The Saints of the Sword (11 page)

Alazrian nodded. “My grandfather hasn’t been the same since the death of his son. He’s been … stronger.”

“Stronger?”

“It’s difficult to explain, Lord Emperor. When you were at the castle, he was weak. Do you remember?”

“I remember. He rarely came out of his rooms. Always depressed, your grandfather. Always talking about being old.”

“He doesn’t talk like that anymore,” said Alazrian. “Once my Uncle Blackwood died, he grew more bitter. I think his anger has given him purpose. And now with my mother gone as well …”

“Yes; this is what I mean.” Biagio looked hard at Alazrian. “Once your grandfather and I were allies, but that was in the days of Arkus. He served Arkus well but he was always ambitious. And when I took over, I started hearing rumblings out of Talistan. Tassis Gayle doesn’t think I’m fit to lead. He blames me for your uncle’s death. He plans on fighting me. And your grandfather has many allies.”

“What if you’re right?” Alazrian asked. “What if my grandfather did invade?”

Biagio looked grave. “I would fight him. I would align my allies against his allies, and there would be war in Nar the likes of which you’ve never imagined.” He inclined his head toward Alazrian. “This is what we must prevent. You and I, together.”

Alazrian could hardly speak. Biagio was staring at him waiting for a reply, but Alazrian still didn’t understand.

“What can I do?” he asked finally. “I’m just a boy.”

“Oh, no,” said Biagio. “You’re hardly that. You have abilities. You are special. But let me tell you plainly; I’m
not asking you to use your powers. What I want is simple. And perhaps dangerous. You know about the lions in the Iron Mountains, yes?”

Alazrian nodded. It was said that the Triin and their lions guarded the mountain pass to Lucel-Lor to keep more Narens from entering their land.

“I know of them,” said Alazrian. “They are why my father won’t send his troops into the mountains after Jahl Rob. His men are afraid of the lions.”

“As well they should be,” said Biagio. “Nevertheless, you must face them.”

“What?”

“I want you to go to the Iron Mountains for me, Alazrian. I want you to find those lion people. They will know how to find Richius Vantran. They can take you to him.”

“Vantran? What for?”

“I need to get a message to him. It’s vital. And you’re the only one who can do this for me.” Biagio surveyed the boy, smiling. “Look at you. You can almost pass for a Triin yourself. Vantran will listen to you. And you’re practically a Gayle. When he learns how much you’ve risked, he’ll believe you.”

“No,” exclaimed Alazrian, springing from his chair. “Why would I go to Lucel-Lor for you? Why should I risk my life?”

“For peace,” said Biagio. “Look around you, boy. The Empire is falling apart. Every day brings more news of genocide, more assassinations. If your grandfather attacks the Black City, he’ll drag the Empire into a worldwide war. It won’t be just Talistan and Nar City. It will be the Highlands and Casarhoon and what’s left of Aramoor. Eventually, it will be everything.” Biagio paused. “I have to stop it from happening, Alazrian. And I don’t have much time. I need to end your grandfather’s plans.”

“How?”

Biagio was grim. “By attacking him first.”

Alazrian looked away. What had he gotten into? Biagio seemed obsessed with some unseen threat, but the worst part was that he might be right. Alazrian knew his grandfather’s
capabilities. And there had been strange doings back home. Still, he couldn’t fathom his place in this scheme.

“Why Vantran?” he asked. “What do you want him for?”

“Because I’m weak,” the emperor admitted. “I may be Emperor of Nar, but I have no army. I need warriors. I need the Triin. Vantran can get them for me. He’s the only one who can convince them to fight against Talistan.”

“But why would he?” asked Alazrian incredulously. The feud between Biagio and Richius Vantran was legendary. “He’d never help you, Lord Emperor.”

“He will,” Biagio insisted, “because he wants Aramoor back.”

Suddenly Alazrian understood. Biagio knew the Jackal still hungered for his homeland, the homeland Biagio himself had stolen. Alazrian was astonished by the simplicity of it.

“So,” he said wearily. “You want me to tell Richius Vantran he can have Aramoor back.”

“If he brings the Triin into battle against Talistan, yes,” said Biagio. “And think about yourself, Alazrian. Richius Vantran knows about the Triin. He’s lived among them for years. He’ll be able to answer your questions, to help you find out who you are. He even knew Tharn, the Triin sorcerer.”

