The Saints of the Sword (21 page)

“It’s beautiful up here,” he said. “So calm and peaceful. I think I could get used to it.” He glanced down at Jahl. “I want to thank you for what you did for me. It was very brave. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing. You’ve already given us too much to repay. And now you’re an outlaw like the rest of us, so don’t be so quick to thank me.”

“I was an outlaw before today,” replied Del. He dropped down beside Jahl, sitting cross-legged like his brother. “I will not forget this day. Ever.”

Jahl merely shrugged. “As you wish.”

Del eyed him suspiciously. “You’re very pensive tonight. Why?”

The question made Jahl uncomfortable. He didn’t want to discuss Dinsmore’s murder, and just now he wanted to be alone. But he knew Del well enough to know he wouldn’t leave until he had his answer. Del was stubborn like the rest of his family. Their bullheadedness had given them the resolve to help the Saints. Jahl rolled onto his back and stared up at the carpet of stars and told Del what was really bothering him.

“It will be worse now,” he said. “When Leth returns, Aramoor will suffer for what we’ve done.” His eyes flicked toward Del. “Your parents, too.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? They may be arrested. Maybe even executed. And we will not be able to save them.”

“Leth won’t harm my parents. He still needs my father’s goodwill. Don’t forget, my father still has influence with the people. Leth can’t kill him, not without risking more of an outcry.”

“Then he will imprison him,” countered Jahl. “Your mother also.”

“House arrest.” Del shrugged. “They expect it, I think.”

Jahl smiled weakly. “They are very brave. I admire them. You too, Del. You’ve all been a great help to us. But I’m telling you the truth. It
will
be worse. Not just for Aramoor, but for us as well. What we did today …” Jahl sighed. “Leth might even come into the mountains after us.”

For a moment Del considered the possibility, then dismissed it, saying, “I don’t think so. His men fear the lions too much. And he won’t risk offending the Triin. He thinks if they discover Talistanian soldiers in the mountains, they will attack him. He thinks they still follow Richius Vantran.”

Vantran. The name hung between them like a curse. Del
had known the Jackal for many years. They had been close friends, and their families had been allies. But that was before Vantran had betrayed them, and before the death of Del’s brother, Dinadin. Now Del shared Jahl Rob’s animosity for their vanished king. To speak his name was almost heresy.

“Let Leth be a fool, then,” said Jahl. “And let’s pray that he still believes there are Triin here. Otherwise …”

“If they come we will fight them,” declared Del. “Just like we fought them today.”

“If they come, they will come in numbers to crush us,” retorted Jahl. “We will die.”

Del was stunned by the gloomy admission. “Don’t talk like that. Not to yourself, and not to the others. They’re depending on you, Jahl. They need you to be strong.”

“I know,” admitted Jahl wearily. It was all too much for him. Sometimes, he wished for the old days of the Vantrans. But it could never be that way again, and the truth of that was destroying him. Aramoor had changed forever the day Richius Vantran had fled. Now, no matter what happened to their Talistanian overlords, the nation would always bear their scars. Jahl looked out over the mountains toward the east and Lucel-Lor. Somewhere out there, the Jackal was hiding.

Jahl shook his head ruefully. He wondered if the Jackal was comfortable.

A
s Kasrin had predicted, it took barely two days for the
Dread Sovereign
to reach the outskirts of Crote. The day was crisp and cloudy with a strong trade that brought the familiar scents of his homeland to Biagio’s nose. He had awoken early, hoping to catch the first glimpse of his beloved island. For two hours the emperor waited, scanning the empty horizon, breaking only long enough to relieve himself or share some pointless pleasantry with Kasrin, who periodically interrupted Biagio to inform him they were getting closer.

But Biagio didn’t need the captain’s warning. Nature told him, the way the breeze blew over the deck, a little softer and more perfumed. Crote was a jewel, and Biagio adored it almost as much as the Black City. He had been raised on Crote and had inherited it from his father decades ago. He had lived there happily for years, vacationing from his numerous duties on its splendid beaches and lounging in his private villa surrounded by his priceless art and pampering slaves. A year ago he had deliberately surrendered his homeland to the Lissens, all part of his grand design to wrest the Iron Throne from Herrith. But he had missed his home sorely in that time. The Black City was stunning, but it was also mechanical and disembodied without the natural beauty so abundant on Crote. On Crote the air was clean and unpolluted, and the rivers
were like the tears of God, so sweet they reminded Biagio of holy water.

So far, the
Dread Sovereign
hadn’t encountered any other ships on its voyage. Biagio hadn’t expected to, either. Certainly Nicabar and the rest of the dreadnoughts were occupied around Casarhoon and the other flash points in their war against Liss. According to Roshann intelligence, the Lissen navy on Crote stayed close to the island, preparing for an anticipated invasion. The tactic was sound, Biagio supposed. Crote was strategically vital to Jelena and her people. It was within easy striking distance of the Naren mainland and plentiful in food and fresh water. For Jelena, holding Crote was a top priority, and Biagio hadn’t faulted her logic. And while he would have loved to retake Crote, no matter how much force would have been required, the remarkable clarity of withdrawing from the drug had changed his mind. There were far bigger priorities in Nar these days. As he leaned against the ship’s rail searching the horizon for his homeland, he wondered if he would ever rule Crote again. With the deal he was about to strike with Jelena, he very much doubted it.

Biagio waited, growing agitated as a band of clouds rolled in and obscured the eastern sky. The idea of seeing Crote had consumed him these past few days, especially during the tedious waking hours aboard ship when all he had for recreation was his claustrophobic cabin and the unchanging view from his porthole.

Then, as if a spirit had heard his lament, a call came from up in the masts.

“Land ahead!” cried the lookout. Biagio’s eyes darted upward. He located the seaman in the crow’s nest, pointing ahead. The emperor followed his finger toward the barricade of clouds and squinted. There was something visible, a brown speck materializing out of the gloom. Biagio hurriedly raised the spyglass and peered through the lens. His breath caught in his throat as he focused on the unmistakable outline of his homeland.

Crote grew slowly in the circular spot of the telescope. Biagio sighed; he was home. All around him men were shouting, relaying orders and preparing for contact, but
Biagio ignored the activity. Gradually the island emerged from the mist displaying its unmistakable outlines. It wasn’t a large island—certainly it was smaller than Liss—but it was remarkable nonetheless, a paradise to those who knew it. Sometimes, Biagio wondered if the trade had been worth it.

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.