The Rose and the Thorn

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Saldur sat down and leaned back in his desk chair. He was the bishop of Melengar, and Mares Cathedral was bestowed to his care by the Patriarch and the archbishop of Avryn, but he spent most of his time in that tiny, cramped room at that miserable desk. It wasn’t the life he’d imagined for himself when he took his vows.

  “Novron was of little help this time.”

  “Have more faith.” Saldur scowled. The bishop was used to disappointments. The church had a long history of waiting. For others a minor setback always felt like the end of the world. They just couldn’t understand the scope. Everyone saw themselves as the hero of their story, as if the world rotated around them. Saldur knew the truth. Such impressions were only arrogance. Individuals never managed any kind of lasting change. Real change had to be built over generations. The church worked like drops of water on granite; the impossible was achievable only through sacrifice and time.

  This just wasn’t the time.

  “It’s still early,” Saldur said, putting his feet up on the velvet stool before the little fireplace. “Eventually all the kings’ heads will fall.”

  “What of Exeter’s killer? And that girl—Rose—who hired him? They’re still out there—still know about us.”

  “They know about me,” Saldur corrected. “No one knows about you. No one could ever suspect you—not now, not after how things turned out. And I wouldn’t worry about Exeter’s killer. He’s likely some hired thug or lovesick puppy who she enchanted with those wicked eyes. Even I was taken in by her apparent innocence. He and Rose are likely long gone. I don’t expect to hear from them again.”

  “What about Richard Hilfred?”

  Saldur almost laughed, but laughter was unbecoming a bishop in the office of his church. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “The man is dead. What’s there to worry about?”

  “He might have told others.”

  “No. Richard was a solitary soul, closed off to the world. He didn’t trust anyone. That was why I chose him. He blamed the king for his lover’s death, and I knew he was an ambitious man. No real loyalty in him either. Anyone could see that. I merely showed him the path he wanted to take.”

  “And gave him the blessing of the church. Knowing Novron is on your side always eases one’s conscience, even when plotting murder.”

  Saldur didn’t appreciate the disrespectful tone, but what did he expect from this one? “Killing isn’t murder when done in the name of Novron. Everyone must die, and die they will—when Novron or his father Maribor decrees it. What difference does it make should the hand of Novron be a lightning bolt or a dagger? I was concerned about your ability to weather the storms necessary to take the throne and rule Melengar. Your age has always been a concern. You’re very young. Perhaps I chose poorly?”

  “No.”

  Saldur got up and placed another log on the fire. Feeding his own hearth was just one more indignity he had to endure, but he certainly couldn’t allow anyone in his office during this meeting, and they couldn’t meet in the high tower anymore. And it was cold. He hated winter. This looked to be a long, dark one, made colder by the fact that he’d expected to be spending it in the luxury of the castle.

  “It seems like a defeat,” Saldur said, trying to sound positive, “but we’re actually closer. Much closer.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So skeptical.”

  This brought a smirk.

  “The next time we won’t miss. We’ll wait a few years, let things settle down, let people forget.”

  “We can’t have another fire. There’s already been two.”

  Saldur considered this. “And we can’t afford to miss again. We’ll have to literally stab him in the back.”

  “If we do that, the people are going to want us to find the killer.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Saldur smiled. “We’ll just pin it on someone.”

  “Not another traitor. I’m not sure people will stomach that either.”

  “No, we’ll find someone else. Someone without a name, someone unimportant and easy to attach the blame to.”

  “Like who?”