Alazrian cleared his throat. Sorcery was a subject he was uncomfortable discussing. Still, Biagio’s words worked their magic on him. If Vantran really had known Tharn, then perhaps he could help Alazrian find the truth. He might even know Jakiras, though that was hoping a lot. Alazrian shut his eyes, struggling with a tangle of emotions. He loved his grandfather, but his grandfather was mad, even dangerous. And he had no love at all for Elrad Leth. If Biagio’s plan meant Leth’s destruction, Alazrian hardly needed more of a reward.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I just don’t know …”

He wanted desperately to go to Lucel-Lor. He wanted to keep his promise to his mother, to find out who and what he was and the purpose of his arcane gifts. And more than anything he wanted to believe Biagio. But this was
the man who’d destroyed the Cathedral of the Martyrs, who had sent Dragon’s Beak spinning into civil war and had devised the assassinations of eleven Naren lords on Crote. Even now Biagio used his fearsome Protectorate to stabilize his rule.

“How can I believe you?” asked Alazrian. “I remember you too well, Lord Emperor.”

“Do you?” said Biagio. “I remember when we first met, Alazrian Leth. You were a little boy and you kept staring up at me studying my face. Do you remember why?”

“Yes. Your eyes.”

“And have you seen my eyes now?”

“I have,” Alazrian admitted. “They’ve changed.”

“
I’ve
changed,” the emperor insisted. “Look at me, Alazrian.”

Alazrian turned and saw Biagio standing in front of him, his eyes a normal human green, his face intense with feeling.

“I’m a man of peace now,” said Biagio. “I admit, it’s a struggle for me, but I’m trying, Alazrian. I’m trying very hard to be something better.”

Alazrian almost believed him. But only almost. Biagio’s bloody history kept creeping back. The emperor seemed to sense his struggle and stepped closer.

“I wish I could make you believe me,” he said. “I need you, Alazrian. You’re the only one who can make Vantran listen. Tell me what I can do to prove myself.”

“There is a way.” Alazrian’s voice was dark and thin, and he trembled at the notion entering his mind.

“Tell me.”

Alazrian hesitated. How much of his magic should he reveal? Just by laying hands on Biagio he could learn the truth of things. It was a gamble, but it was important. He needed to know if his grandfather really was planning war, or if it were all a fabrication of Biagio’s fertile brain. That alone would be the proof to satisfy him.

“Sit,” said Alazrian.

Biagio became suspicious. “Why?”

“Please. Sit down.” Alazrian pointed to the chairs they had vacated. “There.”

Cautiously, Biagio did as Alazrian asked, taking a seat and looking up at the boy. To Alazrian’s delight he actually looked worried, but Alazrian was deathly serious as he went over to the emperor and sat down in front of him, pulling his chair so close their knees touched.

“I can find out if what you say is true,” said Alazrian. “I can read your feelings and know if you have really changed.”

Biagio was white. “How?”

“I don’t really know,” confessed Alazrian. “But when I lay hands on someone, I can do more than heal them. I can
feel
them. It’s like I become part of them or something. It’s …” He shrugged, unable to explain. “Strange.”

“Amazing,” said Biagio. He looked down at his hands, then at Alazrian’s, then back to his own. A little chuckle broke from his lips. “I think I’m afraid. What will happen to me?”

“Nothing,” Alazrian assured him. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll just tell you what I’m feeling. It’s up to you.”

Biagio thrust out his hands. “Do it.”

The emperor’s hands were soft and warm as Alazrian ran his fingers over them, carefully at first, then more firmly. Biagio was looking at him expectantly, so Alazrian blocked him out by shutting his eyes. The moment his eyelids closed he saw the pictures start forming in his mind. Careful not to disturb them, Alazrian tamed his breathing, concentrated, and brought them to life.

It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

Inside him was a man whose passion filled his being, a tiger with golden hair and terrible eyes. He saw a beach with white sand, perfect in the sunlight. An island. And a mansion on the shore, sprawling and lovely. Biagio’s home. There was another man, not Biagio, but very much like him. Alazrian knew at once it was the emperor’s father. His throat had been cut. Alazrian jumped at the sight of him. Blood gushed from the wound.

“Your father,” he said in a disembodied tone. “You killed him …”

For a moment Alazrian felt Biagio’s hand trembling, threatening to pull away.

“No,” ordered Alazrian, tightening his grasp. “Don’t let go.”

