The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  He lowered the spyglass and looked around, but the sea was bare of schooners, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the crew. They all shared Biagio’s trepidation. Kasrin and his first officer Laney were nearby. The captain seemed uneasy. Biagio considered his next move. When the Lissens appeared—which they would—he would have to signal them. He would have to tell them that he was on board, that he needed to speak to their queen immediately. Proving his identity was another matter, and he didn’t know exactly how he was going to do it. He had never met Jelena, and neither had anyone else aboard. But he supposed that his appearance and mannerisms were reasonably famous, and he was counting on those to prove himself. More importantly, he also had the knowledge of Nicabar’s attack on Liss. If that didn’t convince Jelena of his identity, he doubted anything would.

  Captain Kasrin broke off his conversation with Laney and approached Biagio. The captain’s expression was strangely wry. “There she is,” he said, pointing at Crote. “Welcome home, Biagio.”

  “Home indeed. You’ve done a good job of getting me here safely, Kasrin. I thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” quipped Kasrin. “Getting here was easy. Getting out again will be the hard part.”

  “Do not worry,” Biagio assured him. He looked over the surrounding ocean. “It’s quiet.”

  “Yes,” agreed Kasrin. “But it won’t be for long.”

  Kasrin’s prediction was almost clairvoyant. A dot appeared on the horizon, rounding the tiny island. Then another dot joined the first and then another still, until it seemed there was a horde of flies coming at them. The man in the crow’s nest called out their approach. Kasrin ordered everyone to look sharp.

  “There they are,” he said. “Our old friends from Liss.”

  “Do nothing to antagonize them,” ordered Biagio. “I want them to know we’re no threat.”

  Kasrin rolled his eyes. “Well, that shouldn’t be hard, considering they outnumber us a dozen to one. The Sovereign isn’t like the Fearless, Biagio. That many schooners could blow us to pieces.”

  “I don’t care. I want no provocations. Don’t move your guns or do anything of the sort. And do nothing to evade them. Just let them come.”

  The order sat uneasily with Kasrin, but he agreed. He already knew his mission and what Biagio expected of him, and so they merely kept their heading toward Crote, sailing blithely toward the onrushing schooners. Biagio forced himself to relax. This was the first step in his plan. If it didn’t succeed, everything in succession would fail.

  The schooners approached. Biagio counted almost a dozen of them. Kasrin paced nervously around the deck, cracking his knuckles. To Biagio, whose knowledge of sea tactics was nominal, the Lissen vessels appeared ready to attack.

  But they won’t attack, Biagio told himself. They’ll want to know why we’re here.

  Suddenly confident, Emperor Biagio waited for his old adversaries to arrive.

  Queen Jelena had just reached her nineteenth birthday. She had celebrated the occasion with a few close friends and advisors, taking advantage of Biagio’s once-private beach and spending the night around a campfire roasting clams and crabs. She had not wanted to remain on Crote. All through her birthday she had longed for the towers of Liss where her father and mother had lived and died, and where she ruled from a palace of remarkable beauty. Back on Liss, which was called the Hundred Isles but actually boasted more than a thousand, she was revered by her platinum-haired people, the symbol of a dynasty dating back for generations. Jelena’s father had been a brave king, who along with his wife had died in defense of his kingdom. That was almost two years ago now. And Jelena, who hadn’t been ready to become queen, had taken up the throne of Liss the best that she knew how, by trusting her advisors and delegating authority.

  But these were days of hardship and sacrifice for her people, and she refused to live an idle life while so many Lissens fought and died and labored. Determined to be an active ruler, young Jelena took up the hammer and set to work with her people to defend the shores of Crote. There were walls to build and guard towers to construct, and perimeters to repel landing forces. They needed traps to slow down advancing troops and cannon emplacements to fire at the dreadnoughts, and it all had to be done with the greatest haste. There was no tolerance for laziness among the Lissens on Crote. Everyone worked, and that meant Jelena, too.

  Queen Jelena was mixing mortar for a brick watchtower when the news reached her. When she heard it, she dropped the mixing stick she was using.

  “Biagio?” she asked, plainly shocked. “Here?”

