The Emerald Storm (6 page)

“You’re wearing it again?” Hadrian gestured toward Mauvin’s sword.

“They insisted.”

“Have you drawn it?”

Mauvin looked at his feet. “Dad says it doesn’t matter. If the need arises, he’s certain I won’t hesitate.”

“And what do you think?”

“Mostly I try not to.” Mauvin opened the doors to the hall and let them swing wide. He led them past the clerk and the door guards into the reception hall. Tall windows let in the late morning light, casting bright spears on the parquet floor. The great tapestries still laid rolled in bundles against the wall, stacked in hope of a better day. In their places, maps with red lines covered by blue arrows pointing south, plastered the walls.

Alone, Alric paced near the windows, his crowned head bowed and his mantle trailing behind him like—
like a king
, Hadrian thought. Alric looked up as they entered and pushed the rim of the royal diadem back with his thumb.

“What took you so long?”

“We ate breakfast, Your Majesty,” Royce replied.

“You ate break—never mind.” The king held out a rolled parchment. “I’m told you delivered this dispatch to the castle this morning?”

“Not me,” Royce said. Unrolling it, he found two parchments and began reading.

“I did,” Hadrian admitted. “I just arrived from Ratibor. Your sister has matters well in hand, Your Majesty.”

Alric scowled. “Who sent this?”

“I’m not sure,” Hadrian replied. “I got it from a man named Price in Colnora.”

Royce finished reading and looked up. “I think you’re about to lose this war,” he said, without bothering to add the expected
Your Majesty
.

“Don’t be absurd. This is likely a hoax. Ecton is probably behind it. He enjoys seeing me make a fool of myself. Even if it is authentic, it’s simply someone making wild claims to extort a bit of gold from the New Empire.”

“I don’t think so.” Royce handed the letter to Hadrian.

“Merrick?” Hadrian muttered and looked at Royce. “Is this…?”

Royce nodded.

“You know this Marius?” Alric asked.

Again, Royce nodded. “Which is why I know you’re in trouble.”

“And do you know who sent this?”

“Cosmos DeLur.”

“Isn’t Cosmos a wealthy merchant in Colnora?”

“He’s also the leader of the thieves’ guild known as the Black Diamond.”

Alric paused to consider this, taking the opportunity to pace once more. “Why would he send this to me?”

“The Diamond wants the Imps out of Colnora. I guess with Gaunt gone, Cosmos thought you could make the best use of this information.”

Alric stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So, who is this Merrick fellow? How do you know him?”

“We were friends when I was a member of the Diamond.”

“Excellent. Find him and ask what this is all about.”

Royce shook his head. “I have no idea where Merrick is, and we’re not on good terms anymore. He won’t tell me anything.”

Alric sighed. “I don’t care what kind of terms you’re on. Find him, resolve your differences, and get me the information I need.”

“I killed the woman he loved, and he arranged for me to be sent to Manzant. So I don’t think that will happen.”

Alric stopped pacing and stared. “Manzant Prison? But no one ever leaves Manzant.”

“That was the plan. I was happy to disappoint him. Nowadays, we have an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way.”

“I don’t like this ‘Melengar is yours for the taking’ business. I’m sure it’s just a boast, but what do you think he means by that?”

“Merrick does not boast. If he says he can turn the war in the empire’s favor, he can. I suggest you take this seriously.” Royce thought a moment. “If I were you, I’d send someone to deliver this message and then stow away on this ship and see where it leads.”

“Fine. Do that, and let me know what you find out.”

“Your Majesty, we’re retired. Only a week ago I came here and explained how—”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You said to take his threat seriously, which is why I need my best—and that means you.”

“Pick someone else,” Royce said firmly.

“All right, how much do you want? It’s land this time, right? Fine. As it happens, the Baron Milborough of Three Fords was killed in battle a few weeks ago. He doesn’t have any sons, so I’ll grant you his estate if you succeed. Land, title—all of it.”

“I don’t want land. I don’t want anything.
I’m retired.
”

“By Mar, man!” Alric exclaimed. “The future of the kingdom may depend on this! I’m the king and—”

Hadrian interrupted. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” Alric and Royce asked together.

“I said, I’ll go.”

“You can’t take this job,” Royce told him, as they walked back to The Rose and Thorn.

“I have to. If Esrahaddon is dead, Merrick is my only chance to find Gaunt. Do you think he really could have done it?”

“Merrick wouldn’t lie to a client about a job.”

“But Esrahaddon was a wizard. He’s survived a thousand years—I can’t imagine he could be murdered by a common killer.”

“I just said it was Merrick. He’s not common.”

As the two walked through an empty Gentry Square, even the bells of Mares Cathedral were silent. Hadrian sighed. “Then I’m on my own in finding the heir now. If I follow the payment to Merrick, I’ll be halfway to finding Gaunt.”

“Hadrian.” Royce placed a hand on his friend’s arm, stopping them mid-step. “You’re not up to this. You don’t know Merrick. Think a minute. If he can kill a wizard, one who could create pillars of fire even without hands, what do you think your chances are? You’re a good—no, you’re a great fighter—the best I’ve ever seen, but Merrick is a genius and he’s ruthless. You go after him, he’ll know, and he’ll kill you.”

They were across from Lester Furl’s old haberdashery in Artisan’s Row, the shop that the monk Myron once worked in. The sign of the cavalier hat still hung out front, but the place was empty.

“Listen, I’m not asking you to come. I know you’re marrying Gwen. Congratulations on that, by the way. And it’s about time, I might add. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine. It’s what I was born to do. What my father trained me for. Finding Gaunt and protecting him—finding a way to put him back on the imperial throne—that’s my destiny.”

Royce rolled his eyes.

“I know you don’t believe that, but I do.”

