Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (21 page)

The wizard’s gaze moved from face to face. “I recognize some—the stonecutters, sculptors, cooks, and wives. The church, for fear of secrets slipped from lips innocent, sealed them so. All before thee, ensnared by a lie. How many dead? How much lost to hide one secret, which even a millennium hast not erased?”

“There’s no door down there,” Alric warned the wizard.

Esrahaddon looked up at Alric as if awoken from a dream. “Be not a fool. Thou didst enter through it,” he said, and promptly led them down the corridor at a brisk walk. “Thou wert merely out of phase with it.”

Here, in the darkest segment of the prison, Esrahaddon’s robe grew brighter still, and he looked like a giant firefly. In time, they came to a solid stone wall, and without hesitation or pause, Esrahaddon walked through it. The rest quickly followed.

The bright sunlight of a lovely, clear autumn morning nearly blinded them the moment they passed through the barrier. Blue sky and the cool fresh air were a welcome change.
Hadrian took a deep breath and reveled in the scent of grass and fallen leaves, a smell he had not even noticed prior to entering the prison. “That’s strange. It should be nighttime and raining, I would think. We couldn’t have been in there more than a few hours. Could we?”

Esrahaddon shrugged and threw his head back to face the sun. He stood and took long deep breaths of air, sighing contentedly with each exhale. “Unexpected be the wages of altering time. ‘What morrow be it?’ ’tis better to ask. This day, the next, or one after. ’Tis possible tens or hundreds did fly past.” The wizard appeared amused at the shock on their faces. “Worry not, ’tis likely only hours hast thee skipped.”

“That’s rather unnerving,” Alric said. “Losing time like that.”

“Verily, for nine hundred years have I lost. Everyone I knew is dead, the empire gone, and who knows in what state the world is left. Should what thy sister reports prove true, much hath changed in the world.”

“By the way,” Royce mentioned, “no one uses the words
’tis
or
hath
anymore and certainly not
thou
,
thy
, or
verily
.”

The wizard considered this a moment, then nodded. “In my day, classes oft did speak different in forms of speech. Assumed I did that ye were of a lower station or, in the case of the king, poorly educated.”

Alric glared. “It’s you who sound strange, not us.”

“Indeed. Then I shall need to speak as all of—
you—
do. Even though—it is—crude and backward.”

Hadrian, Royce, and Myron began the task of saddling the horses, which remained standing where they had left them. Myron smiled, obviously happy to be with the animals once again. He petted them while eagerly asking how to tie a cinch strap.

“We don’t have an extra horse and Hadrian is already
riding double,” Alric explained. He glanced at Royce, who showed no indication of volunteering. “Esrahaddon will have to ride with me, I suppose.”

“Unnecessary will that be, for my own way I shall go.”

“Oh no you’re not. You’re coming back with me. I have a great deal to speak with you about. You were an advisor to the emperor and are obviously very gifted and knowledgeable. I have great need for someone such as you. You’ll be my royal counselor.”

“Nay, ’twill …” He sighed, then continued. “No,
it will
come as a shock to—
you—
but I did not escape to help with
your
little problems. Matters more pressing I must attend to, and too long from them have I been.”

The prince appeared taken aback. “What matters could you possibly have after nine hundred years? After all, it’s not as if you have to get home to tend to your livestock. If it’s a matter of compensation, you’ll be well paid and live in as much luxury as I can afford. And if you are thinking you can make more elsewhere, only Ethelred of Warric is likely to offer as much, and trust me, you don’t want to work for the likes of him. He’s a dogmatic Imperialist and a loyal church supporter.”

“I do not seek compensation.”

“No? Look at you. You have nothing—no food, no place to sleep. I think you should consider your situation a bit more before refusing me. Besides, gratitude alone should compel you to help me.”

“Gratitude? Has the meaning of this word changed as well? In my day, this meant to show appreciation for a favor.”

“And it still does. I saved you. I released you from that place.”

Esrahaddon raised an eyebrow. “Didst thou help me escape as favor to me? I think not. Thou—
you
freed me to save
yourself
. I owe
you
nothing, and if I did, I repaid
you
when I brought
you
out.”

