The Saints of the Sword (53 page)

Yet God had no answers for him.

Beside the mausoleum was another, much smaller, monument. This one had been erected only recently. Made
of stone and carved into the likeness of a holy child, it bore a single sad inscription.

Here marks the death of Alazrian Leth
.

Gayle blinked against the raindrops. He had come up with the inscription himself, and thought it fittingly vague. The circumstances of Alazrian’s demise prevented a more definite epitaph. According to Shinn, Alazrian had died in an ambush, one more victim of Jahl Rob’s Saints. No one knew for certain where his body lay, so retrieving it was impossible. Too many rebels, Shinn had claimed. The Dorian had barely escaped with his life. The other members of his patrol had shared Alazrian’s bitter fate. But only Alazrian had a marker near the mausoleum.

Tassis Gayle began to weep. Great sobs racked his body, and if anyone heard him, he didn’t know or care. Alazrian had been a good boy, like his uncle. It was one more of Biagio’s crimes, one more mark in his bloody ledger. There would be no Saints of the Sword if not for Biagio. Tassis Gayle held Biagio accountable for everything.

“Herrith was right,” he muttered. “He is a devil.” He lifted his face toward heaven. “Can you hear me, Father? Are you listening?”

The wind picked up. Gayle took it for a reply.

“Empower me,” he cried. “Let me cast this devil down!”

He crossed himself, then gazed down at Alazrian’s solitary marker. Lying at the foot of it was a wreath of vines and flowers. Gayle had made the wreath himself. Every day he made a new one for Alazrian, laying it carefully in the same place. And every day the one before disappeared. Gayle suspected the servants of taking them, but it really didn’t matter—he was becoming very good at weaving wreaths. Even the ladies of the castle praised his handiwork.

Was that work for a king? Probably not. But it kept him busy, occupied his fevered mind. Gayle wasn’t sure, but sometimes he felt the stirrings of senility. Try as he might, he couldn’t swat back its greedy hands. So he occupied
himself with small things, biding his time until he could have his revenge.

The sobs left him as quickly as they had come. Gayle’s face became a featureless mask. He thought of praying again, but did not. He thought of getting out of the rain, but did not. He merely stood like one of the headstones, unmoving, listening to the wind. Sometimes, if he listened hard enough, he could hear it speaking.

“My lord?”

Gayle jumped at the call. A boy was coming toward him through the drizzle, one of the house servants. What was his name? The king couldn’t recall. He smiled as the boy approached. He had Alazrian’s light coloring; very near the same age, too. The boy bowed, ignoring the mud around his boots.

“My lord, I was told to fetch you,” he said. “Visitors have arrived. A lady, and a gentleman. Sir Redd asked me to get you.”

“A lady?”

“Yes, my lord. The Baroness Ricter. Duke Wallach has come, too.”

“Duke Wallach …” Gayle rubbed his chin. He had sent for Wallach, hadn’t he? And the baroness; wasn’t she expected? “Yes, all right. I’ll be in directly,” he said. Then he looked the boy up and down. “What is your name?”

The boy laughed. “My name, sir? You know my name.”

“Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know. The king has asked you a question!”

“Jimroy, sir,” said the boy. His eyes narrowed. “I’m your body servant.”

“Ah, yes. Good man, Jimroy. But you’re not doing a very good job looking after my body now, eh? Look at me! Mud!”

“I’m sorry,” stammered Jimroy. “I suggested you wait ’til the rain stopped, but—”

“Look at your boots,” said Gayle, pointing at the boy’s soaked feet. “You’re a disagreeable sight. How can you look after me when you can’t even tend yourself?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”

“Well, this won’t do at all!” The king stooped, waving Jimroy closer. “Come on, get on my back. I’ll have to carry you.”

Jimroy looked scandalized. “Sir?”

“Come on, up you go,” urged Gayle. He made loops of his arms to catch Jimroy’s legs. “Don’t keep me waiting. We have guests!”

“I—”

“Don’t think I can do it, do you? You think the old man’s lost his stamina, eh? Well, I’m twice the man you’ll ever be, Alazrian. Now, come along …”

“I’m Jimroy, sir. Not Alazrian.”

“Don’t argue with me. That’s an order, Jimroy. Let’s go!”

His mouth agape, the boy climbed onto the king’s back. Gayle let out a whoosh, then hefted himself straight with a triumphant grin.

“Ha! You see? I have the body of a twenty-year-old! Now, where are my visitors?”

