The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Do you think that’s Beryl’s plan, sir? For standing up to him this morning in front of the other officers, I mean.”


“Maybe. Beryl is a tyrant of the worst order and a libertine who squandered his family’s fortune. If it wasn’t for my brother, Breckton, I suspect Beryl wouldn’t even notice me. Beating me must seem to Beryl as if he’s better than my brother.”

“Your brother is Sir Breckton?”

Wesley nodded. “But the joke is on him. I’m nothing like my brother. If I was I wouldn’t be on this lousy floating piece of wood, or allow myself to be bested by a lout like Beryl.”

“Take the coffee and bread, sir,” Hadrian said. “I can’t say I care for Beryl and if keeping you awake tonight gets under his skin, it will make tomorrow all the better in my book. The orders of the captain are more important than a senior midshipman.”

“I’ll still have to put you on report for this morning. This kindness won’t change that.”

“I didn’t expect it to, sir.”

The midshipman studied Hadrian, his face betraying a new curiosity. “In that case, thank you,” he said, taking the food.





***




Dovin Thranic walked through the waist hold. Dark and cramped, the ship’s bottom deck reeked of animal dung and salt water. A good four inches of liquid slime pooled along the centerline gutter forcing him to walk up the sides, hurdling the futtock rider beams to keep his shoes dry. Tomorrow he would order Mister Bishop to direct the detail of men to work the bilge pump in the evening to ensure he did not need to go through this every night.

His unsettled stomach made the ordeal even more miserable. After several days of sleeping on board the Emerald Storm while she was in dock, he thought he had gained his sea legs. The initial wretchedness had subsided, only to return now that the ship was rolling at a different cadence on the open sea. It was not nearly as bad as before, but it was still a nuisance and would not make his work any easier.

Thranic carried no light but did not need one. The sentry’s lanterns at the far end of the hold gave sufficient illumination for him to see. He passed several sentries, seret who stood rigidly at their stations, ignoring his approach.

“They seem quiet tonight, have they been behaving?” Thranic asked as he approached the cages.

“Yes, sir,” the senior guard replied, breaking his statuesque facade only briefly. “Sea sickness. They’re all under the weather.”

“Yes,” Thranic noted, not without a degree of revulsion. He watched them. “They can see me you know, even in the dark. They have very good eyesight.”

Since a response was not required, the seret remained silent.

“I can see recognition on their faces, recognition and fear. This is my first trip to visit them, but already they know me. They can sense the power of Novron within me and the evil in them instinctually cowers. It is like I am a candle and the light I give off pushes back their darkness.”

Thranic stepped closer to the cages, each so densely packed they were forced to take turns between standing and lying. Those standing pressed their filthy naked bodies against each other for support. Males, females, and children were jammed together tightly creating a repugnant quivering mass of flesh. He watched with amusement as they whimpered and whined, struggling to move away from his approach.

“See? I am light and the putrid blackness of their souls retreats before me.” Thranic studied their faces, each gaunt and hollow from starvation. “They are disgusting creatures—unnatural abominations that never should have been. Their very existence is an insult. You feel it don’t you? We need to purge the world of the stain they cause. We need to do our best to clear the offense. We need to prove ourselves worthy.”

Thranic was no longer looking at the elves. He was staring at his own hands. “Purification is never easy, but always necessary,” he muttered, pensively. “Fetch me that tall male with the missing tooth,” Thranic ordered. “I’ll begin with him.”

Following the sentinel’s direction, the guards ripped the elf from his cage and bound his elbows behind his back. Using a spare rigging pulley, they hoisted the unfortunate prisoner by his arms to the overhead beam. The effort pulled the elf’s limbs from their sockets, causing him to scream in agony. His wails and the wretched look on his face caused even the seret to look away, but Thranic watched stoically, his lips pursed approvingly.

“Swing him,” he said as the elf howled anew from the motion.

The sentinel looked at the cages again. Inside others were weeping. At his glance, one female pushed forward. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”

Thranic searched her face with a look of genuine pity. “Maribor demands that the mistake of his brother be erased. I am merely his tool.”

“Then why not—why not just kill us and get it over with?” she cried at him, eyes wild. Thranic paused. He stared once more at his hands. He turned them over examining both sides with a distant expression. He seemed lost in thought, and was silent for so long that even the seret turned to face him. Thranic looked back at the female, his eyes blurring and lips trembling. “One must scrub very hard to remove some stains. Take her next.”





Chapter 7

Rotten Eggs



Modina descended the curved stair, feeling the hem of her new gown drag along the stone steps. Since leaving her bedroom, she had passed two young women carrying a pile of linens, and a page with an armful of assorted boots who dropped one the moment he spotted her. They only gave her the briefest of sidelong glances before trotting by. The two girls chatted excitedly to each other, but no one spoke to her.

Since her appearance on the balcony over a month ago, Modina enjoyed an unprecedented degree of freedom within the palace. She owed much of this to Amilia’s constant chipping away at the regent’s resolve, and could now wander freely inside the castle keep.

She walked gracefully in her new dress, silent and pensive, the way an empress should. The dressilia fashioned for her was brilliant white, yet unlike previous imperial attempts to clothe her, this one was simple and unadorned. During the fittings, Amilia repeatedly scolded the seamstress each time she attempted to embellish it. Amilia knew Modina would be more comfortable in a plain gown, but she doubted her secretary realized the unexpected effect this garment would produce.