The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

Amilia would have laughed at the absurdity if Modina did not look so serious. In all the time she took care of her, Amilia never saw her so focused, so clear-eyed. She felt out of her element. The hazy Modina was gone, but she was still speaking nonsense. She had to make her understand, for her own good. “Modina, guards are looking for this woman. They’ve been combing the city for days.”


“That’s why she is going to stay here. It’s the safest place. Not even the regents will look for her in my bedroom. And it will make helping her that much easier.”

“Help her? Help her with what?” Amilia was nearly at the end of her own sanity just trying to follow this absurd conversation.

“We’re going to help her find Degan Gaunt, the true Heir of Novron.”





Chapter 14

Calis


The port of Dagastan surprised first time visitors from Avryn, who thought of everywhere else was less civilized or cultured. Calis was generally held, by those who had never been there, to be a crude, ramshackle collection of tribal bands living in mud or wooden huts within a dense and mysterious jungle. It shocked most when they first laid eyes on the massive domes and elegant spires rising along the coast. The city was astonishingly large and well developed. Stone and gray brick buildings sat densely packed on a graduated hillside rising from the elegant harbor that put Aquesta’s wooden docks to shame. Here, four long carved stone piers stretched into the bay, along which stately towers rose at regular intervals, facilitating the needs of the bustling trade center. Masts of more thampress iundred ships lined the harbor, nearly all of them exotic merchant vessels.

Hadrian remembered the city the moment it came into view. The heat of the ancient stones, the spice-scented streets, the exotic women—all memories of an impetuous youth that he preferred to forget. He had left the east behind without regret and it was not without reservations that he found himself returning.

No bells rang in the towers along the harbor as they entered, no alarm signaled as the blood red sails of their Dacca-built tartane entered port. Merely a pilot boat issued out and hailed them at their approach.

“En dil dual lon duclim?” the pilot called to them.

“I can’t understand you,” Wesley replied.

“Vaat ez dee name of your vessel? And dee name of dee captain?” the pilot repeated.

“Oh, ah—it doesn’t have a name I’m afraid, but my name is Wesley Belstrad.”

The pilot jotted something on a hand held tablet frowning. “Vere ez you outing from?”

“We are the remaining crew of the Emerald Storm, Her Imperial Majesty’s vessel out from the capital city of Aquesta.”

“Vaat ez your bidness ’ere and ’ow long staying vill you be?”

“We are making a delivery. I am not certain how long it will take.”

The pilot finished asking questions and indicated they should follow him to a berth. Another official was waiting on the dock and asked Wesley to sign several forms before allowing anyone to set foot on land.

“According to Seward’s orders we are to contact a Mister Dilladrum. I will go ashore and try to locate him,” Wesley announced. “Mister Deminthal you and Seaman Staul will accompany me. Hadrian you will be in charge here until my return. See to it that the stores are secured and the ship buttoned down.”

“Aye, sir.” Hadrian saluted and the three disembarked and disappeared into the maze of streets.

“Wonderful luck we’ve had in picking up survivors, eh?” Hadrian mentioned to Royce as he met his partner on the raised aft deck of the ship.

The others remained at the waist or the bow, staring in fascination at the port around them. There was a lot to take in. Unusual sounds drifted from the urban landscape. The jangle of bells, the ringing of a gong, shouts of merchants in a strange musical language, and above it all the haunting voice of a man singing in the distance.

Dockworkers moved cargo to and from ships. Most were dressed in robes of vertical stripes, their skin a tawny brown, their faces bearded. Bolts of shimmering silks and sheer cloth waited to be loaded, as did urns of incense and pots of fragrant oil whose scents drifted on the harbor breeze. The stone masonry of the buildings was impressive. Impressive designs of flowers and geometric shapes adorned nearly all the constructions. Domes were the most prolific of the architectural styles, some inlaid in gold, others in silver, or colorful tiles. The larger buildings displayed multiple domes, all featuring a central spire pointing skyward.

It was the first time in three days they had the opportunity to speak alone. “I thought you showed great restraint and was impressed with your diplomatic solution to our little civil war,” Hadrian told Royce.

“I’m just watching your back, like Gwen asked.” Royce took a seat on a thick pile of netted ropes.

“It was a stroke of brilliance appointing Wesley,” Hadrian remarked. “I wish I had thought of it. I like that boy. Did you see the way he picked Staul and Wyatt to go with him? Wyatt knows the docks and Staul knows the language and possibly the city. Perfectly sensible choices, but they’re also the two who would make the most trouble out of his sight. He’s a lot more like his brother than he thinks. It’s a shame they were born in Chadwick. Ballentyne doesn’t deserve them.”

“It’s not looking good, you know that, right?” Royce asked. “What with the weapons and Merrick’s payment going down with the Storm and everyone in charge now dead, I don’t see where we go from here.”

Hadrian took a seat on the railing beside Royce. Water lapped against the wooden hull of the tartane and seagulls cried overhead.

“But we still have Merrick’s orders and that letter. What did it say?”

“I didn’t read it.”

“Weren’t you the one who called me stupid because—”

“I never had a chance. Wyatt grabbed the orders first, and then there was this little incident with a burning ship and lots of swimming. Now Wesley has them and he’s hardly slept. I’ve not had an opportunity.”

“Then we’ll have to stick to that letter until you either get a chance to take a peek or we solve this riddle. I mean, what is the empire doing sending weapons to Calis when they need them to fight the Nationalists?”

“Maybe bribing Calis to join the fight on their side?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Rhenydd could beat Calis in a war all by itself. There’s no organization down here, no central authority, just a bunch of competing warlords. The whole place is corrupt and they constantly fight each other. There is no way Merrick could convince enough leaders to go fight for the New Empire—most of these warlords have never even heard of Avryn. And what’s with the elves? What were they doing with them?”

“I have to admit, I’d like to know that myself,” Royce said.

Hadrian’s glance followed Thranic as he came topside and laid among the excess canvas at the bow, his hood pulled down to block the light, his arms folded across his chest. He almost looked like a corpse in need of a coffin.