The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

Hadrian gestured toward the sentinel. “So, what’s going on between you and Thranic anyway? He appears to really hate you—even more than most people.”


Royce did not look in his direction. He sat nonchalantly, pretending to ignore the world as if they were the only two aboard. “Funny thing that. I never met him, never heard of him until this voyage, and yet I know him rather well, and he knows me.”

“Thank you, Mister Esrahaddon. Can you provide me with perhaps a more cryptic answer?”

Royce smiled. “I see why he does it now. It’s rather fun. I’m also surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our boy Thranic has a nasty little secret. It’s what makes him so unpleasant and at the same time so dangerous. He would have killed Wyatt, might even given you a surprise or two. With Staul added to the mix, and Defoe slinking about, it wasn’t a battle I felt confident in winning, even if I didn’t have Gwen’s voice echoing in my head.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“What would be the fun in that? This will give you something to do. You can try to guess, and I can amuse myself by insulting your intelligence. I wouldn’t take too long though. Thranic is going to die soon.”





***




Wesley returned and trotted up the gangway to address them. “I want volunteers to accompany me, Sentinel Thranic, Mister Bulard, Doctor Levy, and Seaman Staul inland. We will be traveling deep into the Calian jungles. The journey will not be without significant risks so I won’t order anyone to follow me who doesn’t want to go. Those who choose to stay behind can remain with the ship and upon my return, we will sail for home where you will receive your pay.”

“Where in the jungle are you headed, Mister Wesley?” Banner asked.

“I must deliver a letter to Erandabon Gile, who I am informed is a warlord of some note in these parts. I have met with Mister Dilladrum, who has been awaiting our arrival and has a caravan prepared and ready to escort us. Gile’s fortress, however, is deep in the jungles and contact with the Ba Ran Ghazel is likely. Now, who is with me?”

Hadrian, who was one of the first to raise his hand, found it strange he was among the majority. Wyatt and Poe didsurprise him but even Jacob and Grady joined in after seeing the others. Only Greig and Banner abstained.

“I see,” Wesley said with a note of surprise as well. “All right then, Banner, I’ll leave you in charge of the ship.

“What are we to do while yer gone, sir?” Banner asked.

“Nothing,” he told them. “Just stay with the ship and out of the city. Don’t cause any trouble.”

Banner smiled gleefully at Greig. “So, we can just sleep all day if we want?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you protect the ship and don’t embarrass the empire.”

Both of them could hardly contain their delight. “I’ll bet the rest ’o you are wishing you hadn’t raised your hands now.”

“You realize there’s only about a week’s worth of rations below, right?” Wyatt mentioned. “You might want to eat sparingly.”

A worried look crossed Banner’s face. “You’re gonna hurry back, right?”





***




Wesley led them off the ship and into the city, setting a brisk pace and keeping a sharp eye on the line of men. The old man, Antun Bulard, was the only straggler, but this had more to do with his age than his wounds, which had turned out to be only superficial cuts.

Loud-colored tents and awnings lined the roads of Dagastan from the harbor to the square. Throngs filled the paved pathways as merchants shouted to the crowds, waving banners with unrecognizable symbols. Old men smoked pipes beneath the shelter of striped canopies as scantily dressed women with veiled faces stood provocatively on raised platforms, gyrating slowly to the beat of a dozen drummers, bell ringers, and cymbal players. There was too much happening to focus on any single thing. Everywhere one looked there was dazzling color, tantalizing movement, intoxicating scents, and exciting music. The city taunted the senses, bewildered the mind, and blurred the eye. Overwhelmed, the little parade of sailors marched in step with Mister Wesley, as he led them to their promised guide. He and his team were waiting along a paved avenue not far from the city’s Grand Bazaar.

Dilladrum looked like an overweight beggar. His coat and dark britches were faded and poorly patched. Long, dirty hair burst out from under a formless felt hat as if in protest. His beard, equally mismanaged, showed bits of grass nested in its folds. His face was dusky, his teeth yellow, but his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. He stood on the roadside before a train of curious beasts. They appeared to be shrunken, shaggy horses. The animals were loaded with bundles and linked together by leads from one to the next. Six short, half-naked men helped Dilladrum keep the train under control. They wore only breechcloths of loose linen, and clattering necklaces of colored stones. Like Dilladrum, they grinned brightly at the sailor’s approach.

“Welcome, welcome, gentlemen,” he warmly addressed them. “I am Dilladrum, your guide. Before we leave our fair city perhaps you would like some time to peruse our fine shops? As per previous arrangements, I and my Vintu friends will be providing you with food, water, and shelter, but we will be many days afield and as such, some comforts as could be obtained in the bazaar could make your trek more pleasant. Consider our fine wines, liquors, or perhaps an attractive slave girl to make the camps more enjoyable.”

A few eyes turned appraisingly toward the shops where dozens of colorful signboards advertised in a foreign tongue. Music played—strange twanging strings and warbling pipes. Hadrian could smell lamb spiced with curry, a popular dish as he recalled.

“We will leave immediately,” Wesley replied, louder than was necessary for merely Dilladrum to hear him.

“Suit yourself, good sir.” The guide shrugged sadly. He made a gesture to his Vintu workers and the little men used long switches and yelping cries to urge the animals of the caravan forward.

As they did, atterspotted Hadrian and paused in his work. His brows furrowed as he stared intently until a shout from Dilladrum sent him back to herding.

“What was that all about?” Royce asked. Hadrian shrugged, but Royce looked unconvinced. “You were here for what—five years? Anything happen? Anything you want to share?”

“Sure,” he replied, with a sarcastic grin. “Right after you fill me in on how you escaped from Manzant Prison and why you never killed Ambrose Moor.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“I was young and stupid,” Hadrian offered. “But I can tell you that Wesley is right about the jungle being dangerous. We will want to watch ourselves around Gile.”

“You met him?”

Hadrian nodded. “I’ve met most of the warlords of the Gur Em, but I’m sure everyone’s forgotten me by now.”

As if overhearing, the train worker glanced over his shoulder at Hadrian once more.





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