Riyria Chronicles 02 - The Rose and the Thorn

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Albert gasped and staggered backward, staring fearfully at Hadrian’s partner. His reaction was not unusual—most people were frightened of Royce. Shorter than Hadrian and bearing no visible weapons, he still put people on edge. The layers of blacks and grays along with the hood did not help. But the real source of menace that caused all but the bravest to step back was simply that Royce was genuinely dangerous. People sensed it, smelling death on him the same way they smelled salt on a sailor or incense on a priest.

  “So now I see … you’re here to rob me, is that it?” Albert shouted. “Well, the joke is on you.” He looked down at his feet and made a noise—a pathetic laugh. “I have nothing … nothing at all.” Just then he dropped to his knees, put his hands to his face, and began to cry. “I have no place else to go,” he whimpered. “While it provides little more shelter than the maple tree it leans on, this barn is at least a roof over my head and provides a soft place to sleep.”

  Royce and Hadrian stared down at him.

  “So this is the great ogre, then?” Royce asked with a smirk.

  “If all you needed was a place to rest, why did you threaten the farmer’s wife?”

  Albert wiped his face and looked up with a puzzled expression. “Who?”

  “The woman who owns this farm. Why didn’t you just ask her permission to sleep here?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Old witchy-looking woman? She lives in the house just up the hill. She says you threatened her.”

  Albert looked first at Hadrian, then at Royce as if trying to decipher a riddle. “No one lives there. Have you seen it? I sleep here because the house is a disaster. The floorboards are all rotted and there’s a giant wasp nest in the rafters. This farm has been abandoned for years. Any fool can tell that.”

  Royce looked to Hadrian, who quickly left the barn and ran up the slope.

  The sun had slipped behind the tree line, casting long shadows across the fields and the house. Just as Albert had described, the building was a wreck. A good-sized sapling grew out of the kitchen floor. Even more distressing, their horses were nowhere to be seen. With slumped shoulders, he returned to the barn where Royce was gathering wood for a fire.

  “See?” Royce said. “Told you this wouldn’t go well. She’s gone, right? The nice lady you wanted to help has fled, taking our horses and all our belongings with her.”

  Hadrian allowed himself to collapse on a fallen oak beam and muttered a curse about the woman.

  “Don’t blame her. This was all your doing. You practically begged her to rob us. Now will you listen to me next time?”

  “I just can’t believe someone would do such a thing.” Hadrian was staring at the dirt and shaking his head.

  “I know. That’s why I had to show you.”

  Hadrian looked up. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew.” Royce pointed at Albert. “Like he said, any fool could see this farm hasn’t been lived in for years. And didn’t you wonder why she was hiding along the road like that?”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because you had to learn a lesson.”

  “This is one costly lesson, don’t you think? Our payment, our gear, not to mention the horses themselves.”

  “Well, that’s what you get for helping people,” Royce replied. “Didn’t they teach you anything in Hintindar? If you had been raised properly, you’d know better.” Royce turned to Albert. “Isn’t that right? I bet no one has ever helped you, have they?”

  “No,” Albert replied with his eyes downcast.

  “How long have you been here?”

  Albert shrugged. “A week maybe.”

  “What have you been living on?”

  He plucked the material of his nightshirt out from his chest. “I didn’t come here in just this, you know.”

  “You’ve been selling your clothes?”

  He nodded. “The road has a good flow of traffic. I had some very nice pieces. My doublet fetched enough for an entire cask of rum, but that only lasted a few days. I was serious about the nightshirt. You’d be doing me a favor if you bought it.”

  “That’s all you have. What are you going to do, walk around naked?”

  Again he shrugged. “No sense leaving anything behind. My father taught me that.”

  “See, this poor bastard is going to die here—penniless and miserable. He’ll starve. The world is a cold, ruthless place.” Royce paused to study Albert. “Probably in less than a month, and no one is going to lift a finger in his favor. That’s the way the world is, cold and indifferent, even on its best days.”