  Her man Timrin explained it to her as best he could. A lone Naren dreadnought had approached the island, heading straight for Biagio’s villa. A force of schooners had intercepted it, demanding its surrender, and had discovered that Biagio was aboard. Greel, commander of the schooner Vindicator, had dispatched a message to the queen at once. Biagio was demanding an audience with her. He wanted to come ashore, for he claimed that he had urgent business with the queen and refused to discuss it with any of her underlings.

  Hearing the emperor’s name turned Jelena white. It was like speaking the name of the devil, and to know he was so close sickened her. All around her the activity skidded to a halt.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Jelena. She glanced around absently, but all the faces surrounding her looked equally bewildered. What possible reason could Biagio have for coming here? The personal risk was unthinkable. Surely he knew how despised he was among Lissens. Didn’t he think they would cut his throat?

  “A trap,” someone piped in. Others nodded, voicing their agreement.

  Jelena considered the theory. Biagio was capable of the most insidious tricks, certainly. Yet he had come alone, into a stronghold of Lissen schooners with only one warship to protect him. Jelena bit her lip.

  “What does he want?” she whispered. The rhetorical question drew shrugs from Timrin and the others. “He’s alone? You’re certain there’s only one ship?”

  “That’s what Greel says,” replied Timrin. “He’s sent a lieutenant ashore to await your word. He’s back at the mansion right now.”

  Jelena’s gaze stole toward the dwelling. She couldn’t see past it to the ocean, so she didn’t know exactly where Biagio’s ship was anchored. Jelena put her dirty hands to her forehead and rubbed. This was an unexpected shock, and nothing in her brief rule had prepared her for it. She wished that Prakna was still with her. He would have known what to do. But he was dead, like so many other Lissen heroes, killed by the same devil who now wanted to come ashore. This time, Jelena knew she was on her own.

  “Walk with me, Timrin,” she said, leaving the work area. She headed back across the plain of grass toward the white villa. Timrin kept close to her heels, eager to hear her decision. Only Jelena didn’t have one. Her mind was racing in a thousand different directions, and she needed to be alone suddenly, away from her comrades and friends to think. As she walked, her boots tracked mud and mortar across the grass, and she realized that her filthy clothing was exactly the wrong ensemble in which to meet Biagio. If it really was the emperor, she needed to look imposing, and not like some little girl who’d been playing in a sand pit.

  “Jelena?” Timrin probed, trying to keep step with her. They all called her by her real name and not some regal title. It was part of the informal atmosphere on Crote, something that Jelena herself fostered. “Greel is waiting,” Timrin went on. “What should we tell him?”

  Jelena stopped dead. She took a resolute breath and looked at her advisor. “Oh, Timrin,” she said. “What choice have I got?”

  “None at all, I think.”

  “Have the messenger tell Greel that I shall see the devil. Have him brought ashore. But he’s not to bring anything with him.” The Lissen queen emphasized that point, remembering that one of Biagio’s devices had destroyed the Naren cathedral. “Be clear about that, Timrin. Biagio is to come alone, without any gifts or boxes of any kind. I want no tricks from him.”r />
  Timrin said, “He is a magician, Jelena. You must expect tricks from him.”

  “Just do as I say,” Jelena ordered. “I will meet with them on the shore by the mansion. No doubt Biagio will be expecting me there.”

  “Biagio knows many things,” agreed Timrin. “He has his fingers everywhere. Be on guard for him.”

  “I will,” said Jelena. A vast weight suddenly pressed down on her shoulders. “Go and do as I say. I will dress for his arrival.”

  After a polite bow, Timrin scurried off back toward the mansion, dashing across the grass to deliver the queen’s message. Jelena followed, but did not hurry. In many ways, she wanted the walk to last forever.

  The Dread Sovereign was escorted toward the shore by a flotilla of well-armed schooners. Commander Greel, the Lissen captain in command, had given Kasrin clear orders to stand down all weapons and follow the escort into Crote. Any deviation, Greel had promised, would result in the immediate sinking of the Sovereign. So Kasrin ordered Laney to bring the warship straight toward shore, and soon they were closing in on the island. Biagio stood at the prow of the vessel. He knew that Queen Jelena had taken up residence in his former mansion, and he wanted to see it again, to make sure the usurper had taken good care of it in his absence. But as the rolling lawns came into view, Biagio gasped.

