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

The farmer grabbed his daughter and lifted her up. “We’re going.” He turned. “Help us.”


Hadrian pulled Millie around. “Up, both of you.” Millie stomped her hooves and started to pull and twist, nostrils flaring, ears twitching. Hadrian gripped her by the bit and held tight.

Theron mounted the horse and pulled Thrace up in front of him, then, with a swift kick, he sent Millie racing up the trail back toward the village. Royce leapt on the back of Mouse and, throwing out a hand, swung Hadrian up behind him even as he sent the horse galloping into the night.

The horses needed no urging as they ran full out with the sweat of fear dampening their coats. Their hooves thundered, pounding the earth like violent drumbeats. The path ahead was only slightly lighter than the rest of the wood and for Hadrian it was often a blur as the wind drew tears from his eyes.

“Above us!” Royce shouted. Overhead they heard a rush of movement in the leaves.

The horses made a jarring turn into the thick of the wood. Invisible branches, leaves, and pine boughs slapped them, whipped them, beat them. The animals raced in blind panic. They drove through the underbrush, glancing off tree trunks, bouncing by branches. Hadrian felt Royce duck and mimicked him.

Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.

He could hear a slow beating overhead, a dull, deep pumping. A blast of wind came from above, a massive downdraft of air. Along with it came the frightening sounds of cracking, snapping, splintering. The treetops shattered and exploded.

“Log!” Royce shouted as the horses jumped.

Hadrian kept his seat only by virtue of Royce’s agile grab. In the darkness, he heard Thrace’s scream, a grunt, and a sound like an axe handle hitting wood. The thief reined Mouse hard, wrestling with her, pulling the animal’s head around as she reared and snorted. Hadrian could hear Millie galloping ahead.

“What’s going on?” Hadrian asked.

“They fell,” Royce growled.

“I can’t see them.” Hadrian leapt down.

“In the thickets, there to your right,” Royce said, climbing off Mouse, who was in a panic, thrashing her head back and forth.

“Here,” Theron said, his voice labored, “over here.”

The farmer stood over his daughter. She lay unconscious, sprawled and twisted. Blood dripped from her nose and mouth.

“She hit a branch,” Theron said; his voice was shaking, frightened. “I—I didn’t see the log.”

“Get her on my horse,” Royce commanded. “Theron, take her and ride for the manor. We’re close. You can see the light of the bonfires burning.”

The farmer made no protest. He climbed on Mouse, who was still stomping and snorting. Hadrian picked up Thrace. A patch of moonlight showed a dark blemish on her face, a long wide mark. He lifted her. Her head fell back, limp; her arms and legs dangled free. She seemed dead. He handed her to Theron, who cradled his daughter to his chest and held her tight. Royce let loose the bit, and the horse thundered off, racing for the open field, leaving Royce and Hadrian behind.

“Think Millie’s around?” Hadrian whispered.

“I think Millie is already an appetizer.”

“I suppose the good news is that she bought Thrace and Theron safe passage.”

They slowly moved to the edge of the wood. They were very close to where Dillon and his boys had been hauling logs earlier that day. They could see three of the six bonfires blazing away, illuminating the field.

“What about us?” Royce asked.

“Do you think the Gilarabrywn knows we’re still in here?”

“Esrahaddon said it was intelligent, so I presume it can count.”

“Then it will come back and find us. We have to reach the castle. The distance across the open is about—what? Two hundred feet?”

“About that,” Royce confirmed.

“I guess we can hope it’s still munching on Millie. Ready?”

“Run spread out so it can’t get both of us. Go.” The grass was slick with dew and filled with stumps and pits. Hadrian got only a dozen yards before falling on his face.

“Stay behind me,” Royce told him.

“I thought we were spreading out?”

“That’s before I remembered you’re blind.”

They ran again, dodging in and out, as Royce picked the path up the hillside. They were nearly halfway across when they heard the bellows again.

Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.

The sound rushed toward them. Looking up, Hadrian saw something dark pass across the face of the rising moon, a serpent with batlike wings gliding, arcing, circling like a hawk hunting mice in a field.

The bellows stopped.

“It’s diving!” Royce shouted.

A massive burst of wind blew them to the ground. The bonfires were instantly snuffed out. A second later, a loud rumble shook the earth and a monolithic wall of green fire exploded in a great ring, surrounding the entire hill. Astounding flames, thirty feet high, flashed up like trees of light spewing intense heat.

No longer having any trouble seeing his way, Hadrian jumped to his feet and sped to the gate, Royce on his heels. Behind them the flames roared. Above them they heard a chilling scream.

Dillon, Vince, and Russell slammed the gate shut the instant they were inside. The bonfire in the courtyard, which had been unlit so far, startled everyone as it exploded into a brilliant blue-green flame, reaching like a pillar into the sky. Once more from the darkness above, the Gilarabrywn screamed at them.

The emerald inferno slowly burned down. The flames lost their green color and diminished until only natural flames remained. The fires crackled and hissed, sending storms of sparks skyward. The men in the courtyard stared upward, but there were no further signs of the beast, only darkness and the distant sound of crickets.





CHAPTER 6





THE CONTEST





I can assure you, Your Royal Majesty,” Arista said in her most congenial voice, “there will be no change in foreign or domestic policy under King Alric’s reign. He will continue to pursue the same agenda as our father—upholding the dignity and honor of the House of Essendon. Melengar will continue to remain your friendly neighbor to the west.”

Arista stood before the King of Dunmore in her mother’s best dress—the stunning silver silk gown. Forty buttons lined the sleeves. Dozens of feet of crushed velvet trimmed the embroidered bodice and full skirt. The rounded neckline clung to her shoulders. She stood erect, chin high, eyes forward, hands folded.