  Hadrian sighed. “I was just trying to help.”

  “Yes, you can see how much she needed you. She needed to be saved from this scoundrel. Look at him. He’s a monster if ever I saw one.”

  “You’ve made your point, Royce.”

  “I hope so. I hope we won’t have to go through this again. I’ll clear those stars from your eyes yet.”

  Royce built a pleasant fire near the door to allow the smoke to escape, and by the time he had it strong enough to put on a good-sized log, the sun had set and night arrived.

  “Here,” Royce said, handing Hadrian a strip of salted pork.

  “So that’s why you were rummaging in your pack.”

  “I should let you go hungry,” Royce replied.

  Albert stared at the bit of meat, his eyes following it.

  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Hadrian asked.

  “Days. I had a bit of bread someone threw at me. That was … three days back. Yesterday I chewed some bark, which was awful, but it helped settle my stomach a bit.”

  Hadrian held out the strip to him, which brought a groan and an eye-roll from Royce. “Didn’t we just go over this?”

  “You gave it to me, didn’t you? Besides, you just said that I should go hungry, and yet you gave it to me anyway. Why was that?”

  “Because…” Royce scowled. “Oh, do what you want. I don’t care.”

  Hadrian watched as Albert bit off the end and chewed, then asked, “So what’s your story? Why are you here like this?”

  “I know I’m a complete disgrace to the aristocracy, but—”

  “Seriously? You really are noble?”

  “I told you, I’m Viscount Albert Winslow.”

  “I thought that was just some line you were giving me.”

  “Yes. Granddad Harlan Winslow lost the family fief in a bet to the king of Warric. My father didn’t do any better. He squandered what was left of the family fortune on women, gambling, and drink. Neither of them gave any thought to me and how I would survive with nothing but a title that serves as a noose around my throat.”

  “How’s that?” Hadrian asked.

  Albert took another bite. “Do you think anyone hires a noble for mucking out a stable or laying cobblestones?” He held up his hands. “I don’t have a single callus. Even if I decided to leave title and pride behind, I lack any useful skills. I’m like a milk cow slapped on the backside and turned out of the barn to make her way in the forest. A chicken, returned to the wilds to fend for myself.”

  “I don’t think chickens have ever been wild,” Hadrian said.

  “Exactly.” Albert paused to stare at the remainder of the salt pork strip. “Your friend is right. This is just prolonging the inevitable. It’s a waste. Here.” He held out the meat.

  “Keep it,” Hadrian said, tilting his head at Royce. “I’m supposed to be learning a lesson.”

  “Oh, shut up, the both of you. I have more.” Royce pulled another strip of pork from his vest and handed it to Hadrian.

  “So that’s my miserable story,” Albert said. “How about you two?” He looked at Hadrian. “I’m guessing you’re his apprentice?”

  Hadrian laughed. “No. We’re … business partners.”

  “What line?”

  “Procurement,” Royce said.

  “What kind?”

  “Any kind,”
Royce answered.

  Albert stared at them for a moment; then his eyes widened. “You are thieves.”

  “He is.” Hadrian pointed to Royce. “I’m new to this.”

  “Really? What did you used to do?”

  Hadrian thought a moment. “Kill people.”

  “Assassin?” Albert sounded impressed.

  “Soldier.”

  “Oh. Guess that explains the three swords. How’s business? Clearly you’ve been making out better than I. What do you do? Pick pockets? No, with three swords here you’re probably highwaymen, right? Hold up merchants? Or do you kidnap and ransom?”

  Royce chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “We don’t do those things,” Hadrian explained.

  “No?”

  “No. Stealing like that, it’s … wrong,” Hadrian declared.

  “But you’re thieves, right? You are thieves?”

  “Like I said, he is.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re the honorable soldier—but wait. Why are you working with him, then?”

  “Same reason you’re trying to sell your nightshirt,” Royce replied.

  “For rum?”

  “Rum?” Hadrian said. “Not food?”

