Riyria Revelations Intro: The Viscount and the Witch by Michael J. Sullivan

Author:Michael J. Sullivan [Sullivan, Michael J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ridan Publishing
Published: 2011-10-07T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ONE OF THE CROWN TOWER

Hadrian Blackwater hadn’t gone more than five steps off the ship before he was robbed.

The bag—his only bag—had been torn from his hand. He never even saw the thief. Hadrian couldn’t see much of anything in the lantern-lit chaos surrounding the pier, just a mass of faces, people shoving to get away from the gangway or nearer to the ship. Like the other passengers used to the rhythms of a pitching deck, just keeping on his feet was a struggle amidst the jostling scramble. The newly arrived moved hesitantly, causing congestion. Many on shore searched for friends and relatives, yelling, jumping, waving arms—chasing the attention of someone. Others were more professional holding torches and shouting offers for lodging and jobs. One bald man with a voice like a war trumpet stood on a crate, promising that the Black Cat Tavern offered the strongest ale at the cheapest prices. Twenty feet away, his competition balanced on a wobbly barrel and proclaimed the bald man a liar. He further insisted The Lucky Hat to be the only local tavern that didn’t substitute dog meat for mutton. Hadrian didn’t care. He wanted to get out of the crowd and find the thief who stole his bag. After only a few minutes he realized that wasn’t going to happen. He settled for protecting his purse and considered himself lucky. At least nothing of value was lost—just clothing, but given how cold Vernes was in autumn that might be a problem.

Hadrian followed the flow of bodies, not that he had much choice. Adrift in the strong current, he bobbed with his head just above the surface. The dock creaked and moaned under the weight of escaping passengers, hurrying away from what had been their cramped home for more than a month. Weeks breathing clean salt air had been replaced by the harsh pungent smells of fish, smoke, and tar. Rising far above the dim lit docks, the city’s lights appeared as brighter points in a starlit world.

Hadrian followed four dark skinned Calian men hauling crates packed with colorful birds, which squawked and rattled their cages. Behind him walked a poorly dressed man and woman. The man carried two bags, one over a shoulder and the other tucked under an arm. Apparently no one was interested in their belongings. Hadrian realized he should have worn something else. His eastern attire was not only uselessly thin, but in a land of leather and wool the bleached white linen thawb and the gold-trimmed cloak, screamed wealth.

“Here! Over here!” The barely distinguishable voice was merely one more in the maelstrom of shouts, wagon wheels, bells, and whistles. “This way. Yes you, come. Come!”

Reaching the end of the ramp, and clearing most of the congestion, Hadrian spotted an adolescent boy. Dressed in tattered clothes he waited beneath the fiery glow of a swaying lantern. The wiry youth held Hadrian’s bag and beamed an enormous smile. “Yes, yes, you there. Please come. Right over here,” he called, waving with his free hand.

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