The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  “Well, not exactly the whole fleet, Captain,” said the emperor. He lifted his wine glass. “Cheers.”

  The unspoken offer made Kasrin’s eyes widen. “You intend to go after Nicabar?”

  “Interested?”

  “I would be if it weren’t insane. Do you know what you’re asking? Do you know anything about the Fearless at all? It’s madness.” Kasrin snickered at the emperor. “Maybe you should go back to your narcotic after all, Biagio.”

  “And maybe you’re a coward,” said Biagio.

  Kasrin bristled. “I’m not.”

  “Then shut up and listen. My homeland, Crote; you know it’s been taken over by the Lissens?”

  Kasrin nodded. Everyone in Nar knew about the occupation of Crote.

  “And do you know who Queen Jelena is? The Lissen queen is on Crote, Captain. She’s been fortifying the island, guessing that I want it back. Obviously she thinks Nicabar is planning a counter-invasion.”

  “Is he?”

  “No. He’s planning to attack Liss itself. But Queen Jelena doesn’t know that.” Biagio rolled the glass between his palms. “Yet.”

  “You’re going to tell her?”

  “I mean to go to Crote, to ask the queen for peace. In return I will tell her what Nicabar has planned. She’ll want something, of course, and that will be part of my olive branch. The Lissens need peace as much as we do, I am sure of it.”

  “So what do you need me for?” asked Kasrin. He already had a good idea of the answer and was dreading it.

  Emperor Biagio leaned forward. “Take me to Crote,” he said simply. “Yours is the only warship available to me. All the other captains are still loyal to Nicabar.”

  “No way,” said Kasrin. “That’s suicide. The Lissens will destroy us as soon as we get near Crote. Besides, Nicabar won’t let me sail again.”

  “He will if he thinks you’re rejoining him,” countered Biagio. “Nicabar wants you back. He needs good men like you. After you take me to Crote, you will find Nicabar. You’ll tell him that you’ve changed your mind, that you’re sorry and will gladly fight against Liss to have your reputation back.”

  “Ridiculous,” muttered Kasrin. “He’ll never believe it.”

  “He will,” Biagio insisted. “I’ll make sure of it. And as for the Crotans, they won’t sink us once they know I’m aboard. Queen Jelena will want to meet with me. I’m certain of it.”

  Kasrin was still not persuaded. “That’s a big gamble. If you’re wrong …”

  “I am not wrong. Liss has been at war for twelve years. They are fighting a war they can never win. Unless Jelena is a fool, she sees that already.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing,” said Kasrin. “She’ll want something in return. Peace won’t be enough for her. She’ll need convincing. What will you give her, other than the news of Nicabar’s invasion?”

  Biagio’s expression darkened. “The same thing I’m offering you. I’ll give her Nicabar.” He studied Kasrin, waiting for his reaction, but Kasrin kept his face blank. “Well?” he pressed. “It’s a tempting offer, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Kasrin admitted. “But how am I supposed to destroy Nicabar? Do you have an answer for that in your magic hat?”

  Emperor Biagio looked supremely confident. “My dear Kasrin, I have an answer for everything. There will be a means to deal with the Fearless. The wheels are in motion. But you have to trust me. This is all part of a bigger plan. There will be demands on you, things I’ll need you to do. And in return I will give you the thing you desire most.”

  Suddenly, Kasrin wanted a drink. He rose from his chair and went to the cabinet, picking up a bottle of liquor and pouring himself a glass. Biagio’s scheme was delicate and dangerous, and because the emperor played his cards close, Kasrin didn’t really know what he’d be getting into. But one thing was certain—Biagio was a genius at intrigue. He had masterminded the destruction of the cathedral and wrested the throne from Herrith, and when no one thought he would survive for a week he had managed to hold on to power for a year. A man with so many talents just might be able to defeat the Fearless.

  In the end, the offer was irresistible. Kasrin put down the glass and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “I don’t want to trust you, Biagio,” he said plainly. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”

  Biagio beamed. “Then you will do as I say? You’ll take me to Crote?”

  “I’ll need some time to get my ship ready. The Dread Sovereign hasn’t been at sea for a long time. When do you want to leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Kasrin exclaimed. “Sure, no problem. Hell, why not today?”

