The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)

“You’re just scared,” the Calian replied. “We all had great hopes the ransom would succeed, but the feast is the day after tomorrow. Spring is coming, my friend, and whether I’m the seed, the rock, or the sod, I fear the plow.”

The dwarf nodded. “Time’s up. A hundred swords is the best we can do.” He held out the box. “But with this, it should be more than enough.”

“I’m more frightened of what you hold than the swords.” The Calian eyed the container as if the dwarf were waving a crossbow in his face. “Griswold, if it becomes necessary, will you use it?”

“This one is yours.” The dwarf handed the box to the Calian.

He took it slowly, gingerly, and held it away from his body, as if a swarm of angry bees were inside.

“With that, I can ask the same of you. Will you use yours?” the dwarf asked.

“If it comes to it, what choice do we have? A hundred swords won’t be enough, and Villar will use his. Giving him a monopoly on such power would be the pinnacle of stupidity. We have a responsibility to act as safeguards to one another. And then there’s the sacrifices to think about. Not to mention what happens afterward.”

“That’s something we’ll decide when we get there—if we get there. One can’t start building a house without determining the size and shape of the foundation.”

“Comments like that are what make others see only your height,” the Calian said. “You’re reinforcing false ideas. You’re a woodcarver, for Novron’s sake!”

The dwarf laughed. “I’m a woodcarver, but in no way is it for Novron’s sake.”

They both smiled. Then the Calian stretched his neck and peered up the road. Hadrian and Royce froze, but the Calian didn’t see them. “Where is Villar?”

The dwarf gave his own casual glance. “He’s usually the first one here, isn’t he?”

“Do you think—”

Royce spun and shoved Hadrian out into the street. Off balance and bewildered, he staggered backward into the moonlight, catching the attention of the dwarf and the Calian. They both stared at him in shock and fear.

“What the—” Hadrian began just as the thief sprang to his side. An instant later, a massive block of stone struck the street where the two had been standing. It shattered, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Looking up, Hadrian spotted a silhouette peering down from the roofline of the church. It withdrew from sight, melting into the darkness.

“Meet you back at the boardinghouse,” Royce said quickly as he leapt to a windowsill. From there, he scaled the stonework to the church’s roof where he, too, vanished.

Hadrian looked back toward the graveyard. The dwarf and the Calian were running away in opposite directions.





Hadrian had always considered himself a good runner, but that night he was handicapped by racing in the darkness of an unknown city. Weighed down by three swords while chasing a slender man with a solid head start didn’t help, either. Unable to pursue both, and already knowing where the dwarf lived, he chose to follow the Calian. The good news was that his target appeared to be considerably older, and he still protectively held the dwarf’s box.

The contents must be valuable or he would’ve dropped it before running.

The Calian cut through an alley Hadrian didn’t know existed, pulling down stacks of empty crates to block his pursuer’s progress. By the time Hadrian emerged from the debris-strewn alleyway, the Calian had gained a greater lead and was openly sprinting down the center of the next street. Hadrian didn’t know what time it was, but he guessed it was after decent folk went to bed. Few remained on the cobblestone thoroughfares, and while all of them stopped to watch, none made any attempt to stop his pursuit. The Calian tried to lose him by cutting through more alleys, and he succeeded. Hadrian lost sight of his target; the man was gone. Guessing that the man would head for the same gate that marked the exit from the dwarven community, Hadrian ran for it. He was rewarded by a glimpse of the Calian racing out.

He headed south toward the harbor, sandaled feet striking the stone in rapid slaps. In the growing fog of the silent streets, Hadrian could hear the man long after he’d lost sight of him. This was the only noise the Calian made. Hadrian generated a multitude of sounds: clapping swords, the flap of his cloak, and the pounding of his boot heels.

Luckily, the Calian was slowing down, getting tired most likely. Darting into a series of dilapidated houses, he dodged a ladder and jumped a pile of manure that Hadrian slipped in. He didn’t fall, but it was close.

They both ducked under a clothesline loaded with clothes someone had forgotten to take in. With boots still slick with muck, Hadrian ran past a cascading avalanche of busted crates, over an open sewer grate, around a brimming water barrel, and into a yard enclosed by a battered wooden fence. The Calian managed to leap the stockade-style wall, and for precious seconds, Hadrian lost sight of him again.

By the time Hadrian had cleared the fence, he’d once more lost his prey.

The barrier was merely a dividing line between one property and another—separating an alley filled with a stack of broken wagon wheels and one filled with dented buckets. The Calian could have gone left or right. Rather than running off blindly, Hadrian stood still, held his breath, and listened. He had no idea where he was anymore. They had raced up a dozen different streets. The architecture was back to four-story buildings with stone bases and timber-and-stucco uppers. Damp, salty air accompanied a growing level of fog, which reduced his visibility to half a block. His only clue was a familiar pungent fragrance, a pervasive incense burned in many homes in Calis.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Off to his left.

He darted around the buckets and back out onto a street, another tiny affair. Again, he had a choice, and once more Hadrian paused to listen. He waited but heard nothing.

Is he hiding? Hadrian was exhausted after the long run. The old Calian had to be, too, or maybe he’d realized it wasn’t such a good idea leading his pursuer back to his home. Or perhaps he had simply taken off his sandals. Slowly, carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, Hadrian made a calculated guess that the Calian had continued in the same general, southerly direction, and he crept that way. Reaching an intersection, he found a lonely streetlamp illuminating three choices. Straight ahead lay the masts of ships, black against the starry sky. To his right, the dark edifice of the cathedral towered over rooftops and the bright-white fog. Its lower reaches were illuminated by the increased presence of streetlamps. To his left, there was only darkness.

I’d pick darkness, Hadrian thought and started down the dismal street. He’d only gone a few steps when he heard a wet tearing noise. In daylight, while surrounded by a crowd of smiling friends, the sound would have made him cringe, but in a strange, dark place of mist and twisting streets, it made him shudder. This wasn’t a happy noise. Hadrian drew his short sword. The metal made a soft ring as it left the scabbard. Something moved. Hadrian saw little more than a shift in shadows, but the sound was a harsh sudden jerk, the sort a startled deer might make. There was a thrash—something knocked over—and then silence.

Hadrian guessed his prey was fleeing again and quickly rounded the corner. He tripped, and this time he did fall. He hit the hard alley floor with his left shoulder and knee, grunting with the pain that shot up his thigh. His knuckles struck the cobblestones hard enough to make him let go of the blade. Instinct made him roll to one side and snatch up his weapon as he did. He raised the blade in defense against the expected attack.

No one was there.

He was alone, lying on the ground in a dark alley, feeling foolish. Hand throbbing, knee aching, shoulder sore, he once more held his breath to listen. All he heard was the distant ringing of cathedral bells.

It’s official, I’ve lost him.