“But the whole reason I came here was to gain your assistance. I’m inheriting a throne handed down by blood! Thieves abducted and dragged me across the kingdom in my first few days as king. I still don’t know who killed my father or how to find them. I’m in great need of help. You must know hundreds of things the greatest minds of today have never known—”

“Thousands at least but I am still not going with
you
.
You
have a kingdom to secure. My path lies elsewhere.”

Alric’s face grew red with frustration. “I insist you return with me and become my advisor. I can’t just let you wander off. Who knows what kind of trouble you could cause? You’re dangerous.”

“Yes indeed, dear prince,” the wizard said, and his tone grew serious. “So allow me to grant thee a bit of free counsel— use not the word
insist
with regards to me. Thou hast but only a small spill to contend with; do not tempt a deluge.”

Alric stiffened.

“How long before the church starts hunting you?” Royce asked casually.

“What dost …” The wizard sighed. “What do
you
mean?”

“You locked things up nicely in the prison so no one will know you escaped. Of course, if we were to return and start bragging about how we broke you out, that might start inquiries,” Hadrian said.

The wizard leveled his gaze at him. “Is it a threat you make?”

“Why would I do that? As you already know, I have nothing to do with this. Not to mention it would be pretty stupid of me to threaten a wizard. The thing is, though, the king here, he is not as bright as I am. He very well might get drunk and tell stories at the first tavern he arrives at, as nobles often do.” Esrahaddon glanced at Alric, whose red face now turned
pale. “Fact is, we came all this way to find out who killed Alric’s father, and we really don’t know much more than we did before we set out.”

Esrahaddon chuckled softly. “Very well. Prithee, impart how ’tis—
it is—your
father died.”

“He was stabbed with a knife,” Alric explained.

“What kind of knife?”

“A common rondel military dagger.” Alric held his hands about a foot apart. “About this long. It had a flat blade and a round pommel.”

Esrahaddon nodded. “Where was he stabbed?”

“In his private chapel.”

“Where physically?”

“Oh, in the back, upper left side, I think.”

“Were there any windows or other doors in the chapel?”

“None.”

“Who found the body?”

“These two.” Alric pointed at Royce and Hadrian.

The wizard smiled and shook his head. “Nay, beside them, who announced the death of the king? Who raised the alarm?”

“That would be Captain Wylin, my master-at-arms. He was on the scene very quickly and apprehended them.”

Hadrian thought about the night King Amrath had been killed. “No, that’s not right. There was a dwarf there. He must have come around the corner of the hallway just as we left the room. He probably saw the king’s body lying on the floor of the chapel and shouted. Right after he yelled, the soldiers came and surprisingly fast, I might add.”

“That was just Magnus,” Alric said. “He’s been doing stonework about the castle for months.”

“Didst thee—
you—
see this dwarf approach from the corridor?” the wizard asked.

“No,” Hadrian replied, and Royce confirmed that with a shake of his head.

“And when
you
entered the chapel from the doorway, was the body of the king visible?”

Hadrian and Royce shook their heads.

“That solves it, then,” the wizard said as if everything was perfectly clear. The party stared back at him in confusion. Esrahaddon sighed. “The dwarf killed Amrath.”

“That’s not possible,” Alric said, challenging him. “My father was a big man, and the dagger thrust was downward. A dwarf couldn’t possibly have stabbed him in the upper back.”

“Your father was in his chapel, as any pious king, kneeling with head bowed. The dwarf killed him as he prayed.”

“But the door was locked when we entered,” Hadrian said. “And there was no one in the room besides the king.”

“No one you could
see
. Did the chapel have an altar with a cabinet?”

“Yes, it did.”

“They did a millennium ago as well. Religion changes slowly. The cabinet was likely too small for a man but could easily accommodate a dwarf. After he killed the king, he locked the door and waited for you two to find the body.” Esrahaddon paused. “That cannot be right
you—two—to
?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “If this hast been done to language, I fear to know the fate of all else.

“With door locked, a night guard or cleaning steward would not find the body prematurely. Only a skilled thief would be able to enter, which I assume at least one of you is.” He looked directly at Royce as he said the last part. “After you left, the dwarf crept out, opened the door, and sounded the alarm.”

