The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

e A fellow came to the gate just a few hours after sunset wanting in—a masked man in a hood. I could see he was up to no good so I turned him away. Likely as not, he’s out there somewhere waiting for me to open at sunrise. Please be careful, Your Highness.”


“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said, while slipping past him. Once she was through, the gate closed behind her.

Arista stayed to the road, walking as quickly and quietly as she could. Now on her way, she felt exhilarated despite the dangers that lay ahead. Leaving Ratibor without farewells was for the best. They would have insisted she appoint a successor and remain for a time to counsel whoever was selected. While she did not feel enough urgency for a horse, she felt a delay that long would be a mistake. Besides, she could not risk an imperial spy discovering her plan and placing sentries to capture her.

In at least one way she felt safer on the road than in her office—she was confident no one knew where she was, and this anonymity was as comforting as the old wizard’s robe. Ever since Esrahaddon’s death, she worried if she too might be a target. Esrahaddon’s assassin had escaped capture. The only trace was an unusually small crossbow discovered in an East End Square rain barrel. She felt certain the killer was an agent of the church sent to eliminate a lingering threat. She was Esrahaddon’s apprentice, had helped defeat the church’s attempt to take Melengar, and led the revolt in Ratibor. Surely the church wanted her dead as well.

Before long, she spotted the flicker of a light not far off the road—a simple campfire burning low.

The man turned away at the gate? Could he be the assassin?

She kept her eyes on the fire while carefully walking past. She soon cleared a hill and the light disappeared behind it. After a few hours, the excitement of the adventure waned and she found herself yawning. With several hours until dawn, she pulled a blanket from her bag and found a soft place to lay.

Is this what each night was like for Esrahaddon?

She had not slept outdoors since the trip with Royce and Hadrian. Memories surfaced of that first night she had cried herself to sleep and she wished her two escorts were with her now. She imagined Royce disappearing into the trees to search the area as he had at every camp. Even more, she wanted Hadrian there by her side. She pictured him with a lopsided grin making that awful stew of his. He could always make her feel safe. She remembered how he held her on the hill of Amberton Lee and at the armory after the Battle of Ratibor. Soaked in rain, mud, and Emery’s blood, his arms held her up. She never felt so horrible and no one’s embrace had ever felt so good.

“I wish you were here now,” she whispered.

Laying on her back she looked up at the stars. Millions spanned the sky scattered like dust over the immense heavens. Seeing them, she felt even more alone. Closing her eyes she drifted off to sleep.





Chapte





r 2

The Empty Castle


Above Hadrian’s head, the wooden sign rocked in the morning breeze displaying a thorny branch and a faded bloom. Weathered and worn, imagination would be required to determine that the flower depicted was a rose. The tavern it announced displayed the same haphazard charm of necessity as the other buildings along Wayward Street. The crooked length of the narrow road was empty. Autumn leaves scattering in the wind and the rocking sign marked the only movement.

The lack of activity surprised Hadrian. At this time of year, Medford’s Lower Quarter usually bustled with vendors selling apples, cider, pumpkins, and hardwood. The air should have been scented with wood smoke. Chimney sweeps should have been dancing across rooftops as children watched in awe. Instead, the doors of several stores were nailed shut—and to his dismay, even The Rose and Thorn Tavern lay dormant.

Hadrian sighed as he tethered his horse. Skipping breakfast in exchange for an early start had left him eager for a hot meal eaten indoors. He expected the war to take its toll and for Medford to be affected, but he never expected The Rose and Thorn to—

“Hadrian!”

He recognized the voice before he turned and saw Gwen, the lovely Calian native, looking more like an artisan’s wife than a madam in her sky-blue day dress. She swept down the steps of Medford House, one of the few businesses open. Prostitutes were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Hadrian hugged her, lifting her small body. “We were worried about you,” she said. “What took you so long?”

“What are you doing back at all?” Royce called as he stepped out on the porch. The lithe and slender thief stood barefoot, wearing only black pants and a loose unbelted tunic.

“Arista sent me to make sure you made it all right and were able to convince Alric to send the army south.”

“Took you long enough. I’ve been back for weeks.”

Hadrian shrugged. “Well, Alric’s forces laid siege to Colnora right after I arrived. It took me a while to find a way out.”

“So, how did—”

“Royce, shouldn’t we let Hadrian sit and eat?” Gwen interrupted. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you? Let me grab a shawl, and I’ll have Dixon fire the stove.”

“How long has the tavern been closed?” Hadrian asked, as Gwen disappeared back inside.

Royce raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Not closed. Business has just been slow, so she opens for the midday meal.”

“It’s like a ghost town around here.”

“A lot of people left, expecting an invasion,” Royce explained. “Most who stayed were called to serve when the army moved out.”

Gwen reappeared with a wrap around her shoulders and led them across the street to The Rose and Thorn. In the shadows of an alley, Hadrian spotted movement. People slept huddled amid piles of trash. Unlike Royce, who easily passed for human, these shabbily dressed creatures bore the unmistakable angled ears, prominent cheekbones, and almond eyes characteristic of elves.

“The army didn’t want them,” Royce commented, seeing Hadrian’s stare. “No one wants them.”

Dixon, the bartender and manager, was taking chairs off the tables when Gwen unlocked the doors. A tall, stocky man, he had lost an arm several years ago in the Battle of Medford.

“Hadrian!” he shouted in his booming voice. He stopped work to extend his good hand. “How are you, lad? Gave ’em what for in Ratibor, eh? Where you been?”

“I stayed to sweep up,” Hadrian replied, with a wink and a smile.

“Denny in yet?” Gwen asked Dixon, stepping past him and rummaging through a drawer behind the bar.

“Nope, just me. I figured, why bother? All of you want breakfast? I can manage if you like.”

“Yes,” Gwen told him, “and make some extra.”

Dixon sighed. “You keep feeding them and they’ll just keep hanging around.”

She ignored the comment. “Did Harry deliver the ale last night?”

“Yup.”