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

“Yes, but I have a reason. The bastards are the only ones that can make boxes I can’t open.”


“You’ll open it. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be soon, but you’ll open it. What I don’t understand is why would Arista send us here knowing that we couldn’t get in?”

Royce sat on his haunches, his cloak draped out around him. His eyes remained focused but he was frustrated. “I can’t even see anything. If I could even find just a crack, then maybe … but how can I break a lock when I can’t even find the door?”

Hadrian gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before returning to Myron, who had finished feeding the horses and had joined Alric, sitting over by the cliff’s wall.

“How’s it coming?” Alric asked with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

“Nothing yet, just leave him be. Royce will figure it out. It just takes some time.” Hadrian turned his attention back to Myron. “I was thinking about what you were saying before. If Uberlin is considered a god, why did you say Novron is not? After all, they’re both children of gods, right?”

“Well, no, technically he’s a demigod, part god, part human. You see, Maribor sent Novron to—well, let me jump back a bit. Okay, so Ferrol was the oldest and when he created the elves, they spread, albeit slowly, across all of Elan. When Drome came along, he granted his children control of the underground world. This left no place for Maribor’s children. So mankind was forced to struggle in the most wretched corners left to us.”

“So the elves got all the good places, and we got stuck with the dregs? That doesn’t sound very fair,” Hadrian said.

“Well, our ancestors weren’t happy about that either. Not to mention humans reproduce much more quickly than elves, who have a much longer life span. This made conditions rather crowded and it only got worse when the dwarves were driven to the surface.”

“Driven? By who?”

“You remember what I said about the gods locking Uberlin in the underworld? Well, he created his own race, just like Drome, Maribor, and Ferrol.”

“Ah … the goblins. I can see how they would make things less homey down there.”

“Exactly. Between mankind’s growing numbers and the emergence of the dwarves, our ancestors were being crushed. So they begged Maribor for help. He heard their pleas and tricked his brother Drome into forging the great sword Rhelacan. Then he convinced his other brother Ferrol to enchant the weapon. All he needed was a warrior to wield it, so he came to Elan in disguise and slept with a mortal woman. Their union produced Novron the Great. He united all the tribes of mankind and led them in a war against the elves. Armed with the Rhelacan, Novron was victorious and so began mankind’s dominance, led by Novron, who had united all of humanity.”

“Okay, that makes sense, but when did we start worshiping Novron as a god?”

“That occurred after his death. The Church of Nyphron was established to pay homage to Novron as the savior of mankind. The newly formed church became the official religion of the empire, but farther away from the imperial capital of Percepliquis, people remembered the old ways and continued to worship Maribor as they always had.”

“And that would be you, the Monks of Maribor, I mean?”

Myron nodded.

During their discussion, storm clouds continued to form, filling the sky and darkening the ravine. What light remained was an odd hue, adding a sense of the surreal to the landscape. Soon the wind began gusting through the pass, blowing dirt into the air. In the distance echoed the low rumble of thunder.

“Any luck with the door, Royce?” Hadrian called over. He sat resting with his back against the cliff, his legs outstretched, and he tapped the tips of his boots together. “Because it looks like we’re in for another cold, wet night, only this time we won’t have any shelter.”

Royce muttered something indiscernible.

Down below, framed by the walls of the ravine, the surface of the lake shone like a mirror facing the sky. Every now and then it would flash brilliantly as lightning flickered in the distance.

Royce grumbled again.

“What’s that?” Hadrian asked.

“I was just thinking about what you said earlier. Why would Arista send us here if she knew we couldn’t get in? She must have thought we could; maybe to her it was obvious.”

“Maybe it’s magic,” Alric said, pulling his cloak tighter.

“Enough with the enchanted words,” Royce told him. “Locks are mechanical. Believe me. I know a thing or two on the subject. Dwarves are very clever and very skilled, but they don’t make doors that unlock because of a sound.”

“I just brought it up because Arista could do some, so maybe getting in was easy for her.”

“Do some what?” Hadrian asked.

“Magic.”

“Your sister is a witch?” Myron asked, disturbed.

Alric laughed. “You could certainly say that, yes, but it has little to do with her magical prowess. She went to Sheridan University for a few years and learned magical theory. It never amounted to much, but she was able to do a few things. For instance, she magically locks the door to her room, and I think she made the countess Amril sick over some dispute about a boy. Poor Amril was covered in boils for a week.”

Royce looked over at Alric. “What do you mean, magically locks her door?”

“There’s never been a lock on it, but no one can open it but her.”

“Did you ever see your sister unlock her door?”

Alric shook his head. “I wish I had.”

“Myron,” Royce said, “did you ever read anything about unusual locks or keys? Maybe something associated with dwarves?”

“There’s the tale of Iberius and the Giant, where Iberius uses a key forged by dwarves to open the giant’s treasure box, but it wasn’t magical—just big. There’s also the Collar of Liem, from the Myth of the Forgotten, which refused to unlock until the wearer was dead—I guess that doesn’t help much, does it? Hmm … let me think … perhaps it has something to do with gemlocks.”

“Gemlocks?”

“They’re not magical either but they were invented by dwarves. They’re gems that interact with other stones to create subtle vibrations. Gemlocks are generally used when several people need to open the same locked container. All they need is a matching gem. For particularly valuable containers, the lock might require a specific cut, which modifies the resonance. Truly gifted gemsmiths could make a lock that actually changed with the seasons, allowing different gems to unlock it at different times of the year. This is what gave rise to the idea of birthstones, because certain stones have more strength at certain times. I’ve—”

“That’s it,” Royce interrupted.

“What’s it?” Alric asked. Royce reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a dark blue ring. Alric jumped to his feet. “That’s my father’s ring. Give it to me!”