by John Marco
The captain glanced at the door as he remembered Meleda. Malthrak seemed to read his mind, stepping in front of him.
"Your pretty wench won't be coming up, Kasrin. I told her I had business with you and a silver piece shut her mouth. Now come along."
"A silver?" rumbled Kasrin. "I was going to pay a gold." He sighed. "Very well, Roshann. Take me to your master. I've got a few things I'd like to say to him myself."
Kasrin retrieved his shirt and started doing up the buttons. He had never met the emperor, but he knew his reputation. He supposed Nicabar had whispered in Biagio's ear, and that this would be his last voyage. But he wouldn't flinch and give Biagio the satisfaction of tasting fear. Whatever the emperor wanted, he would face it like a man.
It was nearly dawn when Kasrin and Malthrak arrived at the Black Palace. Kasrin could tell from the horizon that morning was drawing close, and he was exhausted from lack of sleep. He knew that Laney and the others back aboard the Dread Sovereign would be worried about him, wondering where he'd gone, but Biagio's Roshann agent had been adamant about making time. As the carriage pulled up into the courtyard, Kasrin couldn't wait to get out. Despite his position in the navy, he had only seen the Black Palace as an observer, one of the thousands who ogled the structure daily from the streets. Kasrin was dizzied by it, craning his neck to see its peak, which seemed to vanish into the sky. He turned on Malthrak, who was jumping out of the carriage. "Where's your master, dog? Bring him on."
Malthrak smirked. "You're in a hurry now? That's fine." The agent walked over to one of the waiting slaves in the yard, telling him to inform the emperor of their arrival. The slave reported that "the master" was waiting for them, then scurried off. Malthrak flicked a finger at Kasrin.
"Come along."
Together they passed through a massive gate and beneath a tier of stairs. Kasrin marvelled at the architecture. The Black Palace was a nightmare of limestone and statues, full of catwalks and gargoyles and polished, precious metals. It was like a thing from Naren mythology, a place where gods should dwell.
Malthrak took Kasrin into a gigantic hall with a frescoed ceiling and walls lined with plaster friezes depicting Nar's bellicose history. The hall was empty of people, and the earliness of the hour lent the chamber a ghostly, graveyard quality. Across the hall, a towering statue of a naked woman stared at Kasrin with an inscrutable smile. In her arms was a pitcher of imaginary water that poured over her legs and feet. Like everything in the palace, the statue was enormous and unnerving.
"Where's Biagio?" he asked.
"In his music room," answered Malthrak. "Not much farther."
Not much farther felt like a mile as Malthrak led Kasrin up endless stairs and down snaking corridors, past kitchens and slave quarters and armories, and finally to a wing that was even more quiet than the others, where a pair of guardians with silver skull helms barred an archway. Beyond the arch Kasrin could see a change of decor. It was more subtle, this wing, more sedate and feminine.
"Come," said Malthrak, walking past the guardians without a care. Kasrin followed until finally they arrived at a wide chamber with plush carpeting and tall windows overlooking the city and the sunrise. Busts of unfamiliar men lined the walls, and elaborate tapestries hung from the ceiling. But most remarkable of all was the person at the center of the chamber. Sitting at a white piano, thundering away on the keys, was a man with long blond hair and flying fingers. He wore a flowing, dusty-rose jacket trimmed with white ruffles and his ascot was soaked with sweat from his playing, tendrils of hair drooping into his eyes. He seemed not to notice Kasrin staring, or at least he didn't care, and the music grew to a stormy crescendo as his hands danced over the ivory, pounding out a furious melody.
Kasrin leaned toward Malthrak. "Is that Biagio?"
"Shhh!" chided Malthrak. "Wait."
Kasrin waited long minutes for the pianist to finish, building his piece to its clamorous end with a flourish of his silk-cuffed hands. And when he was done, the pianist tossed back his head in exhaustion, gasping for air. Malthrak clapped wildly.
"Beautiful, Master. Wonderful!"
Biagio pulled a crimson handkerchief from his vest and blotted his forehead. He was saturated with sweat but seemed immensely pleased with himself, and when he sighted Kasrin his face brightened further.