  Albert shrugged. “That’s what I do with all my money. It helps take my mind off the fact that I spent all my money on rum.” He quickly added, “So what do you do, if you don’t rob people?”

  “Contracts, mostly,” Hadrian replied. “People who need help come to us and we—”

  Royce grumbled. “You see how he thinks? We don’t help people. We use them. Let’s say … oh I don’t know…” Royce whirled his fingers in the air as if trying to conjure a thought. “Let’s say—purely as an example—a merchant sets up shop across the street from an established one. The established merchant, let’s call him Bernie, doesn’t like it, so he tells the new guy—we’ll call him Andrew—to leave. Let’s say Andrew doesn’t. The next thing you know, some thugs tear Andrew’s place apart and break his wife’s arm. Then Bernie tells Andrew that he needs to leave or the next time he’ll be dead.”

  “So you’re the thugs?” Albert asked.

  “No, we”—he looked at Hadrian—“we help the new merchant.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m a creative problem solver.”

  “You bust up Bernie’s store?”

  “No, that would get Andrew killed.”

  “What, then?”

  “I hire the same thugs to trash the store of the wealthiest merchant in town—and tell them Bernie supplied the gold. Next day someone starts an ugly rumor that ol’ Bernie is causing trouble for his competition. The story is easily confirmed because of the first incident. The wealthy merchant, we can call him Sebastian, has connections—they always do. The next day a fire burns Bernie’s shop to the ground. Unfortunately for him, Bernie’s caught in the fire, having accidentally fallen asleep in his shop—tied to his bed. The money we paid the thugs is only half of what Andrew paid us. We pocket the rest. Once I get Hadrian schooled in the art of intimidation, we’ll make more.”

  “They shouldn’t have killed him,” Hadrian said.

  “See what I have to deal with? Problem is, you don’t get too many jobs like that. But what you said about ransom is true. There can be good money in that if you grab the right target. Even he can’t complain too much about that kind of work.”

  “Well, in return for the meal, let me offer you a bit of advice,” Albert said. “We’re just outside the city of Colnora, and if I were you, I wouldn’t pull any kind of job around here, or the Black Diamond will be after you.”

  “Black Diamond?” Hadrian asked. “Is that the city patrol?”

  Albert chuckled, and Royce shook his head, looking at Hadrian as if he had dropped his pants in public.

  “You’re not from around here?” Albert asked.

  “From Hintindar, a tiny manorial village south on the Bernum River.”

  “And you’ve never heard of the Black Diamond?”

  “I haven’t been in the area much. I’ve been away in the east for quite a few years. Only returned about a year ago, when I met him.” Hadrian gestured at Royce. “Since then we’ve roamed around, but”—he looked curiously at Royce—“we’ve never come near Colnora until today.”

  “Oh,” Albert said. “Well, the Black Diamond is a thieves’ guild. Some would say the thieves’ guild. The most powerful and extensive one in the world. Their headquarters is just down that road in Colnora. And like any thieves’ guild, they don’t like interlopers. If they find out you’re practicing your trade around here, they’ll track you down and slit your throats. And trust me, they’ll know. The Black Diamond is not an organization to toy with. Kings have been known to bow to them rather than face their wrath.”

  “Well, I hope they catch up with that woman who stole our horses, then,” Hadrian said.

  “They already know about her.” Royce threw a strand of yellow grass into the fire where it blackened and curled. “She was Black Diamond.”

  “What do you—” Hadrian shook his head. “I can’t believe you let her take our horses and gear.”

  “What part of ‘you need to learn a lesson’ didn’t you understand?”

  “You’re insane, do you know that?”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not the first to bring it up. But there’s nothing more to be done tonight. I suggest we settle in and get some sleep.”

  Royce scrambled up to the loft and bedded down there. Hadrian continued to stare after him in shock for a minute before giving up and mounding a pile of hay near the fire. “I honestly can’t believe him sometimes.”