The image of the elder Biagio faded and his son grew to manhood. Now he had blazing eyes of blue, and his madness was dizzying. Alazrian struggled to keep hold. This Biagio strode the world like a prince walking on a road of skulls, and endless screams echoed in Alazrian’s head, the wailing of fallen cities and condemned men on gallows and slaves tortured for amusement. Naren lords laughed around him, their faces hideous and rouged, and the feeling shifted to one of stomach-wrenching gluttony. Alazrian gasped. He heard Biagio’s voice as if from a distance.

“What? What are you seeing?”

“You,” said Alazrian. “Stay with me …”

Alazrian could feel Biagio’s reluctance, but he did not pull away, and the next image that came was the most overwhelming of all, drowning the others in a flood of sorrow. Alazrian felt his chest tighten and his throat constrict, and he knew that he was seeing Arkus, the old emperor, dying. The enormity of Biagio’s grief made Alazrian cry out. He dug his fingers into Biagio’s hands, sharing his sorrow.

“My God,” Alazrian said.

“What is it?” he heard Biagio ask. “What now?”

“Arkus,” said Alazrian weakly. “He was like a father to you. You loved him. And he left you.”

“He left me …”

“And you haven’t been the same. You …”

You’ve changed
, thought Alazrian. He held one last breath, stemmed the tide of grief, and plunged into the heart of Biagio today. He plumbed his depths and found to his astonishment that every word was true. Biagio wasn’t the man Nar expected him to be. Raging within him was a violent struggle between the old and new, but the new was winning.

Alazrian had seen enough. Slowly, he let go of Biagio’s hands and opened his eyes. Biagio was staring at him. He had gone ashen. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“You weren’t lying to me,” said Alazrian, composing himself. He swallowed hard, feeling the lump of emotion still lodged in his throat. “It’s true. My grandfather, you; everything.”

Still Biagio said nothing. Rattled by what he had just experienced, the emperor was breathing hard as if he’d run a mile.

“I can’t believe it,” he said at last. “You saw all that?”

All that and more
, thought Alazrian. He smiled, trying to relax his host.

“I didn’t believe you until I touched your hands. Now I see the truth. But I still don’t know what I should do. I’m afraid to go to Lucel-Lor. I’m afraid of what the lion riders will do to me. And I’m afraid of Vantran. I belong to the House of Gayle after all. He might kill me.”

“No. I know the Jackal. He is not a murderer. He will listen to you because he will know you are sincere, and because you alone have the means to give him back Aramoor. When your grandfather is dead, his throne will be empty.”

Alazrian took his meaning. “I’m not interested in ruling Talistan, Lord Emperor. If I do this thing, it will be because of what I’ve seen in your mind, because I hate Elrad Leth, and because I fear you are right about me. Lucel-Lor is the only place I can find my answers. I need to be among the Triin.”

Biagio’s face brightened. “Then you will help me? You will take my plea to Richius Vantran?”

The question seemed absurd. Alazrian knew he was only a boy, that he might not return from this quest if he met a lion rider in a foul mood. But then the alternatives occurred to him. There would be war in Nar. The legionnaires, though they didn’t follow Biagio, would defend their city. The Eastern Highlands, which stood between Nar City and Talistan, would be dragged into battle. Tassis Gayle would use his influence over Innswick and Gorkney, and Biagio would call up old debts from around the Empire. And the Lissens, who would surely watch it all with glee, would swoop in with their ships and take their revenge on the mainland. It would be a bloodbath, and
Alazrian’s grandfather would be the cause of it all. Alazrian felt dizzy. Tassis Gayle had always been good to him. He was a kind grandfather, even when he was ordering servants put to death for stealing. To defy him seemed the highest heresy.

No, not heresy
, thought Alazrian.
Treason. If I do this thing, I will be a traitor. Like the Jackal
.

He racked his mind for an alternative, but couldn’t find one. He was alone in the world. His mother was dead. He had no friends. His “father” was a black-hearted bastard. There was only this small chance that Biagio presented, like a gift with a bright ribbon around it. He just needed the courage to open it and hope that there wasn’t a snake inside.

“If I go to Lucel-Lor, what shall I tell them?” he asked. “What do I say to Vantran if I find him?”

“I will give you a note,” said Biagio. “It will explain everything to Vantran. All you need to do is tell him that I sent you. The note will explain the rest.”

“And you? What will you be doing?”

Biagio looked contemplative. “I could tell you, but that might jeopardize things. I think the less you know, the better. If you get caught or can’t find Vantran, or if Elrad Leth finds out about our plans, then that part of my design will be ruined.”