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

Behind Wyatt, the feed store light winked out and a voice whispered in his ear, “It’s elvish for two.”


His heartbeat doubled, and before he could turn, he felt the sharp edge of a blade at his throat. He froze, barely allowing himself to breathe.

“You set us up to die.” The voice behind him took over. “You brokered the deal. You put us in that chapel so we would take the blame. I’m here to repay your kindness. If you have any last words, say them now, and say them quietly.”

Wyatt was a good cardplayer. He knew bluffs and the man behind him was not bluffing. He was not there to scare, pressure, or manipulate him. He was not looking for information; he knew everything he wanted to know. It was in his voice, his tone, his words, the pace of his breath in Wyatt’s ear—he was there to kill him.

“What’s going on, Wyatt?” a small voice called.

Down the alley, a door opened and light spilled forth, outlining a young girl, whose shadow ran across the cobblestones and up the far wall. She was thin with shoulder-length hair and wore a nightgown that reached to her ankles, exposing bare feet.

“Nothing, Allie—get back inside!” Wyatt shouted, his accent fully exposed.

“Who are those men you’re talking to?” Allie took a step toward them. Her foot disturbed a puddle, which rippled. “They look angry.”

“I won’t allow witnesses,” the voice behind Wyatt hissed.

“Leave her alone,” Wyatt begged. “She wasn’t involved. I swear. It was just me.”

“Involved in what?” Allie asked. “What’s going on?” She took another step.

“Stay where you are, Allie! Don’t come any closer. Please, Allie, do as I say.” The girl stopped. “I did a bad thing once, Allie. You have to understand. I did it for us, for you, Elden, and me. Remember when I took that job a few winters back? When I went up north for a couple of days? I—I did the bad thing then. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t and I almost got some people killed. That’s how I got the money for the winter. Don’t hate me, Allie. I love you, honey. Please just get back inside.”

“No!” she protested. “I can see the knife. They’re going to hurt you.”

“If you don’t, they’ll kill us both!” Wyatt shouted harshly, too harshly. He had not wanted to do it, but he had to make her understand.

Allie was crying now. She stood in the alley, in the shaft of lamplight, shaking.

“Go inside, honey,” Wyatt told her, gathering himself and trying to calm his voice. “It will be all right. Don’t cry. Elden will watch over you. Let him know what happened. It will be all right.”

She continued to sob.

“Please, honey, you have to go inside now,” Wyatt pleaded. “It’s all you can do. It’s what I need you to do. Please.”

“I—love—you, Da—ddy!”

“I know, honey. I know. I love you too, and I’m so sorry.”

Allie slowly stepped back into the doorway, the sliver of light diminishing until the door snapped shut, leaving the alley once more in darkness. Only the faint blue light from the cloud-shrouded moon filtered into the narrow corridor where the three men stood.

“How old is she?” the voice behind him asked.

“Leave her out of this. Just make it quick—can you give me that much?” Wyatt braced himself for what was to come. Seeing the child had broken him. He shook violently, his gloved hands in fists, his chest so tight it was difficult to swallow and hard to breathe. He felt the metal edge against his throat and waited for it to move, waited for it to drag.

“Did you know it was a trap when you came to hire us?” the man with three swords asked.

“What? No!”

“Would you still have done it if you knew?”

“I don’t know—I guess—yes. We needed the money.”

“So, you’re not a baron?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“I was a ship’s captain.”

“Was? What happened?”

“Are you going to kill me anytime soon? Why all the questions?”

“Each question you answer is another breath you take,” the voice from behind him spoke. It was the voice of death, emotionless, and empty. Hearing it made Wyatt’s stomach lurch as if he were looking over the edge of a high cliff. Not seeing his face, knowing that he held the blade that would kill him, made it feel like an execution. He thought of Allie, hoped she would be all right, then realized—she would see him. The thought struck with surprising clarity. She would rush out after it was over and find him on the street. She would wade through his blood.

“What happened?” the executioner asked again, his voice instantly erasing all other thoughts.

“I sold my ship.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Gambling debts?”

“No.”

“Why, then?”

“What difference does it make? You’re going to kill me anyway. Just do it!”

He had steadied himself. He was ready. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes. Still, the killer delayed.

“It makes a difference,” the executioner whispered in his ear, “because Allie is not your daughter.”

The blade came away from Wyatt’s neck.

Slowly, hesitantly, Wyatt turned to face the man holding the dagger. He had never seen him before. He was smaller than his partner, dressed in a black cloak with a hood that shaded his features, revealing only hints of a face—the tip of a sharp nose, highlight of a cheek, end of a chin.

“How do you know that?”

“She saw us in the dark. She saw my knife at your throat as we stood deep in shadow across the length of twenty yards.”

Wyatt said nothing. He did not dare move or speak. He did not know what to think. Somehow, something had changed. The certainty of death rolled back a step, but its shadow lingered. He had no idea what was happening and was terrified of making a misstep.

“You sold your ship to buy her, didn’t you?” the hooded man guessed. “But from whom, and why?”

Wyatt stared at the face beneath the hood—a bleak landscape, a desert dry of compassion. Death was there, a mere breath away; an utterance remained all that separated eternity from salvation.

The bigger man, the one with three swords, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “A lot is riding on your answer. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Right now you’re trying to decide what to say, and of course, you’re trying to guess what we want to hear. Don’t. Go with the truth. At least that way, if you’re wrong, your death won’t have been because of a lie.”

Wyatt nodded. He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath, and said, “I bought her from a man named Ambrose.”

“Ambrose Moor?” the executioner asked.

“Yes.”

Wyatt waited but nothing happened. He opened his eyes. The dagger was gone and the three-sword man was smiling at him. “I don’t know how much that little girl cost, but it was the best money you ever spent.”

“You aren’t going to kill me?”

“Not today. You still owe us one hundred tenents, for the balance on that job,” the man in the hood told him coldly.

“I—I don’t have it.”