  “My God. What have they done to it?”

  The marble and gold masterpiece had been turned into a fortress, walled in by barricades, its pristine landscape scarred with deep trenches and wooden battlements poised with cannons. Even from this distance Biagio could see Lissen lookout towers in his gardens and a great, cloaking wall of brick looming over its northern face. The precious metal leafing had been peeled from the ornamental roof tiles, and the priceless statues that once dotted his rose garden had been replaced by rows of pickets and calthraps; giant, pointed traps designed to impale onrushing troops.

  Biagio’s heart sank. Everything he had loved was invested in his villa, and now it was gone, wiped clean by a militant hand. Even the birds had abandoned his gardens, no doubt flown to some better place, and the only living things he saw parading the grounds were Lissens—filthy, mud-covered workers and pompous, self-righteous sailors, the same kind Nicabar so despised. They were everywhere around the compound, their blond heads bobbing as they craned their necks to see the approaching dreadnought.

  “Bitch,” Biagio spat, his old ire rising. What Jelena had done to his home was unspeakable, and Biagio could think of no good reason for it.

  “Incredible,” commented Kasrin absently. The captain had come up alongside Biagio to see the mansion, and now his face was as flushed as the emperor’s. “They didn’t leave much, did they?”

  “No,” growled Biagio. “They did not.”

  He balled his hands into fists and tried to control his outrage. It wouldn’t do for him to go into these delicate negotiations trembling with rage, so he closed his eyes for a moment and tamed himself. After all, he was at least partly at fault. The Lissens had come at his invitation. He had handed Crote to them, and he should have expected their outlandish destruction. Nicabar was right. Lissens were warlike and dim-witted, without any sense of art or beauty.

  “Looks like Jelena’s been playing rough with your dollhouse,” quipped Kasrin. “Maybe you should spank her.”

  “Tend to your post, Captain,” Biagio snapped. “And keep your jokes to yourself.”

  Kasrin stepped back. “You won’t win any friends with that attitude, Biagio. I suggest you improve your mood before meeting the queen.”

  “Queen,” scoffed Biagio. “A little girl pretending to be a woman. Look what she’s done to my home! I should—”

  He stopped himself abruptly. Crewmen were looking at him. Biagio steadied himself, taking a breath.

  “Yes,” he said calmly. “You are right. I must prepare myself to meet this witch.” Very slowly he rubbed his hands together, trying to think. “The Lissens will insist that I go ashore alone, but I will not. You will accompany me, Kasrin. This business cannot take place without you.”

  “Me?” blurted Kasrin. “Biagio, I think you should listen to them. Go alone if that’s what they demand. No sense in making it tougher for yourself.”

  “You don’t understand. There are things I will be discussing with Jelena that concern you, like the Fearless. She will want to know what my plans are for dealing with Nicabar. I’ll need you there.”

  “Come to think of it, I was wondering about that myself. What are our plans for the Fearless? You haven’t told me and I think I should know.”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” said Biagio. He turned and looked back over the prow. “Just be ready to go ashore.”

  Kasrin went silent, leaving Biagio to ponder the wreck of his mansion. The Dread Sovereign let the schooners escort her closer to shore, surrounding her with their cannons and staying close to starboard and port, leaving the dreadnought no room to maneuver. The closest schooner, the one commanded by the Lissen named Greel, steered them directly toward the beach where they could take a landing dingy ashore. Already Biagio could see figures gathering on the sand waiting for him. He didn’t bother looking through his spyglass to find out who they were, because he knew from the long platinum locks and flowing peacock dress that one of them was Jelena.

  The child queen, thought Biagio wryly. From here she hardly looked more than a girl.

  Eventually the fleet of schooners led the Sovereign close enough for her to drop anchor. There was no harbor on this side of Crote, just the endless white beach that Jelena and her Lissens had marred. He would go ashore by rowboat, Biagio knew, and so watched passively as Kasrin’s officers traded orders with their Lissen captors, dropping anchor and waiting for a boat to come alongside. As Biagio suspected, Laney delivered the anticipated news.

  “The Lissens are sending over a launch. They want you to go ashore, Lord Emperor. You’re to go unaccompanied.”

  Biagio nodded. “I understand. Please tell them that Captain Kasrin will be going ashore with me.”