“So, the dwarf is an agent of the church?”

“No.” The wizard sighed with a look of frustration. “Not a dwarf alive who would carry a common dagger. The
traditions of dwarves change even slower than religion. Given the dagger he was by the one who hired him. Find that person and you will find the true killer.”

Stunned, everyone looked at the wizard. “That’s incredible,” Alric said.

“Nay, not so difficult to determine.” The wizard inclined his head toward the cliff. “Escape
was hard
. Speaking as you do
is hard
. Determining the murderer of King Amrath was … was … soft?”

“Soft?” Hadrian asked. “You mean easy.”

“How be it that easy forms the opposite of hard? Sense this makes not.”

Hadrian shrugged. “And yet, it is.”

Esrahaddon looked frustrated. “Alas. Now, this is as much assistance as I shall lend in this matter. Therefore, I will be on my way. As I have said, I have affairs to attend. My help was sufficient to prevent any loose tongues?”

“You have my hand on it,” Alric said, reaching out.

The wizard looked down at Alric’s open palm and smiled. “Thy word is enough.” He turned away and without so much as a parting gesture began walking down the slope.

“You’re going to walk? You know, it’s a long way to anywhere from here,” Hadrian yelled after him.

“I am looking forward to the trip,” the wizard replied without glancing back. Following the ancient road, he rounded the corner and slipped out of sight.

The remaining party members mounted their horses. Myron seemed more comfortable with the animals now and climbed confidently into his seat behind Hadrian. He even neglected to hold on until they began down the ravine back in the direction from which they had come. Hadrian expected they would pass Esrahaddon on the way down, but they reached the bottom of the ravine without seeing him.

“Not your run-of-the-mill fellow, is he?” Hadrian asked. He was continuing to look around for any signs of the wizard.

“The way he was able to get out of that place makes me wonder exactly what we did here today by letting him out,” Royce said.

“No wonder the emperor was so successful.” Alric frowned and knotted the ends of his reins. “Although I can tell it didn’t come without aggravation. You know, I don’t extend my hand often, but when I do, I expect it to be accepted. I found his reaction quite insulting.”

“I’m not sure he was being rude by not shaking your hand. I think it’s just because he couldn’t,” Myron told them. “Shake your hand, that is.”

“Why not?”

“In
The Accumulated Letters of Dioylion
, they told a bit about Esrahaddon’s incarceration. The church had both of his hands cut off in order to limit his ability to cast spells.”

“Oh,” Alric said.

“Why do I get the impression this Dioylion fellow didn’t die a natural death?” Hadrian asked.

“He’s probably one of those faces in the hallway.” Royce spurred his horse down the slope.

I
heard you were looking for me, Uncle?” Princess Arista swept into his office. She was followed by her bodyguard, Hilfred, who dutifully waited by the door. Still dressing in clothing mourning her father’s death, she wore an elegant black gown with a silver bodice. Standing straight and tall with her head held high, she maintained her regal air.

The Archduke Percy Braga rose as she entered. “Yes, I have some questions for you.” He resumed his seat behind the desk. Her uncle was dressed in black as well. His doublet, cape, and cap were dark velvet, causing his gold chain of office to stand out more than usual. His eyes looked weary from lack of sleep, and a thickening growth of stubble shadowed his face.

“Do you, now?” she said, glaring at him. “Since when does the lord chancellor summon the acting queen to answer
his
questions?”

Percy raised his eyes to meet hers. “There is no proof your brother is dead, Arista. You are not queen yet.”

“No proof?” She walked over to Braga’s chart table, where maps of the kingdom lay scattered everywhere. They were littered with flags marking where patrols, garrisons, and companies were deployed. She picked up the soiled robe she saw
there; it bore the Essendon falcon crest. Poking her fingers through the holes cut in the back, she threw it on his desk. “What do you call this?”

“A robe,” the archduke responded curtly.