“Gaunt could be dead already, you know? If Merrick killed Esrahaddon, he might have slit Gaunt’s throat, too.”

“I still have to go. By now, even you must see that.”

When they reached The Rose and Thorn, Gwen was waiting with anxious eyes. She stood in the threshold, her arms crossed, clutching her shawl. The autumn wind brushed her skirt and hair. Within the darkened interior behind her, patrons talked loudly around the bar.

“It’s okay,” Hadrian reassured her as they approached. “I’m taking the job, but Royce is staying. With luck I’ll be back for—”

“Go with him,” Gwen told Royce firmly.

“No—really, Gwen,” Hadrian said, “it’s nothing—”

“You have to go with him.”

“What’s wrong?” Royce asked. “I thought we were getting married. Don’t you want to?”

Gwen closed her eyes, shaken. Then her hands clenched into fists and she straightened. “You
must
go. Hadrian will be killed if you don’t—and then you…you…”

Royce took her in his arms on the steps of the tavern and held her as she began to cry.

“You have to go,” Gwen’s voice muffled by Royce’s shoulder. “Nothing will be right if you don’t. I can’t marry you—
I won’t
marry you if you don’t. Tell me you’ll go, please, Royce, please…”

Royce gave Hadrian a puzzled glance and whispered, “Okay.”

“Here, I made this for you,” Gwen said to Royce, holding out a folded bit of knitted cloth. They were in Gwen’s room at the top of the stairs of Medford House, and he had just finished packing.

He held it up. “A scarf?”

Gwen smiled. “Since I’m going to be married, I thought I should take up knitting. I hear that’s what proper wives do for their husbands.”

Royce started to laugh but stopped when he saw her expression. “This is important to you, isn’t it? You realize you’ve always been better than all those ladies in the Merchant Quarter. Having a husband doesn’t make them special.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…I know you had a less-than-perfect childhood, and so did I. I want something
better
for our children. I want their lives—our home—to be perfect, or at least as much as possible for a pair such as us.”

“I don’t know, I’ve met dozens of aristocrats who had ideal childhoods and they turned out to be
horrors
. You, on the other hand, are the best person I’ve ever met.”

She smiled at him. “That’s nice, but I highly doubt you would approve of our daughter working here. And would you really want our son living the way you did as a boy? We can raise them right. Just because they grow up in a
proper
home doesn’t mean they will turn out to be horrors. You’ll be firm, and I’ll be loving. You’ll spank little Elias when he acts disrespectfully, and I’ll kiss his tears and give him cookies.”

“Elias? You’ve named our son already?”

“Would you prefer Sterling? I can’t decide between the two. But the girl’s name is not negotiable—it’s Mercedes. I’ve always loved that name.

“I’ll sell this house and my other holdings. Combined with the money I banked for you, we’ll never want for anything. We can live peaceful, happy, simple lives—I mean, if you want to live like that, do you?”

He looked into her eyes. “Gwen, if it means being with you, I don’t care where we are or what I do.”

“Then it’s settled.” Gwen grinned and her eyes brightened. “It’s what I’ve always dreamed of…the two of us in a small cottage somewhere safe and warm raising a family.”

“You make us sound like squirrels.”

“Yes, exactly! A family of squirrels tucked in our cozy nest in some tree trunk while the troubles of the world pass us by.” Her lower lip quivered.

Royce pulled her close and held her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder. He stroked her head feeling her hair linger on his fingertips. For all Gwen’s strength and courage, he was forever amazed at how fragile she could be. He had never known anyone like her, and he considered telling Hadrian he had changed his mind.

“Don’t even think it,” she told him. “We can’t build a new life until you’re done with the old one. Hadrian needs you, and I won’t be blamed for his death.”

“I could never blame you.”

“I couldn’t bear it if I felt you hated me, Royce. I’d rather be dead than let that happen. Promise me you’ll go. Promise me you’ll take care of Hadrian. Promise me you won’t despair, and that you’ll set things right.”

Royce let his head lower until it rested on hers. He stood there, smelling the familiar scent of her hair as his own breathing tightened. “All right, but you have to agree to go to the abbey if things get bad like they did before.”

“I will,” she said. Her arms tightened around him. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

Surprised, Royce said, “You’ve always told me you were never frightened when I left on missions.”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and a guilty expression on her face. “I lied.”

Hadrian stood in the anteroom, waiting in line to deliver the dispatch. The clerk was a short, plump, balding man with ink-stained fingers and a spare quill behind each ear. He sat behind a formidable desk, scribbling on documents and muttering to himself, unconcerned with the growing line of people.

They had ridden to Aquesta, and Hadrian had volunteered to deliver the dispatch while Royce waited at a rendezvous with horses at the ready. Although he had performed jobs for many of the nobility, few here would know him by sight. Riyria had always conducted business anonymously, working through third parties such as the Viscount Albert Winslow, who fronted the organization and preserved their anonymity. He doubted that Saldur would recognize him, but Luis Guy certainly would. As a result, Hadrian kept a clear map of the nearest exit in his head and a count of the imperial guards between him and freedom.

The seat of the New Imperial Empire was busy and members of the palace staff hurried by, entering and exiting through the many doors around him. They ran or walked as briskly as need, or dignity, demanded. Some turned his way, but only briefly. As he knew from experience, the degree of attention people paid was inversely proportionate to his or her status. The lord chamberlain and high chancellor passed without a glance, while the serving steward ventured a long look and a young page stared curiously for nearly a full minute. While Hadrian was invisible to those at the highest levels, he was becoming uncomfortable.

This is taking too long.

Two dispatch riders reached the front of the line, quickly dropped off their satchels, and left. A city merchant was next and came to file a complaint. This took some time, as the clerk asked numerous questions and meticulously recorded each answer.