THEFT
OF
SWORDS
DeWitt had told Hadrian he had left the sword behind the altar, and they headed toward it. As they approached the first set of pews, both men froze in mid-step. Lying there, facedown in a pool of freshly spilled blood, was the body of a man. The rounded handle of a dagger protruded from his back. While Royce made a quick survey for Pickering’s sword, Hadrian checked the man for signs of life. The man was dead, and the sword was nowhere to be found. Royce tapped Hadrian on the shoulder and pointed at the gold crown that had rolled to the far side of a pillar. The full weight of the situation registered with both of them—it was time to leave.
They headed for the door. Royce paused only momentarily to listen to ensure the hall was clear. They slipped out of the chapel, closed the door, and moved down the hall toward the bedroom.
“Murderers!”
The shout was so close and so terrifying that they both spun with weapons drawn. Hadrian had his bastard sword in one hand, his short sword in the other. Royce held a brilliant white-bladed dagger.
Standing before the open chapel door was a bearded dwarf.
“Murderers!” the dwarf cried again, but it was not necessary. Footfalls could already be heard, and an instant later, soldiers, with weapons drawn, poured into the hallway from both sides.
BY MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN
The Riyria Revelations
Theft of Swords
Rise of Empire
Heir of Novron
Copyright
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 978-0-748-13135-8
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Michael J. Sullivan
(The Crown Conspiracy © 2007 and Avempartha © 2009)
Map by Michael J. Sullivan
Excerpt from Rise of Empire by Michael J. Sullivan
Copyright © 2011 by Michael J. Sullivan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.hachette.co.uk
To my wife, Robin, my partner in life and in the adventure of making this series, whose hard work and dedication made it all possible
To my daughter Sarah, who would not read the story until it was published
To Steve Gillick for his feedback, and Pete DeBrule, who started this whole thing
And to the members of Dragonchow, my original fan club
CONTENTS
Theft of Swords
By Michael J. Sullivan
Copyright
BOOK I: The Crown Conspiracy
Chapter 1: Stolen Letters
Chapter 2: Meetings
Chapter 3: Conspiracies
Chapter 4: Windermere
Chapter 5: Esrahaddon
Chapter 6: Revelations by Moonlight
Chapter 7: Drondil Fields
Chapter 8: Trials
Chapter 9: Rescuers
Chapter 10: Coronation Day
BOOK II: Avempartha
Chapter 1: Colnora
Chapter 2: Thrace
Chapter 3: The Ambassador
Chapter 4: Dahlgren
Chapter 5: The Citadel
Chapter 6: The Contest
Chapter 7: Of Elves and Men
Chapter 8: Myths and Legends
Chapter 9: Trials by Moonlight
Chapter 10: Lost Swords
Chapter 11: Gilarabrywn
Chapter 12: Smoke and Ash
Chapter 13: Artistic Vision
Chapter 14: As Darkness Falls
Chapter 15: The Heir of Novron
Glossary of Terms and Names
Extras
About The Author
Interview
Rise of Empire
KNOWN REGIONS OF THE WORLD OF ELAN
Estrendor: Northern wastes
Erivan Empire: Elvenlands
Apeladorn: Nations of man
Ba Ran Archipelago: Islands of goblins
Westerlands: Western wastes
Dacca: Isle of south men
NATIONS OF APELADORN
Avryn: Central wealthy kingdoms
Trent: Northern mountainous kingdoms
Calis: Southeastern tropical region ruled by warlords
Delgos: Southern republic
KINGDOMS OF AVRYN
Ghent: Ecclesiastical holding of the Nyphron Church
Melengar: Small but old and respected kingdom
Warric: Most powerful of the kingdoms of Avryn
Dunmore: Youngest and least sophisticated kingdom
Alburn: Forested kingdom
Rhenydd: Poor kingdom
Maranon: Producer of food. Once part of Delgos, which was lost when Delgos became a republic
Galeannon: Lawless kingdom of barren hills, the site of several great battles
THE GODS
Erebus: Father of the gods
Ferrol: Eldest son, god of elves
Drome: Second son, god of dwarves
Maribor: Third son, god of men
Muriel: Only daughter, goddess of nature
Uberlin: Son of Muriel and Erebus, god of darkness
POLITICAL PARTIES
Imperialists: Those wishing to unite mankind under a single leader who is the direct descendant of the demigod Novron
Nationalists: Those wishing to be ruled by a leader chosen by the people
Royalists: Those wishing to continue rule by individual, independent monarchs
DETAIL OF AVRYN
BOOK I
THE CROWN CONSPIRACY
CHAPTER 1
STOLEN LETTERS
Hadrian could see little in the darkness, but he could hear them—the snapping of twigs, the crush of leaves, and the brush of grass. There were more than one, more than three, and they were closing in.
