Rise Of Empire: The Riyria Revelations

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “There he is!” Thranic shouted the moment Royce stepped out of the tree. He pointed and said, “There’s your elf! I warned you about him.”

  “He has slain our seer, Fan Irlanu!” Zulron announced, and repeated it in Tenkin.

  Burandu, Wesley, and Wyatt pushed their way through the mob.

  “Is this true?” Wesley asked quickly, his voice nervous.

  “Which?” Royce asked.

  “Are you an elf, and did you just kill Fan Irlanu?”

  “Yes, and I’m not sure.”

  The crowd grew and Hadrian could pick out words such as justice, revenge, and kill among the many Tenkin shouts.

  “By Mar, man!” Wesley said fiercely but quietly to Royce. “What is it with you? I should let you hang just for the amount of trouble you’ve caused.” He took a breath. The crowd pressed in. Lightning flashed overhead while thunder boomed. “What do you mean when you say you’re not sure?” Wesley asked. He was speaking quickly, wiping the rain from his face.

  “The murderer must pay for his crime, Burandu,” Zulron declared in Tenkin. “His soullessness has killed our beloved Fan Irlanu. The law demands justice!”

  “Where is Joqdan?” Burandu asked.

  “Paying his last respects to his dead would-be wife. If he was here, he would agree.”

  “He lies! Zulron is to blame.” Hadrian spoke in Tenkin, which drew surprised looks from everyone.

  “What are they saying?” Wesley asked Hadrian.

  “The oberdaza is pushing for our deaths and Burandu is buying it.”

  “Bring them all!” Burandu shouted.

  The warriors of the village descended. Hadrian considered for a moment whether he should draw his swords, but decided against it. He shot a look at Royce to indicate he should not resist.

  They were driven to the village center, where Dilladrum was shouting, “Let go of me! What are you doing?” When he saw Wesley, he asked, “What did you do? I told you not to offend them!”

  “We didn’t offend them,” Hadrian explained. “We killed their beloved seer.”

  “What!” Dilladrum looked as if he was about to faint.

  “Actually, it is a misunderstanding, but I am not sure we will get the chance to explain,” Wesley put in.

  “At least Thranic will die with us,” Royce said loud enough for the sentinel to hear.

  “A martyr’s death is a fair price to rid the world of you and your kind.”

  Lightning flashed again, revealing the pallid faces of the crew in its stark light.

  Grady was shoved to the ground, and he moved his hand toward his sword.

  “Grady, don’t!” Hadrian said.

  “That is right,” Wesley shouted. “No one draw weapons. They will slaughter us.”

  “They will anyway,” Derning replied.

  Poe and Hadrian pulled Grady back to his feet. All around them the ring of warriors formed a wall, behind which churned a crowd of shouting faces and raised fists. The rain-drenched mob pushed and cried, its words lost in a roar of hatred. Lightning flashed once more, and a single voice rang out, “You knew!”

  Instantly the crowd fell silent and parted. Only the sound of rain disturbed the stillness as Fan Irlanu entered the circle. Joqdan, at her side, carried a deadly-looking spear, his eyes grim and focused on Zulron.

  “Burandu, it is not the stranger’s fault. It was Zulron who asked that I do the reading. He knew this one had elven blood. But I am still alive!”

  “But—no … How could you …” Zulron stammered.

  “He is not an Old One,” Fan Irlanu said. “He is a kaz! There is humanity in him—footholds, Zulron, footholds!”

  “What’s going on?” Wesley asked Hadrian. “Isn’t she the one Royce killed? What’s she saying?”

  “She seems a mite upset,” Grady said.

  “But not at Royce,” Poe remarked.

  “Who, then?” Grady asked.

  “Zulron has tried to kill me. I have known for some time his ambitions were great. I saw the treachery in his heart, but I never expected he would go so far.”

  “Joqdan, what say you? Is what Fan Irlanu says true?” Burandu addressed his warlord.

  Joqdan thrust his spear into the chest of Zulron.

