The Saints of the Sword (2 page)

“Yes, Father,” said Alazrian. He had heard the gossip among the staff. Leth was to face the Protectorate.

“Politics,” said Leth. “That’s what it is, you see.”

“Yes,” agreed Alazrian. “I see.”

“Do you? I doubt that. I doubt you understand anything but needlepoint. You have your mother’s sensibilities for these things, boy. Your head’s full of air.”

Alazrian swallowed the insult. His relationship with Leth had only grown worse since they had come to Aramoor. The pressures of governing had embittered Leth.

“Biagio lays traps for me,” Leth said. “He thinks I’m stupid, eh? Bloody fop.” He balled his hand into a fist and rubbed the knuckles. “Well, he’s got something up his sleeve. He wants you to come as well.”

“Me? To the Black City?”

“We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Why me?”

“You’re old enough to make the trip.” Alazrian had just turned sixteen. For his birthday, Leth had given him a dagger, something to make him “look more like a man.” Alazrian never carried it.

“I don’t understand,” said Alazrian. “What does the emperor want with me?”

“How the hell should I know? But that’s what the summons says, and we’ve got to obey. So don’t spend too much time weeping over your mother. We’ll need our wits about us for the trip, and I won’t share the voyage with a child that needs a wet-nurse.”

“But …”

“But what?” growled Leth, whirling on Alazrian.

Alazrian felt his throat constrict. “What about Mother?” he managed.

“What about her? She’s dead. We can’t help her.”

“She’s not dead yet.”

“Oh, Mother, Mother!” taunted Leth. “Please, Mother, don’t die.” He scoffed and closed his eyes. “Pull yourself together, boy. We’ve got bigger concerns.”

“Don’t say that!”

Leth’s hand shot out and delivered Alazrian a stinging slap. “What was that?” he barked. “Did you raise your voice to me?”

Alazrian was silent. He knew his words would only invite another slap, so he merely looked at the man he was forced to call father, trying to convey his hatred with his eyes.

Elrad Leth read his face easily and returned the revulsion. “My God, if I had a real son I could deal with these things. Tassis had Blackwood, and I’ve got you. Go on, get out of my sight. But be ready to leave early, day after tomorrow. Pack for a long voyage. And don’t make me wait for you.”

Alazrian had a thousand questions, but didn’t dare ask them. He could guess why Emperor Biagio wanted to see his father, but he couldn’t fathom the faintest reason why
the Protectorate wanted to question
him
. He knew nothing about the happenings in Aramoor. All he knew was what he heard whispered in the castle—that Leth was still trying to put down the Aramoorian rebels. He was using ungodly tactics, but that was no surprise. And why it should bother the emperor was a mystery. But there had been strange things happening in Aramoor lately. Alazrian had been too concerned about his mother to take much notice, but Leth was away from the castle often these days, and messengers from King Tassis Gayle were frequent. Whatever was happening, it had gotten his father in trouble, and Alazrian was glad for it. He was glad that the Saints of the Sword were still hassling the “governor.” Jahl Rob might be a priest, but he had a general’s craftiness, and his Aramoorian rebels were proving a gigantic thorn in Leth’s side.

Good
, thought Alazrian as he retreated across the hall.

The sudden sound of a door opening pulled Alazrian back to reality. He turned to see his grandfather, Tassis Gayle, backing out of his mother’s bedroom. The king was stooped with weariness and was whispering something to the unseen woman in the room, something gentle and fatherly. His cloak of wolf fur dragged along the floor, limp as the look on his face. He was an old man now, ancient really, but he had the classic Gayle strength about him, long of bone and wide of shoulder, and his short hair was hardly thinning at all. Yet despite his recent resurrection from depression and old age, the night’s events had wearied him. He had travelled quickly from Talistan when he’d heard the news of his daughter’s decline, and had disappeared into her bedchamber hours ago. Alazrian looked at his grandfather and felt profoundly sad. Tassis Gayle was cruel, and the rumors of his mania were well-founded. But he was good to his daughter and her son, a dichotomy that puzzled Alazrian. Other than his mother, Tassis Gayle was the only person in the world who showed him any kindness.

“I’ll see you again,” Alazrian heard the King of Talistan whisper before closing the door. Tassis Gayle squared his
shoulders, gathering himself. Alazrian waited anxiously for him to speak. Elrad Leth stared out the window with appalling disinterest.

