Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations

“What kind of problem?” Archibald snarled.

 

“Well, my lord, I was not actually informed of the details, but it has something to do with the marquis, sir. I have been sent to request your presence—respectfully request it, that is.”

 

Archibald descended the stairs, wondering if perhaps the old man had dropped dead on his doorstep, which would not be such a terrible thing. When he reached the courtyard, he found the marquis alive but in a furious temper.

 

“There you are, Ballentyne! What have you done with my carriage?”

 

“Your what?”

 

Bruce approached Archibald and motioned him aside. “Your Lordship,” he whispered in the earl’s ear. “It seems the marquis’s carriage and horses are missing, sir.”

 

Archibald held up a finger in the direction of the marquis. With a raised voice, he replied, “I’ll be with you in a moment, Victor.” Then he returned his attention to Bruce and whispered, “Did you say missing? How is that possible?”

 

“I don’t know exactly, sir, but you see, the gate warden reports that the marquis and his driver, or rather two people he thought were them, have already passed through the front gate.”

 

Suddenly feeling quite ill, Archibald turned back to address the red-faced marquis.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

 

 

MEETINGS

 

 

 

 

 

Several hours after nightfall, Alenda Lanaklin arrived by carriage at the impoverished Lower Quarter of Medford. The Rose and Thorn Tavern lay hidden among crooked-roofed hovels on an unnamed street, which to Alenda appeared to be little more than an alley. A recent storm had left the cobblestones wet, and puddles littered the street. Passing carriages splashed filthy water on the pub’s front entrance, leaving streaks of grime on the dull stone and weathered timbers.

 

From a nearby doorway, a sweaty, shirtless man with a bald head emerged carrying a large copper pot. He unceremoniously cast the pot’s contents, the bony remains of several stewed animals, into the street. Immediately, half a dozen dogs set upon the scraps. Wretched-looking figures, dimly lit by the flickering light from the tavern’s windows, shouted angrily at the canines in a language that Alenda did not recognize. Several of them threw rocks at the scrawny animals, which yelped and darted away. They rushed to what the animals had left behind and stuffed the remnants into their mouths and pockets.

 

“Are you sure this is the right place, my lady?” Emily asked, taking in the scene. “Viscount Winslow couldn’t have meant for us to come here.”

 

Alenda reexamined the curled thorny branch with a single bloom painted on the warped signboard above the door. The red rose had faded to gray, and the weathered stem looked like a coiled snake. “This has to be it. I don’t think there’s more than one tavern called The Rose and Thorn in Medford.”

 

“I just can’t believe he’d send us to such a—a place!”

 

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is what was arranged. I don’t see how we have a choice,” Alenda replied, surprised by how brave she sounded.

 

“I know you’re tired of hearing this, but I still think this is a mistake. We shouldn’t be dealing with thieves. You can’t trust them, my lady. Mark my words: these people you hired will steal from you just like they steal from everyone else.”

 

“Nevertheless, we’re here now, so we might as well get on with it.” Alenda opened the door of the carriage and stepped out onto the street. As she did, she noticed with concern that several of those loitering nearby were watching her intently.

 

“That’ll be a silver tenent,” the driver told her. He was a gruff, elderly man who had not shaved in days. His narrow eyes were framed with so many wrinkles that Alenda wondered how he could see to drive the carriage.

 

“Oh, well, you see, I was expecting to pay you at the end of our journey,” Alenda explained. “We’re only stopping here for a short while.”

 

“If you want me to wait, it’ll cost ya extra. And I want the money ya owe me now, in case ya decide not ta come back.”

 

“Don’t be absurd. I can assure you we will be coming back.”

 

The man’s expression was as pliable as granite. He spit over the side of the carriage at Alenda’s feet.

 

“Oh! Well, really!” Alenda pulled a coin from her bag and handed it to the driver. “Here, take the silver, but don’t wander off. I’m not exactly sure how long we’ll be, but as I told you, we will return.”

 

Emily exited the carriage and took a moment to adjust Alenda’s hood and to ensure her ladyship’s buttons were secure. She brushed the wrinkles out of Alenda’s cloak and then repeated the procedure on herself.

 

“I wish I could tell that stupid driver who I am,” Alenda whispered. “Then I’d tell him a few more things.”

 

The two women were dressed in matching woolen cloaks, and with their hoods up, little more than their noses were visible. Alenda scowled at Emily and brushed her fidgeting hands away.

 

Sullivan, Michael J's books