  The nights had turned chilly and by morning there was a damp fog hanging in the air. Royce was the first one up. He got the fire going again, which surprised Hadrian, as they had nothing to cook. He likely built it out of boredom while he waited for Albert and Hadrian to wake. Most people would have done it to stave off the cold, but Hadrian had never seen Royce affected by the temperature, cold or hot.

  “Morning,” Albert said as Hadrian sat up, shivered, and moved to the fire with the rest of them.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands and wiped his eyes clear. The day was cloudy and the valley filled with a thick mist. Hadrian enjoyed mornings like this, quiet and serene, like a drowsy pause a lazy world was taking. He crouched to catch the warmth of the fire while dodging the smoke.

  “So where were you two headed before misfortune dropped you here with me?” Albert asked. He lay sprawled next to Hadrian like a dog before a hearth.

  “Up north. A place called Medford,” Hadrian replied, and began brushing hay off his shirt. “Royce and I have some friends up there we want to visit. Ever hear of it?”

  Albert nodded. “Capital of Melengar, royal seat of King Amrath and Queen Ann. They have two children, a boy and girl. What’s their names … begin with A’s. All the Essendons’ names begin with A’s—Alric and Arista. Yes, that’s them. Close friends of the Pickerings. Have you ever seen Belinda Pickering?”

  Both Hadrian and Royce shook their heads.

  “She’s a fine beauty, but her husband has a bit of a temper. He’s very protective of her and good with a sword. But if you ever get a chance to see her, it’s worth chancing a look.”

  “You know a lot about these people,” Royce said.

  Albert shrugged. “I’m noble. We all know each other. There are many parties, balls, and feasts. Not to mention the holidays and weddings. Most of us are actually related.”

  Royce tapped his fingers to his lips. “Nobles have a lot more money than merchants.”

  “Well, not all, clearly.” Albert made a wry smile; then the smile dropped and his eyes lit up. “Yes … yes, they do. And they also have problems—problems that could use creative solutions. Court is a very interesting place, a bloodless battlefield where rumors can ruin lives and embarrassments can be worse than death. Many would pay great sums to avoid—or cause—such humiliations. The trick is discovering who n
eeds what done and arranging for meetings.”

  Royce nodded. “I suspect nobles won’t speak to the likes of us.”

  “Of course not. They would never stoop so low as to confer with a commoner, much less a dubious one. They prefer to do business with their own kind. You would need a go-between, a representative, but he’d have to be noble.”

  “Too bad we don’t know anyone like that,” Royce said.

  “Well … with a haircut, shave, some new clothes—”

  “And no more rum,” Royce said.

  Albert grimaced. “But—”

  “No buts. You can stay here and die or work for us, and if you work for us, you work sober.”

  Albert rubbed his bristly chin. “That really should be an easy choice, shouldn’t it?”

  Hadrian spoke up. “Exactly how are we going to provide all this? Have you forgotten that we’ve lost everything? At the moment we’re not much better off than he is.”

  Royce smiled and stood up. “Details, details. Are you two ready to go?”

  “I suppose you’ll want to hunt down that witch of a woman and kill her?” Hadrian inquired with a tone of distaste as they all began to walk up the slope of wildflowers.

  “You know,” Albert said, “for a soldier you don’t seem to care much for killing.”

  “I’ve seen enough of that to last three lifetimes. And I don’t relish the thought of hunting a woman or like knowing what he’ll do when we find her.”

  “We aren’t going after the witch,” Royce said.

  “Really?” Hadrian asked. “But what about our horses and gear?”

  “Look.” Royce pointed up the remainder of the hill at the house. There, standing tethered to what was left of the porch, were their horses.

  “I don’t understand.” Hadrian trotted the rest of the way and checked their packs and saddles. “Everything’s here.”

  “They’ve been brushed and I expect fed and watered too,” Royce said. “Oh, and look.” He reached down and bent one of the horse’s legs to reveal a bright shoe underneath. “Freshly shod.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would she return them?”

  “I suspect she, or someone she reports to, read the note I left in my pack.”