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

“And I suppose you think his first wife was murdered so he could be pushed into marrying Amiter, just so Androus could become duke?”


“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” the youth declared. “Don’t you see? They planned this for years, and not just here either. They did it in Alburn, Warric … They even tried it in Melengar, but they failed there. Did anyone see that play last year? You know, The Crown Conspiracy. It was based on real events. Amrath’s children outsmarted the conspirators. That’s why Melengar hasn’t fallen to the New Empire. Don’t you see? We’re all the victims of a conspiracy. I’ve even heard that the empress might not exist. The whole story of the Heir of Novron is a sham, invented to placate the masses. Do you really think a farm girl could kill a great beast? It is men like Androus who control us—evil, corrupt murderous men without an ounce of royal blood in their veins, or honor in their hearts!”

“So what?” a fat man in a checked vest asked defiantly. “What do we care who rules us? Our lot is always the same. You speak of matters between blue bloods. It doesn’t affect us.”

“You’re wrong! How many men in this city were pressed into the army? How many are off to die for the empress? How many sons have gone to fight Melengar, who has never been our enemy? Now the Nationalists are coming. They’re only a few miles south. They will sack this city, just as they did Vernes, and why? Because we are now joined to the empire. Do you think your sons, brothers, and fathers would be off dying if Urith were still alive? Do you want to see Ratibor destroyed?”

“They won’t destroy Ratibor!” the fat man shouted back. “You’re just spouting rumors, trying to scare decent people and stir up trouble. Armies will fight, and maybe the city will change hands, but it won’t affect us. We’ll still be poor and still struggling to live, as we always have. King Urith had his wars and Viceroy Androus will have his. We work, fight, and die under both of them. That’s our lot and treasonous talk like this will only get people killed.”

“They will burn the city,” an older woman in a blue kerchief said suddenly. “Just as they burned Kilnar. I know. I was there. I saw them.”

All eyes turned to her.

“That’s not true! It can’t be,” the fat man protested. “It doesn’t make sense. The Nationalists have no cause to burn the cities. They would want them intact.”

“The Nationalists didn’t burn it,” she said. “The empire did.” This statement brought the room to stunned silence. “When the imperial government saw that the city would be lost, they ordered Kilnar to be torched to leave nothing for the Nationalists.”

“It’s true,” said a man seated with his family near the kitchen. “We lived in Vernes. I saw the city guards burning the shops and homes there too.”

“The same will happen here.” The youth caught the crowd’s attention once more. “Unless we do something about it.”

“What can we do?” a young mother asked.

“We can join the Nationalists. We can give the city to them before the viceroy has a chance to torch it.”

“This is treason,” the fat man said. “You’ll bring death to us all!”

“The empire took Rhenydd through deceit, murder, and trickery. I don’t speak treason. I speak loyalty—loyalty to the monarchy. To sit by and let the empire rape this kingdom and burn this city is treason and, what’s more, it’s foolhardy cowardice!”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“No, sir, I’m calling you a fool and a coward.”

The fat man stood up indignantly and drew a dagger from his belt. “I demand satisfaction.”

The youth stood and unsheathed a long sword. “As you wish.”

“You would duel me sword against dagger and call me the coward?”

“I also called you a fool, and a fool it is who holds a dagger and challenges a man with a sword.”

Several people in the room laughed at this, which only infuriated the fat man more. “Do you have no honor?”

“I’m but a poor soldier’s son from a destitute town. I can’t afford honor.” Again, the crowd laughed. “I’m also a practical man, who knows it’s more important to win than to die—for honor is something that concerns only the living. But understand this: if you choose to fight me, I’ll kill you any way I can, the same way that I’ll try to save this city and its people any way I can. Honor and allegiance be damned!”

The crowd applauded now, much to the chagrin of the fat man. Red-faced, he stood for a moment, then shoved his dagger back in his belt and abruptly stalked out the door into the rain.

“But how can we turn the city over to the Nationalists?” the old woman asked.

The youth turned to her. “If we raise a militia, we can raid the armory and storm the city garrison. After that, we’ll arrest the viceroy. That will give us the city. The imperial army is camped a mile to the south. When the Nationalists attack, they will expect to retreat to the safety of the city walls. But when they arrive, they will find the gates locked. In disarray and turmoil, they will be routed and the Nationalists will destroy them. After that, we’ll welcome the Nationalists in as allies. Given our assistance in helping them take the city, we can expect fair treatment and possibly even self-rule, as that is the Nationalists’ creed.

“Imagine that,” he said dreamily. “Ratibor, the whole city—the whole kingdom of Rhenydd—being run by a people’s council, just like Tur Del Fur!”

This clearly caught the imagination of many in the room.

“Craftsmen could own their own shops instead of renting. Farmers would own their land and be able to pass it tax-free to their sons. Merchants could set their own rates and taxes wouldn’t be used to pay for foreign wars. Instead, that money can be used to clean up this town. We could pave the roads, tear down the vacant buildings, and put all the people of the city to work doing it. We would elect our own sheriffs and bailiffs, but they would have little to do, for what crime could there be in a free city? Freemen with their own property have no cause for crime.”

“I would be willing to fight for that,” a man seated with his family near the windows said.

“For paved roads, I would too,” said the elderly woman.

“I’d like to own my own land,” another said.

Others voiced their interest and soon the conversation turned more serious. The level of the voices dropped and men clustered together to speak in small groups.

“You’re not from Rhenydd, are you?” someone asked Arista.

The princess nearly jumped when she discovered a woman had slipped in beside her. She was not immediately certain that it was a woman, as she was oddly dressed in dark britches and a man’s loose shirt. Arista initially thought she was an adolescent boy, due to her short blonde hair and dappled freckles, but her eyes gave her away. They were heavy and deep, as if stolen from a much older person.