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

He nodded. “There’s no reason to keep it secret, except to protect myself, and perhaps it’s time I faced my sins.”


The monsignor looked at the open door to the stairs. “Let’s close this.” He stepped out, then returned, puzzled. “The key is gone.”

“I’ve got it,” Royce volunteered, revealing the iron key in his hand. Pulling the door shut, he locked it from the inside. “I’ve never cared for rooms I can be locked in.”

Bartholomew took a small stool from behind one of the stacks and perched himself on it. He sat bent over with his head between his knees, as if he might be sick. They waited as the priest took several steadying breaths.

“It was forty-two years ago, next week, in fact,” he began, his head still down, his voice quiet. “I had been expecting them for days and was worried. I thought they had been discovered, but that wasn’t it. They were traveling slowly because she was with child.”

“Who was?” Hadrian asked.

The monsignor looked up, confused. “Do you know the significance of that amulet you wear?”

“It once belonged to the Guardian of the Heir of Novron.”

“Yes,” the old man said simply. “Your father was the head of our order—a secret organization dedicated to protecting the descendants of Emperor Nareion.”

“The Theorem Eldership,” Royce said.

Bartholomew looked at him, surprised. “Yes. Shopkeepers, tradesmen, farmers—people who preserved a dream handed down to them.”

“But you’re a priest in the Nyphron Church.”

“Many of us were encouraged to take vows. Some even tried to join the seret. We needed to know what the church was doing, where they were looking. I was the only one in Ratibor to receive the would-be emperor and his guardian. The ranks of the Eldership had dwindled over the centuries. Few believed in it anymore. My parents raised me to believe in the dream of seeing the heir of Nareion returned to an imperial throne, but I never expected it would happen. I often questioned if the heir even existed, if the stories were just a myth. You see, the Eldership only contacted members if needed. You had a few meetings and years could go by without a word. Even then, messages were only words of encouragement reminding us to stay strong. We never heard a thing about the heir. There were no plans to rise up, no news of sightings, victories, or defeats.

“I was only a boy, a young deacon, recently arrived in Ratibor, assigned to the old South Square Church, when my father sent a letter saying simply ‘He is coming. Make preparations.’ I didn’t know what to think. It took several readings before I even understood what ‘he’ meant. When I realized, I was dumbstruck. The Heir of Novron was coming to Ratibor. I didn’t know exactly what I should do, so I rented a room at the Bradford’s boardinghouse and waited. I should have found a better place. I should have …” He paused for a moment, dropped his head again to look at the floor, and took a breath.

“What happened?” Hadrian asked, keeping his voice calm, not wanting to do anything to stop the cleric from revealing his tale.

“They arrived late, around midnight, because his wife was about to give birth and their travel was slow. His name was Naron and he traveled with his guardian, Tramus Dan, and Dan’s young apprentice, whose name I sadly can’t recall. I saw them to their rooms at the boardinghouse and your father sent me in search of a midwife. I found a young girl and sent her ahead while I set out to find what supplies were needed.

“By the time I returned with my arms full, I saw a company of Seret Knights coming up the street, searching door-to-door. I was horrified. I had never seen seret in Ratibor. They reached the boardinghouse before I could.

“They found it locked and beat on the door. There was no answer. When they tried to break in, your father refused them entry and the fight began. I watched from across the street. It was the most amazing thing I ever saw. Your father and his apprentice stepped out and fought back-to-back, defending the entrance. Knight after knight died until as many as ten lay dead or wounded on the street, and then came a scream from inside. Some of the seret must have found a way into the building from the back.

“The apprentice ran inside, leaving your father alone at the door to face the remainder of the knights. There must have been a dozen or more. By wielding two swords in the shelter of the entrance, he kept them at bay. He held them off for what felt like an eternity, and then Naron appeared at the doorway. He was mad with rage and drenched in blood. He pushed past Dan into the street. Your father tried to stop him, but Naron kept screaming, ‘They killed her!’ and threw himself into the crowd of knights, swinging his sword like a man possessed.

“Your father tried to reach Naron—to protect him. The seret surrounded Naron and I watched him die on their swords. I fell to my knees, the blankets, needle, and thread falling to the street. Your father, surrounded by his own set of knights, cried out and dropped his two swords. I thought they had stabbed him too. I expected to see him fall, but instead he drew the spadone blade from his back. The bloodshed I witnessed up to that point did not compare to what followed. Tramus Dan, with that impossibly long sword, began cleaving the seret to pieces. Legs, arms, and heads—explosions of blood. Even across Lore Street, I felt the spray carried on the wind like a fine mist on my face.

“When the last seret fell, Dan ran inside and emerged a moment later with tears streaking down his cheeks. He went to Naron and cradled the heir, rocking him. I admit that I was too frightened to approach or even speak. Dan looked like Uberlin himself, bathed slick from head to foot in blood, that sword still at his side, his body shaking as if he might explode. After a time, he gently laid Naron on the porch. A few of the knights were still alive, groaning, twitching. He picked up the sword again and cut through them as if he were chopping wood. Then he picked up his weapons and walked away.

“I was too scared to follow, too terrified to even stand up, and I did not dare approach the house. As time passed, others arrived, and together we found the courage to enter. We found the younger swordsman—your father’s apprentice—dead in the upper bedroom, surrounded by several bodies of seret. In the bed was a woman stabbed to death, her newborn child murdered in her arms. I never saw or heard anything of your father again.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.