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

They climbed steadily, reaching such a steep angle that their mounts panted for air in loud snorts and on occasion uttered deep grunts as they struggled to scramble up the dewy slope. At last, they crested the hill, and Arista found herself greeting a chilly dawn atop the windswept Senon Uplands.

The Senon was a high, barren plateau of exposed rock and scrub bushes with expansive views on all sides. The horses’ hooves clacked loudly on the barefaced granite until Royce brought them to a stop. His cloak fluttered with the morning breeze. To the east, the sunrise peered at them over the mist-covered forests of Dunmore. From this height, the vast wood looked like a hazy blue lake as it fell away below them, racing toward the dazzling sun. Arista knew that beyond it lay the Nidwalden River, the Parthaloren Falls, and the tower of Avempartha. Royce stared east for several minutes, and she wondered if his elven eyes could see that tiny pinnacle of his people in the distance.

In front of them and to the southwest lay the Warric province of Chadwick. Like everything else west of the ridge, it remained submerged in darkness. Down in the deep rolling valley, the predawn sky would only now be separating from the dark horizon. It would have appeared peaceful, a world tucked in bed before the first cock’s crow, except for the hundreds of lights flickering like tiny fireflies.

“Breckton’s camp,” Hadrian said. “The Northern Imperial Army is not making very good time, it seems.”

“We’ll descend before Amber Heights and rejoin the road well past Breckton,” Royce explained. “How long do you figure before they reach Colnora?”

Hadrian rubbed the growing stubble of his beard. “Another three, maybe four, days. An army that size moves at a snail’s pace, and I’m guessing Breckton isn’t pleased with his orders. He’s likely dragging his feet, hoping they’ll be rescinded.”

“You sound as if you know him,” Arista said.

“I never met the man, but I fought under his father’s banner. I’ve also fought against him, when I served in the ranks of King Armand’s army in Alburn.”

“How many armies have you served in?”

Hadrian shrugged. “Too many.”

They pushed on, traversing the crest into the face of a fierce wind, which tugged at her clothes and caused her eyes to water. Arista kept her head down and watched her horse’s hooves pick a path across the cracked slabs of lichen-covered rock. She clutched her cloak tight about her neck as the damp of the previous day’s rain and sweat conspired with the wind to make her shiver. When they plunged back into the trees, the slow descent began. Once more the animals struggled. This time Arista bent backward, nearly to her horse’s flanks, to keep her balance.

Although it was mercifully cooler than the day before, the pace was faster and more challenging. Finally, several hours after midday, they stopped on the bank of a small stream, where the horses gorged themselves on cool water and river grass. Royce and Hadrian grabbed packs and gathered wood. Exhausted, Arista as much fell as sat down. Her legs and backside ached. There were insects and twigs in her hair and a dusting of dirt covering her gown. Her eyes stared at nothing, losing their focus as her mind stalled, numb from fatigue.

What have I gotten myself into? Am I up to this?

They were below the Galewyr, in imperial territory. She had thrown herself into the fire, perhaps foolishly. Alric would be furious when he found her missing, and she could just imagine what Ecton would say. If they caught her—She stopped herself.

This is not helping.

She turned her attention to her escorts.

As during the hours on horseback, Royce and Hadrian remained quiet. Hadrian unsaddled the horses and gave them a light brushing while Royce set up a small cook fire. Watching the two of them was entertaining. Without a word, they would toss tools and bags back and forth. Hadrian blindly threw a hatchet over his shoulder and Royce caught it just in time to begin breaking up branches for the fire. Just as Royce finished the fire, Hadrian had a pot of water ready to place on it. For Arista, who had lived her life in public, among squabbling nobles and chattering castle staff, such silence was strange.

Hadrian chopped carrots and dropped them into the dented, blackened pot on the coals. “Are you ready to eat the best meal you’ve ever had, Highness?”

She wanted to laugh but did not have the strength. Instead, she said, “There are three chefs and eighteen cooks back at Essendon Castle that would take exception to that remark. They spend their whole lives perfecting elaborate dishes. You would be amazed at the feasts I’ve attended, filled with everything from exotic spices to ice sculptures. I highly doubt you’ll be able to surpass them.”

Hadrian smirked. “That might be,” he replied, struggling to cut chunks of dry brine-encrusted pork into bite-sized cubes, “but I guarantee this meal will put them all to shame.”

Arista removed the pearl-handled hairbrush from a pouch that hung at her side, and she tried in vain to untangle her hair. Eventually giving up, she sat and watched Hadrian drop wretched-looking meat into the bubbling pot. Ash and bits of twigs thrown up by the crackling fire landed in the mix.

“Master chef, debris is getting in your pot.”

Hadrian grinned. “Always happens. Can’t help it. Just be careful not to bite down too hard on anything or you might crack a tooth.”

“Wonderful,” she told him, then turned her attention to Royce, who was busy checking the horses’ hooves. “We’ve come a long way today, haven’t we? I don’t think I’ve ever traveled so far so quickly. You keep a cruel pace.”

“That first part was over rough ground,” Royce mentioned. “We’ll cover a lot more miles after we eat.”

“After we eat?” Arista felt her heart sink. “We aren’t stopping for the day?”

Royce glanced up at the sky. “It’s hours until nightfall.”

They mean for me to get back into the saddle?

She did not know if she could stand, much less ride. Virtually every muscle in her body was in pain. They could entertain any thoughts they wished, but she would not travel any farther that day. There was no reason to move this fast, or over such rough ground. Why Royce was taking such a difficult course, she did not understand.

She watched as Hadrian dished the disgusting soup he had concocted into a tin cup and held it out to her. There was an oily film across the top, through which green meat bobbed, everything seasoned with bits of dirt and tree bark. Most assuredly, it was the worst thing anyone had ever presented her to eat. Arista held the hot cup between her hands, grimacing and wishing she had eaten more of the meat pie back at Sheridan.

“Is this a … stew?” she asked.

Royce laughed quietly. “He likes to call it that.”