Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations Read Free

earl, he made it law in Chadwick that anyone referring to him by the name would suffer the lash. Archibald did not have the power to enforce the edict on the marquis, and he was certain Victor used it intentionally.
    “Please do try to calm down, Victor.”
    “Don’t tell me to calm down!” The marquis’s voice echoed off the stone walls. He moved closer, his face mere inches from the younger man’s, and glared into his eyes. “You wrote that my daughter Alenda’s future was at stake and spoke of evidence. Now I must know—is she, or is she not, in danger?”
    “She is most certainly,” the earl replied calmly, “but nothing imminent, to be sure. There is no kidnapping plot nor is anyone planning to murder her, if that’s what you fear.”
    “Then why send me this message? If you’ve caused me to run my carriage team to near collapse while I worried myself sick for nothing, you’ll regret—”
    Holding up his hand, Archibald cut the threat short. “Iassure you, Victor, it’s not for nothing. Nevertheless, before we discuss this further, let us retire to the comfort of my study, where I can show you the evidence I mentioned.”
    Victor glowered at him but nodded in agreement.
    The two men crossed the foyer, passed through the large reception hall, and veered off through a door that led to the living quarters of the castle. As they traversed various hallways and stairways, the atmosphere of their surroundings changed dramatically. In the main entry, fine tapestries and etched stonework adorned the walls, and the floors were made of finely crafted marble. Yet beyond the entry, no displays of grandeur were found, leaving barren walls of stone the predominate feature.
    By architectural standards, or any other measures, Ballentyne Castle was unremarkable and ordinary in every respect. No great king or hero had ever called the castle home. Nor was it the site of any legend, ghost story, or battle. Instead, it was the perfect example of mediocrity and the mundane.
    After several minutes navigating the various hallways, Archibald stopped at a formidable cast-iron door. Impressive oversized bolts secured the door at its hinges, but no latch or knob was visible. Flanking either side of it stood two large well-armored guards bearing halberds. Upon Archibald’s approach, one rapped three times. A tiny viewing window opened, and a moment later, the hall echoed with the sharp sound of a bolt snapping back. As the door opened, the metal hinges screamed with a deafening noise.
    Victor’s hands moved to defend his ears. “By Mar! Have one of your servants tend to that!”
    “Never,” Archibald replied. “This is the entrance to the Gray Tower—my private study. This is my safe haven and I want to hear this door’s opening from anywhere in the castle, which I can.”
    Behind the door, Bruce greeted the pair with a deep andstately bow. Holding a lantern before him, he escorted the men up a wide spiral staircase. Halfway up the tower, Victor’s pace slowed and his breathing appeared labored.
    Archibald paused courteously. “I must apologize for the long ascent. I really don’t notice it anymore. I must have climbed these stairs a thousand times. When my father was the earl, this was the one place I could go to be alone. No one ever bothered to take the time or effort to reach the top. While it may not reach the majestic height of the Crown Tower at Ervanon, it’s the tallest tower in my castle.”
    “Don’t some people come merely to see the view?” Victor speculated.
    The earl chuckled. “You would think so, but this tower has no windows, which is what makes it the perfect location for my private study. I added the doors to protect the things dear to me.”
    Reaching the top of the stairs, they encountered another door. Archibald removed a large key from his pocket, unlocked it, and gestured for the marquis to enter. Bruce resumed his normal post outside the study and closed the door.
    The room was large and