The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“We gathered that from the shouting,” Hadrian said.

They faced a four-way intersection of identical narrow stone corridors. Wall-mounted flames burned from iron cradles staggered at long intervals, leaving large sections of shifting shadows.

Royce glanced back toward the cellblock and cursed under his breath. “That’s what I get for hesitating.”

“Any idea which way now?” Wyatt asked.

“This way,” Royce said.

He led the way, trotting rapidly then stopped, abruptly motioning all of them into a doorway. Moments later a troop of guards rushed by. Wesley started forward and Royce hauled him back. Two more guards passed.

“Now, we go,” he told them, “but stay behind me.”

Royce continued along the multitude of corridors and turns, pausing from time to time. They climbed two more sets of stairs and dodged another group of soldiers. Hadrian saw the wonderment reflected in the party’s faces at Royce’s skill. It was as if he could see through walls, or knew the location of every guard. For Hadrian it was nothing new, but even he was impressed at their progress given that Royce was towing a parade.

A door unexpectedly opened and several Tenkins literally bumped into Dilladrum and one of the Vintu. Terrified, Dilladrum fled down a corridor, the Vintu following. The stunned Tenkins were not warriors and were as scared as Dilladrum, and retreated inside. Royce shouted for Dilladrum to stop, but it was no use.

“Damn it!” Royce cursed chasing after them. The rest of the crew raced to keep up as they ran blindly through corridor after corridor. After rounding a corner Hadrian nearly ran into Royce, whose way was blocked by Tenkin warriors. The dead bodies of Dilladrum and the Vintu lay on the floor, blood pooling across the stone. Behind them, a small army cut off their retreat.

“Who are you to defy Erandabon?” chanted the crowd of Tenkin warriors.

“Get back!” Hadrian ordered, pushing Wesley and the others into a niche that afforded at least a small amount of defense. He pulled a torch from the wall and together with Royce formed a forward defense.

The Tenkin soldiers charged, screaming as they attacked.

Royce appeared to dodge the advance but the foremost warrior fell dead. Hadrian drove the flame of his torch into the seconnkin’s face. Using his feet, Royce flipped the dead man’s sword to Hadrian who caught it in time to decapitate the next challenger.

Two Tenkins charged Royce, who simply was not where they expected him to be when they arrived. His movements were a blur, and two more collapsed. Hadrian advanced as Royce kicked the dead men’s weapons behind to where Wyatt, Derning, and Wesley picked them up. Hadrian stood at the center now.

Three attacked. Three fell dead.

The rest retreated, bewildered, and Hadrian picked up a second blade.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

The warlord walked toward them applauding and grinning. “Galenti, et ez you. So good to ’ave you back!”





Chapter 18

The Pot of Soup


Amilia sulked in the kitchen, head in her hands, elbows resting on the bakers table. This was where it all started, when Mod ina’s former secretary brought her to the kitchen for a lesson in table manners. Remembering the terror of those early days, it was staggering to realize those were better times.

Now a witch hid in Modina’s room, filling the empress’s head with nonsense. She was a foreigner and the princess of an enemy kingdom, who spent more time with Modina than Amilia. She could be manipulating the empress in any number of ways. She tried to reason with Modina, but no matter what Amilia said, the girl remained adamant about helping the witch find Degan Gaunt.

Amilia preferred the old days, when Modina left everything to her. Sitting there, she wondered what she should do. She wanted to go to Saldur and report the woman, but knew that would hurt Modina. The empress might never recover from a betrayal, especially from Amilia, who she trusted implicitly. The loss would surely crush her fragile spirit. No other alternatives were any better, and Amilia saw disaster at the end of every path. She felt as if she were on a runaway carriage racing toward a cliff, with no way to reach the reins.

“How about I make you some soup?” Ibis Thinly asked her. The big man stood in his stained apron stirring a large, steaming pot into which he threw bits of celery.

“I’m too miserable to eat,” she replied.

“It can’t be as bad as all that, can it?”

“You have no idea. She’s become a handful and then some. I’m actually afraid to leave her alone. Every time I walk out of her room, I’m frightened something new and terrible will happen.”

It was late and they were the only two in the scullery. Long shadows traced up the far wall cast by the flames of the cook’s hearth. The kitchen was warm and pleasant except for a foul smell coming from the bubbling broth Ibis cooked on the stove.

“Oh, it can’t be as bad as all that. Come on, can’t I interest you in some soup? I make a pretty mean vegetable barley, if I do say so myself.”

“You know I love your food. It’s just that my stomach is in knots. I noticed a gray hair in the mirror the other day.”

“Oh please, you’re still just a girl,” Ibis laughed, catching himself. “I guess I shouldn’t speak to you that way, you being noble and all. I should be saying, ‘Yes, Your Ladyship,’ or in this case, ‘no, no, Your Ladyship! If you will allow me to be so bold as to speak plainly in your presence. I beg to differ, for I think you are purty as a pot!’ That would be a more proper response.”

Amilia smiled. “You know, I never have understood that saying of yours.”

Ibis drew himself up in feigned offense. “I’m a cook. I like pots.” He chuckled. “Have some soup. Something warm in your belly will help untie some of those knots, eh?”

She glanced at the pot he was stirring and grimaced. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, no, not this. Good Maribor, no! I’ll make you something good.”

Amilia looked relieved. “What is that you’re making? It smells like rotten eggs.”

“Soup, but it’s barely fit for animals, made with all the worstparts of old leftovers. I try to dress it up as best I can. I throw some celery and spices in, just to ease my conscience.”

“Who’s it for?”

“I have no idea. The smell comes from this horrid yellow powder. About all I know is I have to use it and in a little while, a couple of guards will come by and take it. To be honest…I’m afraid to ask where it goes.” He paused. “Amilia, what’s wrong.”

Amilia stared at the big pot her mouth partially open. Noise on the stairs caught her attention. Two men entered the kitchen. She knew them by sight. They were guards normally assigned to the east wing’s fourth floor hall—the administration corridor, where she and Saldur worked. They recognized her as well and took a moment to bow. Amilia graciously inclined her head in response. Their looks revealed they found this courtesy odd, but appreciated. Then they turned to Ibis.