“I can understand why you might not trust me. You don’t know me. I don’t know you,” he said to an imagined Royce. The conversation had begun as thoughts, but by the time he was lying down to sleep, the thoughts took voice. “And sure, you’re as skittish as a bloodsucking mosquito, but if you planned on running, why not tell me?”
He imagined some sort of smirk or laugh.
“I tried.” His voice went up in tone. Royce never spoke in such a singsong sarcastic rhythm, and his voice didn’t have the timbre of a girl, but that’s how Hadrian said his lines because that’s how he would have heard them. “I said they were coming. I told you we had to kill everyone and you argued. Then Lord Marbury butted in. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have interrupted. You could have excused yourself and said, ‘Listen, if five guys with swords come to the door, we should run out the back.’” He liked how reasonable and confident that sounded.
Royce rolled his eyes in Hadrian’s imagination. He had been rolling his eyes ever since Hadrian left Iberton’s tavern that morning, and it really irritated him. “What’s the point? I didn’t want you along in the first place.”
“What if they had grabbed me? What if they had hauled me off to whatever prison they have up here for the crime you committed? What if they planned to skip the trip and settle things right in the tavern with a quick beheading?” Hadrian nearly shouted this, slapping his palm against the blanket-covered grass. His eyes fixed on the stars while a few feet away Dancer shifted her weight and tilted her head with a questioning look.
“Not my problem,” replied the imaginary Royce. The way he said it, the way he looked saying it with that smug little smile and those wolf eyes, made Hadrian wish he were there so he could smash the grin from his face.
The bastard.
Hadrian returned to Sheridan Valley the next night. He purposely took it slow to arrive after dark and waited until the common was clear before riding directly to the stable. He found an open stall, but he left Dancer saddled. He didn’t expect to stay long. He would explain what had happened to Arcadius, stop in to check on Pickles, then … he really didn’t know. He’d ride south again, maybe aim for that city the guy on the road to Sheridan had mentioned. The one on the north bank of the Galewyr where his friend sold pottery. He could get a hot meal and spend the night in a bed. If it was good enough for the potter, it would be fine for him. He’d resupply, then maybe go back down to Colnora.
Then what?
Hadrian had already seen half the world, made and spent fortunes, served queens and warlords. So why was it that he had so few prospects? He considered returning to Calis. It was a weakness, the sort he saw in drunks, and he hated himself for even thinking it. The tiger and the letter had woken him from a nightmare that he had only imagined to be a dream. He couldn’t go back to that. He didn’t want to be a soldier again either. He likened it to growing up. At some point he discovered girls were pretty; after that he could never return to calling them names. As a child, it had been necessary to watch, follow, and listen, but every man needed to graduate from servitude or accept a life of slavery. He’d seen the men who stayed, the career soldiers, and knew why—they wanted power. Rank granted privilege, authority, respect. Hadrian had no use for any of it. He’d achieved the zenith in each and found himself miserable. He could no longer draw swords at the demands of another any more than he could call women names. This was perhaps the only thing he was certain of—that and the fact he never wanted to see Royce Melborn again.
But what does that leave?
At least Pickles had a better future. He’d accomplished that much. Hadrian smiled thinking of the poor boy from Vernes in a school gown. His own life had taken the wrong turns, but Pickles was on a good road now. If nothing else, Hadrian could take solace in knowing he had played a major role in changing the direction of Pickles’s life.
Hadrian climbed the stairs to Arcadius’s office, managing to avoid students. The door was closed, leaving him to knock on the professor’s door.
“Come in,” called the now-familiar voice.
Opening the door, he found the office was the same old mess. The professor was back at his desk this time with a book open before him and a steaming cup of something in his hand. Hadrian was three steps into the room before he noticed Royce Melborn. The thief was on the far side of the clutter, just as he had been the day they were introduced, only this time he reclined on a chest, eating an apple. His cloak was off, draped over the shoulders of the nearby skeleton that dangled from the spear like a macabre marionette.
