Rise Of Empire: The Riyria Revelations

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Quiet down,” Etcher whispered from the bow. “This is no pleasure cruise. You’re being paid to row, not be a river guide.”

  Royce peered into their dark wake. “Is it normal for small boats to be on the river at night?”

  “Not unless you’re smuggling,” Wally said in a coy tone that made Arista wonder if he had firsthand experience.

  “If you don’t keep your traps shut, someone will notice us,” Etcher growled.

  “Too late,” Royce replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “Behind us, there’s at least one boat following.”

  Arista looked but could see nothing except the line the moon drew on the black surface of the water.

  “You’ve got a fine pair of eyes, you do,” Wally said.

  “You’re the one that saw them,” Royce replied. “The light on the dock didn’t go out. The other boat blocked it when they passed in your line of sight.”

  “How many?” Hadrian asked.

  “Six, and they’re in a wherry.”

  “They’ll be able to catch us, then, won’t they?” Arista questioned.

  Hadrian nodded. “They race wherries down the Galewyr and here on the Bernum for prize money. No one races skiffs.”

  Despite this, Wally stroked noticeably harder, which, combined with the current, moved the skiff along at a brisk pace, raising a breeze in their faces.

  “Langdon Bridge approaching,” Etcher announced.

  Arista saw it towering above them as they rushed toward it. Massive pillars of stone blocks formed the arches supporting the bridge, whose broad span straddled the river eight stories above. She could barely make out the curved heads of the decorative swan-shaped streetlamps that lit the bridge, creating a line of lights against the starry sky.

  “There are men up there,” Royce said, “and Price wasn’t kidding about them having crossbows.”

  Wally glanced over his shoulder and peered up at the bridge before regarding Royce curiously. “What are ya, part owl?”

  “Stop paddling and shut up!” Etcher ordered, and Wally pulled his oars out of the water.

  They floated silently, propelled by the river’s current. In the swan lights, the men on the span soon became visible, even to Arista. A dark boat on a black river would be hard, but not impossible, to spot. The skiff started to rotate sideways as the current pushed the stern. A nod from Wally prompted Hadrian to compensate with the tiller and the boat straightened.

  Light exploded into the night sky. A bright orange-and-yellow glow spilled onto the bridge from somewhere on the left bank. A warehouse was on fire. It burst into flame, spewing sparks skyward like a cyclone of fireflies. Silhouetted figures ran the length of the bridge and harsh shouts cut the stillness of the night.

  “Now paddle!” Etcher ordered, and Wally put his back into it.

  Arista used the opportunity to glance aft and now she also saw the wherry, illuminated by the fire from above. The approaching boat was a good fifteen feet in length and she guessed barely four feet across. Four men sat in two side-by-side pairs, each manning an oar. Besides the oarsmen, there were a man sitting in the stern and another at the bow with a grappling hook.

  “I think they mean to board us,” Arista whispered.

  “No,” Royce said. “They’re waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t intend to find out. Give us as much distance as you can, Wally.”

  “Slide over, pal. Let me give you a hand,” Hadrian told the boatman as he took up a seat beside him. “Arista, take the tiller.”

  The princess replaced Hadrian, grabbing hold of the wooden handle. She had no idea what to do with it and opted for keeping it centered. Hadrian rolled up his sleeves and, bracing his feet against the toggles, took one of the oars. Royce slipped off his cloak and boots and dropped them onto the floor of the boat.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Etcher told him. “We’ve still got another bridge to clear.”

  “Just make sure you get them past the South Bridge and we’ll be fine,” Royce said. “Now, gentlemen, if you could put a little distance between us.”

  “On three,” Wally announced, and they began stroking together, pulling hard and fast, so that the bow noticeably rose and a wake began to froth. Caught by surprise, Etcher stumbled backward and nearly fell.

  “What the blazes are—” Etcher started when Royce leapt over the gunwale and disappeared. “Damn fool. What does he expect us to do, wait for him?”

  “Don’t worry about Royce,” Hadrian replied as he and Wally stroked in unison. To Arista, the wherry did seem to drop farther back but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

  “South Bridge,” Etcher whispered.

