Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (69 page)

“Yes, well, that’s why I devised this one to fire not only projectiles but nets as well,” Tobis said proudly. “I’m very clever that way, you see. The nets are designed to launch like large balls that open in mid-flight and snare the beast as it is flying, dropping it to the ground, where it will lie helpless while I reload and take my time crushing it.”

“And this works?” Hadrian asked, impressed.

“In theory,” Tobis replied.

Hadrian shrugged. “What the heck, it couldn’t hurt.”

“Just need to get it in position,” Mauvin said. “Care to help push?”

They all put their backs to the catapult, except, of course, for Tobis, who limped along spouting orders. They rolled it to the ditch that ringed the bottom of the motte and within range to fire on anything in the area near the old manor house.

“Might want to get something to hide it—rubble or burnt
wood, maybe, so that it looks like a pile of trash,” Hadrian said. “Which shouldn’t be hard to do. Magnus, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“What kind?” he asked as Hadrian led him back up the hill toward the ruins of the manor house. The grass was gone, and they walked on a surface of ash and roots that made Hadrian think of warm snow.

“Remember that sword you made for Lord Rufus? I found it, still with him and his horse on the hill. I want you to fix it.”

“Fix it?” The dwarf looked offended. “It’s not my fault the sword didn’t work; I did a perfect replica. The records were likely at fault.”

“That’s fine, because I have the original, or part of it, at least. I need you to make an exact copy of what we have. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can, and I will, in return for your getting Royce to let me look at the Alverstone.”

“Are you crazy? He wants you dead. I saved your neck from him once already. Doesn’t that count?”

The dwarf stood firm, his arms crossed over the braids in his beard. “That’s my price.”

“I’ll talk to him, but I can’t guarantee it.”

The dwarf pursed his lips, which made his beard and mustache bristle. “Very well. Where are these swords?”

Theron agreed to the plan as long as he got the piece back, and brought the broken blade to the manor’s smithy, which now consisted of no more than the brick forge and the anvil. He would hold the blade during the exchange and hand it over immediately should the ruse be discovered.

“Hrumph!” The dwarf looked disgusted.

“What?” Hadrian asked.

“No wonder it didn’t work. There are markings on both sides. There’s this whole other inscription. See, this is the
incantation, I bet.” The dwarf showed Hadrian the blade, where a seemingly incomprehensible spiderweb of thin sweeping lines formed a long design. Then he flipped it over to reveal a significantly shorter design on the back. “And this side, I’m guessing, holds the name that Esrahaddon mentioned. It makes sense that all the incantations are the same; only the name is unique.”

“Does that mean you can create a weapon that will work?”

“No, it’s broken right along the middle of the name, but I can make an awfully good copy of this, at least.”

The dwarf removed his tool belt, hidden beneath his clothes, and laid it on the anvil. He had a number of hammers of different sizes and shapes, and chisels all in separate loops. He unrolled a leather apron and tied it on. Then he took Rufus’s sword and strapped it to the anvil.

“Carry those everywhere, do you?” Hadrian asked.

“You won’t catch me leaving them on a horse’s saddle,” Magnus replied.

Hadrian and Theron began digging a pit on the side of the courtyard. They dug it on the site of the old smokehouse, making use of the already turned soil to ease their effort. Without a shovel, they used old boards that left their hands black. Within a couple of hours, they had a small hole big enough for the two of them to get down fully under the earth. It was not deep enough to avoid being dug up, but it might hide them from a blast of fire as long as it did not come straight down. If it did, they would be like a couple of clay pots fired in sand.

“Won’t be long now,” Hadrian told Theron as the two men sat covered in dirt and ash, looking up at the fading light. Magnus was using his smallest hammer, tapping away with a resounding
tink
,
tink
. He muttered something, then pulled a heavy cloth from a pouch on his belt and began rubbing the surface of the metal.

