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

“When did you order the supplies brought down?” Royce asked Price, who still stood with his foot on the rail.

“Before returning to pick you up at The Regal Fox. I like to stay ahead of things.” He winked. “Duster, you might remember Etcher here from the Langdon Bridge last time you were in Colnora. Don’t hold that against him. Etcher volunteered to get you safely to the mills when no one else cared for the idea. Now off you go.” Price untied the bowline and shoved them out into the black water.

“Stow those lines, Mr. Etcher, sir,” Wally said as he waited until they cleared the dock to lock the two long oars into place. With each stroke, the oars creaked quietly, and the skiff glided into the river’s current.

The boatman sat backward as he pulled on the oars. Little effort was required as the current propelled them downstream. Wally pulled on one side or the other, correcting their course as needed. Occasionally he stroked both together, to keep them moving slightly faster than the water’s flow.

“Blast,” Wally cursed softly.

“What is it?” Hadrian asked.

“The lantern went out on the Bocant dock. I use it to steer by. Just my luck, any other night they leave it on. They use that hoisting contraption to unload boats. Sometimes the barges are late rounding the point, and in the darkness that lantern is their marker. They never know when the barges will arrive, so they usually just leave it on all night and—oh wait, it’s back. Must have just blown out or something.”

“Quiet down,” Etcher whispered from the bow. “This is no pleasure cruise. You’re being paid to row, not be a river guide.”

Royce peered into their dark wake. “Is it normal for small boats to be on the river at night?”

“Not unless you’re smuggling,” Wally said in a coy tone that made Arista wonder if he had firsthand experience.

“If you don’t keep your traps shut, someone will notice us,” Etcher growled.

“Too late,” Royce replied.

“What’s that?”

“Behind us, there’s at least one boat following.”

Arista looked but could see nothing except the line the moon drew on the black surface of the water.

“You’ve got a fine pair of eyes, you do,” Wally said.

“You’re the one that saw them,” Royce replied. “The light on the dock didn’t go out. The other boat blocked it when they passed in your line of sight.”

“How many?” Hadrian asked.

“Six, and they’re in a wherry.”

“They’ll be able to catch us, then, won’t they?” Arista questioned.

Hadrian nodded. “They race wherries down the Galewyr and here on the Bernum for prize money. No one races skiffs.”

Despite this, Wally stroked noticeably harder, which, combined with the current, moved the skiff along at a brisk pace, raising a breeze in their faces.

“Langdon Bridge approaching,” Etcher announced.

Arista saw it towering above them as they rushed toward it. Massive pillars of stone blocks formed the arches supporting the bridge, whose broad span straddled the river eight stories above. She could barely make out the curved heads of the decorative swan-shaped streetlamps that lit the bridge, creating a line of lights against the starry sky.

“There are men up there,” Royce said, “and Price wasn’t kidding about them having crossbows.”

Wally glanced over his shoulder and peered up at the bridge before regarding Royce curiously. “What are ya, part owl?”

“Stop paddling and shut up!” Etcher ordered, and Wally pulled his oars out of the water.

They floated silently, propelled by the river’s current. In the swan lights, the men on the span soon became visible, even to Arista. A dark boat on a black river would be hard, but not impossible, to spot. The skiff started to rotate sideways as the current pushed the stern. A nod from Wally prompted Hadrian to compensate with the tiller and the boat straightened.

Light exploded into the night sky. A bright orange-and-yellow glow spilled onto the bridge from somewhere on the left bank. A warehouse was on fire. It burst into flame, spewing sparks skyward like a cyclone of fireflies. Silhouetted figures ran the length of the bridge and harsh shouts cut the stillness of the night.

“Now paddle!” Etcher ordered, and Wally put his back into it.

Arista used the opportunity to glance aft and now she also saw the wherry, illuminated by the fire from above. The approaching boat was a good fifteen feet in length and she guessed barely four feet across. Four men sat in two side-by-side pairs, each manning an oar. Besides the oarsmen, there were a man sitting in the stern and another at the bow with a grappling hook.

“I think they mean to board us,” Arista whispered.

“No,” Royce said. “They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t intend to find out. Give us as much distance as you can, Wally.”

“Slide over, pal. Let me give you a hand,” Hadrian told the boatman as he took up a seat beside him. “Arista, take the tiller.”

The princess replaced Hadrian, grabbing hold of the wooden handle. She had no idea what to do with it and opted for keeping it centered. Hadrian rolled up his sleeves and, bracing his feet against the toggles, took one of the oars. Royce slipped off his cloak and boots and dropped them onto the floor of the boat.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Etcher told him. “We’ve still got another bridge to clear.”

“Just make sure you get them past the South Bridge and we’ll be fine,” Royce said. “Now, gentlemen, if you could put a little distance between us.”

“On three,” Wally announced, and they began stroking together, pulling hard and fast, so that the bow noticeably rose and a wake began to froth. Caught by surprise, Etcher stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“What the blazes are—” Etcher started when Royce leapt over the gunwale and disappeared. “Damn fool. What does he expect us to do, wait for him?”

“Don’t worry about Royce,” Hadrian replied as he and Wally stroked in unison. To Arista, the wherry did seem to drop farther back but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

“South Bridge,” Etcher whispered.

As they approached, Arista saw another fire blazing. This time it was a boat dock burning like well-aged kindling. The old South Bridge, which marked the city’s boundary, was not nearly as high as the Langdon, and Arista could easily see the guards.

“They aren’t going for it this time,” Hadrian said. “They’re staying at their posts.”

“Quiet. We might slip by,” Etcher whispered.