  As they approached, Arista saw another fire blazing. This time it was a boat dock burning like well-aged kindling. The old South Bridge, which marked the city’s boundary, was not nearly as high as the Langdon, and Arista could easily see the guards.

  “They aren’t going for it this time,” Hadrian said. “They’re staying at their posts.”

  “Quiet. We might slip by,” Etcher whispered.

  With oars held high, they all sat as still as statues. Arista found herself in command of the skiff as it floated along in the current. She quickly learned how the rudder affected the boat. The results felt backward to her. Pulling right made the bow swing left. Terrified of making a mistake, she concentrated on keeping the boat centered and straight. Up ahead, something odd was being lowered from the bridge. It looked like cobwebs or tree branches dangling. She was going to steer around it when she realized it stretched the entire span.

  “They draped a net!” Etcher said a little too loudly.

  Wally and Hadrian back paddled, but the river’s current was the victor and the skiff flowed helplessly into the fishnet. The boat rotated, pinning itself sideways. Water frothed along the length, threatening to tip them.

  “Shore your boat and don’t move from it!” A shout echoed down from above.

  A lantern lowered from the bridge revealed their struggles to free themselves from the mesh. Etcher, Wally, and Hadrian slashed at the netting with knives, but before they could clear it, two imperial soldiers descended and took up position on the bank. Each was armed with a crossbow.

  “Stop now or we’ll kill you where you stand,” the nearest soldier ordered with a harsh, anxious voice. Hadrian nodded and the three dropped their knives.

  Arista could not take her eyes off the crossbows. She knew those weapons. She had seen Essendon soldiers practicing with them in the yard. They pierced old helms placed on dummies, leaving huge holes through the heavy metal. These were close enough for her to see the sharp iron heads of the bolts—the power to pierce armor held in check by a small trigger and pointed directly at them.

  Wally and Hadrian maneuvered the boat to the bank and one by one they exited, Hadrian offering Arista his hand as she climbed out. They stood side by side, Arista and Hadrian in front, Wally and Etcher behind.

  “Remove your weapons,” one of the soldiers ordered, motioning toward Hadrian. Hadrian paused, his eyes shifting between the two bowmen, before slipping off his swords. One of the soldiers approached, while the other stayed back, maintaining a clear line of sight.

  “What are your names?” the foremost soldier asked.

  No one answered.

  The lead guard took another step forward and intently studied Arista. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look what we have here, Jus. We done caught ourselves a fine fish, we have.”

  “Who is it?” Jus asked.

  “This here is that Princess of Melengar, the one they say is a witch.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I recognize her. I was in Medford the year she was on trial for killing her father.”

  “What’s she doing here, ya think?”

  “Don’t know … What are you doing here?”

  She said nothing, her eyes locked on the massive bolt heads. Made of heavy
iron, the points looked sharp. Knight killers, Sir Ecton called them.

  What will they do to me?

  “The captain will find out,” the soldier said. “I recognize these two as well.” He motioned to Wally and Etcher. “I seen them around the city afore.”

  “Course you have.” Wally spoke up. “I’ve piloted this river for years. We weren’t doing nothin’ wrong.”

  “If you’ve been on this river afore, then you knows we don’t allow transports at night.”

  Wally did not say anything.

  “I don’t know that one, though. What’s yer name?”

  “Hadrian,” he said, taking the opportunity to step forward as if to shake hands.

  “Back! Back!” the guard shouted, bringing his bow to bear at Hadrian’s chest. Hadrian immediately stopped. “Take one more step and I’ll punch a hole clear through you!”

  “So what’s your plan?” Hadrian asked.

  “You and your pals just sit tight. We sent a runner to fetch a patrol. We’ll take you over to see the captain. He’ll know what to do with the likes of you.”

  “I hope we don’t have to wait long,” Hadrian told them. “This damp night air isn’t good. You could catch a cold. Looks like you have already. What do you think, Arista?”

  “I ain’t got no cold.”

