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

Esrahaddon addressed them. “As Parker no doubt informed you, this is Marshal Lord Blackwater, your new commander. Do anything he says, as if he were Gaunt himself. I think you’ll find him a very worthy replacement for your general.”


They nodded and stood at attention.

Hadrian got up, walked around the table, and announced, “We will attack the imperial position immediately.”

“Now?” one said, astonished.

“I wish there was more time, but I’ve been tied up elsewhere. We’ll launch our attack directly across that muddy field, where the Imps’ three hundred heavy cavalry can’t ride, and where their longbow archers can’t see in this rain. Our lightly armored infantry must move quickly to overwhelm them. We’ll close at a run and butcher them man to man.”

“But they’ll—” a tall gruff-looking soldier with a partial beard and mismatched armor started, then stopped himself.

“They’ll what?” Hadrian asked.

“I was just thinking. The moment they see us advance, won’t they retreat within the city walls?”

“What’s your name?” Hadrian asked.

The man looked worried but held his ground. “Renquist, sir.”

“Well, Renquist, you’re absolutely right. That’s exactly what they will try to do. Only they won’t be able to get in. By then our allied forces will own the city.”

“Allied forces?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Don’t strike camp, and don’t use horns or drums to assemble. With luck, there’s a good chance we can catch them by surprise. By now, they probably think we’ll never attack. Renquist, how long do you estimate to have the men assembled and ready to march?”

“Two hours,” he replied with more confidence.

“Have them ready in one. Each of you form up your men on the east slope, out of their sight. Three regiments of infantry in duel lines, senior commanders located at the center, left, and right flanks in that order. And I want light cavalry to swing to the south and await the call of the trumpet to sweep their flank. I want one contingent of cavalry—the smallest—that I’ll command and hold in reserve to the north, near the city. At the waving of the blue pennant, begin crossing the field as quietly as possible. When you see the green flag, relay the signal and charge. We move in one hour. Dismissed!”

The captains saluted and ran back out into the rain. The sergeant handed over Hadrian’s weapons and started to slip out quietly.

“Wait a moment.” Hadrian halted him. “What’s your name?”

The sergeant spun. “I was just following orders when I chained you up. I didn’t know—”

“You’ve just been promoted to adjutant general,” Hadrian told him. “What’s your name?”

The ex-sergeant blinked. “Bently … sir.”

“Bently, from now on you stick next to me and see that my orders are carried out, understand? Now, I’ll need fast riders to work as messengers—three should do—and signal flags, a blue and a green one, as big as possible. Mount them on tall sticks and make certain all the captains have identical ones. Oh, and I need a horse!”

“Make that two,” the wizard said.

“Make that three,” Hadrian added. “You’ll need one too, Bently.”

The soldier opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded and stepped out into the rain.

“An hour,” Hadrian muttered as he strapped on his weapons.

“You don’t think Arista can hold out that long?”

“I was supposed to take control of this army yesterday. If only I had more time … I could have … I just hope it’s not too late.”

“If anyone can save Ratibor, it’s you,” the wizard told him.

“I know all about being the guardian to the heir,” Hadrian replied.

“I had a feeling Royce would tell you.”

Hadrian picked up the large spadone sword and looped the baldric over his head. He reached up and drew it out, testing the position of the sheath.

“I remember that weapon.” The wizard pointed to the blade. “That’s Jerish’s sword.” He frowned, then added, “What have you done to it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jerish loved that thing—had a special cloth he kept in his gauntlet that he used to polish it—something of an obsession, really. That blade was like a mirror.”

“It’s seen nine hundred years of use,” Hadrian told him, and put it away.

“You look nothing like Jerish,” Esrahaddon said, then paused when he saw the look on Hadrian’s face. “What is it?”

“The heir is dead—you know that, don’t you? Died right here in Ratibor forty years ago.”

Esrahaddon smiled. “Still, you hold a sword the same way Jerish did. Must be in the training somehow. Amazing how much it defines both of you. I never really—”

“Did you hear me? The bloodline ended. Seret caught up to them. They killed the heir—his name was Naron, by the way—and they killed his wife and child. My father was the only survivor. I’m sorry.”

“My teacher, old Yolric, used to insist the world has a way of righting itself. He was obsessed with the idea. I thought he was crazy, but after living for nine hundred years, you perceive things differently. You see patterns you never knew were there. The heir isn’t dead, Hadrian, just hidden.”

“I know you’d like to think that, but my father failed and the heir died. I talked to a member of the Theorem Eldership who was there. He saw it happen.”

Esrahaddon shook his head. “I’ve seen the heir with my own eyes, and I recognize the blood of Nevrik. A thousand years cannot mask such a lineage from me. Still, just to be sure, I performed a test that cannot be faked. Oh yes, the heir is alive and well.”

“Who is it, then? I’m the guardian, aren’t I? Or I’m supposed to be. I should be protecting him.”

“At the moment, anonymity is a far better protection than swords. I cannot tell you the heir’s identity. If I did, you would rush off and be a beacon to those watching.” The wizard sighed. “And trust me, I know a great deal about being watched. In Gutaria they wrote down every word I uttered. Even now, at this very moment, every word I say is being heard.”

“You sound like Royce.” Hadrian looked around. “We’re alone, surrounded by an army of Nationalists. Do you think Saldur or Ethelred have spies pressing an ear against this farmhouse?”

“Saldur? Ethelred?” Esrahaddon chuckled. “I’m not concerned with the imperial regents. They’re pawns in this game. Haven’t you wondered how the Gilarabrywn escaped Avempartha? Do you think Saldur or Ethelred could manage such a trick? My adversary is much more dangerous, and I’m certain he spends a great deal of time listening to what I say, no matter where I am. You see, I do not have the benefit of that amulet you wear.”