  “A couple of thieves perhaps—that way nothing can go wrong.”

  extras

  meet the author

  Michael J. Sullivan

  MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN is one of the few authors who have successfully published through all three routes: small press, self, and big six. His Riyria Revelations series has been translated into fourteen foreign language markets, including German, Russian, French, and Japanese. He has been named to io9’s Most Successful Self-Published Sci-Fi and Fantasy Authors list as well as making #6 on EMG’s 25 Self-Published Authors to Watch list. As of January 2013, his books have appeared on more than sixty-five “best of” or “most anticipated” lists, including:

  2013 Audie Award Finalist for Fantasy

  Fantasy Faction’s Top 10 Most Anticipated Books for 2013

  Goodreads Choice Awards Nominees for Best Fantasy in 2010 and 2012

  Library Journal’s 2011 Best Books for SF/Fantasy

  Barnes & Noble Blog’s Best Fantasy Releases of 2011

  Fantasy Book Critic’s #1 Independent Novel of 2010

  Like many authors, Michael’s journey to publication was a long one. In his twenties he became a stay-at-home dad and wrote while his kids were napping or at school. He completed twelve novels over the course of a decade, and after finding no traction, he quit writing altogether. During the next decade stories continued to form, but he never put any of them down on paper. He finally relented and started writing again, but only on the condition that he wouldn’t seek publication. He decided to write the stories that he wanted to read and expected to share them only with his family and close friends. His wife, Robin, had other plans.

  After reading the first three books of The Riyria Revelations, she became dedicated to getting them “out there.” Since Michael refused to jump back on the query-go-round, she took it upon herself and after more than one hundred query rejections, she finally landed an agent. After a year of submissions, without any interest, she switched to querying small presses and The Crown Conspiracy was signed to Aspirations Media Inc. They later signed the second book, Avempartha, but when they lacked the funds for the print run, the rights reverted and Robin started releasing the books at six-month intervals through her own imprint. When foreign language deals started to come in, she hired Teri Tobias to pick the right publishers and negotiate the deals. By the publication of the fifth book, Robin asked Teri to try New York again and the series received a much different reception. Out of the seventeen publishers they approached, almost half expressed interest and in less than a month, a deal was signed with Orbit (fantasy imprint of big six publisher Hachette Book Group).

  After finishing The Riyria Revelations, and while waiting to evaluate the reaction to the series, Michael wrote two stand-alone novels: Hollow World (a science-fiction novel) and Antithesis (an urban fantasy). Work on these was temporarily suspended because of the public’s demand for more Royce and Hadrian stories. In response, Michael wrote the two prequel novels (The Riyria Chronicles), which have been sold to Orbit. The Crown Tower will release in August 2013 and The Rose and the Thorn in September 2013. Find out more about the author at www.riyria.com.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  THE ROSE AND THE THORN,

  look out for

  THEFT OF SWORDS

  Book 1 of The Riyria Revelations

  by Michael J. Sullivan

  Royce Melborn, a skilled thief, and his mercenary partner, Hadrian Blackwater, are enterprising thieves who end up running for their lives when they are framed for the murder of the king. Trapped in a conspiracy that goes beyond the overthrow of a tiny kingdom, their only hope is unraveling an ancient mystery before it’s too late.

  Hadrian could see little in the darkness, but he could hear them—the snapping of twigs, the crush of leaves, and the brush of grass. There were more than one, more than three, and they
were closing in.

  “Don’t neither of you move,” a harsh voice ordered from the shadows. “We’ve got arrows aimed at your backs, and we’ll drop you in your saddles if you try to run.” The speaker was still in the dark eaves of the forest, just a vague movement among the naked branches. “We’re just gonna lighten your load a bit. No one needs to get hurt. Do as I say and you’ll keep your lives. Don’t—and we’ll take those, too.”

  Hadrian felt his stomach sink, knowing this was his fault. He glanced over at Royce, who sat beside him on his dirty gray mare with his hood up, his face hidden. His friend’s head was bowed and shook slightly. Hadrian did not need to see his expression to know what it looked like.

  “Sorry,” he offered.

  Royce said nothing and just continued to shake his head.

