Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  "Hurry up," urged Alain. The boy went to the window, peering out with wild eyes. "Before they get here."

  "I'm hurrying," said Del, trying to ignore his brother's pleas. "Interrupting won't help me, Alain. Just be quiet and keep a lookout."

  Del dipped his pen in the well and went on writing. There was so much to say and no time to say it, so he made the note as succinct as possible and hoped that Alain would fill in the rest.

  If he made it.

  Del pushed the ugly image out of his mind. With Leth's men swarming all around, Alain was the only one who could make it to Jahl Rob. He was only twelve, after all, and no one suspected him of treason, not even Elrad Leth. They all thought Alain was like his father, too weak to oppose Talistan. But Leth and his Talistanian puppet-masters were wrong about the House of Lotts. Del's family weren't lap dogs, and they weren't marching obediently to Elrad Leth's tune. They were rebels and proud of it, just like Jahl Rob.

  Del took the time to look his letter over, hoping it contained enough information. Then he sighed, realizing that he really didn't know all that much.

  Jahl,

  By the time you read this, I will have been taken into custody. I have not recanted my statements about the slaves, and so Dinsmore has decided to end my house arrest and imprison me in the Tollhouse. He may even know of my family's association with you. If that is so, then this will be the last you hear from any of us.

  My news is this--I have learned that Leth is not in Aramoor. I do not know where he has gone, but he has been away for many days now. If you plan to strike again, do so soon, while he is gone. His men are weak without him. Gather your food now, and take what you can. I do not know when Leth will return.

  This is the last help I can offer. I hope this information matters. This house arrest has blinded me, so I still don't know what Leth is doing with the slaves. The only thing I know for certain is that more of Duke Wallach's ships continue to arrive. That, at least, I have learned.

  Look after Alain for me. He is a good boy, and I do not know what will happen to my parents if our treachery has been exposed.

  Your friend, Del

  "Are you done?" asked Alain nervously.

  "Yes."

  "Finally." Alain came away from the window, holding out his hand. "Give it here."

  The brothers looked at each other, and Del could tell Alain was being strong the only way he knew, that behind the eager mask were a thousand fears. Alain had grown up fast since Richius' disappearance. The occupation had made him hard, and he had lost a precious part of his youth. Or more precisely, his youth had been murdered. Now, as Del Lotts regarded his brother, he saw a young man, hardly a boy at all, and the realization saddened him.

  He folded the letter and handed it to Alain. "Take it quickly," he said. "Don't look back. Don't set foot in Aramoor unless Roice tells you it's safe. He'll be watching out for Mother and Father. If everything is all right, he'll send for you."

  "All right."

  Del put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't be afraid. Jahl Rob will look after you. Just ride for the mountains and he'll find you."

  Alain nodded. "Right." Then, hesitantly, he added, "What about you?"

  "Don't worry about me," said Del. "I'll be fine."

  "No." Alain's voice cracked with emotion. "They'll kill you, Del."

  Del couldn't find the words to speak. Alain had indeed grown older. It wouldn't do to lie to him, not when the truth was so obvious. So he pulled his brother closer and put his arms around him, kissing his head.

  "Be well, little brother," he whispered. "You go to Rob and stay safe for me."

  "Come with me."

  "I can't. Dinsmore will come for Father if I do. That would only prove our connection to Jahl Rob."

  "Del--"

  "Stop," insisted Del. He pushed Alain away and looked at him fiercely. "There's no choice, not for me. But there is for you. You go to Rob. You stay alive. Roice will send for you if it's safe to return."

  "I'll be an old man by then."

  Maybe, thought Del. He gestured to the door.

  "Go," he said sternly. "And be careful."

  His brother didn't say another word. They merely looked at each other for another second, then Alain turned and hurried from the room. He would race down to the stables and find himself a pony, and he would point the beast in the direction of the mountains until Jahl Rob or one of his Saints found him. He would be safe, Del knew. He would live. Elrad Leth's men never dared venture into the Iron Mountains.

  They still thought lions lived there.