“Don’t neither of you move,” a harsh voice ordered from the shadows. “We’ve got arrows aimed at your backs, and we’ll drop you in your saddles if you try to run.” The speaker was still in the dark eaves of the forest, just a vague movement among the naked branches. “We’re just gonna lighten your load a bit. No one needs to get hurt. Do as I say and you’ll keep your lives. Don’t—and we’ll take those, too.”
Hadrian felt his stomach sink, knowing this was his fault. He glanced over at Royce, who sat beside him on his dirty gray mare with his hood up, his face hidden. His friend’s head was bowed and shook slightly. Hadrian did not need to see his expression to know what it looked like.
“Sorry,” he offered.
Royce said nothing and just continued to shake his head.
Before them stood a wall of fresh-cut brush blocking their way. Behind lay the long moonlit corridor of empty road. Mist pooled in the dips and gullies, and somewhere an unseen stream trickled over rocks. They were deep in the forest on the old southern road, engulfed in a long tunnel of oaks and ash whose slender branches reached out over the road, quivering and clacking in the cold autumn wind. Almost a day’s ride from any town, Hadrian could not recall passing so much as a farmhouse in hours. They were on their own, in the middle of nowhere—the kind of place people never found bodies.
The crush of leaves grew louder until at last the thieves stepped into the narrow band of moonlight. Hadrian counted four men with unshaven faces and drawn swords. They wore rough clothes, leather and wool, stained, worn, and filthy. With them was a
girl wielding a bow, an arrow notched and aimed. She was dressed like the rest in pants and boots, her hair a tangled mess. Each was covered in mud, a ground-in grime, as if the whole lot slept in a dirt burrow.
“They don’t look like they got much money,” a man with a flat nose said. An inch or two taller than Hadrian, he was the largest of the party, a stocky brute with a thick neck and large hands. His lower lip looked to have been split about the same time his nose was broken.
“But they’ve got bags of gear,” the girl said. Her voice surprised him. She was young, and—despite the dirt—cute, and almost childlike, but her tone was aggressive, even vicious. “Look at all this stuff they’re carrying. What’s with all the rope?”
Hadrian was uncertain if she was asking him or her fellows. Either way, he was not about to answer. He considered making a joke, but she did not look like the type he could charm with a compliment and a smile. On top of that, she was pointing the arrow at him and it looked like her arm might be growing tired.
“I claim the big sword that fella has on his back,” flat-nose said. “Looks right about my size.”
“I’ll take the other two he’s carrying.” This came from one with a scar that divided his face at a slight angle, crossing the bridge of his nose just high enough to save his eye.
The girl aimed the point of her arrow at Royce. “I want the little one’s cloak. I’d look good in a fine black hood like that.”
With deep-set eyes and sunbaked skin, the man closest to Hadrian appeared to be the oldest. He took a step closer and grabbed hold of Hadrian’s horse by the bit. “Be real careful now. We’ve killed plenty of folks along this road. Stupid folks who didn’t listen. You don’t want to be stupid, do you?”
Hadrian shook his head.
“Good. Now drop them weapons,” the thief said. “And then climb down.”
“What do you say, Royce?” Hadrian asked. “We give them a bit of coin so nobody gets hurt.”
Royce looked over. Two eyes peered out from the hood with a withering glare.
“I’m just saying, we don’t want any trouble, am I right?”
“You don’t want my opinion,” Royce said.
“So you’re going to be stubborn.”
Silence.
Hadrian shook his head and sighed. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? They’re probably not bad people—just poor. You know, taking what they need to buy a loaf of bread to feed their family. Can you begrudge them that? Winter is coming and times are hard.” He nodded his head in the direction of the thieves. “Right?”
“I ain’t got no family,” flat-nose replied. “I spend most of my coin on drink.”
“You’re not helping,” Hadrian said.
“I’m not trying to. Either you two do as you’re told, or we’ll gut you right here.” He emphasized this by pulling a long dagger from his belt and scraping it loudly against the blade of his sword.
A cold wind howled through the trees, bobbing the branches and stripping away more foliage. Red and gold leaves flew, swirling in circles, buffeted by the gusts along the narrow road. Somewhere in the dark an owl hooted.
“Look, how about we give you half our money? My half. That way this won’t be a total loss for you.”
“We ain’t asking for half,” the man holding his mount said. “We want it all, right down to these here horses.”
“Now wait a second. Our horses? Taking a little coin is fine but horse thieving? If you get caught, you’ll hang. And you know we’ll report this at the first town we come to.”
“You’re from up north, ain’t you?”