  Before them stood a wall of fresh-cut brush blocking their way. Behind lay the long moonlit corridor of empty road. Mist pooled in the dips and gullies, and somewhere an unseen stream trickled over rocks. They were deep in the forest on the old southern road, engulfed in a long tunnel of oaks and ash whose slender branches reached out over the road, quivering and clacking in the cold autumn wind. Almost a day’s ride from any town, Hadrian could not recall passing so much as a farmhouse in hours. They were on their own, in the middle of nowhere—the kind of place people never found bodies.

  The crush of leaves grew louder until at last the thieves stepped into the narrow band of moonlight. Hadrian counted four men with unshaven faces and drawn swords. They wore rough clothes, leather and wool, stained, worn, and filthy. With them was a girl wielding a bow, an arrow notched and aimed. She was dressed like the rest in pants and boots, her hair a tangled mess. Each was covered in mud, a ground-in grime, as if the whole lot slept in a dirt burrow.

  “They don’t look like they got much money,” a man with a flat nose said. An inch or two taller than Hadrian, he was the largest of the party, a stocky brute with a thick neck and large hands. His lower lip looked to have been split about the same time his nose was broken.

  “But they’ve got bags of gear,” the girl said. Her voice surprised him. She was young, and—despite the dirt—cute, and almost childlike, but her tone was aggressive, even vicious. “Look at all this stuff they’re carrying. What’s with all the rope?”

  Hadrian was uncertain if she was asking him or her fellows. Either way, he was not about to answer. He considered making a joke, but she did not look like the type he could charm with a compliment and a smile. On top of that, she was pointing the arrow at him and it looked like her arm might be growing tired.

  “I claim the big sword that fella has on his back,” flat-nose said. “Looks right about my size.”

  “I’ll take the other two he’s carrying.” This came from one with a scar that divided his face at a slight angle, crossing the bridge of his nose just high enough to save his eye.

  The girl aimed the point of her arrow at Royce. “I want the little one’s cloak. I’d look good in a fine black hood like that.”

  With deep-set eyes and sunbaked skin, the man closest to Hadrian appeared to be the oldest. He took a step closer and grabbed hold of Hadrian’s horse by the bit. “Be real careful now. We’ve killed plenty of folks along this road. Stupid folks who didn’t listen. You don’t want to be stupid, do you?”

  Hadrian shook his head.

  “Good. Now drop them weapons,” the thief said. “And then climb down.”

  “What do you say, Royce?” Hadrian asked. “We give them a bit of coin so nobody gets hurt.”

  Royce looked over. Two eyes peered out from the hood with a withering glare.

  “I’m just saying, we don’t want any trouble, am I right?”

  “You don’t want my opinion,” Royce said.

  “So you’re going to be stubborn.”

  Silence.

  Hadrian shook his head and sighed. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? They’re probably not bad people—just poor. You know, taking what they need to buy a loaf of bread to feed their family. Can you begrudge them that? Winter is coming and times are hard.” He nodded his head in the direction of the thieves. “Right?”

  “I ain’t got no family,” flat-nose replied. “I spend most of my coin on drink.”

  “You’re not helping,” Hadrian said.

  “I’m not trying to. Either you two do as you’re told, or we’ll gut you right here.” He emphasized this by pulling a long dagger from his belt and scraping it loudly against the blade of his sword.

  A cold wind howled through the trees, bobbing the branches and stripping away more foliage. Red and gold leaves flew, swirling in circles, buffeted by the gusts along the narrow road. Somewhere in the dark an owl hooted.

  “Look, how about we give you half our money? My half. That way this won’t be a total loss for you.”

  “We ain’t asking for half,” the man holding his mount said. “We want it all, right down to these here horses.”

  “Now wait a second. Our horses? Taking a little coin is fine but horse thieving? If you get caught, you’ll hang. And you know we’ll report this at the first town we come to.”

  “You’re from up north, ain’t you?”

  “Yeah, left Medford yesterday.”