“Sir Redd took them into the ward, my lord. I don’t know where from there.”

“Sir Redd is a boring old biddy.” Gayle was euphoric suddenly and didn’t know why, but he liked having the boy on his back. “To the castle,” he shouted, then trotted off through the graveyard with Jimroy on his back. The boy’s arms encircled his neck, and before long Gayle heard him laughing, too. It was a good laugh. Gayle realized how long it had been since he’d heard any good laughter. He bore Jimroy through the graveyard gate and across the green tor leading to the castle. A group of men grooming horses on the parade ground saw the duo and stared.

“Look!” cried a boy leading a cart of hay through the rain. “That’s the king!”

Gayle didn’t wave, but he did whinny. Jimroy laughed, delighted by his royal mount.

“Sir, you can stop now,” he said. “It’s fun, but you’re the king!”

“If I’m king, then I can do anything I want!”

Gayle galloped across the parade ground toward the castle where several sentries blocked the lowered drawbridge. “Away, away!” shouted Gayle, shouldering through them. “King Jimroy has urgent business with the Duke of Gorkney!”

“Jimroy, get down this instant!” roared one of the guards.

Gayle raced past them, ignoring their cries. Lately they had all been treating him like a retarded child, and he was sick of it. He began singing an old war chant he had learned when he was young. And he kept singing until he reached the center of the inner ward, where his servant Redd was waiting for him. Redd’s jaw dropped open. He dashed toward the king, forgetting the cover of an eave and splashing through the muddy ward.

“My lord! What are you doing?”

Gayle stopped singing and looked at the man. “What?”

Redd could barely speak. He glanced around at all the other astonished faces, then leaned toward the king and whispered, “Sir, you were … playing.”

“And why not, eh?” Gayle looked over his shoulder at Jimroy. “All right, boy, down you go. Fun’s over. Old Redd’s ruined it for us.”

“My lord!”

“Stop screeching like a woman, Redd.” Gayle rubbed his hands together. “Now, where are these visitors of mine? Young Jimroy tells me a wench is here.”

Redd stared at the king.

“Well?” barked Gayle. He snapped his fingers in Redd’s face. “You awake? Where is the woman Jimroy tells me about?”

“The Baroness Ricter, my lord,” corrected Redd. “Sir, are you all right?”

The question perplexed Gayle. How was he feeling? he wondered.

“Yes, the Baroness Ricter …” He cleared his throat and smoothed down his soaked garments. “Yes, all right.”

“She’s here to talk about your plans, my lord. You remember that, don’t you?”

“I have a mind like a steel trap, Redd. Where is she?”

“In the council chamber, waiting with Duke Wallach. He’s come too, at your—”

“At my request. Yes, yes. I know all of this already. You don’t have to baby me. I’ve been off breast milk for some time now.”

“But, sir, you seem …”

“What?”

Redd hesitated. “Out of sorts, sir.” Gently he took the king’s arm and led him under the eave. Dismissing Jimroy, he smiled. “My lord, you’ve had a great many worries lately. After this meeting with the baroness and duke, why not take some rest?”

“Rest is for old men,” said Gayle. “Why not ask young Jimroy how old I am? I carried him here from the graveyard, running all the way.”

“Yes, you’re very fit, my lord. Still, all your worries …”

“A complaint for lesser men, Redd. Now, take me to the baroness. And no fussing with my clothes. I’m not going to change. It’s raining. If they can’t accept that, the hell with them.”

Redd sighed, but acquiesced. Without another word, he led the king into the castle and through a maze of hallways toward the public areas of the castle. Gayle took steady breaths as he walked. Gradually the giddiness was ebbing. He reminded himself that there was business at hand. As Redd took him through the halls, he patted down his hair and tried to look respectable. People had been whispering behind his back; he had heard them. They were saying that the king was mad.

“I’m not mad …”

Redd stopped just outside a doorway. “Of course you’re not,” he said. “Now, sir, Baroness Ricter and the duke are inside. Are you ready for them?”

Gayle had been ready for this meeting for months. He shouldered past Redd and opened the door, revealing his meeting chamber. It was a small room with an oversized table, but the open curtains alleviated some of the closeness. Across the table sat Duke Wallach. The old man rose to greet the king. Major Mardek was there as well. The major bowed deeply. But the remarkable woman at the
end of the table remained seated. She had silver hair and a dress of lilac velvet with a shimmering necklace of diamonds. Her long fingers cradled a glass of brandy. When she noticed the king, Baroness Ricter lowered her drink and gave a feline smile. Two green eyes blinked from her rouged face.