“She’s very weak,” said the king at last. It was an effort for him to speak. “Oh, my Calida. My little girl …” He beckoned Alazrian closer with a finger. “Alazrian, come here.”

Alazrian hurried over to his grandfather, taking his hand and finding it trembling. Obviously the king hadn’t expected to see his daughter so frail. For a woman who was once so robust, she looked little more than a shadow now.

“Your mother is very ill,” the king said. “You know that though, don’t you?”

Alazrian nodded.

“Not much time, I think,” his grandfather went on. He didn’t bother speaking to Leth. “You should go to her. She wants you with her now.”

Leth’s lips twisted in disdain. Not surprisingly, his wife wasn’t calling for
him
in her final moments. Alazrian ignored him and offered his grandfather a smile.

“I’ll be out soon,” he said. “She should sleep now anyway.”

The old man squeezed his hand. “Yes, go to her.” Then his face hardened and he added, “I have things to speak to your father about.”

Leth folded his arms over his chest. “About time,” he muttered.

Alazrian had hoped his grandfather had come to Aramoor just to see his daughter, but it seemed there was business on the agenda as well.

“Go to her,” ordered Gayle. “We will speak of your trip to Nar City later.” He grinned crookedly at the boy. “You’re afraid, I know. Don’t be. We have things in store for our new emperor.”

“What things?”

The king put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Go see your mother now. Be with her. It’s what she wants.”

The old man slid over to where his son-in-law waited and began talking in murmurs. Alazrian didn’t listen. The
way his grandfather accepted Leth was shocking, but he knew the king had reasons for keeping Leth’s confidence; the man had a talent for cruelty that Gayle needed. Only Leth’s iron hand had been able to govern Aramoor. Once he had become governor, nearly all the rebellions had ceased. Except for the Saints.

Alazrian knocked gently on the door, not expecting his mother to answer. He fashioned a smile and stepped inside. His mother’s eyes gazed at him from her sickbed. They were the only part of her that still looked familiar. Her raven hair had fallen to dead grass and her once strong body had been devoured by the cancer, so that a husk now stared back at him. Lady Calida managed a frail smile. The treacly smell of medicines infused the air.

“Mother,” said Alazrian cheerily, going to her bedside. “Can I get you anything?”

Lady Calida shook her head, looking ghastly in the candlelight.

“Grandfather said you wanted to see me,” said Alazrian. “But you should rest.”

“No more rest for me child,” said Lady Calida. “Where I’m going there will be time enough for that.” She looked at him, and Alazrian knew that somehow she had seen the future and was counting down the minutes. “Stay with me,” she said. There were no tears, not from this woman who had endured so much. “I want you with me now. You alone.”

“But, Grandfather—”

“Just you, Alazrian. My little boy.” She reached out for his cheek, but carefully avoided touching him. Alazrian tried to hold back his desire to save her.

“Mother,” he said desperately. “Let me help you.
Please
 …”

Calida closed her eyes. “No, Alazrian. Do not even think it.”

“But I
can
,” the boy insisted. “You just need to let me.” He leaned over her and lowered his voice. “Father need never know. We’ll call it a miracle or something. Just let me try, please.”

“No,” said his mother adamantly. Her face grew pained.
“Don’t ever do it—not around your father. He must never know, Alazrian. Never. Understand?”

Alazrian didn’t understand. He didn’t know why his mother was dying, or why such a good woman had endured such a cruel husband, and he didn’t know how heaven could stand to watch something so unjust. His life was nothing but questions now. And the one that vexed him most was his secret gift. Watching his mother wither away, he wanted desperately to use it.

“I have this gift for a reason, Mother,” Alazrian argued, careful to keep his voice low. “You always told me so. Maybe the reason is to save you.”

Lady Calida shook her head. “No, the reason remains a mystery. And I don’t want you to save me.” Her eyes grew dim as her memory called up the recent years. “I welcome death, I think.”

“Because of
him
,” Alazrian growled.

His mother merely nodded. There was still a scar on her forehead where Leth’s ring had slashed the skin. Alazrian wanted to touch the scar and make it fade away. He wanted to heal her ravaged body the way he had the goat with the broken leg, knitting the bones with one miraculous touch. And he wanted to heal her broken soul too, but he knew that damage was beyond his power. Elrad Leth had cut those scars too deeply for any physician to reach, even one with magic.