  EIGHT

  The Rising Sun shuddered in the grip of a wave. From his dingy porthole, Alazrian could see the sky darkening as clouds greyed the horizon. A squall was growing, beating at the hull and making the vessel groan. The nervous patter on the decks above bled through the ceiling. Alazrian glanced upward and watched the boards flex with activity. The crew was making ready for the rain he supposed, and he wondered if they were in danger. Then he shook his head, returning to his journal.

  A storm is coming, he wrote, dipping the quill periodically into its well. But I don't think we are threatened. The Rising Sun still clings to the shore. Leth tells me it is because the captain is afraid of Lissens, and I cannot blame him for his fear. Better that we should face a hurricane than run up against the devils of Liss.

  We are four days out of the city now, and I miss it. The weather has been poor, and I've already told you about this deplorable cabin. Leth and Shinn have taken the only decent bunks for themselves. Last night I found a spider in my mattress. I think I should sleep on the floor from here on, or above deck with the crew. It would be better than listening to Leth snore. He is an atrocious man to live with, and being so close to him lately has convinced me of his ugliness. I pity my mother more than ever now. How did she ever share a bed with him for so long?

  Alazrian paused in his writing, considering his words. Since being confined so closely with Leth, he had come to hate him more than ever--a feat he didn't think possible. Perhaps it was all the things that Biagio had told him.

  I can't wait to return to Aramoor, he wrote. To have my own room again will be some sort of paradise. These walls are like a prison cell, and the trip is unendurable. Leth gets drunk to pass the time, and when he is not playing cards with Shinn he entertains himself by insulting me. Sometimes I wish a wave would come and wash him overboard. If I am lucky, the coming storm will supply one.

  Alazrian knew he was taking a chance writing such things in his journal. Leth might easily discover his words, especially in such tight quarters. But Alazrian needed the catharsis. Since meeting with Biagio, his mind had been racing. If his treachery were discovered, Leth would take pleasure in skinning him alive. So he never wrote anything about his secret mission. All those details were locked away in his mind.

  His eyes flicked involuntarily to his bunk. Under it were his bags of clothing. In one of those bags, hidden in the pocket of a shirt he never wore, was the folded envelope from Biagio.

  A powerful wind howled, suddenly breaking Alazrian's daydream. He rose from his chair and stared out the porthole. Barely the size of his head, the window afforded him a view of the southern horizon. To the north, on the other side of the vessel, the shores of the Empire could be seen, but the southern exposure showcased only the endless expanse of pitching ocean. Water misted the glass of his porthole. A light drizzle tapped against the panes. The men of the Rising Sun pulled up their hoods and sought what shelter the deck afforded. It was a small vessel compared to the ones Alazrian had seen in Nar's harbor, and there were limited quarters for the crew. Some slept above, even in the rain. Small wonder the crew had skin like tree bark. They were grizzled northerners from Gorkney, and they manned their merchant ship with callused hands and bodies muscled like ropes from a lifetime of toil at sea. They were real men, these sailors, the kind of men Leth was always comparing him to. Alazrian looked down at his hands and saw his soft skin. They reminded him of Bia
gio's hands.

  The cabin door burst open with a drunken laugh. Alazrian fumbled to close his journal. Elrad Leth paused in the threshold, spying his son. He smirked as he noticed the journal.

  "More writing nonsense?" he said. He hoisted the bottle in his hand, gesturing at the journal. "You waste more time with poetry. Like your bloody mother." He turned to Shinn. "That's where he gets it from. Always wasting goddamn time."

  Leth wobbled closer. It was just past noon and he was already drunk; Alazrian could tell from his slurring that this wasn't his first bottle. Shinn followed him into the cabin and closed the door. The bodyguard said nothing. He was always quiet, laughing only when Leth laughed, talking only when asked a question. His sharp eyes and nose gave him the look of a raptor.

  "It's raining," said Leth, pushing past Alazrian. "We need the table for our game. Clear your trash away."

