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

“Did you catch the thieves?” Braga asked.

Archibald shook his head. “Sadly, no, but I finally figured out who they are. It took me days to reason it out. I did not tell anyone I possessed those letters. So the only ones who could have taken them are the same thieves which I hired in the first place. Cunning devils. They call themselves Riyria. I’m not sure why they stole them; perhaps they planned to charge me twice, but I won’t give them the satisfaction, of course. I’ll hire someone else to intercept the next set from the Winds Abbey.”

“So, the letters you had were correspondences between the Marquis of Glouston and King Amrath?” Saldur asked.

Archibald looked at the bishop, surprised. “Interesting guess, Your Grace. No, they were love letters between his daughter and her Nationalist lover, Gaunt. I planned to have Alenda marry me instead to spare Victor the embarrassment of his daughter being involved with a commoner.”

Saldur chuckled.

“Have I said something funny?”

“You had more in your hands than you knew,” Saldur informed him. “Those weren’t love letters, and they weren’t to Degan Gaunt.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, I had the letters in my possession. They were addressed to him.”

“I’m sure they were, but that was merely a precaution against someone like you discovering them. It was quite clever, actually. It makes a fine diversion should someone intercept the letters. Degan Gaunt as a lover, I suspect, is meant to represent Lanaklin’s desire for revolution against Ethelred. If the marquis stated his opinions openly, he would risk execution. Those letters were actually coded messages from Victor Lanaklin sent by Alenda to a messenger of King Amrath. The Marquis of Glouston is a traitor to his kingdom and the Imperialist cause. Had you realized, you could have had all of Glouston and Victor’s head as a wedding gift.”

“How do you know?”

“Archduke Braga learned of the meetings when the late king asked him to pay the messenger directly and without record. He of course told me.”

Archibald stood silent and then swallowed the rest of his brandy in one mouthful. “But wait, why tell you?”

“Because as a good Imperialist, Percy here knows the importance of keeping the church informed of such things.”

Archibald looked at Braga, puzzled. “But you’re a Royalist, aren’t you? I mean, how could the Lord Chancellor of Melengar be an Imperialist?”

“How indeed?” Saldur asked with a smile.

“By marrying into the royal family,” Braga pointed out.

“The church has been surreptitiously placing Imperialists in key positions near the throne of nearly every Royalist kingdom in Avryn and even a few in the nations of Trent and Calis,” Saldur explained. “Through unusual accidents, these men have managed to find themselves rulers of most of those realms. The church feels that when the heir is finally found, it will help make a smoother transition if all the various kingdoms are already prepared to pledge their allegiance.”

“Incredible.”

“Indeed. I must warn you, however, that you won’t be able to obtain additional letters. There will be no more meetings at the Winds Abbey. Regrettably, I was forced to ask the archduke to teach the monks a lesson for hosting such meetings. The abbey was burned along with the monks.”

“You killed your fellow shepherds of Maribor’s flock?” Archibald asked Saldur.

“When Maribor sent Novron to us, it was as a warrior to destroy our enemies. Our god is not squeamish at the sight of spilled blood, and it’s often necessary to prune weak branches to keep the tree strong. Killing the monks was a necessity, but I did spare one, the son of Lanaklin, so he could return home and let his father know the deaths were on his hands. We can’t have Royalists organizing against us, can we?” Saldur smiled at him. The elderly cleric took another sip of his drink, the moment passed, and once more Braga observed the persona of the saintly grandfather.

“So, you were after Glouston, Archibald?” Braga said, refilling the earl’s glass. “Perhaps I misjudged you. Tell me, my dear earl, were you more upset you lost the land or Alenda?”

Archibald waved his hand in the air as if he were shooing a fly. “She was merely an added benefit. It’s the land I wanted.”

“I see.” Braga glanced at Saldur, who smiled and nodded. “You may still get it.” Braga resumed speaking to the earl. “With me on the throne of Melengar, I’ll want a strong Imperialist ally guarding my southern border with Warric.”

“King Ethelred would call that treason.”

“And what would you call it?”

Archibald smiled and drummed his fingernails on the beautiful cut crystal of the royal brandy glass, making it ring with a pleasant song. “Opportunity.”

Braga sat back down and stretched out his feet to the fire. “If I help you obtain the marchland from Lanaklin, and you throw your allegiance to me, Melengar will replace Warric as the strongest kingdom in Avryn. Similarly, Greater Chadwick will be its most powerful province.”

“That’s assuming Ethelred doesn’t declare war,” Archibald warned. “Kings often frown upon losing a quarter of their realm, and Ethelred is not the type to take such an action without retaliation. He enjoys fighting. What’s more, he’s good at it. He has the best army in Avryn now.”

“True,” Braga said. “But he has no able general to command it. He doesn’t have anyone near the talent of your Sir Breckton. That man is gifted when it comes to leading men. If you broke with Warric, could you count on his loyalty to you?”

“Breckton’s loyalty to me is unwavering. His father, Lord Belstrad, is a chivalrous knight of archaic dimensions. He beat those values into his sons. Neither Breckton nor his brother—what’s his name, the younger Belstrad boy, who went to sea—Wesley, would dishonor themselves by opposing a man they have sworn their allegiance to. I do admit, however, their honor can be an inconvenience. I remember once a servant dropped my new fustian hat in the mud, and when I commanded Breckton to cut off the clumsy oaf’s hand in punishment, he refused. Breckton went on for twenty minutes explaining the code of chivalry to me. Oh yes, my lord, he is indeed loyal to House Ballentyne, but I would rather have a less loyal man who simply obeys without question. It’s entirely possible that should I break with Warric, Breckton might refuse to fight at all, but I’m certain he would not oppose me. Personally, I would be more concerned with Ethelred himself. He is a fine commander in his own right.”