The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  “Oh, he’ll strike,” chuckled Gayle. He stole a glance at Mardek. “Don’t you think so, Major?”

  “As sure as the sun rises in the morning, my lord.”

  “You see, Wallach,” Gayle continued, “we have some surprises for young Prince Redburn. Eventually, he will attack us. And when he does …”

  “We will have the excuse we need to invade the Eastern Highlands,” said Baroness Ricter.

  Gayle raised his glass to her. “Smart and lovely.”

  Suddenly he was feeling wonderfully well. His mind was his own again, at least temporarily, and even Duke Wallach, who could be horribly obtuse, was beginning to understand things. The delicate balance of their schemes kept Tassis Gayle focused. He knew he had to hold onto it with teeth and fingernails to keep his mind from fogging over. Grief had taken away his wits—but vengeance would restore them.

  “So we wait?” asked Wallach. “That’s it?”

  “Your daughter’s corpse is cold already, Duke,” said Gayle. “What will a few more weeks matter?”

  “And it will give you time to get your navy in place,” added Mardek. “I do not share Captain Zerio’s optimism. Nicabar will come if Biagio asks him to. If you’d ever seen the Fearless, you would be moving more quickly, Duke Wallach.”

  Wallach crossed his arms. “I have purchased the best guns and ammunition for my ships. The best crews, too. I am not afraid of Nicabar, Major. He will not sail for Talistan with a full fleet, because he will not expect us to resist him.”

  “He will come with the Fearless,” Mardek reminded him.

  “One ship?” Wallach scoffed. “I think you overestimate the Fearless, Major.”

  Mardek grinned. “If you say so.”

  “We are done here,” declared Gayle. He pushed back his chair and stood, eager to leave while his mind was still clear. The others rose at his cue. “Thank you for coming,” he told them. “Make yourselves at home for as long as you like. Even you, Wallach. I’m sure your ‘project’ can survive without you for a day or so.”

  The duke seemed relieved. “You’re very gracious, Tassis. My leg, after all …”

  “Yes,” drawled Gayle. He turned to Baroness Ricter. “My lady? May I escort you? We have many excellent sights here in the House of Gayle.”

  “My lord is generous with his time,” said the baroness, putting out her hand. “I could do with some decent company.”

  Gayle began leading her from the room, then saw Redd give him a cautionary head-shake. Gayle scowled at the man. He would be fine. Being with the baroness would ease his loneliness. So he pushed past Redd and led the baroness out into the hallway, hurrying her away from the meeting room. Outside, the rain continued to fall. Gayle could hear it tapping against the leaded glass windows.

  “I will show you the indoor arbor,” he said. “My daughter Calida loved it there.”

  “I would like that very much,” said the baroness. “And tell me about your son, as well. I never had the chance to meet the baron.”

  Gayle sighed as he hooked his arm around her. “Oh, Blackwood was a good boy,” he said. “Sweet, too. Like honey …”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ten nautical miles off the coast of Liss, the Fearless and her strike fleet bobbed on the waves. The Dread Sovereign, along with Black City and Infamous, stood at anchor beside her, while a dozen other ships circled at various ranges, never straying far from their flagship. It was just past sundown and the wind was fair. A clear sky revealed the moon and a plethora of stars. The Hundred Isles of Liss loomed on the southern horizon, and the ocean was empty of schooners. Only the Fearless and her wolf pack prowled the waves.

  At the request of Admiral Nicabar, Kasrin had gone aboard the Fearless for a last-minute strategy session. He had ordered the Sovereign to pull up alongside the flagship and had taken a dingy across, a journey that might have been dangerous but for the placid sea. Kasrin now sat in a tiny room aboard the Fearless, staring at Captain L’Rago. The commander of the Infamous leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, obnoxiously chewing tobacco. Other than L’Rago, only Captain Gark of the Black City was in the chamber. Feliks of the Colossus was nowhere to be found, nor was Amado of the Angel. Surprisingly, neither was Nicabar. Kasrin looked around the chamber, trying to avoid L’Rago’s stares. He had never liked the young captain, and sharing such close quarters irritated him.

  Where the hell is Nicabar? wondered Kasrin.