“You!” was all that Hadrian could think to say.
Royce looked at him equally surprised, then shaking his head in disbelief dug into his purse and pulled out a coin. He got up and set it on the professor’s desk before returning to his seat on the chest. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you again.”
“I hoped I would never have to see you,” Hadrian said. “You abandoned me.”
“To be more precise, I left you for dead. How’d you survive?”
“I didn’t fight them.”
“You ran? You must be fast.”
“I didn’t run. I spent the night at that tavern thinking you might be back to get me.”
Royce chuckled. “Not much chance of that.”
“Obviously.”
“So how’d you survive?”
“Lord Marbury, and the others at the tavern—the people you wanted to kill—they protected me, lied for me. He even lied for you, but that wasn’t necessary because, being a coward, you were already gone.”
“I wouldn’t call it cowardice.”
“What would you call it?”
“Necessary. I needed to get rid of you. Normally that’s not a problem, but”—he tilted his head at Arcadius, who was still reading—“my first choice wasn’t an option.”
“Is that it?” Hadrian pointed at the small battered notebook the professor was reading.
“Yes, yes,” Arcadius said. “Edmund Hall’s Journal.”
“My freedom was riding on the success of this job,” Royce said. “I couldn’t take the chance of you messing up.”
“And yet you managed to do that all by yourself,” Arcadius said.
Royce’s head turned sharply. “What? You said it was the right book.”
“The deal wasn’t just to retrieve the book. It was for both of you to get it.”
“What possible difference does that make? The book was the prize. You have it. We’re done. He was only along in case of trouble, which there wasn’t any.”
“I was very explicit … Once again you failed to follow my instructions. You needed to take Hadrian up the tower.”
“That wasn’t going to happen.” Royce took another loud bite of his apple and talked with his mouth full. “We didn’t practice with the harness, and doing it that way was…” He waved the apple in the air, looking at the ceiling for the answer, then gave up. “It was just stupid to begin with. As you can see, I do very well on my own.”
Arcadius closed the book and, taking the spectacles from his nose, looked at Royce. “I’m pleased you got the book. It is fascinating, by the way. But I was very clear on the conditions. The fact that you ignored them doesn’t change that you cheated. The debt remains.”
Royce stood up with a wicked look on his face and took a step toward the professor.
Hadrian put his hands to his swords and advanced a step of his own.
“It’s easily fixed,” Arcadius spoke quickly. “You can still free yourself of the obligation. You merely need to put the book back.”
“What?”
“You need to put it back—but this time you have to do as instructed and take Hadrian with you.”
“You can’t be serious.” Royce glared at him. “Now you’re just—Wait. You only wanted to borrow the book, you said. You planned to have me put it back all along.”
“It was possible you might have surprised me and actually taken Hadrian with you the first time.�
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Surprise stole over Royce’s face and Hadrian watched as a reluctant smile slowly appeared.
“Yes, dear boy,” Arcadius said. “I’m not as foolish as I look, and you’re not that hard to predict. Now, in order to meet the terms of our agreement, you must replace the book—after I’ve finished reading it, of course. This time, however, you must take Hadrian to the top with you. I will insist he carry the notebook and be the one to deposit it.”
“Why?” The thief stared, bewildered.
“Royce, you of all people should understand the problems associated with failing to follow clearly presented directions.” Arcadius turned to Hadrian. “Just minutes ago he was lamenting on how problematic it was when you refused to slaughter the other patrons in a tavern in Iberton.” He looked back at Royce. “Can’t even follow the simplest of directions, you said. Fact is, Hadrian isn’t your servant.”
“No, he’s baggage.”
“No, he’s your partner. His opinion is equal to your own. The two of you need to work together.”
“But he’s not needed. The proof is on your desk. And I managed it in less time than it took him to just ride back here.”
“It’s up to you, Royce, but if you want to be rid of me, this is the price. Help Hadrian put the book back where you found it, and no cheating this time.”
