The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(57)

The fact that Royce had exchanged so much information with a look disturbed Hadrian. There was no doubt he had heard Royce correctly on all counts, and Hadrian’s utter confidence in that silent discourse only added to the anxiety that he was harmonizing with Royce’s mind. While that was good for work, Hadrian couldn’t shake the sense that it was bad for everything else—like his sanity.

Sticking close to the walls and staying out of the moonlight, Hadrian crept up to where Royce stood at the base of the three-story church—the only stone building in the neighborhood, which obviously predated everything around it.

“ . . . ninety-eight swords, half as many shields.”

“Why so few shields?”

“Shields aren’t as important and are harder to store,” the dwarf said. “We haven’t stopped. Production has slowed, sure, but that’s all. Don’t forget we’re the ones carrying the burden. The rest of you aren’t out a single din.”

“You’re just scared,” the Calian replied. “We all had great hopes the ransom would succeed, but the feast is the day after tomorrow. Spring is coming, my friend, and whether I’m the seed, the rock, or the sod, I fear the plow.”

The dwarf nodded. “Time’s up. A hundred swords is the best we can do.” He held out the box. “But with this, it should be more than enough.”

“I’m more frightened of what you hold than the swords.” The Calian eyed the container as if the dwarf were waving a crossbow in his face. “Griswold, if it becomes necessary, will you use it?”

“This one is yours.” The dwarf handed the box to the Calian.

He took it slowly, gingerly, and held it away from his body, as if a swarm of angry bees were inside.

“With that, I can ask the same of you. Will you use yours?” the dwarf asked.

“If it comes to it, what choice do we have? A hundred swords won’t be enough, and Villar will use his. Giving him a monopoly on such power would be the pinnacle of stupidity. We have a responsibility to act as safeguards to one another. And then there’s the sacrifices to think about. Not to mention what happens afterward.”

“That’s something we’ll decide when we get there—if we get there. One can’t start building a house without determining the size and shape of the foundation.”

“Comments like that are what make others see only your height,” the Calian said. “You’re reinforcing false ideas. You’re a woodcarver, for Novron’s sake!”

The dwarf laughed. “I’m a woodcarver, but in no way is it for Novron’s sake.”

They both smiled. Then the Calian stretched his neck and peered up the road. Hadrian and Royce froze, but the Calian didn’t see them. “Where is Villar?”

The dwarf gave his own casual glance. “He’s usually the first one here, isn’t he?”

“Do you think—”

Royce spun and shoved Hadrian out into the street. Off balance and bewildered, he staggered backward into the moonlight, catching the attention of the dwarf and the Calian. They both stared at him in shock and fear.

“What the—” Hadrian began just as the thief sprang to his side. An instant later, a massive block of stone struck the street where the two had been standing. It shattered, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Looking up, Hadrian spotted a silhouette peering down from the roofline of the church. It withdrew from sight, melting into the darkness.

“Meet you back at the boardinghouse,” Royce said quickly as he leapt to a windowsill. From there, he scaled the stonework to the church’s roof where he, too, vanished.

Hadrian looked back toward the graveyard. The dwarf and the Calian were running away in opposite directions.





Hadrian had always considered himself a good runner, but that night he was handicapped by racing in the darkness of an unknown city. Weighed down by three swords while chasing a slender man with a solid head start didn’t help, either. Unable to pursue both, and already knowing where the dwarf lived, he chose to follow the Calian. The good news was that his target appeared to be considerably older, and he still protectively held the dwarf’s box.

The contents must be valuable or he would’ve dropped it before running.

The Calian cut through an alley Hadrian didn’t know existed, pulling down stacks of empty crates to block his pursuer’s progress. By the time Hadrian emerged from the debris-strewn alleyway, the Calian had gained a greater lead and was openly sprinting down the center of the next street. Hadrian didn’t know what time it was, but he guessed it was after decent folk went to bed. Few remained on the cobblestone thoroughfares, and while all of them stopped to watch, none made any attempt to stop his pursuit. The Calian tried to lose him by cutting through more alleys, and he succeeded. Hadrian lost sight of his target; the man was gone. Guessing that the man would head for the same gate that marked the exit from the dwarven community, Hadrian ran for it. He was rewarded by a glimpse of the Calian racing out.

He headed south toward the harbor, sandaled feet striking the stone in rapid slaps. In the growing fog of the silent streets, Hadrian could hear the man long after he’d lost sight of him. This was the only noise the Calian made. Hadrian generated a multitude of sounds: clapping swords, the flap of his cloak, and the pounding of his boot heels.