The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

The Vintu handed out dinner, which the Storm’s crew ate sitting on stools the Vintu provided. Dinner consisted mostly of what appeared to be shredded pork and an array of unusual vegetables i ifick, hot sauce that needled the tongue.

After the meal, darkness descended on the camp and most retired to their tents. Antun Bulard was already in his, just like he always stayed in his cabin aboard ship. The light in Bulard and Defoe’s tent flickered and the silhouettes of their heads bobbed about, magnified on the canvas walls. A few hours after dark, Defoe stepped out. An instant later, Royce swooped in.





***




“How you been, Bernie,” Royce greeted Defoe who flinched noticeably. “Going for a walk?”

“Actually, I was about to find a place to relieve myself.”

“Good, I’ll go with you.”

“Go with me?” he asked nervously.

“I’ve been known to help people relieve themselves of a great many things.” Royce put an arm around Defoe’s shoulder as he urged him away from the tents. Once more Defoe flinched. “A little jumpy, aren’t we?”

“Don’t you think I have good reason?”

Royce smiled and nodded, “You have me there. I honestly still can’t figure out what you were thinking.”

The two were outside the circle of tents, well beyond the glow of the campfire, and still Royce urged him farther away.

“It wasn’t my idea. I was just following orders. Don’t you think I’d know better than to—”

“Whose idea was it?”

Defoe only hesitated a moment, “Thranic,” he said, then hastily added, “but he just wanted you bloodied. Not dead, just cut.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

They stopped in a dark circle of trees. Night frogs croaked hesitantly, concerned by their presence. The camp was only a distant glow.

“Care to tell me what all of you are doing here?”

Defoe frowned. “You know I won’t, even to save my life. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

“But you told me about Thranic.”

“I don’t like Thranic.”

“So, he’s not the one you’re afraid of. Is it Merrick?”

“Merrick?” Defoe looked genuinely puzzled. “Listen, I never faulted you for Jade’s death or the war you waged on the Diamond. Merrick should have never betrayed you like that, not without first hearing your side of it.”

Royce took a step forward. In the darkness of the canopy, he was certain Defoe could barely see him. Royce, on the other hand, could make out every line on Defoe’s face. “What’s Merrick’s plan?”

“I haven’t seen Merrick in years.”

Royce drew out his dagger and purposely allowed it to make a metal scraping sound as it came free of its scabbard. “So, you haven’t seen him. Fine. But you’re working for him, or someone else who’s working for him. I want to know where he is and what he’s up to, and you’re going to tell me.”

Defoe shook his head. “I—I really don’t know anything about Marius or what he’s doing nowadays.”

Royce paused. Every line of Defoe’s face revealed he was telling the truth.

“What have we here?” Thranic asked. “A private meeting? You’ve strayed a bit far from camp, dear boys.”

Royce turned to see Thranic and Staul. Staul held a torch, Thranic carried a crossbow.

“It’s not safe to venture too far away from your friends, or didn’t you think about that, Royce?” Thranic told him and fired the crossbow at Royce’s heart.





***




“Antun Bulard, isn’t it?” Hadrian asked sticking his head in the tent.

“Hmm?” Antun looked up. He was lying on his stomach, writing with a featherless quill worn to only a few inches in length. He had on a pair of spectacles, which he looked over the top of. “Why, yes I am.”

The old man was more than just pale—he was white. His hair was the color of alabaster while his skin was little more than wrinkled quartz. He reminded Hadrian of an egg, colorless and fragile.

“I wanted to introduce myself.” Hadrian slipped fully inde. “All this time at sea and we never had the opportunity to properly meet. I thought that was unfortunate, don’t you?”

“Why, I—who are you again?”

“Hadrian, I was the cook on the Emerald Storm.”

“Ah, well, I hate to say it Hadrian, but I was not impressed with your cooking. Perhaps a little less salt and some wine would have helped. Not that this is any great feast,” he said, gesturing toward his half-eaten meal. “I am too old for such rich foods. It upsets my stomach.”

“What are you writing?”

“Oh, this? Just notes really. My mind isn’t what it once was, you see. I’ll forget everything soon and then where will I be? A historian who can’t remember his own name. It really could come to that, you know. Assuming I live that long. Bernie keeps reassuring me I won’t live out this trip. He’s probably right. He’s the expert on such things after all.”

“Really? What kind of things?”

“Oh, spelunking, of course. I’m told Bernie is an old hand at it. We make a good team he and I. He digs up the past and I put it down, so to speak.” Antun chuckled to himself until he coughed. Hadrian poured the man a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted.

After he had recovered, Hadrian asked, “Have you ever heard of a man called Merrick Marius?”

Bulard shook his head. “Not unless I have and then forgotten. Was he a king or a hero perhaps?”

“No, I actually thought he might have been the man who sent you here.”

“Oh, no. Our mandate is from the Patriarch himself, though Sentinel Thranic doesn’t tell me much. I’m not complaining mind you. How often does a priest of Maribor have the opportunity to serve the Patriarch? I can tell you precisely—twice. Once when I was so much younger, and now that I am nearly dead.”

“I thought you were a historian? You are also a priest?”

“I know I don’t look much like one, do I? My calling was the pen not the flock.”

“You’ve written books then?”

“Oh, yes, my best is still the History of Apeladorn, which I am constantly having to append, of course.”

“I know a monk at Windermere Abbey who’d love to meet you.”

“Is that up north near Melengar? I passed through there once about twenty years ago.” Antun nodded thoughtfully. “They were very helpful, saved my life if I recall correctly.”

“So, you’re on this trip to record what you see?”

“Oh, no, that’s only what I’ve been doing so far. As you can imagine, I don’t get out much. I do most of my work in libraries and stuffy cellars, reading old books. I was in Tur Del Fur before setting off on this wonderful trip. This has been an excellent opportunity to record what I see firsthand. The Patriarch knows about my research on ancient imperial history and that’s why I am here. Sort of a living, breathing version of my books, you see. I suppose they think if they put in the right questions, out will pop the correct answers, like an oracle.”

Hadrian was about to ask another question when Grady and Poe poked their heads in.

“Hadrian,” Poe caught his attention.

“Well, isn’t my tent the social center tonight,” Antun remarked.