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

“All right, so there is a sword,” Royce said, “but that’s not why you want in. You didn’t come here to save Dahlgren. Why are you really here?”


“You didn’t allow me to finish,” Esrahaddon replied, sounding every bit like the wise teacher letting his student know to be patient. “The emperor believed he had prevented a war with the elves and returned home, but what waited for him was an execution. While we were away, the church, under the leadership of Patriarch Venlin, planned the emperor’s assassination. The attack came on the steps of the palace during a celebration commemorating the anniversary of the empire’s founding. Jerish and I escaped with Nevrik. I knew that many of the Cenzars and the Teshlors were involved in the church’s plot and that they would find us, so Jerish and I came up with a plan—we hid Nevrik and I created two talismans. One I gave to Nevrik and the other to Jerish. These amulets would hide them from the clairvoyant search the Cenzars were certain to make, but allow me to find them. Then I sent them away.”

“And you?” Royce asked.

“I stayed behind. I tried to save the emperor.” He paused, looking far away. “I failed.”

“So what happened to the heir?” Royce asked.

“How should I know? I was locked up in a prison for nine hundred years. Do you think he wrote me? Jerish was supposed to take him into hiding.” The wizard allowed himself a grim smile. “We both thought it would only be for a month or so.”

“So you don’t even know if an heir exists anymore?”

“I’m pretty confident the church didn’t kill him or they would have killed me shortly thereafter, but what became of Jerish and Nevrik I don’t know. If anyone could have kept Nevrik alive, it would have been Jerish. Despite his age, he was one of the best knights the emperor had. The fact that he trusted his son to his care was testament to that. Like all Teshlor knights, Jerish was a master of all the schools of combat; there wouldn’t have been a man alive who could beat him in battle, and he would have died before surrendering Nevrik. They would both be dead now, of course—time would have seen to that. So would their great-great-grandchildren if they had any. I suspect Jerish would have known the need to perpetuate the line and would have settled down somewhere quiet and encouraged Nevrik to marry and have children.”

“And wait for you?”

“What’s that?”

“That was the plan, wasn’t it? They run and hide and you stay behind and find them when it was safe?”

“Something like that.”

“So you had a way to contact them. A way to locate the heir? Something to do with the amulets.”

“Nine hundred years ago I would have said yes, but finding their descendants now is probably a fool’s dream. Time can destroy so many things.”

“But you are trying nevertheless.”

“What else is there for an old crippled outlaw to do?”

“Care to tell me how you plan to find them?”

“I can’t do that. I’ve already told you more than I should have. The heir has enemies and, as fond as I have grown of you, that kind of secret stays with me. I owe that much to Jerish and Nevrik.”

“But something in that tower is part of it. That’s why you want to get inside.” Royce thought a moment. “You sealed that tower just before you went to prison, and since the Gilarabrywn was only recently released, you can be almost certain that the interior of that tower hasn’t been touched in all that time. It’s the only place that’s still the same as the day you left it. There’s something in there you saw that day, or something you left there—something you need to find the heir.”

“It is a shame you aren’t as good at deciphering a way to get into the tower.”

“About that,” Royce said. “You mentioned that the emperor met with the elves in the tower. They aren’t allowed on this bank, right?”

“Correct.”

“And there was no bridge on their side of the river, right?”

“Again correct.”

“But you never saw how they entered the tower?”

“No.”

Royce thought a moment, then asked, “Why were the stairs wet?”

Esrahaddon looked at him, puzzled. “What’s that?”

“You said earlier that when the knights were fighting off the Gilarabrywn, they died on the wet steps. Was it blood?”

“No, water, I think. I remember how the stairs were wet when we were climbing up, because it made the stone so slippery I nearly fell. Some of the knights did fall; that’s why I remember it.”

“And you said the elves had clothes drying in the sun?”

Esrahaddon shook his head. “I see where you are going with this, but not even an elf can swim to the tower.”

“That may be true, but then why were they wet? Was it a hot day? Could they have been swimming?”

Esrahaddon raised his eyebrows incredulously. “In that river? No, it was early spring and still cold.”

“Then how’d they get wet?”

Royce heard a faint sound behind him. He started to turn but stopped himself.

“We’re not alone,” he whispered.





“When you lunge, step in with the leg on your weapon side; it will give you more reach and better balance,” Hadrian told Theron.

The two were at the well again. They had gotten up early and Hadrian was putting Theron through some basic moves using two makeshift swords they had created out of rake handles. To his surprise, Theron was spryer than he looked, and despite his size, the old man moved well. Hadrian had gone over the basics of parries, ripostes, flèches, presses, and the lunge, and they were now working on a compound attack comprising a feint, a parry, and a riposte.

“Cuts and thrusts must follow one upon the other without pause. The emphasis is always on speed, aggression, and deception. And everything is kept as simple as possible,” Hadrian explained.

“I’d listen to him. If anyone knows stick fighting, it’s Hadrian.”

Hadrian and Theron turned to see two equestrians riding into the village clearing, each leading a pack pony laden with poles and bundles. They were young men not much older than Thrace, but dressed like young princes, in handsome doublets and hose complete with box-pleated frill and lace edging.

“Mauvin! Fanen?” Hadrian said, astonished.

“Don’t look so surprised.” Mauvin gave his horse rein to graze on the common’s grass.

“Well, that’s a little hard at this point. What in Maribor’s name are you two doing here?”