“This is my brother’s, and these holes look as though a dagger or arrow would fit through them nicely. Those two men who murdered my father killed Alric as well. They dumped his body in the river. My brother is dead, Braga! The only reason I have not already ordered my coronation is that I’m observing the appropriate mourning period. That time will soon be over, so you should mind how you speak to me, Uncle, lest I forget we are family.”

“Until I have his body, Arista, I must consider your brother alive. As such, he is still the rightful ruler, and I’ll continue to do everything in my power to find him regardless of your interference. I owe that much to your father, who entrusted me with this position.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my father is dead. You should pay more attention to the living, or you won’t be the Lord Chancellor of Melengar for long.”

Braga started to say something and then stopped to take a calming breath. “Will you answer my questions or not?”

“Go ahead and ask. I’ll decide after I hear them.” She casually walked back to the chart table and sat on it. She crossed her long legs at the ankles and absently studied her fingernails.

“Captain Wylin reports that he has completed his interviews with the dungeon staff.” Braga got up and moved from behind his desk to face Arista. In his hand, he held a parchment, which he glanced at for reference. “He indicates you visited the prisoners after your brother and I left them. He says you brought two monks with you who were later found gagged and hanging in place of the prisoners. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she replied without embellishment. The archduke
continued to stare at her, the silence growing between them. “I’m a superstitious woman by nature, and I wanted to be certain they had last rites so their ghosts didn’t remain after their execution.”

“There is a report you ordered the prisoners unchained?” Braga took another step closer to her.

“The monks told me the prisoners needed to kneel. I saw no danger in it. They were in a cell with an army of guards just outside.”

“They also reported you entered with the monks and had the door closed behind you.” The archduke took another step. He was now uncomfortably close, studying her manners and expression.

“Did they also mention I left before the monks did? Or that I wasn’t there when the brutes grabbed them?” Arista pushed off the desk, causing her uncle to step back. She casually slipped past him and walked to the window, which looked down at the castle courtyard. A man was chopping and stacking wood for the coming winter. “I’ll admit it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I never thought they would escape. They were just two men!” She continued to stare out the window absently. Her gaze drifted from the woodcutter to the trees, which had lost all their leaves. “Now, is that all you wanted to know? Do I have the chancellor’s permission to return to my duties as queen of this realm?”

“Of course, my dear.” Braga’s tone turned warmer. The princess left the window and moved toward the exit. “Oh, but there is one last thing.”

Arista paused at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Wylin also reports the dagger used to kill your father is missing from the storeroom. Do you have any idea where it might be?”

She turned to face him. “Are you now accusing me of stealing?”

“I’m simply asking, Arista,” the archduke huffed in irritation. “You don’t need to be so obstinate with me. I’m merely trying to do my job.”

“Your job? I think you are doing much more than your job. No, I don’t know anything about the dagger, and stop pestering me with accusations thinly veiled as inquiries. Do it again and we shall soon see who rules here!”

Arista stormed out of Braga’s office, leaving Hilfred to jog a step to keep up with her. She promptly crossed the keep to the residences. Asking Hilfred to stand guard, she rushed up the steps of her personal tower. She entered her room, slammed the door shut, and locked it with a tap from the gemstone in her necklace.

Breathing heavily, she paused a moment, with her back pressed against the door. She tried to steady herself. She felt as if the room were swaying like a young tree in a breeze. She had been feeling that way often lately. The world seemed to be constantly swirling around her. Yet this was her sanctuary, her refuge. Here was the one place she felt safe, where she kept her secrets, where she could practice her magic, and where she dreamed her dreams.

Although she was a princess, her room was very modest. She had seen the bedrooms of the daughters of earls, and even one baroness had a finer abode. By comparison, hers was quite small and austere. It was, however, by her own choice. She could have her pick of the larger, more ornately decorated bedrooms in the royal wing, but she chose the tower for its isolation and the three windows, which afforded a view of all the lands around the castle. Thick burgundy drapes extended from ceiling to floor, hiding the bare stone. She had hoped they might keep the chill out as well but unfortunately they
did not. Winter nights were often brutally cold despite her efforts to keep the little fireplace roaring. Still the soft presence of the drapes made it seem warmer just the same. Four giant pillows rested on a tiny canopy bed. There was no room for a larger one. Next to the bed was a small table with a pitcher inside a washbasin. Beside it stood a wardrobe, which had been passed down to her from her mother along with her hope chest. The solidly made trunk with a formidable lock sat at the foot of her bed. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were her dressing table, a mirror, and a small chair.

