,” Defoe said from behind the door. “I could open it myself if I wanted to get out.”
“I’m not here to let you out,” Royce said, opening the door.
Bernie backed up and drew his dagger.
“Stay out of this, Bernie,” Royce told him. “So far you’ve just been doing a job. I get that, but stand between me and Thranic and it gets personal.”
“Seaman Melborn!” Wesley snapped. “I can’t let you kill Mr. Thranic.”
Royce ignored him and Wesley appealed to Hadrian, who shrugged in response. “It’s a policy of mine not to get in his way, especially when the other guy deserves it.”
Wesley turned to Wyatt, whose expression showed no compassion. “He burned a shipload of elves and, for all I know, was responsible for taking my daughter. Let him die.”
Dr. Levy stepped aside, leaving Thranic alone at the back of the cell with only his dagger for protection. By his grip and stance, Hadrian knew the sentinel was not a knife fighter. Thranic was sweating, his eyes tense as Royce moved in.
“Might I ask why you’re killing Mr. Thranic?” Bulard asked suddenly, stepping between them. “Those of you intent on fleeing could make better use of your time than butchering a man in his cell, don’t you think?”
“Won’t take but a second,” Royce assured him.
“Perhaps, perhaps, but I’m asking you not to. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve death, but who are you to grant it? Thranic will die, and quite soon, I suspect, given where we’re headed. Regardless, our mission is vital not just to the empire, but to all of mankind, and we’ll need him if we’re to have any hope to complete it.”
“Shut up, you old fool,” the sentinel growled.
This caught Royce’s attention, though he kept his eyes on Thranic. “What mission?”
“To find a very old and very important relic called the Horn of Gylindora that will be needed very soon, I’m afraid.”
“The horn?” Hadrian repeated.
“Yes. Given our precarious situation, I don’t think it wise to give you a history lesson just now, but suffice to say it’s in all of our best interests to leave Thranic alive—for now.”
“Sorry,” Royce replied, “but you’ll just have to make do without—”
The door to the cellblock opened and a pair of soldiers with meal plates stepped in. A quick glance at the dead guard and they ran.
Royce sprinted after them. Bernie quickly closed his cell door again.
“Go, all of you!” Bulard urged.
The party ran out of the cellblock and up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, the hallway was filled with loud voices.
“They got away,” Royce grumbled.
“We gathered that from the shouting,” Hadrian said.
They faced a four-way intersection of identical narrow stone corridors. Wall-mounted flames burned from iron cradles staggered at long intervals, leaving large sections of shifting shadows.
Royce glanced back toward the cellblock and cursed under his breath. “That’s what I get for hesitating.”
“Any idea which way now?” Wyatt asked.
“This way,” Royce said.
He led them at a rapid pace, then stopped abruptly and motioned everyone into a doorway. Moments later a troop of guards rushed by. Wesley started forward and Royce hauled him back. Two more guards passed.
“Now we go,” he told them, “but stay behind me.”
Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)
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