"Greetings, Captain Kasrin," he said. There was an androgynous lilt to his voice, and to the rest of him. Biagio was like a woman and a man bred into one body, with amber skin and golden hair and delicate features that belied his ferocity. Gingerly, he replaced the handkerchief into his vest pocket, shaking his mane of hair. A rainstorm of sweat flew from his brow.
"What did you think?" he asked. Kasrin didn't know how to answer.
"It was loud," said the captain.
"It was beautiful," said the emperor. "And you know it. That was a piece from Ta'grogo, a Cretan composer who lived during the last century. He was a genius."
"If you say so."
Malthrak was incensed. "He does say so, you--"
"Malthrak, be a good man and leave us alone, will you?" asked Biagio. He smiled at Kasrin. "I have things to discuss with the captain."
The Roshann agent was quick to comply. He bowed to his emperor, then backed out of the music room. Kasrin felt awkward, unsure what to do with his hands, so he folded them defiantly over his chest and waited for Biagio to speak. It was an uncomfortably long wait, as the emperor surveyed him. Finally, Biagio sat back on his piano bench.
"You're not what I expected," he said. "You're younger."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
Biagio arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you haven't disappointed me, Kasrin. You may, given time, but not yet." The emperor went to a crystal cabinet against the nearest wall, its shelves burdened by goblets and bottles of liquor. Biagio chose a blood-toned wine and held it out for Kasrin.
"Drink?"
"No thank you," said Kasrin. He knew he was in a spider's web and wanted to hold fast to his wits.
Biagio poured himself a glass. "Do you like my music room, Captain? When I'm troubled I come here to relax and play my piano. This is my church."
"Your church? Oh, well, that's convenient. Since you blew the other one to bits, I mean."
Biagio glared at Kasrin. "You should be quiet about such things," he advised. "Don't forget who you're talking to."
There were two ornate chairs in the corner of the room, pale wood carved with elaborate designs. Biagio strode over to them, sat down in one, and crossed his legs. He waved Kasrin closer. "Come sit with me, Captain. We have business to discuss."
"What business?"
"Sit and I'll tell you."
"I prefer to stand."
Biagio rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd be stubborn. Very well, be uncomfortable. I'm sure you're used to it, living in that rat's nest of a village."
"You should know," spat Kasrin. "You put me there. You and your good friend, Nicabar."
"You're bitter," said Biagio. "I understand. You have a right to be. But I'm begging you to open your ears for a moment. I need you to listen to me. I think you'll be intrigued."
"I'm not interested in a damn thing you have to say. If I'm here to be executed, then fine. I've been expecting it. But spare me your lectures."
"You misunderstand me," said the emperor. "Please, sit down."
This time, Kasrin accepted the invitation. There was something tantalizing about Biagio, something Kasrin hadn't expected. "What's this about?" he asked. "Why am I here?"
"It's about Liss," answered Biagio. "What else?"
"Liss," scoffed Kasrin. "What else, indeed. I've already made my statement to Nicabar. I don't see why I should repeat it to you. Being an outcast hasn't changed my mind."
Biagio nodded. "I know the story. Admiral Nicabar has told me everything. He thinks you're a coward, Kasrin."
"Because I wouldn't kill innocent people for you and him."
"No," corrected Biagio. "Not me. Just him."
"It's your war t
oo, Biagio. Don't sit there and deny it. And it's been a bloodbath. I didn't want any part of it anymore."
"True," said the emperor. He frowned, looking down into his wine and contemplating his reflection. "I did help Arkus plan the first attack on Liss. Back then I agreed with it. But things have changed. I've changed."
"Oh, I'm sure," laughed Kasrin.
"I have," snarled Biagio. "And I intend to prove it to you and the whole Empire."
"Men like you don't change, Biagio. You've been a butcher all your life. So has Nicabar." He leaned back, eyeing the emperor contemptuously. "You Naren lords are all alike. All you can see is more wealth, more lands to conquer, more people to enslave." He rubbed his fingers together under Biagio's nose. "This is all that matters to you, Biagio. Gold. That's all you're about. You're just about the goddamn money."
Biagio shook his head. "Look at me, Kasrin."
"I'm looking."
"I mean really look. What color are my eyes?"
Kasrin shrugged. "I don't know. Green, I guess."