  The long blade passed fully through the oberdaza’s body. Those nearby jostled backward, everyone moving away. Joqdan advanced the length of his spear’s shaft and gripped Zulron by the throat. Holding him with strong arms, he spat in the witch doctor’s face. The light faded from the oberdaza’s eyes, and Joqdan withdrew his spear as Zulron fell dead.

  “I think that answers your question,” Poe remarked.

  Burandu looked down at the body, then up at Joqdan, and nodded. “Joqdan is never wrong. I am pleased you are safe, Fan Irlanu,” he said to her. Then the Elder addressed Wesley and the others. “Forgive the dishonor of evil Zulron. Judge us not by his actions. You too have such men in your world, eh?”

  Wesley glanced at Thranic and Royce.

  Burandu shouted to his warriors and they dispersed the crowd. Many paused to kiss Fan Irlanu, who stood weakly, leaning against Joqdan. She offered a strained smile, but Hadrian could see the paleness of her face and the effort in her breathing.

  The Elder spoke briefly with Joqdan and Fan Irlanu, and then Joqdan lifted the seer once more and carried her to one of the smaller dwellings. Zulron’s body was dragged away and with him went most of the Tenkin.

  “That’s it?” Grady asked.

  “Wait,” Dilladrum said as the leopard-skinned man approached. They spoke for a moment, and then Dilladrum returned. “The village of Oudorro asks our forgiveness for the misunderstanding and begs the honor to continue as our host.”

  They looked at one another skeptically.

  “They are sincere.”

  Wesley sighed and nodded. “Thank them for their kindness, but we will be leaving in the morning.”

  “Kindness?” Derning muttered. “They nearly skinned us alive. We should get out now while we can.”

  “I see no advantage in venturing into these jungles at night,” Wesley affirmed. “We will leave at first light.”

  “And what about Melborn?” Thranic said.

  “You, Dr. Levy, and Seamen Blackwater and Melborn will come with me. The rest I order to quarters to get as much sleep as possible.”

  A young Tenkin trotted up to them and spoke to Dilla-drum, his eyes watching Royce.

  “What is it?” Wesley asked.

  “Fan Irlanu has requested Royce and Hadrian.”

  Wesley nodded at them, but added, “Try not to start a war this time. You are to report to me directly after—by your honor, gentlemen.”

  Before Thranic could object, they both nodded and offered an “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Fan Irlanu lay on a bed beneath a thin white sheet as a young girl patted her forehead with a damp cloth, rinsed repeatedly in a shallow basin. Joqdan remained at her side. His great spear, still covered in Zulron’s blood, stood by the door.

  “Is she really all right?” Hadrian asked.

  “I be fine,” Fan Irlanu replied. “It was terrible shock. Will take time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Royce offered.

  “I know,” she told him. Her face was sympathetic to the point of sadness. “I know you are.”

  “You saw something?”

  “Were I to touch Joqdan’s hand with the tulan smoke in me, I could tell what he ate for his midday meal yesterday and what he eat tomorrow. If I touched Galenti’s hand, I could name the woman he will marry and who will outlive the other. I could also tell the precise events that will surround his death. So clear is my sight that I can see a life in detail, but not you. You are mystery, a cloud. Looking into you is seeing a mountain range in thick fog—I can only see the high points with no means of connecting them. You are kaz in the Ghazel tongue—in your language a mir, yes?—mix of human and elven blood. This gives you long life.” She paused to gather some strength, and Joqdan’s brow furrowed further.
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  “Imagine looking down road, you see most things well, the trees, the rocks, the leaves. But with you, it is as if standing high in air, staring out at horizon—very few details. My sight can only span so far, and that not include life span of a kaz. There is too much.”

  “But you saw something.”

  “I saw many things. Too many,” she told him. Her eyes were soft and comforting.

  “Tell me,” Royce said. “Please, I know a woman. She’s very much like you, but something troubles her. She won’t speak of it, and I think she has seen things like you have—things that trouble her.”

  “She is Tenkin?”

  “I’m not sure, but she bears the same mark as you.”