She crossed the room and sat at her dressing table. The mirror, which stood beside it, was of lavish design. The looking glass was clearer than most and was framed on either side by two elegant swans swimming away from one another. This too had once belonged to her mother. She fondly remembered nights sitting before it, watching its reflection as her mother brushed her hair. On the table, she kept her collection of hairbrushes. She had many, one from each of the kingdoms her father had visited on matters of state, including a pearl-handled brush from Wesbaden and an ebony one with fine fish-bone teeth from the exotic port city of Tur Del Fur. Looking at them now brought back memories of days when her father would return home with a hand hidden behind his back and a twinkle in his eye. Now the swan mirror and the brushes were all that remained of her parents.

With a sudden sweep of her hand, she threw the brushes across the room.
Why had it come to this?
She cried softly; it did not matter. She had work yet to do. There were things she had started that must now be finished. Braga was getting more suspicious each day—time was running out.

She unlocked and opened her hope chest. From inside, she removed the bundle of purple cloth she had hidden there. How ironic, she thought, for her to have used that cloth. Her father
had wrapped the last hairbrush he had given her in it. She laid the bundle on her bed and carefully unfolded it to reveal the rondel dagger. The blade was still stained with her father’s blood.

“Only one more job left for you to do,” she told the knife.

The Silver Pitcher Inn was a simple cottage located on the outskirts of the province of Galilin. Fieldstone and mortar composed the lower half, while whitewashed oak beams supported a roof of thick field thatch, gone gray with time. Windows divided into diamond panes of poor-quality glass underscored by heldaberry bushes lined the sides. Several horses stood tied to the posts out front, with still more visible in the small stable to the side.

“Seems like a busy place for so far out,” Royce observed.

Traveling east, they had ridden all day. Just as before, the trip through the wilds proved exhausting. As the evening light had faded, they had reached the farmland of Galilin. They passed through tilled fields and meadows until at last they stumbled onto a country lane. Because none of them knew for certain where they were, they decided to follow the road to a landmark. To their pleasant surprise, the Silver Pitcher Inn was the first building they found.

“Well, Majesty,” Hadrian said, “you should be able to find your way back to the castle from here, if that’s still your destination.”

“It’s about time I got back,” Alric told him, “but not before I eat. Does this place have decent food?”

“Does it matter?” Hadrian chuckled. “I’d be happy for a bit of three-day-ripe field mouse at this point. Come on, we can have a last meal together, which, since you have no money
on you, I’ll be paying for. I hope you’ll let me deduct it from my taxes.”

“No need. We’ll tack it on to the job as an additional expense,” Royce interjected. He looked at Alric and added, “You haven’t forgotten you still owe us one hundred tenents, have you?”

“You’ll get paid. I’ll have my uncle set the money aside. You can pick it up at the castle.”

“I hope you don’t mind if we wait a few days, just to make sure.”

“Of course not.” The prince nodded.

“And if we send a representative to pick up the money for us?” Royce asked. Alric stared at him. “One who has no idea how to find us in case he is captured?”

“Oh please, aren’t you being just a tad bit too cautious now?”

“No such thing,” Royce replied.

“Look!” Myron shouted suddenly, pointing at the stable.

All three of them jumped fearfully at the sudden outburst.

“There’s a
brown
horse!” the monk said in amazement. “I didn’t know they came in brown!”

“By Mar, monk!” Alric shook his head in disbelief, a gesture Royce and Hadrian mirrored.

“Well, I didn’t,” Myron replied sheepishly. His excitement, however, was still evident when he added, “What other colors do they come in? Is there a green horse? A blue one? I would so love to see a blue one.”

Royce went inside and returned a few minutes later. “Everything looks all right. A bit crowded, but I don’t see anything too out of the ordinary. Alric, be sure to keep your hood up and either spin your ring so the insignia is on the inside of your hand, or better yet, remove it altogether until you get home.”