"That's right, green," said Biagio sharply. He sat back in annoyance. "Once my eyes flared like two blue gems. Crystal blue, like the sky. Like Nicabar's."
There was a trace of understanding on Kasrin's face. Biagio seized it.
"Yes, you get my meaning. I'm a different man now. What we did in Liss was wrong, but I was crazed then. I was on the same narcotic as Nicabar, and it drove us both insane."
"And now?"
"I use the drug no longer."
"Why?"
"For peace," Biagio replied. "It is wrong for the war against Liss to continue. You know that. It's why you refused to fight them. And why Nicabar calls you a coward. You see, I know a great deal about you, Blair Kasrin."
"No," spat Kasrin. "You know nothing about me."
"You were born in the fishing village of Es'Trakla, just south of here. Your father's name was also Blair. He owned a scow that brought in fish from the cape. Your oldest memories are of working with him on the sea where you used to dream of becoming a sailor like your hero, Nicabar. At the age of fifteen you were bitten by a moray eel. Took a good slice out of your arm--"
"Enough," spat Kasrin. "You can spout off a history lesson, Biagio, but you know nothing about the man. And you have no idea why I refused to fight against Liss, because the screams of women and children mean nothing to you. You're a monster, like Nicabar, and I worshipped him when I was young because I was a fool."
"But you hate him now, don't you Kasrin?" probed Biagio. "He's taken your life away. No, worse! You'd prefer if he'd kill you. You wouldn't have to hear people calling you a coward then, and you wouldn't be stuck in that stinking village, forbidden to set sail. Now your reputation is ruined, isn't it? Nicabar has made a fool of you and your crew. And the Dread Sovereign is collecting barnacles while you get drunk and pass the time with whores. Nicabar's waiting for you to repent. But you never will, because you think you're right."
Every word of Biagio's speech was true, and Kasrin managed a bitter smile. "Very impressive."
Biagio's answering grin was terrible. "I'm not a perfect man, Captain. But I'm better than I was. And there are things I need to keep my Empire together. One of them is peace with Liss. I have bigger troubles to deal with, and these Lissens are weakening me. I must have peace."
"So? Go ahead; declare peace."
"I cannot. Our mutual problem is in the way."
"Mutual?" Then Kasrin understood. "You mean Nicabar."
"He's obsessed with Liss. He's been trying to conquer them for a dozen years, and it's made him insane. And he has me cornered. The Black Fleet follows him, not me. They will continue to fight with Liss as long as he says so."
"He'll never give up," Kasrin agreed. He knew Nicabar too well to hope for that. Biagio was right. Nicabar was haunted by the Lissens. It was the only thing driving him these days. "But what can be done? As you say, the fleet follows him."
"Well, not exactly the whole fleet, Captain," said the emperor. He lifted his wine glass. "Cheers."
The unspoken offer made Kasrin's eyes widen. "You intend to go after Nicabar?"
"Interested?"
"I would be if it weren't insane. Do you know what you're asking? Do you know anything about the Fearless at all? It's madness." Kasrin snickered at the emperor. "Maybe you should go back to your narcotic after all, Biagio."
"And maybe you're a coward," said Biagio.
Kasrin bristled. "I'm not."
"Then shut up and listen. My homeland, Crote; you know it's been taken over by the Lissens?"
Kasrin nodded. Everyone in Nar knew about the occupation of Crote.
"And do you know who Queen Jelena is? The Lissen queen is on Crote, Captain. She's been fortifying the island, guessing that I want it back. Obviously she thinks Nicabar is planning a counter-invasion."
"Is he?"
"No. He's planning to attack Liss itself. But Queen Jelena doesn't know that." Biagio rolled the glass between his palms. "Yet."
"You're going to tell her?"
"I mean to go to Crote, to ask the queen for peace. In return I will tell her what Nicabar has planned. She'll want something, of course, and that will be part of my olive branch. The Lissens need peace as much as we do, I am sure of it."
"So what do you need me for?" asked Kasrin. He already had a good idea of the answer and was dreading it.
Emperor Biagio leaned forward. "Take me to Crote," he said simply. "Yours is the only warship available to me. All the other captains are still loyal to Nicabar."