  “Are you sure? Your eyes and nose look red. Arista, you agree with me, don’t you?”

  “What?” Arista said, still captivated by the crossbows. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and barely heard Hadrian addressing her.

  “I bet you two been coughing and sneezing all night, haven’t you?” Hadrian continued. “Nothing worse than a summer cold. Right, Arista?”

  Arista was dumbfounded by Hadrian’s blathering and his obsession with the health of the two soldiers. She felt obligated to say something. “I—I suppose.”

  “Sneezing, that’s the worst. I hate to sneeze.”

  Arista gasped.

  “Just shut up,” the soldier ordered. Without taking his eyes off Hadrian, he called to Jus behind him. “See anyone coming yet?”

  “Not yet,” Jus replied. “All of them off dealing with that fire, I ’spect.”

  Arista had never tried this under pressure before. Closing her eyes, she fought to remember the concentration technique Esrahaddon had taught her. She took deep breaths, cleared her mind, and tried to calm herself. Arista focused on the sounds around her—the river lapping against the boat, the wind blowing through the trees, and the chirping of the frogs and crickets. Then slowly she blocked each out, one by one. Opening her eyes, she stared at the soldiers. She saw them in detail now, the three-day-old whiskers on their faces, their rumpled tabards, even the rusted links in their hauberks. Their eyes showed their nervous excitement and Arista thought she even caught the musky odor of their bodies. Breathing rhythmically, she focused on their noses as she began to hum, then mutter. Her voice slowly rose as if in song.

  “I said no—” The soldier stopped suddenly, wrinkling his nose. His eyes began to water and he shook his head in irritation. “I said no—” he began again, and stopped once more, gasping for air.

  At the same time, Jus was having similar problems, and the louder Arista’s voice rose, the greater their struggle. Raising her hand, she moved her fingers as if writing in the air.

  “I—said—I—I—”

  Arista made a sharp clipping motion with her hand and both of them abruptly sneezed in unison.

  In that instant, Hadrian lunged forward and broke the closest guard’s leg with a single kick to his knee. He pulled the screaming guard in front of him just as the other fired. The crossbow bolt caught the soldier square in the chest, piercing the metal ringlets of his hauberk and staggering both of them backward. Letting the dead man fall, Hadrian picked up his bow as the other guard turned to flee. Snap! The bow launched the bolt. The impact made a deep resonating thwack! and drove the remaining guard to the ground, where he lay dead.

  Hadrian dropped the bow. “Let’s move!”

  They jumped back in the skiff just as the wherry approached.

  It came out of the darkness, its long pointed shape no longer slicing through the water. Instead, it drifted aimlessly, helpless to the whims of the current. As it approached, it became apparent why. The wherry was empty. Even the oars were gone. As the boat passed by, a dark figure crawled out of the water.

  “Why have you stopped?” Royce admonished, wiping his wet hair away from his face. “I would have caught up.” Spotting the bodies halted his need for explanation.

  Hadrian pushed the boat into the river, leaping in at the last instant. From above, they could hear men’s voices. They finished cutting loose the net and, once free, slipped clear of the bridge. The current, combined with Wally’s and Hadrian’s pulling hard on the oars, sent them flying downriver in the dark of night, leaving the city of Colnora behind them.

  CHAPTER 8

  HINTINDAR

  Arista woke feeling disoriented and confused. She had been dreaming about riding in her carriage. She sat across from both Sauly and Esrahaddon. Only, in her dream, Esrahaddon had hands and Sauly was wearing his bishop’s robes. They were trying to pour brandy from a flask into a cup and were discussing something—a heated argument, but she could not recall it.

  A bright light hurt her eyes, and her back ached from sleeping on something hard. She blinked, squinted, and looked around. Her memory returned as she realized she was still in the skiff coasting down the Bernum River. Her left foot was asleep, and dragging it from under a bag started the sensation of pins and needles. The morning sun shone brightly. The limestone cliffs were gone, replaced by sloping farmlands. On either side of the river, lovely green fields swayed gently in the soft breeze. The tall spiked grass might have been wheat, although it could just as easily have been barley. Here the river was wider and moved slower. There was hardly any current, and Wally was back to rowing.

