Theft of Swords (The Riyria Revelations #1-2)

“They also didn’t use our real names. So again, how do you know it?”


“How would you find out your name, if you were me?”

“I’d ask people that would know. So who did you ask?”

“Would you tell me?”

Royce frowned. “Do you ever answer a question with an answer?”

“Sorry, it’s a habit. I was a teacher most of my free life.”

“Your speech has changed,” Royce observed.

“Thank you for noticing. I worked very hard. I sat in many taverns over the last two years and listened. I have a talent for languages; I speak several. I don’t know all the colloquial terms yet, but the general grammar wasn’t hard to adjust to. It is the same language, after all; the dialect you speak is merely … less sophisticated than what I was used to. It’s like talking with a crude accent.”

“So you found out who we were by asking around and watching bad plays and you picked up the language by listening to drunks. Now tell me, why are you here, and why do you want us here?”

Esrahaddon stood up and slowly walked around the well. He looked at the ground where the last light of the sun spilled through the leaves of a poplar tree.

“I could tell you that I am hiding here and that would sound plausible. I could also say that I heard about the plight of this village and came here to help, because that’s what wizards do. Of course, we both know you won’t believe those answers. So let’s save time. Why don’t you tell me why I am here? Then you can try and judge by my reaction if you are correct or not, since that’s what you’re planning to do anyway.”

“Were all wizards as irritating as you are?”

“Much worse, I’m afraid. I was one of the youngest and nicest.”

A young man—Royce thought his name was Tad—trotted over with a bucket. “It’s getting late,” he said with a harried look, filling his bucket with water. A few yards away Royce spotted a woman struggling to pull a stubborn goat into a house as a small boy pushed the animal from behind.

“Tad!” a man shouted, and the boy at the well turned abruptly.

“Coming!”

He smiled and nodded at each of them, grabbed his bucket of water, and ran back the way he came, spilling half the contents in the process.

They were alone again.

“I think you’re here because you need something from Avempartha,” Royce told the wizard. “And I don’t think it is a sword of demon-slaying either. You’re using this poor girl and her tormented father to lure me and Hadrian here to turn a knob you obviously can’t manage.”

Esrahaddon sighed. “That’s disappointing. I thought you were smarter than that, and these constant references to my disability are dull. I am not using anyone.”

“So you are saying there really is a weapon in that tower?”

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

Royce studied him for a moment and scowled.

“Can’t tell if I am lying or not, can you?” Esrahaddon smiled smugly.

“I don’t think you’re lying, but I don’t think you’re telling the truth either.”

The wizard’s eyebrows rose. “Now that’s better. There might be hope for you yet.”

“Maybe there is a weapon in that tower. Maybe it can help kill this … whatever it is they have here, but maybe you also conjured the beast in the first place as an excuse to drag us here.”

“Logical,” Esrahaddon said, nodding. “Morbidly manipulative, but I can see the reasoning. Only, if you recall, the attacks on this village started while I was still imprisoned.”

Royce scowled again. “So why are you here?”

Esrahaddon smiled. “Something you need to understand, my boy, is that wizards are not fonts of information. You should at least know this much—the farmer Theron and his daughter would be dead today if I hadn’t arrived and sent her to fetch you.”

“All right. Your purpose here is none of my business. I can accept that. But why am I here? You can tell me that much, can’t you? Why go to the bother of finding out our names and locating us—which was really impressive, by the way—when you could have gotten any thief to pick your lock and open the tower for you?”

“Because not just anyone will do. You are the only one I know who can open Avempartha.”

“Are you saying I am the only thief you know?”

“It helps if you actually listen to what I say. You are the only one I know who can open Avempartha.”

Royce glared at him.

“There is a monster here that kills indiscriminately,” Esrahaddon told him with great and unexpected seriousness. “No weapon made by man can harm it. It comes at night and people die. Nothing will stop it except the sword that lies in that tower. You need to find a way inside and get that sword.”

Royce continued to stare.

“You are right. That is not the whole truth, but it is the truth nonetheless and all that I am willing to explain … for now. To learn more you need to get inside.”

“Stealing swords,” Royce muttered mostly to himself. “Okay, let’s take a look at this tower. The sooner I see it, the sooner I can start cursing.”

“No,” the wizard replied. He looked back at the ground, where the sun had already faded. He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Night is coming and we need to get indoors. In the morning we will go, but tonight we hide with the rest.”

Royce considered the wizard for a moment. “You know, when I first met you, there was all this talk about you being this scary wizard that could call lightning and raise mountains and now you can’t even fight a little monster, or open an old tower. I thought you were more powerful than this.”

“I was,” Esrahaddon said, and for the first time the wizard held up his arms, letting his sleeves fall back, revealing the stumps where his hands should have been. “Magic is a little like playing the fiddle. It’s damn hard to do without hands.”





Dinner that evening was a vegetable pottage, a weak stew consisting of leeks, celery, onions, and potatoes in a thin broth. Hadrian took only a small portion that was far from filling, but he found it surprisingly tasty, filled with a mixture of unusual flavors that left a burning sensation in his mouth.