The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“How are we going to find that? Do you see how many gears are in here? And it could be any one. We should have brought Magnus.”


“Sure, with him it would be easy to find—in a year or two. Look at this place!” Royce gestured at the breadth of the tower, where the sun’s light pierced through skylights spraying the tangled riddle of a million stone gears. Some spun, some whirled, some barely moved, and everywhere were levers. Like arrows peppering a battlefield, stone arms protruded. Just as the gears came in various sizes, so too did the levers—some tiny and others the size of tree trunks. “It’s a wonder they ever learned how to vent the core.”

“Exactly,” Hadrian said. “No one knows what most of this stuff does anymore. The Port Authority leaves it alone for fear they might destroy the world or something, right? So, whatever Merrick did, it’s a sure bet the folks in charge here don’t know anything about it. It has to be a lever that hasn’t been moved in centuries, maybe even thousands of years. It might show signs of recent movement, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So, we just need to find it.”

Royce stared at him.

“What?”

“We only have a few hours left, and you’re talking about looking for a displaced grain of sand on a beach.”

“I know, and when you come up with something better we’ll try it. Until then, let’s at least look.”

Hours passed and still they found nothing. Adding to the dilemma was the interior of Drumindor itself, which was a maze of corridors, archways, and bridges. Often they could see where they wanted to go but did not know how to get there. When they arrived, they discovered it was not what they expected and had to backtrack. Luck remained on their side, however, as they saw precious few people. They spotted only a handful of workers and even fewer guards, all of them were easily avoided. The sunshine passing through the skylights shone with the brilliance of midday, then passed to evening, and they still had not found their goal.

Finally, they headed for the bottom of the tower.

It was their last resort as the Drumindor defensive garrison fortified the first three floors. Approximately forty soldiers guarded the base, and they had a reputation for their harsh treatment of intruders. Still, whatever Merrick did, he most likely did to the mechanism that controlled the lava’s release. Descending yet another winding staircase, they paused in a sheltered alcove just outside a large chamber. Peering in, they saw it was similar to an interior courtyard, or a theater, with four gallery balconies ringing it with pillared archways stacked one upon another.

“There.” Royce pointed to an opening in the room below that radiated a yellow glow. “It has to be in there.”

They crept down the stairs to the bottom. Elaborate square-cut designs of inlaid bronze and quartz lined the tiled floor. It picked up the glow coming from the open doorway on the far side. The air warmed dramatically as hot gusts of sulfur-laced air blew in their faces.

“This has to be it,” Royce whispered.

They looked up at the stacked galleries of arched openings circling the walls above them and slowly, carefully, stepped forward together, crossing the shimmering tile, heading for the glowing doorway.

“Halt!” The command echoed through the chamber the moment they reached the center of the room. “Lie face down, arms and legs spread.”

They hesitated.

Twenty archers appeared, moving out from behind the pillars of the galleries, with stretched bows aimed down on Royce and Hadrian from three sides. Pikemen entered the hall in an orderly march, boot heels clicking on the tile. They spread out forming two lines. A dozen more armored men issued down the side corridor from the second stry gallery and proceeded in two-by-two formation to the bottom of the stairs fanning out to block any retreat back the way they had come.

“Now, lay on your bellies, or we will cut you down where you stand.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble, we’re here—” Hadrian’s words were cut short as an arrow hissed through the air and glinted off the stone less than a foot from them.

“Now!” the voice shouted.

They laid down.

The moment they did, troops from in front and behind entered, pinning them and stripping them of their weapons.

“You have to listen to us. There’s an invasion coming—”

“We’ve heard all about your phantom armada, Mister Blackwater, and you can give up that charade.”

“It’s real! They will be here tonight, and if you don’t fix the tower, all of Delgos will be taken!”

“Bind them!”

They brought forth chains, tongs, and a brazier. Smiths arrived and went to work hammering manacles onto their wrists and legs.

“Listen to me!” Hadrian shouted. “At least check the pressure release controls, see if something is wrong.”

There was no reply except the smith’s hammer pounding the manacles closed.

“What is the harm in checking?” Hadrian went on. “If I am wrong, what does it matter? If I am right and you don’t even look, you’re sealing the fate of the Delgos Republic. Just humor me, if nothing else it will shut me up.”

“Slitting your throat will do that too,” the voice said. “But I will send a worker if you two come quietly without resistance.”

Hadrian was not certain what kind of resistance he expected them to give as the smith finished attaching another chain to his legs, but nodded anyway.

He gave the order, and the guards pulled them to their feet. It was hard navigating stairs with hobbled legs and Hadrian nearly fell more than once, but soon they reached the bottom of the fortress and the main gate.

The gigantic doors of stone soundlessly swept open. Outside the late afternoon sun revealed a contingent of port soldiers waiting. The commander of the fortress guard stepped forward and spoke quietly with the Port Authority Captain for some time.

“You don’t think these guys are always waiting out here, do you?” Hadrian whispered to Royce. “We’ve been set up, haven’t we?”

“It didn’t tip you off when they called you by name?”

“Merrick?”

“Who else.”

“That’s a bit farfetched. How could he possibly expect us to be here. We didn’t even know we would be here. He can’t be that smart.”

“He is.”

A runner appeared trotting up from the bottom of the tower and reported to the commander with a sharp salute.

“Well?” the fortress commander asked.

The runner shook his head. “There is no problem with the pressure release control—everything checked out fine.”

“Take them away,” the commander ordered.





***