  “Oh no, I can’t leave today,” said the emperor impishly. “Today I have other business. You’re not the only one who has come to meet me, Kasrin. There’s someone else I need to see.”

  FOUR

  There was an earthshaking silence as Dakel the Inquisitor stepped onto the stage. He wore a black ministerial gown and an impenetrable expression, and when he turned toward the vast audience that had assembled in his theater, not a speck of anxiety flickered in his eyes. A dozen candelabra washed the marble chamber orange. The air was still and heavy. Two skull-helmed guardians stood at the sides of the stage, staring out like statues. Dakel held no notes or prosecutorial ledger. Instead his hands were empty, clasped before him in thought. The audience waited for him to speak. Their eyes flicked between him and the man on the dais. Elrad Leth was as silent as the audience. His cold gaze never left the Inquisitor, but he didn’t seem frightened.

  Alazrian watched from the tiered seats, as mesmerized as the others. The chamber was filled to capacity. Alazrian had seen the crowds from his window that morning, milling around the Tower of Truth, buzzing about the appearance of Elrad Leth. Now it was uncomfortably close in the audience chamber, and elbows dug into his ribs as two men sandwiched Alazrian between their big bodies. Alazrian had found a seat early because Dakel had ordered it. He had expected the Inquisitor to put him in a special holding chamber to await his turn on stage, but Dakel hadn’t hinted at his plans for the boy. He had merely told Alazrian to wait out in the audience. Now, as he watched his father stare down the Inquisitor, Alazrian was glad for his anonymity. With luck, Dakel wouldn’t be able to find him. And what about the strange Donhedris? Had he been able to work some influence with Dakel?

  If Dakel does call me down, thought Alazrian anxiously, what then?

  He would face the minister, try to tell the truth and hope it would be enough, that he would not share Elrad Leth’s fate. From the murmurs Alazrian heard, most of the audience expected Leth to be executed. Alazrian held his breath waiting for Dakel to begin. He felt no pity for his so-called father, and he wondered what that meant about his morality.

  At last, Dakel smiled at the audience. An electric charge raced through the room. Minister Dakel glided across the marble floor. He was on the opposite side of the chamber from the dais, but within a moment he was in front of Elrad Leth, regarding him. Elrad Leth looked down from his perch disdainfully, his lips curling in a sneer.

  He’s not afraid of anything, thought Alazrian. He doesn’t have a heart.

  Dakel turned away from the dais and back to the audience. “Welcome,” he said. Alazrian had never heard such a crystalline voice. “Good friends. Citizens. It is warming to see this outpouring of interest. I am moved.” Then, his voice boomed, “Elrad Leth, state your title.”

  Leth waited a long time before answering, hardly hiding his disgust. “I am Elrad Leth of Talistan,” he said. “Currently Governor of Aramoor province.”

  “Governor,” echoed Dakel, his eyebrows arching. “That’s a title granted under authority of the emperor, isn’t it?”

  “The title was granted to me during the reign of Arkus,” replied Leth. He knew exactly where Dakel was leading and wouldn’t follow. “Not under the authority of Biagio.”

  “Do you know why you’re here, Elrad Leth?”

&n
bsp; “I have no idea,” Leth scoffed. “But I know that this tribunal summons innocent men.”

  The Inquisitor motioned toward the crowd. “Well, all these people know why you’re here, Elrad Leth. They’ve all heard the stories. They all know what a good and just governor you’ve been.”

  Leth said nothing. Nor would he, Alazrian knew. He was proud of the way he had dealt with Aramoor, and would never apologize for it.

  “Tell us about Aramoor,” Dakel continued. “Is it a difficult land to govern?”

  Leth yawned.

  “You can answer me or not, Elrad Leth, but to refuse my questions invites guilt. Such are the laws of the Protectorate.”

  That got Leth’s attention. “It is not difficult,” he said. “I have means to deal with the Aramoorians.”

  “Yes,” drawled Dakel. “Such as?”

  “They are a scurvy lot and need discipline. It is no less than Emperor Biagio does, I’m sure.”

  “The Aramoorians don’t accept your rule, then?”

  “They do not. But they will.”

