The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

They traveled steadily downward now, following a rapidly flowing river through a cleft in the mountains. The lower they went the higher the canopy rose and the darker their world became. They camped along a bank where the river swirled around a break of boulders. With no fire or tent it was not much of a camp. They huddled on a bare sandy patch exposed by a shift in the river’s bend eating cold salted meat. Royce sat at the edge of the camp and watched Thranic watching him.

They had played this game each night since the village. Royce was certain Defoe had filled Thranic’s head with numerous stories about his reign of terror against the Diamond. Thranic appeared aloof, but Royce was certain Defoe’s words wormed in nonetheless. Without Staul, and with Defoe no longer a trusted ally, Thranic was dramatically weakened. The sentinel’s confrontation with Wesley revealed Thranic’s growing desperation—his failure another setback. The balance was shifting, he was slipping from the hunter to the hunted, and with each day Royce grew stronger.

Royce enjoyed the game. He liked watching the shadows growing under Thranic’s eyes as he got less and less sleep. He savored the way Thranic spun whenever an animal rustled branches behind him on the trail, his eyes searching rapidly for Royce. Mental torture was never something Royce aimed for, but in Thranic’s case he was making an exception.

Royce’s quick turn had saved his life. Although he might have bled to death if Hadrian and the others had not found him or died from fever if the Tenkin woman had not helped, the wound itself was relatively superficial. For several days he had portrayed being weaker than he was. He had pain when pressing on his side, and was still experiencing some lack of movement, but for the most part he was his old self again.

Royce might have continued the game longer, but it was becoming too dangerous. Wesley’s defiance changed the playing field. The sentinel’s options were diminishing. That play to force Wesley’s hand was his last civil gambit. As long as Wesley remained a legitimate leader, those like Wyatt, Grady, Derning, and Poe would side with him. It would be obvious to Thranic that Wesley was a pawn blocking his forward movement, one that would need to be removed. It was time to deal with Thranic.

Royce curled up to sleep with the rest of them, but selected a place hidden by a small thicket of plants. In the darkness he lay there only briefly, before leaving his blanket filled with brush and melted into the jungle.

Thranic had chosen to bed down near the river, which Royce thought considerate since he intended to dispose of his body in the strong current. Royce slipped around the outside of the camp until he came to where Defoe and Levy slept, only Thranic was missing.





***




Thwack! A narrow tree trunk splinteredAt the last moment Melborn had moved. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wood, where a second before he had been crouching.

Thranic struggled desperately to crank back the string on his weapon. “Did you think to find me in my bed?” he hissed. “Did you really think killing me would be that easy—elf? ”

He cranked back on the gear.

“You shouldn’t fear me as much as you do. I am here to help you. It is my burden to help all of you. I will cleanse the darkness in your hearts. I will free you of the burden of your disgusting offensive life. You no longer need to be an affront to Maribor. I will save you!”

“And who will save you?” Royce replied.

He was just a few feet from where he had been. Thranic glanced down to set the bolt in the track. He lifted the bow but when he looked up Royce was gone.

“What do you mean?” Thranic asked, hoping Royce would reveal his position.

“You see awfully well in the dark, Thranic,” Royce said from his right.

Thranic turned and fired, but the bolt merely ripped through an empty thicket.

“Well, but not perfectly,” Royce observed, appearing once more, but much closer and Thranic immediately began ratcheting back his bow.

He had two more bolts.

“You also managed to slip into the trees without me seeing you. And you crept up behind me. That’s remarkable indeed. How old are you, Thranic? I’ll bet you’re older than you look.”

The sentinel loaded the bolt, looked up, but once more Royce was gone.

“What are you driving at, elf?” Thranic asked, crossbow at his hip. Backing against a tree, he peered around the jungle.

“We’re alike you and I,” Royce said from behind him.

Thranic spun around. He saw movement slipping through the brush and fired. The shot went wide and he cursed. Thranic began cranking back the string once more.

“Is that why you do it?” Royce asked. “Is that why you torture elves? Tell me, are you purging them—or yourself?”

“Shut up!” Thranic’s hand slipped on the gear and the string snapped back, slashing his fingers. He was shaking now.

“You can’t kill the elf inside, so you torture and murder all those you find.”

He was closer.

“I said, shut up!”

“How much elven blood does it take to wash away the sin of being one yourself?”

Closer still.

“Damn you!” he screamed, fighting with the bow that refused to cooperate with his shaking fingers.

He drew the string back again only to have it jump the track and snap free. He put a foot through the loop at the bow’s nose and pulled. Now it was stuck. He pressed desperately on the ratchet handle. It refused to move. Crack! The winch snapped.

In horror, Thranic stopped breathing as he looked down. He struggled to pull the bowstring back with just the strength of his arms. He pulled with all his might, but he could not get it to the catch. He was giving Melborn too much time. He let the bow fall to the grass and drew his dagger.

He waited. He listened. He spun. He looked.

He was alone.





***




“Get up.” Hadrian woke to Royce’s voice as his friend moved through the camp. He knew the tone and instantly got to his feet.

“What is it?”

“Company,” Royce told him, “Wake everyone.”

“What’s happening?” Wesley asked groggily as the camp slowly came alive.

“Quiet,” Royce whispered. He crouched with his dagger drawn, staring out into the darkness.

“Ghazel?” Grady asked.

“Something,” Royce replied. “A lot of somethings.”

The rest of them heard it now, twigs snapping and leaves rusting. They were all on their feet with weapons drawn.

“Backs to the river!” Wesley shouted.

Ahead of them a light appeared, then disappeared, then another blinked. Two more flickered off to the right and left, and sounds of movemen grew louder and closer. Dovin Thranic stumbled back into camp, causing a brief alarm. Several people looked at him oddly, but said nothing.

Everyone’s attention remained on sounds from the trees.