The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

Thranic, Defoe, and Levy traveled at the end of the train and Hadrian often caught them whispering. They wisely kept their distance, avoiding attention. Wesley led the party, along with Dilladrum who made a point of not taking sides or venturing anything remotely resbling an opinion. Dilladrum remained jolly as always and focused his attention on the Vintu.

Hadrian was most surprised with Derning. When Royce was most vulnerable, his shipboard nemesis had come to his aid rather than taking advantage. Hadrian would have bet money that, on the subject of Royce’s guilt, Derning would have sided with Thranic. Wyatt never had the chance to find out his reason for volunteering, but now more than ever Hadrian was convinced Derning was not part of Thranic’s band. Antun Bulard was part of Thranic’s troop—of that there was no doubt—but lacked the ruthlessness of the others. He was merely a resource and, having shown an interest, Hadrian became Bulard’s new best friend.

“Look! Look there.” Bulard pointed to a brilliant flower blooming overhead. The old man took to walking beside Hadrian, sharing his sense of discovery along the way. “Gorgeous, simply gorgeous, have you ever seen the like? I dare say I haven’t. Still, that isn’t saying much, now is it?”

Bulard reminded Hadrian of a long-haired cat; his usually billowing robe and fluffy, white hair deflated in the rain leaving a remarkably thin body. He held up a withered hand to protect his eyes as he searched the trees.

“Another one of those wonderful long beaked birds,” the historian said. “I love the way they hover.”

Hadrian smiled at him. “It’s not that you don’t seem to mind the rain that amazes me, it’s that you don’t seem to notice it at all.”

Bulard frowned. “My parchments are a disaster. They stick together, the ink runs, I haven’t been able to write anything down, and as I mentioned at our first meeting, my head is no place to store memories of such wonderful things. It makes me feel I have wasted my life locked in dusty libraries and scriptoriums. Don’t do what I did, Hadrian. You’re still a young man. Take my advice, live your life to the fullest. Breathe the air, taste the wine, kiss the girls, the never forget that the tales of another are never as wondrous as adventures of your own. I’ll admit I was, well, concerned about this trip. No, I will say it truthfully—I was scared. What does a man my age have to be afraid of, you wonder? Everything. Life becomes more precious when you have less to spare. I’m not ready to die. Why, look at all that I have never seen.”

“You have seen horses before, and known women right?” Hadrian asked, with a wry grin.

Bulard looked at him curiously, “I’m a historian, not a monk.”

Hadrian nearly tripped.

“I realize I don’t look it now, but I was quite handsome once. I was married three times in fact. Outlived all of them, poor darlings. I still miss them, you know—each one. My silly, little mind hasn’t misplaced their faces, and I can’t imagine it ever will. Have you ever been in love, Hadrian?”

“I’m not sure. How do you tell?”

“Love? Why, it’s like coming home.”

Hadrian considered the comment.

“What are you thinking?” Bulard asked.

Hadrian shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Yes, you were. What? You can tell me. I am an excellent repository for secrets. I will likely forget, but if I don’t, well, I’m an old man in a remote jungle. I’m sure to die before I can repeat anything.”

Hadrian smiled then shrugged. “I was just thinking about the rain.”





***




The trail widened, revealing a great, cascading waterfall and a dozen grass-thatched buildings clustered at the center of a small clearing. The domed-roof huts rested on high wooden stilts accessed by short stairs or ladders depending on the size and apparent prestige of the structure. A central fire pit occupied the very center of the clearing surrounded by a ring of colorfully painted stones and wooden poles decorated in animal skins, skulls, and strings of bones, beads, and long vibrant feathers. The inhabitants were dark-haired, dark-eyed, umber-skinned men and women dressed in beautifully painted cloths and silks. They paused as Dilladrum advanced respectfully. Elder men met him before the fire ring, where they exchanged bows.

“Who are these people, do you suppose?” Bulard asked.

“Tenkins,” Hadrian replied.

Bulard raised his eyebrows.

The village was familiar to Hadrian, though he had never been there. Hundreds of similar ones were scattered across the peninsula, mirror images of each other. The rubble of Eastern Calis was the last standing residue of the first empire. After civil wars tore apart the west, Calis still flew the old imperial banners and for centuries formed the bulwark against the advancing Ghazel horde. Time, however, was on the Ghazel’s side. The last of the old world died when the ancient eastern capital of Urlineus fell to the goblin hordes sweeping through the jungles. They might have overrun all of Avryn, if not for Glenmorgan III.

Glenmorgan III had rallied the nobles and defeated the goblins at the Battle of Vilan Hills. The Ghazel fell back, but were never driven off the mainland. Betrayed shortly after his victory, Glenmorgan III never finished his work of reestablishing the kingdom’s borders. This task fell to lesser men who squabbled over the spoils of war and were too distracted to stop the Ghazel from digging in. Urlineus, the last great city of the Old Empire, remained in the hands of the Ghazel, and Calis had never been the same.

Fractured and isolated, the eastern half of the country struggled against the growing pressure of the Ghazel nation in a maelstrom of chaos and confusion. Self-appointed warrior-kings fought against each other. Out of desperation, some enlisted the aid of the Ghazel to help vanquish a rival. Ties formed, lines blurred, and out of this tenuous alliance the Tenkins were born—humans who had adopted the Ghazel’s ways, traditions, and beliefs. For this, Calians ostracized the Tenkin, forcing their kind deeper into the jungles where they lived on the borderlands between the anvil and the hammer.

Dilladrum returned. “This is the village of Oudorro. I’ve been here many times. Although Tenkin, they are a friendly and generous people. I have asked them to let us rest here for the night. Tomorrow morning we will push on toward the Palace of the Four Winds. Beyond this point, travel will be much harder and unpleasant, so we will need a good night’s rest. I must caution you, however, please do nothing to offend or provoke these people. They are courteous but can be fierce if roused.”