The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  “It arrived about an hour ago,” said Kasrin. “But the men who delivered it wouldn’t help get it aboard. We’ve been trying ever since.”

  Biagio detected the venom in Kasrin’s tone. “I promised you the fuel for your cannons, Kasrin. I said nothing about getting it on board. You’re the captain. Aren’t you responsible for keeping your ship in order?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Let’s just get aboard,” said Biagio. He looked around and spotted the gangway at the bow. A small collection of seamen were already gathering there. He headed for it without being invited, waving at Kasrin to follow. “Come along.”

  Kasrin chased after Biagio, thundering up the gangway and onto the bow of his dreadnought. Biagio was looking around surveying the warship. All around buzzed eager seamen anxious to get a look at the emperor, and the din of effort made Biagio nod, pleased with what he saw.

  “Very good,” he acknowledged. “Things seem to be moving along.”

  “What do you know about ships?”

  “More than you might think, Captain.” The emperor grinned at him. “The Dread Sovereign is yours to command. But the mission is mine. Remember that.”

  There was an edge to Biagio’s words that Kasrin understood perfectly. He nodded.

  “Now,” said Biagio, rubbing his hands together. “Will you be ready to get underway at dawn?”

  “If we can get the fuel aboard, yes. We don’t have to load it into the cannons to disembark. We can do that once we’re under sail. It’s about a two-day trip to Crote. That should give us plenty of time to get everything else in order.” He sighed, looking around his vessel. “Jelena isn’t going to welcome us with open arms.”

  “I should say not,” agreed Biagio. “But she won’t make a move once she learns I’m aboard. Neither will her captains. We’ll be safe enough, Kasrin, don’t worry.”

  Lately, Kasrin worried about everything, and Biagio’s confidence did nothing to allay his fears. Over the ship’s railing he watched as Laney and the others managed to pull the fuel crate aboard an inch at a time. It was just one of many problems Kasrin hadn’t foreseen. Sailing into a lion’s mouth suddenly seemed remarkably stupid.

  Biagio slept.

  He had been taken belowdecks by Kasrin and shown his private quarters, a cramped little cabin barely the size of a closet. The room had a desk, one oil lamp, a bunk, and very little else. For Biagio, who had expected meager conditions, the room was sufficient, and when he spied the bunk he collapsed into it, falling into a deep slumber. He slept unbroken for two hours not hearing the sounds of the men working above him, not even dreaming. Then, as a shadow crossed his eyelids, he suddenly awoke. Captain Kasrin was staring down at him.

  “I knocked but you didn’t answer,” said the captain. His words seemed garbled to Biagio, who was still half asleep. Biagio shook his head, coughing to clear his throat.

  “Is it morning already?”

  “No,” said Kasrin. “You’ve only been down for a couple of hours.”

  “Is there some problem?”

  “No problem. I just thought you might want to come above for a few minutes, address the crew.”

  “Address the crew? What for?”

  Captain Kasrin frowned. “Lord Emperor, my men are going on a dangerous mission for you. I’ve told them what’s expected, but it would be good for morale if you spoke to them yourself.”

  It seemed like such a petty request, and Biagio was weary beyond words. He was about to growl at Kasrin, then abruptly stopped himself realizing the captain was right. He remembered all the times he’d called his Roshann agents together for briefings, and how valuable his words had been. It might indeed be good for the crew to hear some rousing speech.

  “Yes,” agreed Biagio wearily. “All right, then.”

  He was still dressed and even had his shoes on, so he let Kasrin guide him out of the chamber and above decks, where the men were still at work readying the dreadnought for her voyage. Biagio noticed that they had finally gotten the gigantic crate of cannon fuel aboard. It rested in the middle of the deck, one side pried open to reveal four tall metal cylinders packed with straw. As the seamen recognized Biagio, they stopped working, eyeing him inquisitively. A terrible feeling of awkwardness overcame him. He was at his best operating behind the scenes, planning in the shadows, or when addressing others of his own noble ilk. Talking to common people had never been part of his career. He fidgeted as Kasrin gathered the men. Sailors in the rigging slid down to hear Biagio’s words. Officers straightened their uniforms and stepped in closer. Biagio felt his hands begin to sweat.

  Easy, he scolded himself. They’re just like servants.

  He’d spoken to servants before. In fact, he’d sent hundreds of people to their deaths. But that was in the heady days of Arkus and Bovadin’s drug, and the combination of the two had made him iron-fisted. Now he was just damnably human, like the seamen surrounding him.