Royce threw his apple across the room, where it bounced off the wall and was swallowed in a pile of parchments. Then with that same eerie speed, he got up and advanced on Hadrian, who instinctively drew his swords.
Royce ignored the weapons. “You better not screw this up. Be at the base of the Glen Hall’s wall in five minutes. If we’re really going to do this, we practice at night.” He looked at the blades that Hadrian held crossed before him and sneered. “When I kill you, I won’t let you see me coming.”
Hadrian pulled himself up and stood on the roof of Glen Hall. A cold wind clawed at his cloak and whipped his hair. Below him, trees swayed and the statue in the common appeared but a toy.
“Well?” he asked, looking at Royce as the two stood there, wearing the leather harnesses, still joined by coils of rope.
“Better than I expected.”
The disappointment in his words made Hadrian grin.
“Don’t assume too much. You have no idea what I expected.”
It didn’t matter. Hadrian knew he had done well. There wasn’t much to it really. Royce did all the work of scaling and punching in anchors. Hadrian merely pulled himself up, drawing the rope between two metal rings at his waist, which when they were taut held him in place with little effort. The trick, he quickly learned, was to keep the rope from getting tangled. The hard part was removing the anchors, which he had to do to continue pulling the rope through the rings. Royce needed them for the actual climb, so Hadrian had to slip each one into a pouch at his side. If he had three hands, this would have been easy. As it was, he had to hold both the weight-bearing line and the tail with one hand while he dangled a life-threatening distance above the ground, fumbling to stuff an iron wedge into a bag. Holding his life in one fist was enough to keep his stomach in his throat most of the way up. After he broke a sweat, he discovered at some unknown point he stopped thinking about where he was, his mind focused only on the task. Reaching the top came as an exhilarating surprise. He had done it and his reward was to stand on the windswept roof of Glen Hall next to the ledge where a hawk had built a nest, taking in a view he suspected few, except the builders and the hawk, had ever seen.
“Still got the book?” Royce asked.
Royce required Hadrian to carry a book he had chosen at random off the floor of Arcadius’s office that was roughly the same size as Edmund Hall’s Journal. Hadrian had Fieldstone Economics: Rise of the Cottage Industry stuffed in his shirt, trapped in place by his belt and the harness. He tapped his chest. “Still there.”
Royce walked around him with an unhappy expression. “There’s no need to carry those swords. They’re just added weight and might tangle the lines. Besides, you’re going to make noise.”
“The scabbards are leather. There’s no metal to ring. Trust me, I’ve fought against the Ba Ran Ghazel in the Gur Em. I know how to be quiet.”
“I doubt that. I haven’t been in a jungle, but I suspect it’s louder there than a closed room in the middle of the night.”
“Well, if you are worried about noise, these harnesses jingle like sleigh bells.”
“Sound isn’t a problem on the climb, and we’ll take them off at the top before we go anywhere. I designed them to slip on and off easily. I just don’t see why you can’t get by with only that little sword. At least leave the big one on your horse.”
“I might need it.”
“You might need a piss pot, but you’re not bringing one of those up. And why three swords, anyway? You got a third arm I can’t see? ’Cause I’ll admit that would be impressive.” As he spoke, Royce began adjusting Hadrian’s harness, tugging on the buckles, pulling it tighter.
“I use it for a different style of fighting.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You don’t want to be the one fighting me when I pull that blade off my back.”
“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. “Why don’t you always use that one, then? Prefer to give your enemy a sporting chance of killing you?”
“It’s a matter of choosing the right tool for the job. Most times, delicacy is what’s called for. You wouldn’t use a sledgehammer to pound a nail. You use a little dagger, right? Why would you do that? It puts you at a tremendous disadvantage if the other fella has a sword.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”
“Just as you think I really don’t need all these swords.” He held up his pinky fingers. “I don’t really need these either, but I’m bringing them too.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the one who has to haul them up and down.” Royce walked back to the edge and stared down.