  He had expected the summons to come aboard. It had been a long and tiresome trip from Casarhoon without any chance for the captains to confer. Now, on the eve of striking, Nicabar wanted their plans solidified. It was standard procedure, Kasrin knew. So why was he so nervous?

  It had been frighteningly easy to convince Nicabar to join him. The admiral’s hatred of Liss had blinded him to reason. And the guilt Kasrin felt for deceiving his old mentor had not ebbed during the long sea voyage. Even now he thought of revealing the truth, giving his hero one last chance to save himself. But then he remembered Jelena. Saving Nicabar would certainly mean her doom, and that didn’t seem like a fair trade at all.

  Finally, after an interminable silence, the door opened and Nicabar entered. He had a great smile on his face, and when he saw Kasrin his eyes lit up.

  “Greetings, men,” he said. “Thank you for coming aboard.”

  He sat down at the head of the table. The entry of the big man made the tiny room shrink precipitously. There was no food or drink to clutter things, and no pipes to enjoy. The only tobacco was in L’Rago’s mouth, making a disgusting squishing sound. Nicabar wasted no time. Across the table he laid the map Kasrin had given him. Each of the captains leaned forward to study it.

  “Tomorrow our long journey comes to an end,” said Nicabar. He punched a finger at the map. “Karalon.”

  L’Rago nodded. “Beautiful. I never thought I’d see this day.”

  “Nor did I,” admitted Gark. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Though I must admit, here we are.”

  “Thanks to Kasrin,” said Nicabar. “Without him, this strike would be impossible.”

  Kasrin tried not to color. He saw L’Rago scowl at him.

  “We still don’t know if this is a Lissen trick,” said the captain of the Infamous. “No offense, Kasrin, but that Lissen you tortured might have sold you a lie. You might get into that passage only to find that there is no Karalon. There may not even be a passage.”

  “It’s no trick,” said Kasrin. “I’m handy enough with a knife to know when someone is lying to me. That sailor I captured was telling the truth. This map is no lie.”

  “No indeed,” said Nicabar, glaring at L’Rago. “Kasrin has accomplished something none of us ever could. I think your jealousy is showing, L’Rago.”

  L’Rago scowled.

  “Now, I won’t keep you all any longer than necessary,” said Nicabar, “but there are a few things we need to go over before tomorrow.” The admiral traced his finger over the map. “That’s the Serpent’s Strand. According to Kasrin, it’s wide and deep enough for the dreadnoughts; even the Fearless. But we have to enter at the high tide, or we’ll be fighting the current the whole way. Kasrin and the Sovereign will lead the way. The Fearless will follow them in. Sail two lengths ahead of us and keep it slow, Kasrin, understand?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Gark, you’ll be in command of the strike force while I’m gone,” the admiral continued. “Keep Black City four or five miles off the coast. Don’t get too near the estuary. Anything that alerts the Lissens might put the Fearless and Sovereign in peril.”

  “Understood,” said Gark.

  “L’Rago, I want you to circle wide. The Infamous is the fastest ship we have. You’ll be keeping an eye on the mainland. If you see any Lissen ships, rendezvous with Gark at once.”

  “I still think I should come with you, sir,” said L’Rago. “Any ship can patrol the armada. But the Infamous is small enough to maneuver that passage with you. If we hang back a bit—”


  “Those are my orders, Captain,” said Nicabar. “You will carry them out to the letter. Gark and the others will be depending on you. It might look quiet now, but we’re still in Liss. Kasrin, you’re going to take up position on the south side of Karalon. The Fearless will cover the north side with her guns. Once we’re in position, we’ll fire a few shots to show them we’re serious. After they feel our cannons, they’ll surrender the island.”

  “And if they don’t?” asked Gark.

  Nicabar grinned. “Then we will blow them away.”

  Kasrin stared at the map. It didn’t matter to Nicabar whether or not he actually captured Karalon, so long as he killed as many Lissens as possible.

  “After we take the island, the Fearless will hold it. When the tide shifts, the Dread Sovereign will come back out of the Strand and signal the rest of you. We’re going to take control of this waterway first. Gark, I want the Black City and Colossus to hammer away at the estuary. Any resistance, knock it down. L’Rago, this will be your chance for some action. As soon as you can, I want you to sail down the Serpent’s Strand for Karalon. You’ll have to wait for the high tide again, but don’t stop for anything, understood? If something gets in your way, blow it to pieces.”

