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

“Sorry,” Royce said, and added in a clear voice, “Melentanaria, en venau rendin Esrahaddon, en Arista Essendon adona Melengar,” which Arista understood as Grant entry to the wizard Esrahaddon and Arista Essendon, Princess of Melengar.

“That’s Old Speech,” Arista said.

“Yes.” Esrahaddon nodded. “There are many similarities between Elvish and Old Imperial.”

“Whoa!” Looking back at the archway, Arista suddenly saw an open door. “But I still don’t understand. How is it you can grant us—oh.” The princess stopped with her mouth still open. “But you don’t look at all—”

“I’m a mir.”

“A what?”

“A mix,” Esrahaddon explained, “some elven, some human blood.”

“But you never—”

“It’s not the kind of thing you brag about,” the thief said. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

“Oh—of course.”

“Come along. Arista still needs to play her part,” Esrahaddon said, entering.

Inside, they found a large chamber carved perfectly round. It was like entering the inside of a giant ball. Unlike the rest of the tower, and despite its size, the room was unadorned. It was merely a vast smooth chamber with no seam, crack, nor crevice. The only feature was a zigzagging stone staircase that rose from the floor to a platform that extended out from the steps and stood at the exact center of the sphere.

“Do you remember the Plesieantic Incantations I taught you, Arista?” the wizard asked as they climbed the stairs, his voice echoing loudly, ricocheting repeatedly off the walls.

“Um … the ah …”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Think faster; this is no time for slow wits.”

“Yes, I remember. Lord, but you’ve gotten testy.”

“I’ll apologize later. Now, when we get up there, you are going to stand in the middle of the platform on the mark laid out on the floor as the apex. You will begin and maintain the Plesieantic Phrase. Start with the Gathering Incantation; when you do, you will likely feel a bit more of a jolt than you would normally, because this place will amplify your power to gather resources. Don’t be alarmed, don’t stop the incantation, and whatever you do, don’t scream.”

Arista looked fearfully back at Royce.

“Once you feel the power moving through your body, begin the Torsonic Chant. As you do, you will need to form the crystal-matrix with your fingers, making certain you fold inward, not outward.”

“So with my thumbs pointing out and the rest of my fingers pointing at me, right?”

“Yes,” Esrahaddon said, irritated. “This is all basic formations, Arista.”

“I know it, I know it—it’s just been a while. I’ve been busy being Melengar’s ambassador, not sitting in my tower practicing conjurations.”

“So you’ve been frivolously wasting your time?”

“No,” she said, exasperated.

“Now, when you’ve completed the matrix,” the wizard went on, “just hold it. Remember the concentration techniques I taught you and focus on keeping the matrix even and steady. At that point, I’ll tap into your power field and conduct my search. When I do, this room is likely to do some extraordinary things. Images and visions will become visible at various places in the room and you might even hear sounds. Again don’t be alarmed. They aren’t really here; they will merely be echoes of my mind as I search for the amulets.”

“Does that mean all of us will be able to see who the real heir is?” Royce asked as they reached the top.

Esrahaddon nodded. “I would like to have kept it to myself, but fate has seen fit to force me a different way. When I find the magical pulse of the amulets, I’ll focus on the owners and they will likely appear as the largest image in the room, as I’ll be concentrating to determine not only who wears them, but where they are as well.”

The platform was only faintly dust-covered and they could easily see the massive converging geometric lines marked on the floor like rays of the sun, all gathering to a single point in the exact center of the dais.

“Them?” Arista asked as she took her position at the central point.

“There were two necklaces: one I gave to Nevrik, which will be the heir’s amulet, and the other to Jerish, which will be the bodyguard’s. If they still exist, we should see both. I would ask that you not tell anyone what you are about to see, for if you do, you could put the heir’s life in immense danger and possibly imperil the future of mankind as we know it.”

“Wizards and their drama.” Royce rolled his eyes. “A simple please keep your mouth shut would do.”

Esrahaddon raised an eyebrow at the thief, then turned to Arista and said, “Begin.”

Arista hesitated. Sauly had to be wrong. All that talk about the heir having the power to enslave mankind was just to frighten her into being their spy. His warnings that Esrahaddon was a demon must be more lies. He was secretive, certainly, but not evil. He had saved her life that night. What had Sauly done? How many days before Braga’s death had Saldur known … and done nothing? Too many.

“Arista?” Esrahaddon pressed.

She nodded, raised her hands, and began the weave.





CHAPTER 14





AS DARKNESS FALLS





The night wind blew gently across the hilltop. Hadrian and Theron stood alone on the ruins of the manor above what had been a village. A place of countless hopes that lay buried in ash and wreckage.

Theron felt the breeze on his skin and remembered the ill wind he had felt the night his family died. The night Thrace ran to him. He could still see her as she raced down the slope of Stony Hill, running to the safety of his arms. He had thought that was the worst day of his life. He had cursed his daughter for coming to him. He had blamed her for the death of his family. He had put on her all the woe and despair that he had been too weak to carry. She was his little girl, the one who always walked beside him wherever he went, and when he shooed her away, as he always did, he would catch her following at a distance, watching him, mimicking his actions and his words. Thrace was the one who laughed at his faces, cried when he was hurt; the one who sat at his bedside when he lay with fever. He never had a good word for his daughter. Never a pat or praise that he could remember. Not once did he ever say he was proud of her. Most of the time he had not acknowledged her at all. But he would gladly give his own life merely to see his little girl run to him again, just once more.