"No way," said Kasrin. "That's suicide. The Lissens will destroy us as soon as we get near Crote. Besides, Nicabar won't let me sail again."
"He will if he thinks you're rejoining him," countered Biagio. "Nicabar wants you back. He needs good men like you. After you take me to Crote, you will find Nicabar. You'll tell him that you've changed your mind, that you're sorry and will gladly fight against Liss to have your reputation back."
"Ridiculous," muttered Kasrin. "He'll never believe it."
"He will," Biagio insisted. "I'll make sure of it. And as for the Cretans, they won't sink us once they know I'm aboard. Queen Jelena will want to meet with me. I'm certain of it."
Kasrin was still not persuaded. "That's a big gamble. If you're wrong . . ."
"I am not wrong. Liss has been at war for twelve years. They are fighting a war they can never win. Unless Jelena is a fool, she sees that already."
"Well, you're right about one thing," said Kasrin. "She'll want something in return. Peace won't be enough for her. She'll need convincing. What will you give her, other than the news of Nicabar's invasion?"
Biagio's expression darkened. "The same thing I'm offering you. I'll give her Nicabar." He studied Kasrin, waiting for his reaction, but Kasrin kept his face blank. "Well?" he pressed. "It's a tempting offer, isn't it?"
"It is," Kasrin admitted. "But how am I supposed to destroy Nicabar? Do you have an answer for that in your magic hat?"
Emperor Biagio looked supremely confident. "My dear Kasrin, I have an answer for everything. There will be a means to deal with the Fearless. The wheels are in motion. But you have to trust me. This is all part of a bigger plan. There will be demands on you, things I'll need you to do. And in return I will give you the thing you desire most."
Suddenly, Kasrin wanted a drink. He rose from his chair and went to the cabinet, picking up a bottle of liquor and pouring himself a glass. Biagio's scheme was delicate and dangerous, and because the emperor played his cards close, Kasrin didn't really know what he'd be getting into. But one thing was certain--Biagio was a genius at intrigue. He had masterminded the destruction of the cathedral and wrested the throne from Herrith, and when no one thought he would survive for a week he had managed to hold on to power for a year. A man with so many talents just might be able to defeat the Fearless.
In the end, the offer was irresistible. Kasrin put down the glass and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"I don't want to tru
st you, Biagio," he said plainly. "But I don't think I have a choice."
Biagio beamed. "Then you will do as I say? You'll take me to Crote?"
"I'll need some time to get my ship ready. The Dread Sovereign hasn't been at sea for a long time. When do you want to leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Kasrin exclaimed. "Sure, no problem. Hell, why not today?"
"Oh no, I can't leave today," said the emperor impishly. "Today I have other business. You're not the only one who has come to meet me, Kasrin. There's someone else I need to see."
FOUR
There was an earthshaking silence as Dakel the Inquisitor stepped onto the stage. He wore a black ministerial gown and an impenetrable expression, and when he turned toward the vast audience that had assembled in his theater, not a speck of anxiety flickered in his eyes. A dozen candelabra washed the marble chamber orange. The air was still and heavy. Two skull-helmed guardians stood at the sides of the stage, staring out like statues. Dakel held no notes or prosecutorial ledger. Instead his hands were empty, clasped before him in thought. The audience waited for him to speak. Their eyes flicked between him and the man on the dais. Elrad Leth was as silent as the audience. His cold gaze never left the Inquisitor, but he didn't seem frightened.
Alazrian watched from the tiered seats, as mesmerized as the others. The chamber was filled to capacity. Alazrian had seen the crowds from his window that morning, milling around the Tower of Truth, buzzing about the appearance of Elrad Leth. Now it was uncomfortably close in the audience chamber, and elbows dug into his ribs as two men sandwiched Alazrian between their big bodies. Alazrian had found a seat early because Dakel had ordered it. He had expected the Inquisitor to put him in a special holding chamber to await his turn on stage, but Dakel hadn't hinted at his plans for the boy. He had merely told Alazrian to wait out in the audience. Now, as he watched his father stare down the Inquisitor, Alazrian was glad for his anonymity. With luck, Dakel wouldn't be able to find him. And what about the strange Donhedris? Had he been able to work some influence with Dakel?