  Fan Irlanu nodded. “I sent for you because of what I saw. I will tell you what I know and then I rest. I sleep for long time, and Joqdan will not let any disturb me. So I speak now. Am certain I will not see you again. I saw much but understood little—too much distance, too much time. Most are vague feelings that are hard to put in words, but what I sensed was powerful.”

  Royce nodded.

  She paused a moment, thinking, then said, “Darkness surrounds you, death is everywhere, it stalks you, hunts you, and you feed upon it—blood begets blood—the darkness consumes you. In this darkness, I saw two lights beside you. One will blow out. The other flickers, but it must not go out. You must protect the flame against the storm.

  “I saw a secret—it is, ah … it is hidden. This great treasure is covered. A man hides it, but a woman knows—she alone knows and so she prepares. She speaks in riddles that will be revealed—truth disguised for now. You will remember when the time comes. The path is laid out for you—in the dark.”

  Joqdan spoke something in Tenkin, but Fan Irlanu shook her head and pushed on.

  “I saw great journey. Ten upon the road. She who wears the light will lead the way. The road goes deep into the earth and into despair. The voice of the dead guide your steps. You walk back in time. The three-thousand-year battle begins again. Cold grips the world, death comes to all, and a choice is before you. Alone stand you in the balance. Your weight will tilt the scales, but to which side is unclear. You must choose between darkness and light, and your choice will affect many.” She paused, shaking her head slowly. “Like trees in a forest, like blades of grass—too many to count. And I fear that in the end you will choose the darkness and turn your back to the light.”

  “You said she. Who did you mean? Is it Gwen?” Royce questioned.

  “I not know names. They mere feelings, glimpses of a dream.”

  “What is this secret?”

  “I not know. It is hidden.”

  “When you say there are two lights and one blows out, does that mean someone will die?”

  She nodded. “Think so—yes, feels that way. I sensed a loss, so great I still feel it.” She reached out and touched Royce’s hand and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Your road is one of great anguish.”

  Royce said nothing for a moment and then asked, “What is this great journey?”

  She shook her head. “I wish knew more. Your life—whole life been pain and so much more lies ahead. Am sorry, but cannot tell more than that.”

  “She rests now,” Joqdan told them. From his firm tone they knew it was time to go.

  They walked out of the hut and found Wyatt watching out for them.

  “Waiting up?” Hadrian asked.

  “Didn’t want you to step into the wrong hut by accident.” He gave a wink.

  “The rest bunked down?”

  He nodded. “So, you’re an elf,” Wyatt said to Royce. “That explains a lot. What did the lady want?”

  “To tell me my future.”

  “Good news?”

  “It nearly killed her. What do you think?”

  CHAPTER 17

  THE PALACE OF THE FOUR WINDS

  Thranic was furious. Wesley refused to take any action against Royce, and the sentinel railed that under imperial law all elves were subject to arrest. Wesley had little choice but to acknowledge this, but added that given their circumstances, he had neither a prison nor chains. He also pointed out that they were not within the bounds of the New Empire, and until they were, he was the sole judge of the law.

  “It is my duty to see this mission to completion,” Wesley told the sentinel. “A bound man will only be a hindrance to this effort, particularly when he is injured and exhibits no desire to flee.”

  Royce watched all this with an expression of mild amusement. Thranic went on relentlessly until finally Wesley gave in and approached Royce. “Will you give me your word you will not attempt to escape me or Sentinel Thranic before this mission is over?”

  “On my word, sir,” Royce replied. “There is nothing that could make me willingly leave Sentinel Thranic’s side.”

  “There you have it,” Wesley concluded, satisfied.

  “He’s an elf! What good is the word of an elf?” As Thranic straightened and rose above Wesley, the look on the sentinel’s face caused him to take a step back. “As secretary of Erivan affairs, appointed by the Patriarch, it’s my duty to purge the empire of their foul influence. I demand you place the elf under my authority at once!”

  Wesley hesitated. The challenge of a sentinel broke the nerve of many kings, and Thranic was more intimidating than any other Hadrian had encountered. His hunched-vulture demeanor and piercing glare were more than daunting.

