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

“I’m going to gather some water to make us some breakfast. I’m sure you are all hungry,” Myron said as he finished hanging his robe and began collecting various pots to set out in the rain.

Alric took no notice of the monk as he focused on Royce. “My father never would have ordered such a heinous attack! He’d be more upset at the Imperialists invading the abbey than the Nationalist revolutionaries using it for meetings. Those revolutionaries’ dreams are just that, but the Imperialists are organized. They have the church behind them. My family has always been steadfast Royalists, believers in the god-given right for a king to rule through his nobles and in the independent sovereignty of each kingdom. Our greatest fear isn’t from some rabble thinking they can organize and overthrow the rule of law. Our concern is that one day the Imperialists will find the Heir of Novron and demand all the kingdoms of the four nations of Apeladorn pledge fealty to a new empire.”

“Yes, you prefer things exactly the way they are,” Royce observed. “But being the king, that doesn’t seem terribly surprising.”

“You are no doubt a staunch Nationalist, in favor of lopping the heads off all the nobles, and the redistribution of their lands, to peasants, and letting them all have a say in how they are ruled,” Alric told Royce. “That would solve all the problems of the world, wouldn’t it? And that would certainly be in your favor.”

“Actually,” Royce said, “I don’t have any political leanings. They get in the way of my job. Noble or commoner, people all lie, cheat, and pay me to do their dirty work. Regardless of who rules, the sun still shines, the seasons still change, and people still conspire. If you must place labels on attitudes, I prefer to think of myself as an individualist.”

“And that’s why the Nationalists will never organize enough to be a real threat.”

“Delgos seems fairly well run and it’s a republic—ruled by the people.”

“They’re nothing but a bunch of shopkeepers down there.”

“They might be a bit more than that.”

“It doesn’t matter. What does is—why do Imperialists care so much about a few revolutionaries having meetings in Melengar?”

“Maybe Ethelred thought his marquis was plotting to help them—how did you put it?—lop off all the nobles’ heads.”

“Lanaklin? Are you serious? Victor Lanaklin isn’t a Nationalist. Nationalists are commoners trying to steal power from the nobles. Lanaklin is an Imperialist, like all those Warric nobles. They’re religious fanatics who want a single government under the control of the Heir of Novron. They think he will miraculously unite everyone and usher in some mythical age of paradise. It’s as much wishful thinking as the Nationalists’ dreams.”

“Maybe this whole thing was just a romantic affair,” Hadrian suggested.

Alric sighed and shook his head in resignation. He stood up and held his hands out to the fire. “So how long before breakfast is ready, Myron? I’m starving.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you,” Myron said. He set up a small elevated grate over the fire. “I have a few potatoes in a bag in the corner.”

“That’s all you have, isn’t it?” Royce asked.

“I’m very sorry,” Myron replied, looking sincerely pained.

“No, I mean those potatoes are all the food you have. If we eat them, you’ll be left with nothing.”

“Oh, well.” He shrugged off the comment. “I’ll manage somehow. Don’t worry about me,” he said optimistically.

Hadrian retrieved the bag, looked in it, and then handed it to the monk. “There are only eight potatoes in here. How long were you planning to stay?”

Myron did not answer for a while, until at last he said to no one in particular, “I’m not going anywhere. I have to stay. I have to fix it.”

“Fix what, the abbey? That’s an awfully big job for one man.”

He shook his head. “The library, the books. That’s what I was working on last night when you arrived.”

“The library is gone, Myron,” Royce reminded him. “The books were all burned. They’re ash now.”

“I know. I know,” he said, brushing his wet hair back from his eyes. “That’s why I have to replace them.”

“How are you going to do that?” Alric asked with a smirk. “Rewrite all the books from memory?”

Myron nodded. “I was working on page fifty-three of The History of Apeladorn by Antun Bulard when you came.” Myron went over to a makeshift desk and brought out a small box. Inside were about twenty pages of parchment and several curled sheets of thin bark. “I ran out of parchment. Not much survived the fire but the bark works all right.”

Royce, Hadrian, and Alric shuffled through them. Myron wrote with small meticulous lettering, which extended to the edge of the page in every direction. No space was wasted. The text was complete, including page numbers not placed at the end of the parchments but where the pages would have ended in the original document.

Staring at the magnificently rendered text, Hadrian asked, “How could you remember all of this?”

Myron shrugged. “I remember all the books I read.”

“And did you read all the books in the library here?”

Myron nodded. “I had a lot of time to myself.”

“How many were there?”

“Three hundred eighty-two books, five hundred twenty-four scrolls, and one thousand two hundred thirteen individual parchments.”

“And you remember every one?”

Myron nodded once more.

They all sat back, staring at the monk in awe.

“I was the librarian,” Myron said as if that would explain it all.

“Myron,” Royce suddenly said, “in all those books did you ever read anything about a place called Gutaria Prison or a prisoner called Esra … haddon?”

Myron shook his head.

“I suppose it’s unlikely anyone would write anything down concerning a secret prison,” Royce said, looking disappointed.

“But it was mentioned a few times in a scroll and once in a parchment. On the parchment, however, the name Esrahaddon was altered to prisoner and Gutaria was listed as The Imperial Prison.”

“Maribor’s beard!” Hadrian exclaimed, looking at the monk in awe. “You really did memorize the whole library, didn’t you?”

“Why ‘imperial prison’?” Royce asked. “Arista said it was ecclesiastical.”

Myron shrugged. “Maybe because in imperial times the Church of Nyphron and the empire were linked. Nyphron is the ancient term for emperor, derived from the name of the first emperor, Novron. So, the Church of Nyphron is the worshipers of the emperor and anything associated with the empire could also be considered part of the church.”

“That’s why members of the Nyphron Church are so intent on finding the heir,” Royce added. “He would be their god, so to speak, and not merely a ruler.”

“There were several very interesting books on the Heir of the Empire,” Myron said excitedly. “And speculation as to what happened to him—”