  Laney stared at him. “Lord Emperor …”

  “Do it,” ordered Biagio, “or I will not go ashore. Once you explain that to them, they will capitulate.”

  With Biagio’s certainty to buoy him, Laney turned to his task. He waited long minutes for the rowboat to come alongside the Sovereign, then shouted down Biagio’s conditions. The Lissen sailors reddened at the news demanding that Biagio board their tiny vessel alone, but Biagio wouldn’t budge from the Sovereign, not even when the crew lowered the rope ladder for him.

  “They won’t change their minds,” said Kasrin. “If the queen says she wants you alone—”

  “Be quiet, Captain,” Biagio said.

  Enough was enough, he decided, and so he went to the railing where Laney was negotiating and stared down at the Lissen rowboat pitching on the waves. “I am Emperor Biagio,” he called. “I won’t come aboard unless my captain comes with me.”

  The Lissens were astonished to see the emperor.

  “You’ll come aboard on our terms, butcher,” one of them shouted back, “or we will blow you out of the water!”

  Biagio shook his head. “Do not make idle threats. If your queen wishes to speak to me, she will agree to my terms. Or would you prefer to tell her yourself that you lost me, and my important news?”

  As Biagio expected, the Lissens in the dingy fell silent, pondering his words.

  “I’m tired of this,” Biagio growled. “Give me your answer, or go ahead and fire. I’ll leave it to you to explain things to Jelena.”

  Finally, the Lissens relented. Their leader called up, “Bring your captain aboard. But no weapons. And no tricks, either. We know you, Biagio.”

  “Do you? How gratifying.” He turned to Kasrin, gesturing toward the rope ladder. “Captain? After you.”

  “Thanks,” said Kasrin dryly. Then, like the expert sailor he was, Kasrin vaulted over the rail and began descending the rope ladder. When he had gone down three rungs, he
looked up at Biagio. “Coming?”

  From her place on shore, Jelena watched as the little rowboat approached, apprehension growing in her with every stroke. She could see several men in the launch, most of them Lissens. But there were two strangers on board, one with the remarkable hair and skin of Crotan gold, the other dressed in the indigo uniform of the Black Fleet. Jelena frowned at the sight of them, upset that her instructions had been ignored.

  “Who’s that with him?” asked Timrin. “Jelena, I swear I gave orders that only Biagio was to be brought ashore.”

  “I believe you, Timrin. Apparently Biagio hasn’t changed.”

  Jelena herself had changed though, trading her filthy work outfit for a stately gown of blue that danced around her sandaled ankles and trailed in the sand as she walked. Occasionally the surf threatened her, nearly reaching her as it foamed up the shore. Jelena didn’t bother to avoid it. She didn’t want to appear afraid of anything, not the water nor the infamous man coming ashore. Next to her were a gaggle of advisors and bodyguards, all of whom had volunteered to protect her, but Jelena knew they just wanted to get a glimpse of their legendary enemy.

  “I’ve heard he’s quite tall,” one of them observed.

  “Wait until he’s seen what’s been done to his mansion,” snickered Timrin.

  “Oh, he’s already seen it,” said another.

  “Quiet,” Jelena scolded. “Let’s carry ourselves like Lissens. I don’t want Biagio thinking we’re barbarians. Today we’re diplomats, remember.”

  Her people fell silent. They watched with their queen as the rowboat reached the shore and two Lissen seamen climbed out to beach it, dragging it up the shoreline until its hull was buried in sand. The rest of the sailors piled out, splashing into the surf. Jelena steeled herself. Suspiciously, she eyed the one she knew was Biagio, curious about the way he fretted over the water.

  A fop indeed, she told herself.

  Finally Biagio got out of the boat, helped by the Naren officer he’d brought along. Jelena gaped at the sight of them. Biagio was indeed tall, and as he sloshed toward shore his long legs carried him like a spider. And the other one, the young officer, had that familiar Naren arrogance about him, reeking of superiority and misplaced confidence. He was shorter than his emperor but only by a little, with dark hair and ruddy features that contrasted Biagio’s softness. As they came ashore guided by their escorts, each looked around suspiciously, their eyes finally coming to rest on Jelena. The young queen squared her shoulders. Biagio gave her a polite though serious smile.