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“You know, you’re doing this all wrong,” Royce told them. The thieves stopped and looked up, concerned. Royce shook his head. “Not clearing the brush—the robbery. You picked a nice spot. I’ll give you that. But you should have come at us from both sides.”
So they are not *good* people
“They say elves attacked a village or something. I heard they slaughtered everyone—some even while they slept.”
Lol, so far, a standard medieval setting. Throw in dwarves and elves... Welcome to Skyrim, Dovahkiin.
Think of all the happy men who could finally look at Belinda without fear.” Royce chuckled. “So now it’s a public service?”
“Aren’t you going to say, I told you so?” Hadrian whispered. “What would be the point in that?” “Oh, so you’re saying that you’re going to hang on to this and throw it at me at some future, more personally beneficial moment?” “I don’t see the point in wasting it now, do you?”
Fair
Please do as I ask, and take good care of my brother. Don’t forget I spared your lives tonight.
If it's just someone's word, why did Hilfred help? Why is Hilfred a cool lady guard? [Later comment: Lol, I def thought Hilfred was a woman for awhile How disappointing.]
“By brutalizing me, the two of you have sentenced yourselves to death! You know that, don’t you?” “That’s a bit redundant, don’t you think, Your Majesty?” Royce inquired. “Seeing as how you already sentenced us to death once today.”
“Why do you still have me tethered?” the prince asked, irritated. “This is extremely humiliating.” “I don’t want you getting lost,” Hadrian replied with a grin.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Royce said as Hadrian prepared the bow. “It’s just that we’ve learned over the years that honor among nobles is usually inversely proportionate to their rank. As a result, we prefer to rely on more concrete methods for motivations—such as self-preservation.
“What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn’t know the first thing about and wouldn’t cause calluses?” “He could be a thief or a whore.” They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. “I’m taking the cot,” Alric said.
Staring at the magnificently rendered text, Hadrian asked, “How could you remember all of this?” Myron shrugged. “I remember all the books I read.” “And did you read all the books in the library here?” Myron nodded. “I had a lot of time to myself.” “How many were there?” “Three hundred eighty-two books, five hundred twenty-four scrolls, and one thousand two hundred thirteen individual parchments.” “And you remember every one?” Myron nodded once more. They all sat back, staring at the monk in awe. “I was the librarian,” Myron said as if that would explain it all.
“Brother Renian and I buried a squirrel there when we were ten years old. A tree sprouted the following week. It grew white blossoms in spring, and not even the abbot could tell what species it was. Everyone in the abbey called it the Squirrel Tree. We all thought it was a miracle and that perhaps the squirrel was a servant of Maribor who was thanking us for taking such good care of his friend.”
[Later comment: There were a lot of things I thought might be explained, but weren't; like miracles.]
“I’m going to scout up ahead and make sure there are no surprises waiting.” He left with surprising swiftness in a hunched run. He entered the shadows of the ravine and vanished. “How does he do that?” Alric asked. “Creepy, isn’t it?” Hadrian said.
Wizard blood, obv
There are some cults that believe Erebus still lives and wanders Elan as a man searching for forgiveness for his crime.”
Prisoner
Looking at the thief, the wizard asked, “And who art thee?” “Me? I’m nobody,” Royce replied. Esrahaddon narrowed his eyes at the thief and raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”
Descendant [Later comment: Ha! First hypothesis. This did seem Poignant.]
“It was a trap after all,” Alric said. He turned to Royce. “My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia.”
“Within these walls, locked art the sands of time for all but us.” “You turned it inside out!” Myron exclaimed. Esrahaddon looked with an appraising eye over his shoulder at the monk. “ ’Tis thrice thou hast impressed me. What did thou say thy name was?” “He didn’t,” Royce answered for him.
[Later comment: Yeah, I definitely thought Myron would have some heritage or power explained.]
Still, what Seadric learned from the Order of the Fauld, and I guess it was just a tiny fraction of what the Teshlors knew, made him a legend. That knowledge has been faithfully passed from father to son for generations, and that secret gives the Pickerings an uncanny advantage in combat.”
Okay, so literally just magic sword
“To be honest, I’m not sure how long it has been. The days following his murder have been confusing, and I’ve lost track of the time. If word has yet to reach here, I suspect it hasn’t been more than a few days.”
