The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(31)

“It was him,” Royce insisted, and, reaching into his cloak, he drew out Alverstone. “And I’m going to treat him like one of his pigs. Time for the slaughter, you rat-tailed sow!”

The butcher looked at the gleaming white dagger, and with a squeak, which sounded a bit like the squeal of a pig, he turned to flee.

Hadrian tripped him. “Don’t run! Whatever you do, don’t run! He really will kill you then. Your only hope is to stay near me.”

This was only partially a lie. Royce was intentionally scaring the man in the hope of getting information, but Royce was still Royce, and the cat analogy was a little too perfect. There was a good chance this man had been involved in the attack, and if he proved unhelpful, if he stopped being a potential lead . . .

“Help! I didn’t do anything,” the butcher cried from the ground where he lay on his back. He dropped the meat cleaver and rag, both hands up to fend off the expected attack. “I don’t know how the wagon got like that. I didn’t watch the thing all night. I was asleep. Maybe someone did take it. Maybe they took it and put it back. I don’t know. But I didn’t do anything!”

“Hold! In the name of the duke!” Running up the street were a trio of men in chainmail and blue-colored tabards—city guards.

Hadrian frowned as he realized that Royce’s theatrics had taken a potentially serious turn. He had seen the guards around the city, but previously only in pairs. The reason there were three became instantly apparent. The lead man wore a helmet with the yellow horsehair crest of an officer, his face vaguely familiar.

“What’s going on?” the officer demanded while trotting up. He spotted Royce’s dagger, and his hand moved to a sword. His fellow soldiers followed suit.

Royce dropped into a full crouch, the ruse ended. The thief was poised to fight.

“Roland Wyberg?” Hadrian asked. “By Mar! Is that really you?”

No one moved.

The officer’s eyes narrowed as he stared. His mouth opened in shock. “Blackwater?”

Then to the utter amazement of everyone, including the spectators on the street, the two clasped hands.

“You’re still alive.” Hadrian clapped the officer’s back. “Who would have thought.”

“Me? You’re the one who disappeared. I expected—well, everyone thought you were dead. Rumors said you were knifed by a Warric patrol.”

“Excuse me!” the butcher shouted from where he still lay on the ground. He pointed at Royce. “This man is about to kill me.”

Roland glanced from Hadrian to Royce. “Friend of yours?”

“He is.” Hadrian nodded. “We think the butcher might have tried to kill us last night.”

“No,” Royce said, putting his dagger away. “He’s just an idiot.”

“You saw him. He was going to kill me.” The butcher pointed at Royce.

In a fair imitation of Evelyn Hemsworth, Royce said, “It’s not polite to point.”

“What’s this all about?” Wyberg asked.

“Someone tried to run us down with a slaughterhouse wagon,” Hadrian replied. “That one over there.”

The officer studied the wagons for a moment, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Sure it wasn’t just an accident?” He focused on Hadrian with a new scrutiny. “Is there some reason why someone would want you dead? What exactly are you doing here, Blackwater? And for that matter, what made you disappear in the first place?”

Royce nodded at the crowd, which, despite the diminished chance of violence, had grown. A dozen people stood in the street, and more were arriving. “Is it possible to continue this conversation somewhere less public? The central square, perhaps? A community stage, maybe?”

Roland looked around and frowned at the audience. “There’s a guard post just up the street.” He hooked a thumb at the two other soldiers with him. “I was checking up on these two when we heard the shouts. I can offer you some coffee, not allowed to have anything stronger.”

“Aren’t you going to arrest them?” the butcher asked, still lying on the ground as if unable to get up.

“For scaring you?”

That made the butcher huff dramatically.

The officer pointed to the Meat House as they passed by. “If you’re hungry, we could grab something to eat. Doesn’t look like much, but the food is good.”

“No!” Royce and Hadrian said together.





Chapter Eight

A Tale of Two Soldiers





The kid Hadrian remembered was a lean seventeen-year-old with deep dimples that attracted women like a bowl of candy drew children. He hadn’t seen Wyberg in six years, not since Hadrian had left the service of King Reinhold. He didn’t look much different. Heavier, but Roland had always needed a few pounds. The slender boy had become a solid man, but the dimples were still there, and in his eyes, Hadrian saw a vague reflection of another young soldier whom time had also changed.

The guard post was a typical one-room shack. Nothing more than a place to check in, store shackles and weapons, and provide a little warmth when it got cold. Much of the room was given over to stacks of wood, but there was an ink-stained desk in the corner on which was laid a stack of mangled parchments held down by a horseshoe. The floor creaked when stepped on, the fire hissed, and the whole place smelled of smoke and damp wood.