  “When will they?” asked Dakel. “When they are all dead? You kill those who oppose you, do you not, Elrad Leth? Without trial, you execute Aramoorians you think are your enemies. You are on a campaign of terror.”

  “No,” hissed Leth. “There are troubles and I deal with them. When there are crimes, I create justice. When there is chaos, I make order. I do not terrorize. I do not blow up churches.”

  The gathering raised up an exclamation. But Dakel merely smiled, unperturbed by the barb. Casually he walked over to the other side of the dais.

  “Who are the Saints of the Sword?” he asked.

  Leth shifted.

  “Governor Leth?” Dakel probed. “The Saints of the Sword?”

  From the redness of Leth’s face it seemed an explosion was imminent. “They are a group of Aramoorian rebels.”

  “And their leader,” Dakel continued. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Jahl Rob,” replied Leth.

  “Tell us about Jahl Rob.”

  “I don’t know much about him.”

  “You’ve never met him?”

  “Once.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  Leth hesitated, considering his answer. “At a meeting,” he said finally.

  “A meeting? What kind of meeting?”

  “It was a protest,” Leth said. “Against me.”

  Dakel couldn’t contain his grin. He turned toward the audience, projecting his voice. “Gentle folk of Nar, Jahl Rob is a priest. He is also an Aramoorian.”

  “He is also a rebel!” flared Leth.

  “Yes,” said Dakel smoothly. “He is a rebel fighting for Aramoor’s freedom from Talistan. He organized the Saints of the Sword to oppose you, Elrad Leth, after you declared him an outlaw for speaking out against you. True or not?”

  “Jahl Rob is a murderous traitor. He has killed members of my own brigade.”

  “But he was a man of peace before becoming a rebel, and respected by the people of Aramoor, yes?”

  “Yes!” roared Leth, springing to his feet. “And if you know it’s all true why don’t you just say so, dog? Jahl Rob is a traitor and a threat to Talistan. He never accepted my rule of Aramoor, a rule your Emperor Arkus granted me!”

  Dakel remained placid. “People, Jahl Rob is hunted because he protests against the brutal rule of Elrad Leth. You’ve just heard the governor himself admit as much. But Elrad Leth wasn’t content with breaking up Jahl Rob’s protest. He rounded up nearly everyone who attended that meeting, then had them beheaded. Nearly one hundred people. Some women, some even children. This is the good and ethical governorship of Elrad Leth.”

  Elrad Leth glowered. Alazrian, who already knew the terrible story of Jahl Rob, felt his face flush. He was embarrassed by the belief that he was known as Leth’s son.

  Dakel continued, “And now Jahl Rob and his Saints of the Sword fight you from the Iron Mountains. They launch raids against your men and your rule, trying to get you to leave Aramoor.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And in response you kill and take hostages, burn places that the Aramoorians value, send their women to Talistan as slaves, tattoo their children like chattel, take the profits of their enterprises, deprive them of food, and I could go on, Elrad Leth, but I will not, because I think my point is made!” Dakel gestured to the crowd, indicating their shocked faces. “And your defense is … what?”

  “My defense is as I’ve always maintained,” said Leth. “Aramoor is mine to govern by decree of the late emperor, Arkus. I deal with Aramoor as I see fit. And when there is a threat to my rule, I take measures.”

  “A threat,” said Dakel, nodding. “So the Saints of the Sword are a threat?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are there other threats as well? And to Talistan? Threats that warrant a build-up of your military forces?”

  For the first time, Elrad Leth went ashen. Dakel chuckled.

  “Let me refresh your memory, Governor,” said the Inquisitor. “The armies of Talistan have grown in recent months, have they not? Hasn’t your king, Tassis Gayle, been purchasing mounts for your horsemen from around the Empire? And hasn’t he conscripted healthy men from Aramoor, the province you’re supposed to be governing, to serve in his armies?”

  Leth seemed unable to answer. “As I’ve said, there are threats.”

  “Threats like the Saints,” said Dakel.

  “That’s right.”

  “And are there so many of Jahl Rob’s men that you and King Tassis need to double the size of your army? And have them stationed in Talistan? Not in Aramoor by the mountains?”

  “There are other threats,” said Leth, straightening. “Talistan has enemies, Lord Minister. And as you know, these are dangerous times.”

