Rise Of Empire (82 page)

“I haven’t seen Merrick in years.”

Royce drew out his dagger and purposely allowed it to make a metal scraping sound as it came free of its scabbard. “So you haven’t seen him. Fine. But you’re working for him, or someone else who’s working for him. I want to know where he is and what he’s up to, and you’re going to tell me.”

Bernie shook his head. “I—I really don’t know anything about Marius or what he’s doing nowadays.”

Royce paused. Every line of Bernie’s face revealed he was telling the truth.

“What have we here?” Thranic asked. “A private meeting? You’ve strayed a bit far from camp, dear boys.”

Royce turned to see Thranic and Staul. Staul held a torch, and Thranic carried a crossbow.

“It’s not safe to venture too far away from your friends, or didn’t you think about that, Royce?” Thranic said, then fired the crossbow at Royce’s heart.

“Antun Bulard, isn’t it?” Hadrian asked, sticking his head in the tent.

“Hmm?” Antun looked up. He was lying on his stomach, writing with a featherless quill worn to only a few inches in length. He had on a pair of spectacles, the top of which he peered over. “Why, yes, I am.”

The old man was more than just pale—he was white. His hair was the color of alabaster, while his skin was little more than wrinkled quartz. He reminded Hadrian of an egg, colorless and fragile.

“I wanted to introduce myself.” Hadrian slipped fully inside. “All this time at sea and we never had the opportunity to properly meet. I thought that was unfortunate, don’t you?”

“Why, I—Who are you again?”

“Hadrian. I was the cook on the
Emerald Storm.”

“Ah, well, I hate to say it, Hadrian, but I was not impressed with your cooking. Perhaps a little less salt and some wine would have helped. Not that this is any great feast,” he said, gesturing toward his half-eaten meal. “I’m too old for such rich foods. It upsets my stomach.”

“What are you writing?”

“Oh, this? Just notes, really. My mind isn’t what it once was, you see. I’ll forget everything soon, and then where will I be? A historian who can’t remember his own name. It really could come to that, you know. Assuming I live that long. Bernie keeps reassuring me I won’t live out this trip. He’s probably right. He’s the expert on such things, after all.”

“Really? What kind of things?”

“Oh, spelunking, of course. I’m told Bernie is an old hand at it. We make a good team, he and I. He digs up the past and I put it down, so to speak.” Antun chuckled to himself until he
coughed. Hadrian poured the man a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted.

After he had recovered, Hadrian asked, “Have you ever heard of a man called Merrick Marius?”

Bulard shook his head. “Not unless I have and then forgotten. Was he a king or a hero, perhaps?”

“No, I actually thought he might have been the man who sent you here.”

“Oh no. Our mandate is from the Patriarch himself, though Sentinel Thranic doesn’t tell me much. I’m not complaining, mind you. How often does a priest of Maribor have the opportunity to serve the Patriarch? I can tell you precisely—twice. Once when I was so much younger, and now that I’m nearly dead.”

“I thought you were a historian. You’re also a priest?”

“I know I don’t look much like one, do I? My calling was the pen, not the flock.”

“You’ve written books, then?”

“Oh yes, my best is still
The History of Apeladorn
, which I’m constantly having to append, of course.”

“I know a monk at the Winds Abbey who’d love to meet you.”

“Is that up north in Melengar? I passed through there once about twenty years ago.” Antun nodded thoughtfully. “They were very helpful, saved my life if I recall correctly.”

“So, you’re on this trip to record what you see?”

“Oh no, that’s only what I’ve been doing so far. As you can imagine, I don’t get out much. I do most of my work in libraries and stuffy cellars, reading old books. I was in Tur Del Fur before setting off on this wonderful trip. This has been an excellent opportunity to record what I see firsthand. The Patriarch knows about my research on ancient imperial history, and that’s why I’m here. Sort of a living, breathing version
of my books, you see. I suppose they think that if they put in the right questions, out will pop the correct answers, like an oracle.”

Hadrian was about to ask another question when Grady and Poe poked their heads in.

“Hadrian.” Poe caught his attention.

“Well, isn’t my tent the social center tonight?” Antun remarked.

“I’m kinda busy at the moment. Can this wait?” Hadrian asked.

“I don’t think so. Thranic and Staul just followed Royce and Bernie into the jungle.”

Royce heard the click of the release and began to move even before the hiss of the string indicated the missile’s launch. Still, his reflexes could not move faster than a flying bolt. The metal shaft pierced his side below the rib cage. The impact thrust him backward, where he collapsed in pain.

“Lucky we found you, Bernie,” Thranic told the startled thief as he moved away from Royce’s body. “He would have killed you. Isn’t that what you said bucket men do? Now, don’t you feel foolish for saying I couldn’t protect you?”