Wouldn't it be cool if they actually went backward in time
The prince stood and walked over to the thieves. “I have inquired about you two since we arrived. You’ve been holding out on me. I thought you were common thieves. So imagine my surprise when I discovered you two are famous.” He glanced around at the other nobles in the room. “Rumor has it you two are unusually gifted agents known for taking difficult, sometimes nearly impossible, assignments of sabotage, theft, espionage, and even, on rare occasions, assassinations. Don’t bother denying it. Many in this room have already confided in me that they have used your services in the past.” Hadrian
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Last night, you challenged the might of the Lord Chancellor of Melengar and came to my aid against a superior force of trained killers. No one asked you to, no one would have faulted you for letting me die. You could expect no reward for saving me, and yet you did it. Why?” Hadrian looked at Royce, who stood silent. “Well,” he began as he glanced at the floor, “I guess—we’d just grown kind of fond of you, I suppose.”
But also they would not have been paid
As they climbed into their saddles, Myron bowed his head and muttered a soft prayer. “There,” Hadrian told Royce, “we’ve got Maribor on our side. Now you can relax.” “Actually,” Myron said sheepishly, “I was praying for the horses. But I will pray for you as well,” he added hastily.
“Breckton’s loyalty to me is unwavering. His father, Lord Belstrad, is a chivalrous knight of archaic dimensions. He beat those values into his sons. Neither Breckton nor his brother—what’s his name, the younger Belstrad boy, who went to sea—Wesley, would dishonor themselves by opposing a man they have sworn their allegiance to.
Wesley. Royce
She is no longer a princess of the realm but a witch. This is evident by the fact she hasn’t wept for her father. You see, as a learned bishop of the church, I know—witches cannot cry.”
[Later comment: So dramatic, ha]
“That’s not lying. You just didn’t correct him.” “It amounts to the same thing. The abbot once told me that lying was a betrayal to one’s self. It’s evidence of self-loathing. When you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie rather than accepting yourself for who you really are—or, in this case, pretend something happened when it didn’t. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you. It’s like when a man would rather die than be thought of as a coward. His life is not as important to him as his reputation. In the end, who is braver? The
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“Yes, Sire!” A horn sounded and the men roared forward into battle. Alric watched as steel cut through flesh. The footmen fared better than the knights, but the defensive position of the city soldiers took a toll. Alric could hardly bear to watch. Never before had he seen such a sight—there was so much blood. The white snow was gone, stained pink and in some desperate places turned to a dark red. Littering the grounds were body parts—arms severed, heads split open, and legs chopped off. The wall of men blended in a whirling mass of flesh, dirt, blood, and an endless cacophony of screams. “I
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“Alric! Stop it!” Pickering snapped at him. “You mustn’t let the men see you crying!” Fury flared in Alric, and he spun on the count. “No? No? Look at them! They are dying for me. They are dying on my order! I say they do have a right to see their king! They all have a right to see their king!” Alric wiped the tears from his cheeks and gathered his reins. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of having my face put in the dirt! I won’t stand it. I’m tired of being helpless. That’s my city, built by my ancestors! If my people choose to fight, then by Maribor, I want them to know it’s me they fight!”
Real
Crossing the district, Royce and Hadrian halted abruptly in front of the theatre’s large white painted board. It depicted the silhouette of two men scaling the outside of a castle tower and read: THE CROWN CONSPIRACY HOW A YOUNG PRINCE AND TWO THIEVES SAVED A KINGDOM EVENING SHOWS DAILY
“You realize he’ll never be able to pay us the hundred?” Hadrian asked. “I just didn’t want him to think he was getting off easy.” “You didn’t want him to think Royce Melborn went soft at the sight of a little girl’s tears.” “She wasn’t just any girl, and besides, he saved her from Ambrose Moor. For that alone he earned one life.” “That’s something that has always puzzled me. How is it Ambrose is still alive?”
We wouldn’t need anything grand, not even a house—my father can build a house all by himself and he can turn any soil. There’s nothing he can’t do once he sets his mind to it, and once he sets his mind, there’s no changing it.”
Heirs
“The question is, why is he keeping tabs on us?” Royce asked. “And how, since I don’t recall dropping our names and he couldn’t have known we would be going to Colnora.”
