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

“The Nationalists will be an issue,” Guy admitted. “For years now the seret have been watching Gaunt and his followers. They are being funded by the DeLur family and several other powerful merchant cartels in the Republic of Delgos. Delgos has enjoyed its freedom for too long to be convinced of the advantages of a central authority. They already fear the very idea of a unified empire. So yes, we know they will fight. They will need to be defeated on the battlefield, which is another reason why the Patriarch has selected Rufus. He’s a ruthless warlord. He’ll crush the Nationalists as his first act as emperor. Delgos will fall soon after.”


“Do we have the troops to take Delgos?” Prelate Krindel, the resident historian, asked. “Tur Del Fur is defended by a dwarven fortress. It held out against a two-year siege by the Dacca.”

“I have been working on that very problem and I think I’ll have a—unique—solution.”

“And what might that be?” Galien asked suspiciously.

Luis Guy looked up. “Ah, Archbishop, so good of you to join us. I sent word we were beginning nearly an hour ago.”

“Do you plan to spank me for being tardy, Guy? Or are you simply trying to avoid my question?”

“You are not ready to hear the answer to that question,” the sentinel replied, which brought a reproachful look from the archbishop. “You would not believe me if I told you and certainly would not approve. But when the time comes, and it is necessary, then rest assured the fortress of Drumindor will fall, and Delgos along with it.”

The archbishop frowned at the slight, but before he could comment, Saldur spoke up. “What about the common people? Will they embrace a new emperor?” he asked.

“I have traveled the length and breadth of the four nations, promoting the contest. Heralds have announced it from Dagastan in the south to Lanksteer in the north; all of Apeladorn is aware of the event. In the marketplaces, taverns, and castle courts, anticipation is high. Once we announce the true intent of the contest, the people will be beside themselves. Gentlemen, these are exciting times. It is no longer a question of if, but when the New Empire will rise. The groundwork is laid. All we need to do is bestow the crown.”

“And King Ethelred of Warric?” Galien asked. “Is he on board?”

Guy shrugged. “He isn’t pleased with giving up his throne to become a viceroy, but few of the monarchs are, even those we placed in power. It is amazing how quickly rulers become accustomed to being called Your Majesty. Yet he has been assured that for being the first to take off his crown, he will be first in line in the new order. It is very likely he will assume the role of regent, administering the empire on behalf of Lord Rufus as the new emperor is away handling any uprisings. I also suggested that he might remain as chief council. He appeared satisfied with that.”

“I still don’t like handing over power to Rufus and Ethelred,” Saldur said.

“We won’t be,” Galien assured him. “The church will be in control. They are the faces, but we are the mind. The church will have a permanent appointee in the palace of the New Empire who will be charged with overseeing the construction of the new order.” He looked to Guy. “Did the Patriarch mention this to you?”

“He did.”

“And did he say if he would accept this responsibility himself?”

“Due to his advanced age, the Patriarch will not be taking on this burden but will instead select someone from this council who will be empowered to act autonomously on behalf of the entire church. That person will be appointed co-regent alongside Ethelred at least for the duration of the reconstruction phase.”

“Such a man would be immensely powerful,” the archbishop said. Saldur could tell from his tone—perhaps everyone could— that he knew it would not be him. “Would that person be you?”

Guy shook his head. “My task, as my father before me, and his before that, is to find the Heir of Novron. The Patriarch has asked me to assist in these matters concerning the immediate establishment of the empire, which I am happy to do, but I’ll not be deterred from my life’s goal.”

“Who will it be, then?”

“His Holiness has not yet decided. I suspect he will wait to see how events with the contest play out.” There was a pause as they waited for Guy to speak again. “This is a historic moment. All that we have worked for, all that has been carefully nurtured for centuries, is about to bear fruit. We now stand at the threshold of a new dawn for mankind. What began nearly a millennium ago will conclude with this generation. May Novron bless our hands.”

“He’s impressive,” Saldur told Galien.

“You think so?” the archbishop replied. “Good, because you’re coming with us.”

“To the contest?”

He nodded. “I need someone to counterbalance Guy. Perhaps you can be just as big a pain to him as you’ve been to me.”





Arista hesitated outside the door, holding a single candle. Inside, she could hear Bernice shuffling about, turning down the bed, pouring water into the basin, laying out Arista’s bed clothes in that ghastly nursemaid way of hers. As tired as she was, Arista had no desire to open that door. She had too much to think about and could not bear Bernice just now.

How many days?

She tried counting them in her head, ticking them off, tracking her memories of those muddled times between the death of her father and the death of her uncle; so much had happened so quickly. She still remembered the pale white look of her father’s face as he lay on the bed, a single tear of blood on his cheek, and the dark stain spreading across the mattress beneath him.

Arista glanced awkwardly at Hilfred, who stood behind her. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he said quietly, as if understanding her need not to alert the nurse-beast within.

Arista began walking aimlessly. She traveled down the hallway. This simple act gave her a sense of control, of heading toward something instead of being swept along. Hilfred followed three paces behind, his sword clapping against his thigh, a sound she had heard for years, like the swing of a pendulum ticking off the seconds of her life.

How many days?

Sauly had known Uncle Percy would kill her father. He knew before it happened! How long in advance did he know? Was it hours? Days? Weeks? He said he had tried to stop him. That was a lie—it had to be. Why not expose him? Why not just tell her father? But maybe Sauly had. Maybe her father refused to listen. Was it possible Esrahaddon really had used her?

The dimly lit hall curved as it circled around the tower. The lack of decoration surprised Arista. Of course, the Crown Tower was only a small part of the old palace, a mere corner staircase. The stones were old hewn blocks set in place centuries earlier. They all looked the same—dingy, soot-covered, and yellow, like old teeth. She passed several doors, then came to a staircase and began climbing. It felt good to exert her legs after being idle so long.

How many days?

She remembered her uncle searching for Alric, watching her, having her followed. If Saldur had known about Percy, why had he not intervened? Why had he allowed her to be locked in the tower and put through that dreadful trial? Would Sauly have allowed them to execute her? If he had just spoken up, if he had backed her, she could have called for Braga’s imprisonment. The Battle of Medford could have been avoided and all those people would still be alive.