  “Indeed?” said Dakel, feigning alarm. “Who threatens Talistan? Surely not Aramoor.”

  After a pause, Leth said, “The Eastern Highlands are a threat to us.”

  Out in the audience, Alazrian nodded, understanding. He had heard Leth talk in whispers about the Eastern Highlands, but didn’t know why. Yet from what he knew about that territory, he couldn’t believe the Highlanders threatened Talistan. Apparently, Dakel didn’t believe it either.

  “The Eastern Highlands are a vast territory to be sure,” said the Inquisitor. “But a threat to Talistan? That’s a bold statement.”

  “Nevertheless, it is true. Redburn and his Highlanders have been threatening us, provoking us by stealing our livestock, and harassing our herds. They have trespassed on Talistanian soil without permission. Why, I myself had to charter a ship to reach Nar City because Redburn and his savages would not let us cross their territory.”

  “I see. And that is why Talistan has been building up its military? Because of a perceived threat from Prince Redburn?”

  “I am Governor of Aramoor,” said Leth evenly. “It’s a difficult job, and leaves me little time to ponder other things. I do not know exactly what King Tassis does in Talistan, but I have told you what I’ve heard.” He leaned back in his chair. “If you want answers to your questions, perhaps you should summon Tassis Gayle before your Protectorate.”

  A ripple of laughter broke from the audience. No ruler of any consequence had yet to be called before Dakel’s tribunal. To do so was to invite more trouble. Even Alazrian, who had been preoccupied with his mother’s dying, knew enough about the Protectorate to be sure his grandfather was safe. Lines were being drawn in the Empire. Alliances were being formed. And men like Dakel had to tread carefully, or be prepared for consequences.

  True to form, Dakel did tread carefully. Instead of responding to Leth’s jab, he steered the conversation back to solid ground. Once again he questioned Leth about the Saints, tottering his opponent’s smugness, drilling him about Jahl Rob and the massacre of his confederates. Dakel moved like a dancer across the floor. He had a feline’s grace and fierceness, and whenever Leth stonewalled, he turned to the crow
d like a jester, plying his comical smile and wit, turning the tide of opinion his way. Curiously, he avoided more questions about Talistan and its military, and Alazrian wondered if Dakel was afraid, or if he had simply gotten the information he sought. Alazrian tried to remember the last few months. Being in Aramoor had isolated him, and while his mother lay dying, he had seldom ventured out of the castle. Truly, he didn’t know what was happening in Aramoor or Talistan, but he supposed that Dakel’s charges were correct. Talistan probably was building up its forces. And as for Aramoor, well … Alazrian shrugged, wishing he knew more.

  It was another hour before Dakel finally concluded his inquiry. By the end of it, even Leth looked drained. Dakel, by contrast, appeared refreshed and pleased. He told the audience that he was done for the day, then pointedly added that he might recall Leth to the tribunal tomorrow. The protective facade Leth had erected cracked a little at that news. Dakel flashed him a mischievous smile before stepping down from the stage. All around Alazrian, people were getting up from their seats, beginning to file out of the chamber.

  “That’s it?” he whispered. “Not me?”

  Apparently, he had been spared the ordeal of facing the Inquisitor, at least for the day. On the dais, Elrad Leth was stepping down. He looked dazed as he surveyed the room, unsure what to do with himself. Alazrian didn’t want his father to see him, so he sprang from his seat and turned toward the door only to find Donhedris in front of him, looking down with a smile.

  “You!” Alazrian exclaimed. He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that his father was gone, then turned back to Donhedris and whispered, “I wasn’t called before the Inquisitor. Was it you? I mean, did you do something?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who’s your friend? What’s going on?”

  “Follow me,” said Donhedris. He walked off without looking back, expecting Alazrian to follow. Alazrian’s curiosity took hold and he did as the man ordered, hurrying after him as they descended the tiers. Most of the people who’d come to the trial were exiting through archways on the western wall, but not Donhedris. Instead, he led Alazrian to a darkened corner on the eastern side, slipped through an open door, and came out into a quiet hall that seemed to swallow every sound. It was marble, like the rest of the place, and frighteningly austere. Small, glass-covered sconces lined the walls, protecting candles. There were more Shadow Angels in the hall. The dark soldiers turned their heads as Alazrian passed.