The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Of course, you can! You let me sleep under your wagon, and you watch my things when I’m at work. You even let me eat with you.”


“But three! That’s your whole pay, Ella, you won’t have anything left.”

“I’ll get by. They feed me at the palace sometimes, and my needs are pretty simple.”

“But you’ll want a new set of clothes, and you’ll need shoes come winter.”

“So will your children, and you won’t be able to afford them without an extra three coppers a day.”

“No, no—we can’t. It is very nice of you, but—”

“Ma! Ma! Come quick! It’s Wery!” Finis, the Barkers’ eldest son raced down the street shouting as he came. He looked frightened, his eyes filled with tears.

Lynnette lifted her skirt and Arista chased after. They rushed to Coswall Avenue where a crowd formed outside the bakery. Pushing past them, a boy lay unconscious on the cobblestone.

“Oh, sweet Maribor!” Lynnette cried, falling to her knees beside her son.

Brice knelt on the stone holding Wery in his arms. Blood soaked his hands and tunic. The boy’s eyes were closed, his matted hair slick as if dipped in red ink.

“He fell from the baker’s loft,” Finis answered their unasked question, his voice quavering. “He was pulling one of them heavy flour bags down cause the baker said he’d sell us two cups for the price of one if he did. Pa and I told him to wait fer us, but he ran up, like he’s always doin’. He was pulling real hard. As hard as he could and then his hands slipped. He stumbled backward and…” Finis was talking fast, his voice rising as he did until it cracked and he stopped.

“Hit his head on the cobblestones,” declared a stranger in a white apron holding a lantern. Arista thought he might be the baker. “I’m real sorry. I didn’t think the boy would hurt himself like this.”

Lynnette ignored the man and pried her child from her husband, pulling Wery to her breast. She rocked him as if he were a newborn. “Wake up, honey,” she whispered, softly. Tears fell on Wery’s blood soaked cheeks. “Please baby, oh for the love of Maribor please wake up! Please, oh please…”

“Lynn, honey…” Brice started.

“NO!” she shouted at him, and tightened her grip on the boy.

Arista stared at the scene, her throat tight, her eyes filling so quickly she could not see clearly. Wery was a wonderful boy, playful, friendly. He reminded her of Fanen Pickering, which only made mattered,orse. But Fanen died with a sword in his hand, and Wery was only eight and likely never touched a weapon in his short life. She could not understand why such things happened to good people. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched the small figure of the boy dying in his mother’s arms.

Arista closed her eyes wiping the tears, and when she opened them again she noticed several people in the crowd backing away.

Her robe was glowing.

Giving off a pale light the shimmering material illuminated those around her in an eerie white radiance. Lynnette saw the glow and hope filled her face. She looked up at Arista, her eyes pleading. “Ella, can…can you save him?” she asked with trembling lips and desperate eyes. Arista began to form the word no, but Lynnette quickly spoke again. “You can!” she insisted. “I know you can! I’ve always known there was something different about you. The way you talk, the way you act. The way you forget your own name, and that—that robe! You can save him. I know you can. Oh, please, Ella,” she paused and swallowed, shaking so hard it made Wery’s head rock. “Oh, Ella I know—I know it’s so much more than three coppers, but he’s my baby! You will help him won’t you? Please, oh please, Ella.”

Arista could not breathe. She felt her heart pounding in her ears and her body trembled. Everyone silently watched her. Even Lynette stopped her pleading. Arista found herself saying through quivering lips, “Lay him down.”

Lynnette gently lowered Wery’s body, his limbs lifeless, his head tilted awkwardly to one side. Blood continued to seep from the boy’s wound.

Arista knelt beside him and placed a hand on the boy’s chest. He was still breathing, but so shallow, so weak. She closed her eyes and began to hum softly. She heard the soft concerned mutterings of those in the crowd and, one by one, she tuned them out. She heard the heartbeats of the men and women surrounding her and forced them out as well. Then she heard the wind. Soft and gentle it was there, moving, swirling between the buildings, across the street, skipping over stones. Above her, she felt the twinkle of the stars, and the smile of the moon. Her hand was on the body of the boy, but her fingers felt the strings of the instrument that she longed to play.

The gentle wind grew stronger. The swirl became an eddy, the eddy, a whirlwind, and the whirlwind, a vortex. Her hair whipped madly, but she hardly noticed. Before her lay a void, and beyond it a distant light. She could see him in the darkness, a dull silhouette before the brilliance, growing smaller as it traveled away. She shouted to him. He paused. She strummed the chords and the silhouette turned. Then, with all her strength, she clapped her hands together and the sound was thunder.

When she opened her eyes, the light from the robe had faded and the crowd stood silently in shock.





Chapter 10

Fallen Star


“Sail ho!” the lookout shouted from the masthead.

The Emerald Storm was now two weeks out of Aquesta, slipping across the placid waters of the Ghazel Sea. The wind remained blowing from the southwest, and since rounding the Horn of Delgos they had made slow progress. The ship was close-hauled, struggling to gain headway into the wind. Mister Temple kept the top crews busy tacking the ship round, wearing windward, and keeping their course by crossing back and forth, but Hadrian guessed that a quickly walking man could make faster progress.

It was mid morning and seamen who were not in the rigging or otherwise engaged in the ship’s navigation were busy scrubbing the deck with sandstone blocks or flogging it dry. All the midshipmen were on the quarterdeck taking instruction in navigation from Mister Bishop. Hadrian heard the lookout’s call as he returned to the galley after delivering the previous evening’s pork grease. Making his way to the port side, he spotted a small whi square on the horizon. Bishop immediately suspended class and took an eyeglass to see for himself, then sent a midshipman to the captain’s cabin. The captain came so quickly he was still adjusting his hat as he appeared on the quarterdeck. He paused for a moment, tugged on his uniform, and sniffed the air with a wrinkle of his nose.

“Lookout report!” he called to the masthead.

“Two ships, off the port bow, sir!”

Hadrian looked again and just as the lookout reported, he spotted a second sail now visible above the line of the water.

“The foremost is showing two squares—appears to be a lugger. The farther ship…I’m seeing two red lateen sails, single-decked, possibly a tartane. They’re running with the wind and closing fast, sir.”