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

“That’s right,” Russell Bothwick recalled. “We had just put the fire out and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but this fellow caught a running pig. Maybe he did see something.”


“The point is,” Hadrian went on, “we’ll all stand a better chance of survival if we stick together. Now, the deacon has graciously invited all of us to join him behind the protection of walls and a solid roof. I think we should listen to his wisdom and start making plans to resettle and gather wood before the evening arrives. We still have plenty of time to build up strong bonfires.”

They were looking at Hadrian now and nodding. There were still those who looked unconvinced, but even the skeptics appeared hopeful. Small groups were forming, talking, planning.

Hadrian sat back down and ate. He was not a fan of blood pudding and stayed with the smoked fish, which was wonderful.

“I’ll bring the oxen over,” he heard McDern say. “Brent, you go bring yer wagon and fetch yer axe too.”

“We’ll need shovels and Went’s saw,” Vince Griffin said. “He always kept it sharp.”

“I’ll send Tad to fetch it,” Russell announced.

“Is it true?” Hadrian looked up from his plate to see Pearl standing before him. Her face was just as dirty as it had been the day before. “Did yer friend—did he really catch a pig in the dark?”

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask him tonight.”

Looking over the little girl’s head, he spotted Thrace. She was sitting alone on the ground down the trail past the Caswells’ graves. He noticed her hands wiping her cheeks. He set his empty plate on the table, smiled at Pearl, and walked over. Thrace did not look up, so he crouched down beside her. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, hiding her face with her hair.

Hadrian glanced around the trail and then back up at the villagers. The women were putting away the uneaten food as the men gathered tools, all of them chattering quickly.

“Where’s your father? I saw him earlier.”

“He went back home,” she said, sniffling.

“What did he say to you?”

“I told you, it’s all right.” She stood up, brushed off her dress, and wiped her eyes. “I should help with the cleaning. Excuse me.”





Hadrian entered the clearing and once more faced the remains of the Woods’ farmhouse. The roofing poles listed to one side; the framing was splintered; the thatch was scattered. This is what shattered dreams look like. The farm seemed cursed, haunted by ghosts, only one of the ghosts was not at home. There was no sign of the old farmer, and the scythe rested, abandoned, up against the ruined wall. Hadrian took the opportunity to peer inside at the shattered furniture, broken cupboards, torn clothes, and bloodstains. A single chair stood in the center of the debris, beside a wooden cradle.

Theron Wood came up from the river a few moments later, carrying a shoulder yoke with two buckets full of water hanging from the ends. He did not hesitate when he spotted Hadrian standing before the ruins of his house. He walked right by. He set the buckets down and began pouring the water into three large jugs.

“You back again?” he asked without looking up. “She told me she paid you silver to come here. Is that what you do? Take advantage of simple girls? Steal their hard-earned money, then eat their village’s food? If you came here to see if you can squeeze more coins out of me, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I didn’t come here for money.”

“No? Then why did you?” he asked, tipping the second bucket. “If you really are here to get that club or sword or whatever that crazy cripple thinks is in the tower, shouldn’t you be trying to swim the river right now?”

“My partner is working on that as we speak.”

“Uh-huh, he’s the swimmer, is he? And what are you, the guy that squeezes the money out of poor miserable farmers? I’ve seen your kind before, highwaymen and cheats—you scare people into paying you just to live. Well, that’s not gonna work this time, my friend.”

“I told you I didn’t come here for money.”

Theron dropped the bucket at his feet and turned. “So why did you come here?”

“You left the wake early and I was concerned you might not have heard the news that everyone in the village is going to spend the night inside the castle walls.”

“Thanks for the notice.” He turned back and corked the jugs. When he finished, he looked up, annoyed. “Why are you still here?”

“What exactly do you know about combat?” Hadrian asked.

The farmer glared at him. “What business is it of yours?”

“As you pointed out, your daughter paid my partner and me good money to help you kill this monster. He’s working on providing you with a proper weapon. I am here to ensure you know how to use it when it gets here.”

Theron Wood ran his tongue along his teeth. “You’re fixin’ to educate me, are you?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t need any training.” He picked up his buckets and yoke and began walking away.

“You don’t know the first thing about combat. Have you ever even held a sword?”

Theron whirled on him. “No, but I plowed five acres in one day. I bucked half a cord of wood before noon. I survived being caught eight miles from shelter in a blizzard and I lost my whole damn family in a single night! Have you done any of that?”

“Not your whole family,” Hadrian reminded him.

“The ones that mattered.”

Hadrian drew his sword and advanced on Theron. The old farmer watched his approach with indifference.

“This is a bastard sword,” Hadrian told him, and dropped it at the farmer’s feet and walked half a dozen steps away. “I think it suits you rather well. Pick it up and swing at me.”

“I have more important things to do than play games with you,” Theron said.

“Just like you had more important things to do than take care of your family that night?”

“Watch yer mouth, boy.”

“Like you were watching that poor defenseless grandson of yours? What was it really, Theron? Why were you really working so late that night? And don’t give me this bull about benefitting your son. You were trying to get some extra money this year for something you wanted. Something you felt you needed so badly you let your family die.”

The farmer picked up the sword, puffing his cheeks and rocking his shoulders back, his breath hissing through his teeth. “I didn’t let them die. It wasn’t me!”

“What did you trade them for, Theron? Some fool’s dream? You didn’t give a damn about your son; it was all about you. You wanted to be the grandfather of a magistrate. You wanted to be the big man, didn’t you? And you’d do anything to make that dream come true. You worked late. You weren’t there. You were out in the field when it came, because of your dream, your desires. Is that why you let your son die? You never cared about them at all. Did you? All you care about is yourself.”