“Listen to me now,” Lady Calida ordered. “Don’t use it around your father, you hear?”

“He’s not my father,” Alazrian scoffed.

“Are you listening? Never around him. Or your grandfather. If they knew, there would be no peace for you. No peace. You grow up and get free of them. Find out about your real father and who you are, and never let them know you’re gifted.” The effort wearied Calida, but she kept a steely gaze on Alazrian, insisting that he listen. “Alazrian?”

Alazrian nodded. “I hear you.”

“Swear it.” Again she reached out, stopping just shy of his touch. “I won’t rest unless you do.”

She was asking the impossible of him, but he knew there
was nothing else worth saving here in Aramoor. Alazrian gave his mother a forlorn smile.

“I swear it,” he said softly. “I’ll not use the gift around Father.”

“Or your grandfather,” Calida cautioned again. “He loves you, Alazrian, but he’s not to be trusted. He’ll not be the same once I go.”

True enough, Alazrian knew. He had already seen the aberrations in his grandfather. Tassis Gayle had never been stable and the death of his son had rushed him toward insanity. Now the death of his daughter was sealing his fate.

“Has grandfather told you?” Alazrian asked gently. “I’m to go to Nar City. The emperor has summoned Father, and me with him. I’m afraid, Mother.”

Calida’s thin eyebrows went up. “The Black City? The emperor has asked for you?”

“Yes, I think so. Father just told me so. We’re to face the Protectorate.”

Even from her sickbed Lady Calida had heard of the Protectorate. The emperor’s tribunal was famous throughout Nar. Or more precisely, it was infamous. War criminals from the corners of the Empire were being summoned to face Biagio and his inquisitor, Dakel. Since the death of Arkus, Nar had become a very unstable place.

“I’m not surprised about your father,” said Calida at last. “The way he butchers these Aramoorians …” She thought for a moment. “Biagio is a devious man. Do you remember him, Alazrian?”

“Not well,” replied the boy honestly. In the days before the death of Arkus when Biagio was merely the head of the Roshann, he would come to Talistan from time to time, mostly to supervise the goings-on in Aramoor. Alazrian’s grandfather always had a room ready for Biagio in the castle. The two titans had been friends then, or more precisely allies. But times had changed. “I remember he was odd-looking,” Alazrian mused. “I remember his eyes.”

Lady Calida smiled. Biagio’s eyes were unforgettable. They were sapphire blue and preternatural, and they burned with fire. Alazrian didn’t remember much about Biagio, but he could never forget those eyes.

“The emperor wants the truth,” Calida decided. “And he thinks he can get it from you.”

“But I don’t know the truth. I don’t know what I can tell the emperor.”

It wasn’t a lie. Elrad Leth kept everything he did a secret, especially from his son. And Calida had been too ill to find out what was happening. She had only the view from her window, and even that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to Richius Vantran, wherever he was now.

“Don’t be frightened,” Calida told her son gently. “The Protectorate can do nothing to you if you tell them the truth. And the Black City, Alazrian … You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s breathtaking.”

Alazrian sat down on the bedside waiting for his mother to regale him with a tale. She had only been to the Naren capital once, for the coronation of Richius Vantran, but it had left an indelible impression on her. Calida’s mind, soaked with painkillers, skipped back over her memories, picking out pretty pieces.

“It’s so tall,” she sighed. “And the emperor’s palace looks like a mountain. There’s so many people that sometimes you can’t even move in the streets, but you can buy anything you want. Take money with you, Alazrian. Buy yourself some nice things.” Then Calida shook her head ruefully. “Oh, I wish the cathedral was still there for you to see. It was so beautiful.”

In fact, it had been his mother’s favorite part of Nar City, and she had wept when she’d heard of its destruction. Now the memory almost made her cry again.

“I will bring money with me,” Alazrian said. “And I’ll think of you when I’m walking the avenues.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You go to Nar City.” She was so excited suddenly that she tried to sit up. “There’s a library there, with scholars. They can help you find out about yourself. There are all kinds of texts there, about everything. Some about Lucel-Lor, I’m sure.” Her voice became a whisper. “And Jakiras.”

Alazrian was shocked that she’d spoken the name, and quickly swiveled his head toward the door to make sure no one had heard. Only once before had she mentioned
the name of his father, and only then when they were far from the castle, away from prying ears.