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

“Well, I do have one, but it seems almost as frightening as the alternative.”


“What’s that?”

“We do what the wizard says.”

They looked down at the man casually seated in the chair. His robe looked a slightly different shade of blue now. Hadrian waved the others over and explained Royce’s plan.

“Could this be a trick?” Alric asked quietly. “The clerk did warn us not to do anything he said.”

“You mean the nice clerk who took away our bridge and refuses to let us out?” Royce replied. “I’m not seeing an alternative, but if any of you have another idea, I’m willing to hear it.”

“I’d just like to feel my heart again,” Myron said, holding his palm to his chest and looking sick. “This is very disturbing. I almost feel like I’m actually dead.”

“Your Majesty?”

Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. “I just want to say for the record that as far as royal protectors go, you’re not very good.”

“It’s my first day,” Royce replied dryly.

“And already I’m trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week.”

“Listen, I don’t see we have a choice here,” Royce told the group. “We either do what the wizard says and hope he can get us out, or we accept an eternity of sitting here listening to this dreadful singing.”

The mournful wail of the music was so wretched that Hadrian knew listening to it would eventually drive him mad. He tried to ignore it, but as it did for Myron, it brought him unpleasant memories of places and people. Hadrian saw the disappointment on his father’s face when he had left to join the military. He saw the tiger covered in blood, gasping for breath as it slowly died, and he heard the sound of hundreds chanting the name: “Galenti!” He had reached his conclusion. Anything was better than staying there.

Royce stood and returned to the balcony, below which the wizard waited calmly. “I assume if we help you escape, you’ll see to it we get out as well?”

“Indeed.”

“And there is no way to determine if you are telling the truth right now?”

The wizard smiled. “Alas, nay.”

Royce sighed heavily. “What do we have to do?”

“Precious little. Thy prince, this wayward and recent king, need but recite a bit of poetry.”

“Poetry?” Alric pushed past Hadrian to join Royce at the balcony. “What poetry?”

The wizard stood up and kicked his chair to one side to reveal four stanzas of text crudely scratched into the floor.

“ ’Tis amazing what beauty time may grant,” the wizard said with obvious pride. “Speak, and it wilt be so.”

Hadrian silently read the lines brightly illuminated by the beam of the overhead light.



AS LORD OF THIS REALM AND KEEPER OF KEYS, A DECREE WAS MADE AND COUNCILMAN SEIZED.



UNJUSTLY, I SAY, AND THE TIME ’TIS NIGH TO OPEN THE GATE AND LET HIS SOUL FLY.

BY VIRTUE OF GIFT GRANTED TO ME, BY RIGHTFUL BIRTH, THE SOVEREIGN I BE.

HEREBY I PROCLAIM THIS ROYAL DECREE, ESRAHADDON THE WIZARD, THIS MOMENT IS FREE.





“How is that possible?” Alric asked. “You said spells don’t work here.”

“Indeed, and thou art no spell-caster. Thou art but granting freedom as the law allows the rightful ruler of this land—laws of control laid down before the birth of Melengar, laws built on assumptions false concerning the longevity of power and who might, in due course of time, wield it—at this moment, in this place, ’tis thee. Thou art the rightful and undisputed ruler of this land, and as such, the locks art thine to open. For here latch and bolt be forged with words of enchantment—words that in time hath changed their meaning.

“This gaol raised upon ground once claimed by imperial might, in absence of emperor slain did bend knee alone to the Nyphron Church Patriarch. Now within these walls never a grain of sand did drop to mark the passage of time but without thunder of war did rumble. Armies marched and lands divided, the empire lost to warlords’ whim. Then through bloody strife did these hills birth Melengar, realm sovereign under lordly king. What privilege once reserved alone only for a mitered head hast now fallen to thee. To thee, good King of Melengar, who has the power to right wrong so long omit. Nine centuries of dust hast buried wit, dear king, for these jailers hath forgotten how to read their own runes!”

In the distance, Hadrian heard the grinding of stone on stone. Outside the cell, the great door was opening. “Speak those words, my lord, and thou will end nine hundred years of wrongful imprisonment.”

“How does this help?” Alric asked. “This place is filled with guards. How does this get us out?”

The wizard smiled a great grin. “Thy words will cast aside the barrier enchantment and allow me the freedom to use the Art once more.”

“You’ll cast a spell. You’ll disappear!”

Footsteps thundered on the bridge, which had apparently reappeared. Hadrian ran up the gallery stairs to look down the tunnel. “We have guards coming! And they don’t look happy.”

“If you’re going to do this, you’d better make it fast,” Royce told Alric.

“They’ve swords drawn,” Hadrian shouted. “Never a good sign.”

Alric glared down at the wizard. “I want your word you won’t leave us here.”

“Gladly given, my lord.” The wizard inclined his head respectfully.

“This better work,” Alric muttered, and began reading aloud the words on the floor below.

Royce raced to join Hadrian as he positioned himself at the mouth of the tunnel. Hadrian planned to use its confined space to limit the advantage of the guard’s numbers and planted his feet while Royce took up position slightly behind him. In unison, they drew their weapons, preparing for the impending onslaught. At least twenty men stormed the gallery. Hadrian could see their eyes and recognized what burned there. He had fought numerous battles and he knew the many faces of combat. He had seen fear, recklessness, hatred, even madness. What came at him now was rage—blind, intense rage. Hadrian studied the lead man, estimating his footfalls to determine which leg his weight would land on when he came within striking range. He did the same with the man behind him. Calculating his attack, he raised his swords, but the prison guards stopped. Hadrian waited with his swords still poised, yet the guards did not advance.

“Let us away,” he heard Esrahaddon say from behind. Hadrian whirled around and discovered the wizard was no longer on the stage below. Instead, he moved casually past Hadrian, navigating around the stationary guards. “Come, come,” Esrahaddon called.

Without a word, the group hurried after the wizard. He led them through the tunnel and across the newly extended bridge. The prison was oddly silent, and it was then that Hadrian realized the music had stopped. The only remaining sound was their footfalls against the hard stone floor.