Lol, well, if he has been in society, it wouldn't take much to know who the prince's thieves are. Ohhh, theft of sword. Failed theft. No sword
church and recognized as the holiest place in the world behind the ancient—but lost—Novronian capital of Percepliquis itself.
It must be in the underworld. [Later comment: Basically.]
For all we know, he may have been visiting her in the form of a butterfly in the garden or a moth that entered her bedroom window each night. We had to be sure.” “A butterfly?” Saldur said, genuinely amazed. “He’s a wizard. Damn you. That’s what they do.”
Minerva
The other eighteen bishops were present to hear the words of the Patriarch as spoken by Luis Guy.
So the Patriarch could be dead?
We didn’t have to because the plague never moved north of there.” “Because he stopped it,” Janison said. “I did not!” Merton snapped. “Novron did.” “But he sent you there, didn’t he? Didn’t he?” Merton sighed. “I only did what the lord asked of me.” Janison looked at Arista. “You see? How can I hope to compete with a man whom god himself has chosen to hold daily conversations with?” “You actually heard the voice of Novron telling you to go save the people of Fallen Mire?” “He directed my footsteps.”
Esra or Heir or somebody is the dad. [Later comment: I can't believe the people that come back later. Merton the Murderer. But also... who IS he talking to, and why him? And how did he heal the sick of this plague? Weird. Sullivan is happy to not explain things.]
“Oh Lord, why is it you keep me awake with this headache when I have work in the morning? What’s that? Oh, I see, how wise of you.”
“I think you’re here because you need something from Avempartha,” Royce told the wizard. “And I don’t think it is a sword of demon-slaying either. You’re using this poor girl and her tormented father to lure me and Hadrian here to turn a knob you obviously can’t manage.” Esrahaddon sighed. “That’s disappointing. I thought you were smarter than that, and these constant references to my disability are dull. I am not using anyone.” “So you are saying there really is a weapon in that tower?” “That is exactly what I am saying.” Royce studied him for a moment and scowled. “Can’t tell if I am lying
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[Later comment: Ah, he really does want Royce to think in riddles.]
“How am I supposed to get out there?” Royce asked, yelling over the roar, his cloak whipping and snapping like a snake. “That would be problem number one,” Esrahaddon shouted back, offering nothing more. Is this some kind of test, or does he really not know?
He is Novron
“The elves. They’re on their side of the river looking back at us. They can see us, I suspect, even at this range. They are surprising like that. Most humans consider them inferior—lazy, filthy, uneducated creatures—but the fact is they are superior to humans in nearly every way. I suppose that’s why humans are so quick to denounce them; they are unwilling to concede that they may be second best. “Elves are truly remarkable. Just look at that tower. It’s fluid and seamless, as if growing right out of the rock. How elegant. How perfect. It fits into the landscape like a thing of nature, a
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“So you have never crossed the river?” Royce asked. “No man ever has, and no man is ever likely to. The moment a man touches that far shore, he will fall dead. The thread by which the fate of man hangs is a thin one indeed.”
B/c not-human Royce can enter from that side
By now, their numbers have likely recovered.” “What keeps them on that side of the river, then?” “What keeps anyone from what they want? Fear. Fear of annihilation, fear that we would destroy them utterly, but Novron is dead.” “You mentioned that,” Royce pointed out.
“According to Novron’s decree, the banks of the river Nidwalden are ryin contita.” “Off limits to everyone,” Royce roughly translated, garnering a faint smile from the wizard. “I can read and write too.”
“And they are watching what we do, how we deal with it. They are sizing up our strengths and weaknesses. Much like you are doing with me.”
[Later comment: Ah, this really does fit with the end. Exactly what they say: they watched, saw how fragile humans are to Gilarabrywns and sent them to take everyone down.]
“No.” The wizard shook his head. “It plays a part, but the war between the elves and man will come despite any action I can take. I am merely trying to lessen the blow and give humanity a fighting chance.” “You might begin by teaching some others to do what you did last night.”
“Were you really that powerful before?” Esrahaddon showed him a wicked smile. “Oh, my dear boy, you couldn’t begin to imagine.”
Are you his daddy?
Most had seen the winged beast outlined in the brilliant green flames that night. Alongside each of them that morning walked a strange companion, a long-lost friend who had returned unexpectedly—hope.