  "Wait," said Alazrian, reaching for the journal and inkwell before they tumbled to the floor. The instant he'd retrieved them, Leth pulled the table out into the center of the cabin, scraping it loudly against the floor. There was only one chair, which had been Alazrian's, and Leth commandeered that too, pushing the table up against a bunk so Shinn could sit down. The Dorian pulled a pack of playing cards from his pocket and started shuffling. He plied the deck like a professional gambler.

  "Let's go," Leth said. "Give me a chance to win some of my money back." He dug into his own pocket and slapped down a collection of coins. Shinn's eyes gleamed hungrily.

  Alazrian glanced out the window hoping the rain had stopped. Instead, it had deepened, meaning that he was stuck inside with the two drunks. Sighing loudly, he sat down on his bunk and slipped his journal beneath the mattress. Elrad Leth heard his sigh and shot an angry glare over his shoulder.

  "Shut up. I'm trying to play."

  Trying to lose, more likely, thought Alazrian bitterly. He dangled his feet over the bunk and watched as Shinn dealt the cards, shooting them from his long fingers. Alazrian liked watching Shinn. As much as he feared the bodyguard, he was fascinated by his mannerisms. Everything he did had a certain smoothness, a catlike grace that sometimes looked inhuman. His reputation with weapons had earned him a place close to Leth who had hired Shinn as his exclusive bodyguard for a monthly sum that many claimed was exorbitant. He was the best archer anywhere in Talistan, the recipient of numerous tournament awards. Leth liked to say that Shinn could shoot the eyes out of striking cobra, and Alazrian, who had seen Shinn work a bow, didn't doubt it. Even on board the Rising Sun, where there were only merchant seamen to threaten them, Shinn carried a rapier. It dangled from his belt in a plain brown scabbard and rested beside his bunk at night.

  Leth cursed as he lost another hand. The whole voyage to Nar City had been the same, and Alazrian was surprised that his father had any money left to wager. Shinn smiled thinly as he raked the coins toward him. Like his bow and rapier, cards were weapons to him.

  Then, as happened so often these days, Alazrian thought about Biagio, and about the emperor's plans. Lately, the sight of his father made him wonder. He had touched Biagio and learned the depths of his heart. He knew that Biagio truly believed what he was saying, but that still didn't make it true.

  Do I betray my people because of his suspicions? Alazrian wondered. He looked at the back of Leth's head, at the oily hair matted with rain, perfectly cut and militant. Believing the worst of his so-called father was easy. But he didn't hate Tassis Gayle. His grandfather had been good to him, and to his mother. Maybe Biagio was wrong about the king after all.

  Maybe . . .

  Alazrian rose from his bunk quietly and began hovering over the card table. Leth cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his interest. It was partly a warning, but Alazrian ignored it.

  "Who's winning?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

  "Who do you think?" snorted Leth. He slapped down his hand and pulled another face card. Then, disgusted with his choice, he took up his bottle and swigged from it. Shinn remained as placid as a mirror; guessing at his sobriety was always difficult. He was the perfect card player, his face a mask.

  But such wasn't the case with Elrad Leth, who wore every emotion like a sign. Especially when he was drinking.

  Alazrian nodded, examining his father's cards. Leth pulled them back.

  "What are you doing?" he barked.

  "Nothing," said Alazrian. "Just curious about the game. I'd like to learn. Maybe you can show me some time."

  "You?" laughed Leth. "Playing cards? I don't think you'd like it. There's no knitting involved."

  "Why not show me? Until I get better, you might be able to beat me. That would be a nice change, wouldn't it?"

  Leth purpled. "I'll beat you with a cane if you keep mouthing off, boy," he snarled. "And I won't have time for games, not once we get back to Aramoor."

  Alazrian hid his grin. Careful now, he told himself. Leth took another pull from his bottle, studying the cards.

  "What will you do when we get back to Aramoor?" he asked. "With Mother gone you'll have more time now. Will you go after Jahl Rob?"

  "Why shouldn't I?" snapped Leth. He continued playing, studying his cards.

  "I don't know. I just thought that you might stop hunting down the Saints after everything that's happened. With the Protectorate, I mean."

  Leth laughed, looking at Shinn. "The Protectorate," he echoed. "Oh, yes, I'm quite afraid of that lot, eh, Shinn? Dakel had so much evidence against me he had to let me go!"