  “Yes, well,” he began awkwardly. “Captain Kasrin thought I should speak to you all, to tell you what we’re about to face. The first thing I should probably say is that I’m very pleased to be aboard. You’re all doing me a great service.” He paused, gauging the response of his audience. To his great surprise, a few gave him encouraging smiles. “You’re doing a service for the Empire as well,” he went on, his voice growing stronger. “I can’t promise you that we’ll all come through this alive, but the cause we’re fighting for is good and just. I know that might be hard for you to believe, coming from me. But you had the strength to side with Captain Kasrin against Nicabar. You know that the war against Liss is wrong, and must be stopped for the sake of our Empire.”

  There was a general chorus of agreement. Kasrin and his first officer Laney were looking at Biagio intensely. Like the rest of their crew, they wanted to know if they’d made the right decision to trust their nefarious passenger. Now more than ever, they needed a leader. Biagio stretched out his arms dramatically.

  “All of you are participating in a great turning point of the Empire,” he declared. “What we do in the coming weeks will decide the destiny of your children. Peace with Liss is a great imperative, a cornerstone of a secure future. But it won’t be enough. There will be other things this crew will be called upon to do. I’ve already told Captain Kasrin that and he has put his trust in me. I only ask you to do your duty, to remain loyal to Kasrin and to me, and to believe me when I tell you that this secret work of ours is vital.”

  The crew of the Sovereign stared at Biagio blankly. Biagio cleared his throat.

  “That is all,” he said.

  His speech ended, the crew went back to their labors. Biagio turned to Kasrin and grinned.

  “Well? How was that?”

  “Good enough. I just hope you meant what you said.”

  Then Kasrin walked away, leaving Biagio in the center of the deck.

  “I meant every word of it,” said Biagio somberly.

  Now he needed to prove it.

  SEVEN

  The House of Lotts stood on the sea far from the uneasy border that Aramoor shared with Talistan. It was a remarkable home, built like a tiny castle, and in better days had been a happy place. In the time before the usurping, the Lotts family had stood firm with the Vantrans, and had even fought against Talistan in the battle for independence. The House of Lotts had a rich and royal history, and the family that still occupied the castle was proud of their past and achievements. Despite the occupation of their land, despite their outward appearances of loyalty to the Gayles, they still loved Aramoor, and they still yearned for the freedom of their homeland.

  But they were fewer now, those with the name Lotts, and in these days of suspicion and fear they were quickly becoming extinct. Governor Leth was supreme in Aramoor, and the entire country was under the heel of Talistan. It didn’t matter who had a royal pedigree or who had served with honor in the past. In these dark days of overlords, the important thing was obedience. Those who stood with Leth were safe, at least ou
twardly, and were allowed to keep their lands and titles. If a man paid the exorbitant taxes and didn’t mind his daughters being brutalized and his sons used as slaves, then he could enjoy the “protection” of Governor Leth.

  For those who opposed the governor, life was less comfortable. For those who spoke out against his rule, there was hardship and payback and prison. And for nobles, there was house arrest.

  Del Lotts knew firsthand the awful drudgery of being imprisoned in his own home. Since speaking out against the governor, he had the gilded cage of his family castle to occupy him. Forbidden to step off his property, Del had contact with few people, and even his father didn’t have the influence to lift his sentence. Someday, when his father died, Del would be the head of the House of Lotts, but that didn’t mean much anymore. Aramoorian nobles had title but no privileges. They were merely figureheads, used by Talistan to afford a semblance of stability.

  But Del Lotts wasn’t born to be a puppet. He was hotheaded, like his late brother Dinadin, and the path he had chosen had gotten him in trouble.

  With the curtains wide open, Del hunched over his desk in his bedchamber furiously penning a note. Next to him stood Alain, his twelve-year-old brother, waiting for him to finish. Del kept one eye on the window as he wrote, scribbling down his message as quickly as he could. He didn’t know how much time he had left, or even if Leth’s men were coming. He knew only what his friend Roice had told him—that his refusal to retract his statements about slavery had earned him an arrest warrant. Even now Leth’s soldiers might be riding out of Aramoor castle ready to drag him from his home in chains. If Roice were to be believed, and Roice was never wrong about such things, then his time was short. He had to get the message to Jahl Rob swiftly. And there was only one person he trusted with it.

  “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 toll booth. 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 Biagio’s hands.