  Hadrian was tense. He knew the sentinel was already dead, but would prefer his partner got to pick his own time and place. If Wesley agreed to surrender Royce, there would be a battle that would see one of them dead. Hadrian let his fingers slip slowly to the pommels of his swords and he marked the position of Bernie in anticipation.

  Wesley locked his jaw and returned Thranic’s glare. “He might be an elf, sir, but he is also one of my crew.”

  “Your crew? You no longer have a ship. You’re nothing but a boy playing pretend captain!” the sentinel bellowed angrily.

  Wesley stiffened.

  “And what were you playing at in the hold of the ship, sir? Was that what you call administering your authority?”

  This took Thranic by surprise.

  “Oh yes, the officers knew of your nightly visits to the cargo. It is a small ship, sir, and the officers’ bunks were just above. We heard you every night torturing them, and I fear a good deal more than that. I am no great fan of elves, but by Maribor, there are limits to the abuses conscience permits! No, sir, I do not think I will be turning Seaman Melborn over to your authority anytime soon. Even should I trust you to treat him honorably, I need all the hands I can get, and as we both know, you are not an honorable man.”

  “It’s a pity to see such a young, promising lad throw his life away,” Thranic fumed. “I’ll see that you are executed for this.”

  “To do so, we must return to Avryn. Let us hope we both live to see that day.”

  At dawn the crew of the Emerald Storm left the village and once more plunged into the jungle, traveling northeast of the Oudorro Valley by a narrow, barely visible path. The rain had left the ground swamped, but it had stopped at last. On the third day, cliffs and chasms barred their path. They followed ridgelines where a stumble could send a man falling hundreds of feet, walked perilous rope bridges that spanned raging rivers, and followed rocky clefts down into dark valleys. In the lower ravines it was dark, even at midday. Trees created phantom images. Rocks looked like crouching animals, and stunted, gnarled bushes appeared like monsters in the mist.

  Royce’s health steadily improved, though his disposition remained unchanged. He was able to walk on his own most of the day, and thanks to Fan Irlanu’s balm, his wounds no longer required a bandage.

  They found the bodies on the fourth day out of Oudorro. Corpses, dressed in clothes similar to those of Dilladrum and the Vintu, lay on the path. Flies hovered, and the stench of decay lingered in the air. They had been dead for some time, and many were missing limbs or showed evidence of bites.
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br />   “Animals?” Wesley asked.

  “Maybe.” Dilladrum looked off toward the east. “But perhaps the Panther is not able to contain his beasts, just as Burandu told us.”

  “You’re saying the Ghazel did this?”

  Dilladrum paused to study the jungle around them. “Impossible to say, yet these bodies are weeks old and it’s not like the jungle to let them rot. Animals don’t like Ghazel and will avoid an area with their smell, even if it means passing up a free meal.

  “This man is Hingara.” Dilladrum pointed to the body of a swarthy little man in a red cap. “He’s a guide, like me. He set out for the Palace of the Four Winds with a party like ours weeks ago. He was a good man. He knew the jungle well, and as you can see, his group was large—as many as thirty men in all. What kind of animal do you think would attack so large a company? A pack of wolves, perhaps? A pride of lions? No, they would never attack a party this large. And what animal could kill without leaving a single body of their own behind? Ghazel, on the other hand …”

  “What about them?” Wesley asked.

  “They’re like ghosts. Hingara could not have seen them coming. Imagine beings as nimble and at ease in these jungles as monkeys, but possessing the strength and ferocity of tigers. They have the instinct of beasts but the intelligence of men. On a rainy day they can smell a human three leagues away. This was a safe path, but I fear things have changed.”

  “There are only about eighteen bodies here,” Wesley observed. “If he set out with thirty men, where are the rest?”

  Dilladrum let his sight settle on the naval officer. “Where, indeed.”

  Wesley grimaced as he looked at the dead. “Are you saying they took them to eat?”

  “That’s what they do.” Dilladrum pointed to the torn and mutilated bodies. “They ate some on the spot in the fever following the battle, but I think they carried the rest back to their den, where I can only guess they feasted by barbecuing them on spits and drinking warmed blood from the men’s skulls.”

  “You don’t know that!” Wesley challenged.