  "I was there," said Alazrian. "I heard what he said to you. All those charges--"

  "Are none of your concern." Leth was quickly growing annoyed with the questions, and waved his hand in the air as though a fly was circling. Alazrian bit his lip, afraid to pursue but unwilling to stop.

  "I was afraid," he said quietly, donning a sincere expression. "I didn't know what would happen to you. I thought Dakel might execute you."

  Leth set the cards down on the table, surrendering to Alazrian's constant nattering. "Look," he said. "If you want to watch the game, go ahead. You might even learn something. But don't keep talking, all right? You don't know a damn thing about what you're saying, and it's irksome."

  "I was busy caring for Mother," said Alazrian. "I didn't know what you were doing in Aramoor. But maybe I can help you now . . . if you tell me."

  Elrad Leth didn't retrieve his cards. He stared at Alazrian for a long moment, stroking his beard, and Alazrian was certain he'd gone too far. Then, remarkably, Leth smiled.

  "If you weren't such a weakling I might be able to use you, boy. There's big things happening, things my son should be a part of. I wish I had a son." His eyes narrowed. "But I don't. I have you. My favorite little girl."

  Alazrian's skin chilled. In that moment, he would have given anything for Shinn's talent with a blade. Summoning his courage, he kept his ruse alive, trying to look hurt by the insult but not enough to back down. If he were really to do Biagio's bidding, he needed answers.

  "I can do anything other boys can," he said. "I just need a chance to prove myself. If you let me try, you won't be disappointed, Father."

  He rarely called Leth "Father," and the use of the term surprised him.

  "You wouldn't understand," said Leth. "You have air in your head, like your mother. Always out in the garden, picking flowers; always sticking your nose in some blasted book. I wanted a son like Blackwood Gayle. A strong son I could be proud of. Instead your mother delivered you." He pushed his cards away bitterly. "How the hell am I supposed to give you a chance? You'd muck up anything I asked of you. The first time one of Rob's Saints came after you, you'd cry like a baby."

  "I wouldn't," flared Alazrian. He found himself caught up in his own lie, defending himself as though he really wanted to join his father's bloody crusade. "I can fight. And I'm smart. I know more than you think I do."

  "Sure you do," drawled Leth. "Now go paint a pretty picture."

  "I do!" Alazrian insisted. "I know that you're afraid of Redburn in the Highl
ands, and that's why you're risking our lives on this ship."

  "What?" Leth rumbled, rising from his chair. "You think I'm afraid?"

  Alazrian didn't back down. Too much anger had built up in him, too much resentment. He looked at Leth defiantly.

  "You are afraid," declared Alazrian. "Why else would we be on this ship instead of riding through the Highlands like we usually do?"

  "The Highlands are dangerous," said Leth. "Like I told the Protectorate."

  "That's a lie. Redburn and his people have never been a threat to anyone. If they're your enemy now, it's because you made them enemies."

  Elrad Leth's hand shot out, striking Alazrian across the face. Alazrian stumbled back, but before Leth could go after him Shinn was on his feet pulling Leth back.

  "Stop it," Shinn urged, taking hold of Leth's arm. "You're drunk. You don't have to hit the boy for opening his mouth."

  "You're a little beast!" Leth snapped, waving a finger at Alazrian. "I'm warning you, don't task me. Your mother isn't here to protect you anymore!"

  "I don't need her protection," Alazrian spat back. "I'm not afraid of you. I know what--"

  He stopped himself, pulling back from the brink. What was he saying? He had to keep his mouth shut, to keep everything Biagio told him a secret. He tested a tooth with his tongue and found that it was loose.

  "Weakling," hissed Leth. He shrugged off Shinn's grip, regaining composure, then slowly sank into his chair. Keeping a steely gaze on Alazrian, he said, "Look at you, all teary from a little slap. And you want to ride against the Saints? You'd wet yourself before the first sword was drawn."

  Yes, thought Alazrian bitterly. Go ahead and think that. I'll come back with an army of Triin lions and cut your rotten heart out.