Hadrian looked out over the trees, feeling Alverstone inside his tunic. He wondered if Royce had made it to the tower.
Is he inside? Has he found Esrahaddon? Can the old wizard do anything to help them?
He thought of the princess and Thrace.
What has it done with them?
He bit his lip. Royce was probably right.
Why would it keep them alive?

The sound of horses approached from the south. Theron and Hadrian exchanged surprised looks and stood up to see a troop of riders racing out of the trees. Eight horsemen crossed the desolate plain, knights in black armor with a standard of a broken crown flying before them. Leading them was Luis Guy in his red cassock.

“Look who is finally back.” Hadrian looked over at Magnus. “You done yet?”

“Just polishing,” the dwarf replied. He then noticed the riders for the first time. “This can’t be good,” he grumbled.

The riders trotted into the remains of the courtyard and pulled up at the sight of them. Guy surveyed the smoldering ruins of the old castle for a moment, then dismounted and walked toward the dwarf, pausing to pick up a burnt bit of timber, which he turned over twice in his hands before tossing it away. “It would seem Lord Rufus didn’t do as well last night as we hoped. Did you forget to dot an
i
, Magnus?”

Magnus took a frightened step back. Theron stepped forward quickly, grabbed the original broken blade, and hid it under his shirt.

Guy noticed the act but ignored the farmer and faced the dwarf. “Care to explain yourself, Magnus, or shall I just kill you for lousy workmanship?”

“Wasn’t my fault. There were markings on the other side that none of the pictures showed. I did what you asked; your research was to blame.”

“And what are you up to now?”

“He’s duplicating the blade so we can use it to trade with the Gilarabrywn,” Hadrian explained.

“Trade?”

“Yes, the creature took the princess Arista and a village girl. It said if we return the blade we took from its lair, it will free the women.”

“It
said
?”

“Yes,” Hadrian confirmed. “It spoke to Deacon Tomas last night just before he watched it take the women.”

Guy laughed coldly. “So the beast is talking now, is it? And abducting women too? How impressive. I suppose it also rides horses and I should expect it to be representing Dunmore at the next Wintertide joust in Aquesta.”

“You can ask your own deacon if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, walking up to face Hadrian. “At least the part about stealing a sword from the citadel. That is what you’re referring to, isn’t it? So, someone actually got into Avempartha and took the real sword? Clever, particularly when I know that only someone with elvish blood can enter that tower. You don’t look very elf-like to me, Hadrian. And I know the Pickerings’ heritage quite well. I also know Magnus here couldn’t get in. That leaves only your partner in crime, Royce Melborn. He’s rather small, isn’t he? Slender, agile? Those qualities would certainly serve him well as a thief. He can see easily in the dark, hear better than any human, has uncanny balance, and is so light on his feet that he can move in almost total silence. Yes, it would be most unfair to all the other poor thieves out there using their normal, human abilities.”

Guy looked around carefully. “Where is your partner?” he asked, but Hadrian remained silent. “That’s one of the biggest problems we have; some of these crossbred elves can pass for human. They can be so hard to spot sometimes. They don’t
have the pointed ears, or the squinty eyes, because they take after their human parent, but the elven parent is always there. That’s what makes them so dangerous. They look normal, but deep down they are inhumanly evil. You probably don’t even see it. Do you? You are like those fools that try and tame a bear cub or a wolf, thinking that they will come to love you. You probably think that you can banish the wild beast that lurks inside. You can’t, you know. The monster is always there, just looking for the chance to leap out at you.”

The sentinel glanced at the anvil. “And I suppose one of you was planning on using the sword to kill the beast and claim the crown of emperor?”

“Actually, no,” Hadrian replied. “Getting the women and running real fast was more the plan.”

“And you expect me to believe that? Hadrian Blackwater, the consummate warrior who handles a blade like a Teshlor Knight of the Old Empire. You really expect me to believe that you’re just passing through this remote village? That you just happen to be in possession of the only weapon that can kill the Gilarabrywn at the precise moment in time when the emperor will be chosen by the one who does so? No, of course not, you are just using what is arguably the most powerful sword in the world to make a trade with an insanely dangerous, but now talking, monster, for a peasant girl and the Princess of Melengar, whom you barely know.”