“You could have hit me!” Bernie snapped.

“Stop being so dramatic. You’re alive, aren’t you? Besides, I heard the conversation. It didn’t take much for you to give me up. In my profession, lack of faith is a terrible sin.”

“In mine, it’s all too often justified,” Bernie snarled back.

“Get back to the camp before you’re missed.”

Bernie grumbled as he trotted back up the path. Thranic watched his retreat.

“We might have to do something about him,” the sentinel
told the Tenkin. “Funny that you, my heathen friend, should be my stalwart ally in all this.”

“Bernie, he thinks too much. Me? I am just greedy, and therefore trustworthy. We going to just leave the body?”

“No, it’s too close to the path we’ll be taking tomorrow, and I can’t count on the animals eating him before we break camp. Drag him away. A few yards should be enough.”

“Royce?” Hadrian shouted from behind them on the trail.

“Quickly, you idiot. They’re coming!”

Staul rushed forward and, planting his torch in the ground, lifted Royce and ran with him into the jungle. He had traveled only a few dozen yards when he cursed.

Royce was still breathing.

“Izuto!”
the Tenkin hissed, drawing his dagger.

“Too late,” Royce whispered.

Hadrian led them into the trees the way Royce had gone earlier. Ahead he spotted the glow of a torch and ran toward it. Behind him Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning followed.

“There’s blood here,” Hadrian announced when he got to the burning torch thrust in the ground. “Royce!”

“Spread out!” Wyatt ordered. “Sweep the grass and look for more blood.”

“Over here!” Derning shouted, moving into the ferns. “There, up ahead. Two of them, Staul and Royce!”

Hadrian cut his way through the thick undergrowth to where they lay. Royce was breathing hard, holding his blood-soaked side. His face was pale, but his eyes remained focused.

“How ya doing, buddy?” Hadrian asked, dropping to his knees and carefully slipping an arm under his friend.

Royce didn’t say anything. He kept his teeth clenched, blowing his cheeks out with each breath.

“Get his feet, Wyatt,” Hadrian ordered. “Now lift him gently. Poe, get out front with the torch.”

“What about Staul?” Derning asked.

“What about him?” Hadrian glanced down at the big Tenkin, whose throat lay open, slit from ear to ear.

When they returned to camp, Wesley ordered Royce to be taken to his tent, which was the largest, originally reserved for Captain Seward. He started to send Poe for Dr. Levy, but Hadrian intervened. Wesley appeared confused, but as Hadrian was Royce’s best friend, he did not press the issue. The Vintu were surprisingly adept at first aid, and under Hadrian’s watchful eye they cleaned and dressed the wound.

The bolt aimed at Royce’s heart had entered and exited cleanly. He suffered significant blood loss, but no organ damage, nor broken bones. The Vintu sealed the tiny entry hole without a problem. The larger tearing of his flesh at the exit was another matter. It took a dozen bandages and many basins of water before they got the bleeding under control and Royce lay, sleeping calmly.

“Why wasn’t I notified about this? I’m a physician, for Maribor’s sake!”

Hadrian stepped outside the tent flap to find Levy arguing with Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning, who, at Hadrian’s request, guarded the entrance.

“Ah, Dr. Levy, just the man I wanted to see,” Hadrian addressed him. “Where’s your boss? Where’s Thranic?”

Levy did not need to answer, as across the camp Thranic walked toward them alongside Wesley and Bernie.

Hadrian drew his sword at their approach.

“Put away your weapon!” Wesley ordered.

“This man nearly killed Royce tonight,” Hadrian declared, pointing at Thranic.

“That’s not the way he tells it,” Wesley replied. “He said Seaman Melborn attacked and murdered Seaman Staul over accusations regarding Seaman Drew’s death. Mr. Thranic and Seaman Defoe claim they were witnesses.”

“We don’t
claim
anything. We saw it,” Thranic said coolly.

“And how do you
claim
this took place?” Hadrian asked.

“Staul confronted Royce, telling him he was going to Wesley with evidence. Royce warned him that he would never live to see the dawn. Then, when Staul turned to walk back to camp, Royce grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. Bernie and I expected such treachery from him, but we couldn’t convince Staul not to confront the blackguard. So we followed. I brought a crossbow, borrowed from Mr. Dilla-drum’s supplies, for protection. I fired in self-defense.”

“He’s lying,” Hadrian declared.

“Oh, were you there?” Thranic asked. “Did you see it happen as we did? Funny, I didn’t notice your presence.”

“Royce left the camp with Bernie, not Staul,” Hadrian said.

Thranic laughed. “Is that the best you can come up with to save your friend from a noose? Why not say you saw Staul attack him unprovoked, or me, for that matter?”