  “With pleasure,” said L’Rago.

  “Gark, the rest of the fleet will take up positions along the Strand. But you and Feliks have to hold the estuary. Think you can do that?”

  “We shall do it, Admiral.” Besides the Fearless, Black City and Colossus were the biggest ships in the force.

  “Good.” Nicabar retrieved the map and started rolling it up again. “Then we’re done. Return to your ships and make ready. Gark and L’Rago, inform the other captains of our plans.”

  They all rose to leave, but before Kasrin could exit, Nicabar stopped him.

  “Kasrin,” bid the admiral. He waited until Gark and L’Rago were gone, then smiled. “I want to talk with you.”

  Kasrin braced himself. “Sir?”

  “Come with me,” said the admiral. He left the map on the table and led Kasrin out of the chamber, through the warship’s cramped corridors, up a gang ladder, then finally out onto the deck. They were near the stern of the vessel, with a gentle wake churning behind them. Overhead, the half-furled sails strained at the yards. Kasrin could see Gark and L’Rago departing from little rowboats off the portside. Nicabar kept walking toward the rear of the ship. Captain Blasco was there, standing beside a crate. The captain of the Fearless grinned. On the crate sat a bottle and two crystal goblets.

  “Thank you, Captain,” said Nicabar. “You’re dismissed.”

  The officer left without a word. Nicabar picked up the bottle and studied the vintage in the moonlight. Kasrin almost laughed at the romantic venue.

  “Sir? What is this?”

  “This is a celebration, my friend,” said the admiral. There was a corkscrew on the crate that he used to open the bottle. “We have much to be thankful for tonight, and I don’t want this moment to pass without regard.” Nicabar sniffed at the vintage, smiling with pleasure. He poured a glass and handed it to Kasrin.

  “Thank you,” said Kasrin awkwardly. He was getting nervous, and that familiar guilt began gnawing at him again. “Sir, shouldn’t the others be here, too?”

  “No.” The admiral raised his glass. “A grand wine for a grand moment. Cheers.”

  Kasrin clinked his glass against the admiral’s. They both drank. Then Nicabar placed his goblet on the crate and stared out over the sea. The warship’s wake was grey and blue and lit with starlight. He let out a heavy sigh. Finally, Nicabar said, “What I did to you was for your own good. I hope you know that.”

  “I know,” lied Kasrin. “You don’t have to explain.”

  Nicabar looked at him. “You were angry with me. But you came back, because you know I was right. I’m glad to have you back, Kasrin. There’s no one I’d rather be with tomorrow.”

  “You honor me, sir. But there are others just as capable as I am.”

  “You mean L’Rago? He is a fool. A good captain, but too ambitious. He does things to please me, like you used to do. Remember?”

  Kasrin nodded. He remembered all too well.

  “What we’re about to do tomorrow will change history,” said Nicabar. “You’ve given me a chance at my greatest dream; to bring Liss to its knees. Ah, they have haunted me for years.”

  “I know,” said Kasrin. He was sad for Nicabar; such a keen mind shouldn’t rot as his had.

  “And now they are in my hands. Once we have destroyed their soldiers and taken Karalon, we can attack their islands and pick off their cities one by one. I will send for more of my fleet. It will be glorious.”

  “Yes, sir. Glorious …”

  The two continued talking as they drank the bottle of wine. Kasrin listened to Nicabar’s tales for more than an hour, and found to his astonishment that he enjoyed the man’s company. But it didn’t matter.

  In the morning, he would kill him.

  At the first hint of sunrise, the Dread Sovereign led the Fearless toward the coast of Liss. Kasrin stood in his vessel’s forecastle, watching the land grow in his vision, sure that the waters would remain undisturbed. According to Jelena, there would be no schooners on the way to the strand; nothing at all to frighten Nicabar. As he surveyed the approaching terrain through his spyglass, Kasrin knew Jelena had kept her word. As far as he could see, not a single vessel came to challenge them. Relieved, Kasrin ordered the Sovereign ahead. He could see the estuary of the Serpent’s Strand through the lens. Beyond the estuary were high ridges, rising up on both sides. Kasrin chewed nervously on his lower lip. Somewhere in those hills, Jelena and her people were waiting for them.