  The man holding his horse nodded and Hadrian noticed a small red tattoo on his neck. “See, that’s your problem.” His face softened to a sympathetic expression that appeared more threatening by its intimacy. “You’re probably on your way to Colnora—nice city. Lots of shops. Lots of fancy rich folk. Lots of trading going on down there, and we get lots of people along this road carrying all kinds of stuff to sell to them fancy folk. But I’m guessing you ain’t been south before, have you? Up in Melengar, King Amrath goes to the trouble of having soldiers patrol the roads. But here in Warric, things are done a bit differently.”

  Flat-nose came closer, licking his split lip as he studied the spadone sword on his back.

  “Are you saying theft is legal?”

  “Naw, but King Ethelred lives in Aquesta and that’s awfully far from here.”

  “And the Earl of Chadwick? Doesn’t he administer these lands on the king’s behalf?”

  “Archie Ballentyne?” The mention of his name brought chuckles from the other thieves. “Archie don’t give a rat’s ass what goes on with the common folk. He’s too busy picking out what to wear.” The man grinned, showing yellowed teeth that grew at odd angles. “So now drop them swords and climb down. Afterward, you can walk on up to Ballentyne Castle, knock on old Archie’s door, and see what he does.” Another round of laughter. “Now unless you think this is the perfect place to die—you’re gonna do as I say.”

  “You were right, Royce,” Hadrian said in resignation. He unclasped his cloak and laid it across the rear of his saddle. “We should have left the road, but honestly—I mean, we are in the middle of nowhere. What were the odds?”

  “Judging from the fact that we’re being robbed—pretty good, I think.”

  “Kinda ironic—Riyria being robbed. Almost funny even.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Did you say Riyria?” the man holding Hadrian’s horse asked.

  Hadrian nodded and pulled his gloves off, tucking them into his belt.

  The man let go of his horse and took a step away.

  “What’s going on, Will?” the girl asked. “What’s Riyria?”

  “There’s a pair of fellas in Melengar that call themselves that.” He looked toward the others and lowered his voice a bit. “I got connections up that way, remember? They say two guys calling themselves Riyria work out of Medford and I was told to keep my distance if I was ever to run across them.”

  “So what you thinking, Will?” scar-face asked.

  “I’m thinking maybe we should clear the brush and let them ride through.”

  “What? Why? There’s five of us and just two of them,” flat-nose pointed out.

  “But they’re Riyria.”

  “So what?”


  “So, my associates up north—they ain’t stupid, and they told everyone never to touch these two. And my associates ain’t exactly the squeamish types. If they say to avoid them, there’s a good reason.”

  Flat-nose looked at them again with a critical eye. “Okay, but how do you know these two guys are them? You just gonna take their word for it?”

  Will nodded toward Hadrian. “Look at the swords he’s carrying. A man wearing one—maybe he knows how to use it, maybe not. A man carries two—he probably don’t know nothing about swords, but he wants you to think he does. But a man carrying three swords—that’s a lot of weight. No one’s gonna haul that much steel around unless he makes a living using them.”

  Hadrian drew two swords from his sides in a single elegant motion. He flipped one around, letting it spin against his palm once. “Need to get a new grip on this one. It’s starting to fray again.” He looked at Will. “Shall we get on with this? I believe you were about to rob us.”

  The thieves shot uncertain glances to each other.

  “Will?” the girl asked. She was still holding the bow taut but looked decidedly less confident.

  “Let’s clear the brush out of their way and let them pass,” Will said.

  “You sure?” Hadrian asked. “This nice man with the busted nose seems to have his heart set on getting a sword.”

  “That’s okay,” flat-nose said, looking up at Hadrian’s blades as the moonlight glinted off the mirrored steel.

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  All five nodded and Hadrian sheathed his weapons.

  Will planted his sword in the dirt and waved the others over as he hurried to clear the barricade of branches blocking the roadway.

  “You know, you’re doing this all wrong,” Royce told them.