Seeing the baroness calmed something in Gayle. He had never met her before, but he heard she was beautiful—and suddenly he had all his faculties again, as if someone had lit a candle. Very slowly he walked toward her and offered his hand.

“Baroness,” he said smoothly. “I’m pleased to see you. Thank you so much for gracing my home.”

Baroness Ricter let the king kiss her hand. She was not a young woman, but she possessed a girlish charm nonetheless. She also had a striking figure. Gayle had to force himself not to comment on it. Lately, his every thought seemed to leap to his tongue. Controlling himself had become a battle.

“King Tassis,” she said, rising slightly, “it is my pleasure to be here. Thank you for the invitation. And for the opportunity.”

“You are most welcome, dear lady. We seldom get such lovely visitors to the castle.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“Do I? Good. You will stay a while, I hope?”

Redd cleared his throat loudly from the threshold. “My lord? Perhaps you should sit and rest?”

Gayle released the baroness’ hand. What the hell was happening to him?

God, let me at least seem normal. I must remember how to act.…

“Indeed, Sir Redd,” he said. “We have business.”

He took a seat at the head of the table, then bid the duke and the major to sit as well. Duke Wallach practically fell into his chair, looking exhausted. His own brandy glass had obviously been filled several times over. Major Mardek had taken off his demon-helmet and set it on the table next to him. Gayle hadn’t expected the soldier, but he suspected Mardek had news from the Highlands.

“Well, this is momentous,” said the king. “Finally, we are all together.”

“Indeed,” said the baroness in her silky voice. “My brother would be proud to see this.”

Wallach nodded. “As would Sabrina.”

“And countless others, no doubt,” said Gayle. “Our emperor has a great deal of blood on his hands.”

He sighed, giving the dead their due. Like Wallach’s daughter, Baroness Ricter’s brother had been slaughtered by Biagio, one of eleven Naren lords killed in the invasion of Crote. Herrith had perished there, as had Oridian and Claudi Vos, Nar’s former Lord Architect. Baron Ricter had been just one of many, but his death had stung his older sister from Vosk. She had gladly joined Gayle’s rebellion. Before Baron Ricter’s death, he had been master of the Tower of Truth. Now Dakel held that lofty position. Gayle supposed the Inquisitor’s appointment made the baroness hate Biagio even more.

“For our beloved dead,” Gayle continued, picking up his wine glass. “We shall avenge them.”

The three nobles drank the toast in silence, then set down their glasses and looked at Gayle expectantly. The king relaxed. The madness had passed, blown away by the urgency of the meeting. Whenever he worked on his plans, his mind sharpened.

“So, Baroness Ricter, forgive me for my crassness, but I must ask you—how many men have you brought with you?”

“I have brought one hundred horsemen,” said the baroness. “I have already sent them on their way to Aramoor to train. Governor Leth is expecting them, I take it?”

Gayle frowned. “The governor was told to expect many more than a hundred, dear lady. Forgive me, but I am disappointed. I had thought—”

The baroness waved him off. “Please don’t fret, King Tassis. I am well aware of my commitments to you. I came with only a hundred men because anything more would have raised suspicions. We are after secrecy, are we not?”

“Of course,” Gayle admitted.

“When the war begins, there will be more troops from Vosk. We will side with you after it is clear that alliances are being drawn. For now, you will have to make do with what I offer.”

It wasn’t what Gayle expected, but he smiled anyway. Politics played a large part in his scheme. “I accept your offer humbly, dear lady. As I said, you honor me. We will put your hundred horsemen to good use against the Eastern Highlands.”

“When?” asked Wallach. “I need to know your timetable, Tassis.”

Gayle glanced at the man. “Are you in a hurry, Wallach? That surprises me. From what I’ve heard from Leth, you’re not making the progress I’d hoped. I thought you would be less impatient.”

“My privateer fleet will be ready in a few weeks,” said Wallach. “We’ve had some setbacks, I admit. But we are getting the equipment working and the slaves are learning their jobs. Soon we will have the ships disassembled and begin moving them to the south shore.”

Baroness Ricter raised her eyebrows. “Moved across land?”

“It is the only way to get them into position,” said Wallach. “It’s complicated, I know. But what a surprise it will be to Nicabar!”