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

“What did Renian do?” Hadrian asked. “The fellow you buried the squirrel with? What was his specialty?”


Myron opened his eyes but was slow to answer. He looked back at the stump of the tree across from them and he said softly, “Renian died when he was twelve. He caught a fever. We buried him right there, next to the Squirrel Tree. It was his favorite place in the world.” He paused, taking a breath that was not quite even. A frown pulled at his mouth, tightening his lips. “There hasn’t been a day that has gone by since then that I haven’t said good morning to him. I usually sit here and tell him how his tree is doing. How many new buds there were, or when the first leaf turned or fell. For the last few days I’ve had to lie, because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him it was gone.”

Tears fell from Myron’s eyes, and his lips quivered as he looked at the stump. “All morning I’ve been trying to tell him goodbye. I’ve been trying …” He faltered and paused to wipe his eyes. “I’ve been trying to explain why I have to leave him now, but you see, Renian is only twelve, and I don’t think he really understands.” Myron put his face in his hands and wept.

Hadrian squeezed Myron’s shoulder. “We’ll wait for you at the gate. Take all the time you need.”

When Hadrian emerged from the entrance, Alric barked at him, “What in the world is taking so bloody long? If he’s going to be this much trouble, we might as well leave him.”

“We aren’t leaving him, and we’ll wait as long as it takes,” Hadrian told them. Alric and Royce exchanged glances but neither said a word.

Myron joined them only a few minutes later with a small bag containing all his belongings. Although he was obviously upset, his mood lightened at the sight of the horses. “Oh my!” he exclaimed. Hadrian took Myron by the hand like a young child and led him over to his speckled white mare. The horse, its massive body moving back and forth as the animal shifted its weight from one leg to another, looked down at Myron with large dark eyes.

“Do they bite?”

“Not usually,” Hadrian replied. “Here, you can pat him on the neck.”

“It’s so … big,” Myron said with a look of terror on his face. He moved his hand to his mouth as if he might be sick.

“Please, just get on the horse, Myron.” Alric’s tone showed his irritation.

“Don’t mind him,” Hadrian said. “You can ride behind me. I’ll get on first and pull you up after, okay?”

Myron nodded but the look on his face indicated he was anything but okay. Hadrian mounted and then extended his arm. With closed eyes, Myron reached out, and Hadrian pulled him up. The monk held on tightly and buried his face in the large man’s back.

“Remember to breathe, Myron,” Hadrian told him as he turned the horse and began to walk back down the switchback trail.

The morning started cold but it eventually warmed some. Still, it was not as pleasant as it had been the day before. They entered the shelter of the valley and headed toward the lake. Everything was still wet from the rain, and the tall fields of autumn-browned grass soaked their feet and legs as they brushed past. The wind came from the north now and blew into their faces. Overhead, a chevron of geese honked against the gray sky. Winter was on its way. Myron soon overcame his fear and picked his head up to look about.

“Dear Maribor, I had no idea grass grew this high. And the trees are so tall! You know, I had seen pictures of trees this size but always thought the artists were just bad at proportion.”

The monk began to twist left and right to see all around him. Hadrian chuckled. “Myron, you squirm like a puppy.”

Lake Windermere appeared like gray metal pooling at the base of the barren hills. Although it was one of the largest lakes in Avryn, the fingers of the round cliffs hid much of it from view. Its vast open face reflected the desolate sky and appeared cold and empty. Except for a few birds, little moved on the stony clefts.

They reached the western bank. Thousands of fist-sized rocks, rubbed smooth and flat by the lake, made a loose cobblestone plain where they could walk and listen to the quiet lapping of the water. From time to time, rain would briefly fall. They would watch it come across the surface of the lake, the crisp horizon blurring as the raindrops broke the stillness, and then it would stop while the clouds above swirled undecidedly.

Royce, as usual, led the small party. He approached the north side of the lake and found what appeared to be the faint remains of a very old and unused road leading toward the mountains beyond.

Myron’s wriggling was finally subsiding. He sat behind Hadrian but did not move for quite some time. “Myron, are you okay back there?” Hadrian asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was watching the way the horses walk. I’ve been observing them for the last few miles. They are fascinating animals. Their back feet appear to step in exactly the same place their front feet left an instant before. Although, I suppose they aren’t feet at all, are they? Hooves! That’s right! These are hooves! Enylina in Old Speech.”

“Old Speech?”

“The ancient imperial language. Few people outside the clergy know it these days. It’s something of a dead language. Even in the days of the empire it was only used in church services, but that has gone out of style and no one writes in it anymore.”

Hadrian felt Myron rest his head against his back, and for the rest of the ride watched to make sure that Myron did not doze off and fall.





They turned away from the lakeside and started into a broad ravine that became rocky as they climbed. The more they progressed, the more apparent it was to Alric that they were traveling on what had once been a road. The path was too smooth to be wholly natural, and yet over time, rocks had fallen from the heights and cracks had formed where weeds forced themselves out of the crevices. Centuries had taken their toll, but there remained a faint trace of something ancient and forgotten.