The man holding his horse nodded and Hadrian noticed a small red tattoo on his neck. “See, that’s your problem.” His face softened to a sympathetic expression that appeared more threatening by its intimacy. “You’re probably on your way to Colnora—nice city. Lots of shops. Lots of fancy rich folk. Lots of trading going on down there, and we get lots of people along this road carrying all kinds of stuff to sell to them fancy folk. But I’m guessing you ain’t been south before, have you? Up in Melengar, King Amrath goes to the trouble of having soldiers patrol the roads. But here in Warric, things are done a bit differently.”
Flat-nose came closer, licking his split lip as he studied the spadone sword on his back.
“Are you saying theft is legal?”
“Naw, but King Ethelred lives in Aquesta and that’s awfully far from here.”
“And the Earl of Chadwick? Doesn’t he administer these lands on the king’s behalf?”
“Archie Ballentyne?” The mention of his name brought chuckles from the other thieves. “Archie don’t give a rat’s ass what goes on with the common folk. He’s too busy picking out what to wear.” The man grinned, showing yellowed teeth that grew at odd angles. “So now drop them swords and climb down. Afterward, you can walk on up to Ballentyne Castle, knock on old Archie’s door, and see what he does.” Another round of laughter. “Now unless you think this is the perfect place to die—you’re gonna do as I say.”
“You were right, Royce,” Hadrian said in resignation. He unclasped his cloak and laid it across the rear of his saddle. “We should have left the road, but honestly—I mean, we are in the middle of nowhere. What were the odds?”
“Judging from the fact that we’re being robbed—pretty good, I think.”
“Kinda ironic—Riyria being robbed. Almost funny even.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Did you say Riyria?” the man holding Hadrian’s horse asked.
Hadrian nodded and pulled his gloves off, tucking them into his belt.
The man let go of his horse and took a step away.
“What’s going on, Will?” the girl asked. “What’s Riyria?”
“There’s a pair of fellas in Melengar that call themselves that.” He looked toward the others and lowered his voice a bit. “I got connections up that way, remember? They say two guys calling themselves Riyria work out of Medford and I was told to keep my distance if I was ever to run across them.”
“So what you thinking, Will?” scar-face asked.
“I’m thinking maybe we should clear the brush and let them ride through.”
“What? Why? There’s five of us and just two of them,” flat-nose pointed out.
“But they’re Riyria.”
“So what?”
“So, my associates up north—they ain’t stupid, and they told everyone never to touch these two. And my associates ain’t exactly the squeamish types. If they say to avoid them, there’s a good reason.”
Flat-nose looked at them again with a critical eye. “Okay, but how do you know these two guys are them? You just gonna take their word for it?”
Will nodded toward Hadrian. “Look at the swords he’s carrying. A man wearing one—maybe he knows how to use it, maybe not. A man carries two—he probably don’t know nothing about swords, but he wants you to think he does. But a man carrying three swords—that’s a lot of weight. No one’s gonna haul that much steel around unless he makes a living using them.”
Hadrian drew two swords from his sides in a single elegant motion. He flipped one around, letting it spin against his palm once. “Need to get a new grip on this one. It’s starting to fray again.” He looked at Will. “Shall we get on with this? I believe you were about to rob us.”
The thieves shot uncertain glances to each other.
“Will?” the girl asked. She was still holding the bow taut but looked decidedly less confident.
“Let’s clear the brush out of their way and let them pass,” Will said.
“You sure?” Hadrian asked. “This nice man with the busted nose seems to have his heart set on getting a sword.”
“That’s okay,” flat-nose said, looking up at Hadrian’s blades as the moonlight glinted off the mirrored steel.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
All five nodded and Hadrian sheathed his weapons.
&nb
sp; Will planted his sword in the dirt and waved the others over as he hurried to clear the barricade of branches blocking the roadway.
“You know, you’re doing this all wrong,” Royce told them.
The thieves stopped and looked up, concerned.
Royce shook his head. “Not clearing the brush—the robbery. You picked a nice spot. I’ll give you that. But you should have come at us from both sides.”
“And, William—it is William, isn’t it?” Hadrian asked.
The man winced and nodded.
“Yeah, William, most people are right-handed, so those coming in close should approach from the left. That would’ve put us at a disadvantage, having to swing across our bodies at you. Those with bows should be on our right.”
“And why just one bow?” Royce asked. “She could have only hit one of us.”
“Couldn’t even have done that,” Hadrian said. “Did you notice how long she held the bow bent? Either she’s incredibly strong—which I doubt—or that’s a homemade greenwood bow with barely enough power to toss the arrow a few feet. Her part was just for show. I doubt she’s ever launched an arrow.”
“Have too,” the girl said. “I’m a fine marksman.”
Hadrian shook his head at her with a smile. “You had your forefinger on top of the shaft, dear. If you had released, the feathers on the arrow would have brushed your finger and the shot would have gone anywhere but where you wanted it to.”