  “I hope that girl’s ready,” he said. He collapsed the spyglass and handed it to Laney. “Because here we come.”

  “Ready or not, she’ll have her work cut out for her,” Laney observed. He glanced over his shoulder toward the Fearless. “Look. Nicabar has his guns ready.”

  Kasrin didn’t bother to look. He had already noticed the flagship’s gleaming flame cannons poking out from her gun deck. They were positioned in the forward-most arc of fire, ready to strafe anything that might emerge from the Strand. But anything straight ahead of her was safe, for the Fearless didn’t have a bow cannon. Kasrin didn’t intend to get within her arc.

  “Let’s try and stay a good distance from her,” said Kasrin. Laney agreed, watching with his captain as the coast of Liss rose up to swallow them. The estuary was wide and muddy, spilling brackish water into a valley and feeding the Serpent’s Strand with high tide. The passage itself was surrounded by cliffs, great ledges of brown rock and unrecognizable foliage. As they slid into the waterway, the Dread Sovereign groaned as unseen debris scraped her hull. But the current was swift and sucked the Sovereign in. The Fearless came after her. Nicabar’s huge warship lumbered through the mouth without incident, sped on by the rushing water until she, too, was safely into the passage.

  The world grew silent.

  Kasrin looked up into the high cliffs. It seemed no man had come this way for decades, for the hills were pristine, without a single mark of human habitation. Birds nested in the ledges and multilimbed vines tumbled down to the water, dropping tendrils into the river like fishing lines. Lagoons and tiny inlets dotted the shores, the homes of egrets and swarming mosquitoes. The water was crystal clear, a perfect sky-blue that reflected the sunlight.

  Not a bad place to die, thought Kasrin. Lucky Nicabar.

  A few moments later, when they had left the mouth behind, Kasrin called to Lieutenant Moonduck. The lieutenant had been standing ready at the prow of the ship. Next to him was a folded pile of crimson cloth, about the size of a bedsheet. Kasrin nodded to the lieutenant.

  “We’re far enough,” said Kasrin. “Do it.”

  Laney went ahead and helped Moonduck unfold the crimson flag. Together they dropped it off the prow of the Sovereign, working carefully so not to look suspicious. Kasrin glan
ced back toward the Fearless. He doubted that Nicabar was watching them, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he ordered a group of nearby sailors to form a line around the prow, blocking the view. Moonduck and Laney continued to work, using lines to secure the makeshift flag. When they were done, they stepped back and inspected their handiwork.

  Now the Dread Sovereign had a crimson nose, and only those ahead of them could see it. Kasrin hoped Jelena would remember their little signal.

  • • •

  Timrin waited on the east side of the Serpent’s Strand, perched on a high ledge overhanging the river. With him were two men, both servants of Jelena. Like Timrin, they had volunteered to watch the waterway. For the past several days the watch had gone in shifts. Occasionally, boats arrived from Karalon with fresh supplies and men to relieve them. But Timrin had stayed the entire time, and had set up a camp on the cliff. Despite the tedium, he was devoted to his duty. But he had yet to sight a single ship, much less anything that looked like a Naren dreadnought.

  Below him, waiting at anchor, was the Lissen schooner Enchantress. She was a fast ship, stripped of all cargo and weaponry so she could speed back to Jelena at a moment’s notice. She was piloted by a good and dedicated commander named Darvik. Darvik shared Timrin’s skepticism of their mission. They both thought Jelena too trusting of Kasrin, and were convinced that her trap for the Fearless was pointless. The Fearless wasn’t coming.

  But Timrin adored Jelena, and so had gladly taken on the chore of waiting for Kasrin. Today was like any other on the watch. Timrin busied himself whittling tent stakes while his comrade Gowon manned the spyglass. He was thinking about the Dread Sovereign when he heard Gowon’s shout.

  “There! There she is!”

  Timrin dropped his knife and dashed toward the edge of the cliff. Gowon had a spyglass to his eye and was pointing north, toward the mouth of the passage. Timrin squinted and saw something coming toward them.

  “That’s it? You’re sure?”

  “She’s flying crimson from her prow,” said Gowon. “That’s her, I’m sure of it!”