He stood on the lip so casually that Hadrian felt his own stomach rise, and he felt a sudden urge to grab him. Why, he didn’t know. An hour ago he would have greeted news of Royce’s death with a sense of satisfaction, perhaps even relief.
“The world always looks better like this,” Royce said so softly Hadrian almost didn’t hear. The wind pressed the thief’s cloak against his back, the edges flapping to either side like dark wings—a hawk watching for mice.
“How’s that?” Hadrian asked.
“Silent, still, dark, and distant. Far more manageable, less troublesome. People are small; they can be ignored.” He raised his head toward the invisible horizon. “The whole world is small at a height like this. Almost makes sense the way it lays out, like watching an ant hive. You never look at one of those and consider the politics, the petty prejudices, and all the vanities that drive them, but it’s the same everywhere. The queen has her favorites, her courtiers. The bigger ants lord over the smaller, the more productive over the weak, and the fortunate over the unlucky. We just can’t hear their squabbles. We’re too far above. Instead, they seem so pure of purpose, so simple, so happy. Maybe that’s how we all look to Maribor and the rest of the godly pantheon.” He peered up at the stars. “Perhaps that’s why they never think to help.”
He took a breath and glanced over his shoulder as if surprised Hadrian was still there. He checked his own harness, then smiled. “Now comes the fun part. Just try not to burn your hands on the rope by going too fast.”
With a wicked grin, Royce stepped over the side and dropped. Hadrian could hear the whiz of the rope passing through the rings on Royce’s harness as he flew down the side of the wall, pushing out with his feet, bounding his way until he was standing on the ground after only seconds.
“Your turn,” he shouted, his voice echoing between the buildings.
Hadrian shuffled to the edge, unwilling to even lift his feet. His muscles shaking with tension, he lay on his stomach and inched over the side. He hung from the lip, afraid to let go even though he felt
the harness supporting most of his weight.
“Sometime tonight, perhaps?” Royce called.
Hadrian double-checked the tail rope to make sure it was clear of tangles and not twisted. He wasn’t certain if he was shaking because of fear, the cold, or the tension in his muscles.
“Let me make this easier,” Royce said. “Imagine twenty tower guards with sharp swords running at you, and twenty more with crossbows shooting, their bolts pinging off the stone. The thing is, you don’t just have to get down before they stab, hack, or shoot you. You have to get down before they realize all they have to do is cut the rope.”
Hadrian let go, catching his weight on the line and thinking how crazy it was to trust his life to a twisted bit of plant fiber. Dangling, he inched the line through the rings, creeping down the wall. He let a bit more of the line slip through, and he felt himself fall. Terror tore through him. He pulled the tail rope up at an angle against the ring and he slowed quickly to a stop. He paused for a moment, letting his heart slip back down his throat, but he also smiled. He saw how it worked. Royce had told him, but nothing could replace experience. With a push of his feet, he swung away from the wall and let the rope slide. The feeling was a rush of excitement and a sense of grace as he neatly let his toes touch the wall again, pushing off once more. He timed the rope release better and felt like a spider whirling from his web. He planned on really letting himself fly the next time he pushed off, only to discover his feet touching grass.
He looked at Royce. “We should do that again.”
Royce and Hadrian were confined to their room for the majority of the next day and told to keep the door locked. After the knifing of Angdon Lerwick, Arcadius preferred no one know they had returned. Hadrian was disappointed because he wouldn’t be able to see Pickles, who had been reassigned to the freshman dorm since being accepted as a student, but he also knew it was probably for the best. After four days on the road and staying up all night climbing the side of Glen Hall, Hadrian was tired. The two slept most of the next day, waking only when a boy delivered what he thought might be breakfast, or perhaps lunch, but turned out to be the evening meal. The steaming bowls of vegetable stew and round loaf of brown rye arrived along with a note from Arcadius asking them to visit his office after eating and to do so while being seen by as few students as possible. There was a postscript for Royce explaining it was all right if some students saw them. This was underlined twice.
The Crown Tower: Book 1 of The Riyria Chronicles Page 23