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

Arista ignored her. “We’ll steal Emery from the post, spread the news that he’s alive and that he asks everyone to stand up with him and fight—to fight for the freedom he promised them.”


Royce scoffed but Hadrian considered the idea. He wanted to believe. He wanted to be swept along with her passion, but his practical side, which had waged dozens of battles, told him there was little chance for success. “It won’t work,” he finally stated. “Even if you managed to take the city, the imperial army will just take it back. A few hundred civilians could overwhelm the city garrison, but they aren’t going to stop an army.”

“That’s why we have to coordinate our attack with the Nationalists’. Remember Emery’s plan? We’ll shut the gates and lock them out. Then the Nationalists can crush them.”

“And if you don’t manage to close the gates in time? If the battle against the garrison doesn’t go perfectly to plan?” Royce asked.

“It still won’t matter,” Arista said. “If the Nationalists attack the imperial army at the same time that we launch our rebellion, they won’t be able to bother with us.”

“Except the Nats won’t attack without Gaunt,” Polish said. “That’s the reason they’re still out there. Well, that and the three hundred heavy cavalry Lord Dermont commands along with the rest of his army. The Nats haven’t ever faced an organized force. Without Gaunt, they have no one to lead them. They aren’t disciplined troops. Just townsfolk and farmers Gaunt picked up along the way here. They’ll run the moment they see armored knights.”

“Who’s in charge of Gaunt’s army?” Hadrian asked. He had to admit Arista’s plans were at least thought out.

“Some fat chap who goes by the name of Parker. Rumor has it he was a bookkeeper for a textile business. He used to be the Nats’ quartermaster before Gaunt promoted him,” Quartz said. “Not the brightest coin in the purse, if you understand me. Without Gaunt planning and leading the attack, the Nats don’t stand a chance.”

“You could do it,” Arista said, looking squarely at Hadrian. “You’ve commanded men in battle before. You got a medal.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t as impressive as it sounds. They were only small regiments. Grendel’s army was, well, in a word, pathetic. They refused to even wear helms, because they didn’t like the way their voices echoed in their heads.”

“But you led them in battle?”

“Yes, but—”

“And did you win or lose?”

“We won but—”

“Against a larger or smaller force?”

Hadrian stood silent, a beaten look on his face.

Royce turned toward him. “Tell me you aren’t considering this nonsense.”

Am I? But three hundred heavy cavalry!

Desperation slipped into Arista’s voice. “Breckton’s Northern Imperial Army is marching here. If the Nationalists don’t attack now, the combined imperial forces will decimate them. That’s what Lord Dermont is waiting for—that’s his plan. If he sits and waits, then he will win. But if the Nationalists attack first, if he has no support, and nowhere to run … This may be our only chance. It’s now or all will be lost.

“If the Nationalists are destroyed, nothing will stop the empire. They’ll retake and punish all of Rhenydd for its disobedience, and that will include Hintindar.” She paused, letting him consider this. “Then they will take Melengar. After that, nothing will stop them from conquering Delgos, Trent, and Calis. The empire will rule the world once more, but not like it once did. Instead of an enlightened rule uniting the people, it will be one of cruelty dividing them, headed not by a noble, benevolent emperor, but by a handful of greedy, power-hungry men who pull strings while hiding behind the shield of an innocent girl.

“And what about you, Royce?” She turned toward him. “Have you forgotten the wagons? What do you think the fate of those and others like them will be when the New Empire rules all?

“Don’t you see?” She addressed the entire room. “We either fight here and win, or die trying, because there won’t be anything left if we fail. This is the moment. This is the crucial point where the future of yet unborn generations will be decided either by our action or inaction. For centuries to come, people will look back at this time and rejoice at our courage or curse our weakness.” She looked directly at Royce now. “For we have the power. Here. Now. In this place. We have the power to alter the course of history and we will be forever damned should we not so much as try!”

She stopped talking, exhausted and out of breath.

The room was silent.

To Hadrian’s surprise, it was Royce who spoke first. “Making Emery disappear isn’t the hard part. Keeping him hidden is the problem.”

“They’ll tear the city apart looking, that’s certain,” Polish said.

“Can we bring him here?” Arista asked.

Polish shook his head. “The Imps know about us. They leave us alone because we don’t cause much trouble and they enjoy the black market we provide. No, they’ll most certainly come down here looking. Besides, without orders from the Jewel or the First Officer, I couldn’t expose our operation to that much risk.”

“We need a safe house where the Imps won’t dare look,” Royce said. “Someplace they won’t even want to look. Is the city physician an Imperialist or a Royalist?”

“He’s a friend of Emery, if that’s any indication,” Quartz explained.

“Perfect. By the way, Princess, conquering Ratibor wasn’t in our contract. This will most certainly cost you extra,” Royce said.

“Just keep a tally,” she replied, unable to suppress her smile.

“If this keeps up, we’re going to own Melengar,” Hadrian mentioned.

“What’s this we stuff?” Royce asked. “You’re retired, remember?”

“Oh? So you’ll be leading the Nationalist advance, will you?”

“Sixty-forty?” Royce proposed.





Despite the recent rain, the public stable on Lords Row caught fire just after dark. More than two dozen horses ran through the streets. The city’s inhabitants responded with a bucket brigade. Those unable to find a place in line stood in awe as the vast wooden building burned with flames reaching high into the night’s sky.

With no chance of saving the stable, the town fought to save the butcher’s shop next door. Men climbed on the roof and, braving the rain of sparks, soaked the shake shingles. Bucket after bucket doused the little shop as the butcher’s wife watched from the street, terrified. Her face glowed in the horrific light. The townsfolk, and even some imperial guards, fought the fire for hours, until, at last, deprived of the shop next door, it burned itself out. The stable was gone. All that remained of it was charred and smoking rubble, but the butcher’s shop survived with one blackened wall to mark its brush with disaster. The townsfolk, covered in soot and ash, congratulated themselves on a job well done. The Gnome filled with patrons toasting their success. They clapped their neighbors on the back and told jokes and stories of near death.