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

“Of course not.” The prince nodded.

“And if we send a representative to pick up the money for us?” Royce asked. Alric stared at him. “One who has no idea how to find us in case he is captured?”

“Oh please, aren’t you being just a tad bit too cautious now?”

“No such thing,” Royce replied.

“Look!” Myron shouted suddenly, pointing at the stable.

All three of them jumped fearfully at the sudden outburst.

“There’s a brown horse!” the monk said in amazement. “I didn’t know they came in brown!”

“By Mar, monk!” Alric shook his head in disbelief, a gesture Royce and Hadrian mirrored.

“Well, I didn’t,” Myron replied sheepishly. His excitement, however, was still evident when he added, “What other colors do they come in? Is there a green horse? A blue one? I would so love to see a blue one.”

Royce went inside and returned a few minutes later. “Everything looks all right. A bit crowded, but I don’t see anything too out of the ordinary. Alric, be sure to keep your hood up and either spin your ring so the insignia is on the inside of your hand, or better yet, remove it altogether until you get home.”

Just inside the inn was a small stone foyer, where several cloaks and coats hung on a forest of wall pegs. A handful of walking sticks of various shapes and sizes rested on a rack to one side. Above, a shelf held an assortment of tattered hats and gloves.

Myron stood just inside the door, gaping at his surroundings. “I read about inns,” he said. “In Pilgrims’ Tales, a group of wayward travelers spend a night at an inn, where they decided to tell stories of their journeys. They made a wager for the best one. It’s one of my favorites, although the abbot didn’t much care for my reading it. It was a bit bawdy. There were several accounts about women in those pages and not in a wholesome fashion either.” He scanned the crowd excitedly. “Are there women here?”

“No,” Hadrian replied sadly.

“Oh. I was hoping to see one. Do they keep them locked up as treasures?”

Hadrian and the others just laughed.

Myron looked at them, mystified, then shrugged. “Even so, this is wonderful. There’s so much to see! What’s that smell? It’s not food, is it?”

“Pipe smoke,” Hadrian explained. “It probably was not a popular activity at the abbey.”

A half dozen tables filled the small room. A slightly askew stone fireplace with silver tankards dangling from mantel hooks dominated one wall. Next to it stood the bar, which was built from rough and unfinished tree logs complete with bark. Some fifteen patrons lined the room, a handful of whom watched the group enter with passing interest. Most were rough stock, woodsmen, laborers, and traveling tinkers. The pipe smoke came from a few gruff men seated near the log bar, and a cloud of it hovered at eye level throughout the room, producing an earthy smell that mingled with that of the burning wood of the fireplace and the sweet scent of baking bread. Royce led them to an open round table near the window, where they could see the horses outside.

“I’ll order us something,” Hadrian volunteered.

“This is a beautiful place,” Myron declared, his eyes darting about the room. “There is so much going on, so many conversations. Speaking at meals wasn’t allowed at the abbey, so it was always deathly silent. Of course, we got around that rule by using sign language. It used to drive the abbot crazy, because we were supposed to be focusing on Maribor, but there are times when you simply have to ask someone to pass the salt.”

No sooner had Hadrian reached the bar than he felt someone press up behind him menacingly.

“You should be more careful, my friend,” a man whispered softly.

Hadrian turned slowly and chuckled when he saw who it was. “I don’t have to, Albert. I have a shadow who watches my back.” Hadrian gestured toward Royce, who had slipped up behind the viscount.

Albert, who wore a dirty, tattered cloak with the hood pulled up, turned to face a scowling Royce. “I was just making a joke.”

“What are you doing here?” Royce whispered.

“Hiding—” Albert started, but he fell quiet when the bartender came over with a pitcher of foaming beer and four mugs.

“Have you eaten?” Hadrian asked.

“No.” Albert looked longingly at the pitcher.

“Could I get another mug and another plate of supper?” Hadrian asked the hefty man behind the bar.

“Sure thing,” the bartender responded as he added another mug. “I’ll bring the food over when it’s ready.”

They returned to the table with the viscount trailing them. Albert looked curiously at Myron and Alric for a moment.

“This is Albert Winslow, an acquaintance of ours,” Hadrian explained as Albert pulled a chair over to their table. “These are—”

“Clients,” Royce cut in quickly, “so no business talk, Albert.”

“We’ve been out of town … traveling, the last few days,” Hadrian said. “Anything been going on in Medford?”

“A lot,” Albert said quietly as Hadrian poured the ale. “King Amrath is dead.”

“Really?” Hadrian feigned surprise.

“The Rose and Thorn has been shut down. Soldiers tore through the Lower Quarter. A bunch of folks were rounded up and sent to prison. There’s a small army surrounding Essendon Castle and the entrances to the city. I got out just in time.”

“An army around the castle? What for?” Alric asked.

Royce motioned for him to calm down. “What about Gwen?”

“She’s okay—I think,” Albert replied, looking curiously at Alric. “At least she was when I left. They questioned her and roughed up a few of her girls but nothing more than that. She’s been worried about you. I think she expected you to return from … traveling … days ago.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Royce asked, his voice several degrees colder.

“Well, a lot of them were royal guards, but they had a whole bunch of new friends as well. Remember those strangers in town we talked about a few days ago? They were marching with some of the royal guards, so they must be working for the crown prince, I would think.” Again, Albert glanced at Alric. “They were combing the entire city and asking questions about a pair of thieves operating out of the Lower Quarter. That’s when I made myself scarce. I left town and headed west. It was the same all over. Patrols are everywhere. They have been ripping apart inns and taverns, hauling people into the streets. I’ve stayed one step ahead of them so far. Last thing I heard, a curfew was ordered after nightfall in Medford.”

“So, you just kept heading west?” Hadrian asked.

“Until I got here. This is the first place I came to that hadn’t been ransacked.”

“Which would explain the large turnout,” Hadrian mentioned. “Mice leave a sinking ship.”