“Well—when you put it that way, it does sound bad, but it’s the truth.”

“The church will be returning to continue the trials here,” Luis Guy told them. “Until then, it is my job to make certain no one who is, shall we say, unworthy of the crown kills the Gilarabrywn. That most certainly includes a thieving elf-lover and his band of cutthroats.” Guy walked over to Theron. “So I’ll have that blade you’re holding.”

“Over my dead body,” Theron growled.

“As you wish.” Guy drew his sword and all seven seret dismounted and drew their blades as well.

“Now,” Guy told Theron, “give me the blade or both of you will die.”

“Don’t you mean all four?” a voice behind Hadrian said, and he looked over to see Mauvin and Fanen coming up the slope, spreading out, each with his sword drawn. Mauvin held two, one of which he tossed to Theron, who caught it clumsily.

“Make that five,” Magnus said, holding two of his larger hammers in his hands. The dwarf looked over at Hadrian and swallowed hard. “He’s planning on killing me anyway, so why not?”

“There are still eight of us,” Guy pointed out. “Not exactly an even fight.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Mauvin said. “Sadly, there’s no one else here we can ask to join your side.”

Guy looked at Mauvin, then Hadrian, for a long moment as the men glared across the ash at each other. Then he nodded and lowered his blade. “Well, I can see I’ll have to report your misconduct to the archbishop.”

“Go ahead,” Hadrian said. “His body is buried with the rest of them just down the hillside.”

Guy gave him a cold look, then turned to walk away, but as he did, Hadrian noticed his shoulder dip unnaturally to his right and his foot pivot, toe out, as he stepped. It was a motion Hadrian had taught Theron to watch for, the announcement of an attack.

“Theron!” he shouted, but it was unnecessary. The farmer had already moved and raised his sword even before Guy spun. The sentinel thrust for his heart. Theron was there a second faster and knocked the blade away. Then, out of reflex, the farmer shifted his weight forward, took a step, and
performed the combination move Hadrian had drilled into him: parry, pivot, and riposte. He thrust forward, extending, going for reach. The sentinel staggered. He twisted and narrowly avoided being run through the chest, taking the sword thrust in his shoulder. Guy cried out in agony.

Theron stood shocked at his own success.

“Pull it out!” Hadrian and Mauvin both yelled at him.

Theron withdrew the blade and Guy staggered back, gripping his bleeding shoulder.

“Kill them!” the sentinel shouted through clenched teeth.

The Seret Knights charged.

Four Knights of Nyphron attacked the Pickering brothers. One rushed Hadrian, another launched himself at Theron, and the last took Magnus. Hadrian knew Theron would not last long against a skilled seret. He drew both his short sword and the bastard and slew the first Knight of Nyphron the moment he came within range. Then he stepped in the path of the second. The knight realized too late he was walking into a vise of two attackers as both Hadrian and Theron cut him down.

Magnus held up his hammers as menacingly as he could, but the little dwarf was clearly no match for the knight, and he retreated behind his anvil. As the seret got nearer, he threw one hammer at him, which hit the seret in the chest. It rang off his breastplate, causing no real harm, but it staggered him slightly. Realizing that the dwarf was no threat, the seret turned to face Hadrian, who raced at him.

The seret swung down in an arc at Hadrian’s head. Hadrian caught the blade with the short sword in his left hand, holding the knight’s sword arm up as he drove his bastard sword into the man’s unprotected armpit.

Mauvin and Fanen fought together against the four attackers. The elegant rapiers of the Pickerings flew—catching,
blocking, slicing, slamming—every attack turned back, every thrust blocked, every swing answered. Yet the two brothers could only defend. They stood their ground against the onslaught of the armored knights, who struggled to find a weakness. Mauvin finally managed to find a moment to jump to the offense and slipped in a thrust. The tip of his blade stabbed into the throat of the seret, dropping him with a rapid jab, but no sooner had he done so than Fanen cried out.