  “Morning, milady,” he greeted her.

  “Morning,” Hadrian said from his seat at the tiller.

  “I guess I dozed off,” she replied, pulling herself up and adjusting her gown. “Did anyone else get any sleep?”

  “I’ll sleep when I get downriver,” Wally replied, hauling on the oars, rocking back, then sitting up again. The paddle blades dripped and plunged. “After I drop you fine folks off, I’ll head down to Evlin, catch a nap and a meal, then try to pick up some travelers or freight to take back up. No sense fighting this current for nothing.”

  Arista looked toward Hadrian.

  “Some,” he told her. “Royce and I took turns.”

  Her hair was loose and falling in her face. Her blue satin ribbon had been lost somewhere during the night’s ride from Sheridan. Since then, she had been using a bit of rawhide provided by Hadrian. Even that was missing now, and she poked about her hair and found the rawhide caught in a tangle. While she worked to free it, she said, “You should have woken me. I would have taken a shift at the tiller.”

  “We actually considered it when you started to snore.”

  “I don’t snore!”

  “I beg to differ,” Hadrian chided while chewing.

  She looked around the skiff as each of them, even Etcher, nodded. Her face flushed.

  Hadrian chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t be held accountable for what you do in your sleep.”

  “Still,” she said, “it’s not very ladylike.”

  “Well, if that’s all you’re worried about, you can forget it,” Hadrian informed her with a wicked smirk. “We lost all illusions of you being prissy back in Sheridan.”

  How much better it was when they were silent.

  “That’s a compliment,” he added hastily.

  “You don’t have much luck with the ladies, do you, sir?” Wally asked, pausing briefly and letting the paddles hang out like wings, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on the smooth surface of the river. “I mean, with compliments like that, and all.”

  Hadrian frowne
d at him, then turned back to her with a concerned expression. “I really did mean it as a compliment. I’ve never met a lady who would—well, without complaining you’ve been—” He paused in frustration, then added, “That little trick you managed back there was really great.”

  Arista knew Hadrian only brought up the sneezing spell to try to smooth things over, but she had to admit a sense of pride that she had finally contributed something of value to their trip. “That was the first practical application of hand magic I’ve ever performed.”

  “I really wasn’t sure you could do it,” Hadrian said.

  “Who would have thought such a silly thing would come in handy?”

  “Travel with us long enough and you’ll see we can find a use for just about anything.” Hadrian extended his hand. “Cheese?” he asked. “It’s really quite good.”

  Arista took the cheese and offered him a smile but was disappointed he did not see it. His eyes had moved to the river-bank, and her smile faded as she ate self-consciously.

  Wally continued to paddle in even strokes and the world passed slowly by. They rounded bend after bend, skirting a fallen tree, then a sandy point. It took Arista nearly an hour with her brush to finally work all the knots out of her hair. She retied its length with the rawhide into a respectable ponytail. Eventually a gap opened in the river reeds to reveal a small sandy bank that showed signs of previous boat landings.

  “Put in here,” Etcher ordered, and Wally deftly spun the boat to land beneath the shadow of a massive willow tree. Etcher leapt out and tied the bowline. “This is our stop. Let’s get the gear off.”

  “Not yet,” Royce said. “You want to check the mill sails first?”

  “Oh yeah.” Etcher nodded, looking a little embarrassed and a tad irritated. “Wait here,” he said before trotting up the grassy slope.

  “Sails?” Hadrian asked.

  “Just over this rise is the millwright Ethan Finlin’s windmill,” Royce explained. “Finlin is a member of the Diamond. His windmill is used to store smuggled goods and also serves as a signal that can be seen from the far hills. If the mill’s sails are spinning, then all is clear. If furled, then there’s trouble. The position of the locked sails indicates different things. If straight up and down, like a ship’s mast, it means he needs help. If the sails are cockeyed, it means stay away. There are other signals as well, but I’m sure they’ve changed since I was a member.”