The Saints Of The Sword (Tyrants & Kings)

by John Marco

  ‘Dinsmore? What about him?’

  Redd and Damot exchanged troubled glances. ‘You haven’t heard, then?’ asked Redd.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Lord Governor, Viscount Dinsmore is dead,’ said Damot. ‘He was assassinated by Jahl Rob and his Saints.’

  There was a terrible silence, and this time even Shinn seemed surprised. Alazrian felt a rush of shock, and Leth, who never took bad tidings with grace, began to redden like an apple.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ he rumbled. ‘Son of a bitch! When did this happen?’

  Redd thought for a moment, then said, ‘A week ago, I think. It happened at the Tollhouse. And not just Dinsmore either, but nine other soldiers. It was a massacre, Lord Governor. A dark day, truly.’

  ‘No,’ seethed Leth, storming away from them all. ‘It will be a dark day for Jahl Rob!’

  When he was gone, Alazrian leaned against the carriage shaking his head in astonishment. ‘Assassinated,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  He watched his father disappear into the castle. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be wise to follow.

  Alazrian waited until the following morning before seeing his grandfather. Instead of fretting over his audience with the king, he spent the evening in his chambers taking advantage of the comfortable bed and the hospitality of the slaves. Exhausted from his voyage back from Nar City, he slept soundly and dreamlessly, and when he finally awoke it was a new day, full of spring sunlight. He dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to the breakfast he knew would be waiting. Weather permitting, Tassis Gayle always took his breakfast on a stone porch overlooking the ocean at the back of the castle. He would be there already, spreading jam on his biscuits and waiting for his grandson. Hungry from his long slumber and anxious to see the king, Alazrian took the steps two at a time, flying down the spiral staircase and passing servants with a courteous ‘good morning.’ Near the kitchens he smelled breakfast cooking and heard the rattle of pots and pans. It was a big castle and feeding so many slaves and staff took effort. Alazrian slowed as he passed by the kitchens, careful not to collide with anyone. He saw Redd swipe a confection from the warming stove. The advisor spotted Alazrian, offering a sheepish shrug.

  ‘Master Leth,’ said Redd through a mouthful of pastry. ‘Your grandfather is taking breakfast out on the balcony. He’d like you to join him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Alazrian. ‘I will.’

  The balcony was close to the kitchens, past a cooling corridor and through an archway. Alazrian saw the bright morning beckoning beyond the arch, and spotted his grandfather sitting at an intricately molded iron table, sipping a cup of tea. An elaborate spread of meats and breads covered the tablecloth. A collection of jam jars glinted colorfully in the sunlight. The king was obviously expecting guests, for there was more food than one man could comfortably consume in a week, but Tassis Gayle was alone at the table, a stroke of luck Alazrian hadn’t expected.

  ‘Grandfather, good morning,’ said Alazrian as he stepped onto the porch. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  Tassis Gayle quickly lowered his teacup and rose, beaming when he saw his grandson. ‘Alazrian, my lad!’ He came around the table to embrace the boy warmly. ‘How was your trip to Nar City? It’s something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, it is indeed,’ agreed Alazrian, laughing. ‘Really, it’s like nothing I ever imagined. It’s so . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Big.’

  Tassis Gayle chuckled. He looked vital in the morning light, invigorated by the fresh air and the appearance of his grandson. His hands on Alazrian’s shoulders made the boy flush. He looked into the old man’s eyes and saw nothing there but the deepest affection – and that omnipresent touch of mania.

  ‘Breakfast,’ said the king, sweeping his arm toward the table. ‘You remembered, eh?’

  Alazrian smiled. ‘Of course I remembered. I’ve been looking forward to it. The food we got on ship was, well, less than great.’

  Tassis Gayle frowned. ‘My slaves fed you last night, yes?’

  ‘Oh yes. They took care of me, Grandfather, believe me. I shouldn’t be as hungry as I am.’

  ‘Well then, eat,’ bade the king. He took his chair again and gestured for Alazrian to sit beside him. Alazrian did so at once and instantly a slave materialized from the corner of the balcony, setting a plate down before him and covering his lap with a cloth napkin. The smartly dressed servant poured him tea without being asked, but all the attention made Alazrian uncomfortable. He had never gotten used to having slaves serve him. But he let the man finish, grateful when he finally returned to the corner to wait like an unseen statue.

  ‘So, tell me,’ said the king as he forked a stout sausage onto his plate. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Didn’t Father tell you?’ Alazrian took a sip of the tea and watched his grandfather over the rim of his cup. ‘He met with you last night, didn’t he?’

  ‘Politics,’ grumbled Gayle. ‘That’s all your father and I ever talk about. I want to know what happened to you in Nar. What did you do? Did Dakel treat you well?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Alazrian. ‘I had my own room in the Tower of Truth. It was magnificent. It overlooked the entire city!’

  His grandfather sighed. ‘It’s some city, indeed. Been a long time since I’ve seen it, but I bet it hasn’t changed much.’ He cut off a chunk of the sausage and stuffed it into his mouth, eating with relish as he reached for the plate of biscuits. ‘And the Black Palace – what did you think of that?’

  He held out the plate of biscuits for Alazrian, who chose one carefully.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alazrian. ‘Yes, I saw the palace. Hard not to. It’s the tallest building in the city.’

  ‘Taller than God,’ commented Gayle. ‘High enough to catch clouds.’ He smiled at his own joke. ‘And what about the women, eh?’ The king looked around, pretending to be secretive. ‘You can’t even walk down the street without being propositioned.’

  Alazrian felt himself blush, remembering the young woman he had encountered on the way to the library. Suddenly he was happy to be with his grandfather again. He never talked like this with Elrad Leth. But just as quickly his happiness turned sour. Soon he would betray the king. He took a bite of his biscuit, but its sweetness did nothing to bury his shame.

  ‘Where’s Father?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘I thought he’d be here for breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, your father’s in a state this morning,’ said the king ruefully. ‘All night, too.’

  ‘Jahl Rob?’ Alazrian guessed.

  Tassis Gayle nodded. ‘That priest is a devil. But that’s not for us to talk about, Alazrian. Let your father deal with the Saints. We have things to discuss, yes? I am pleased to see you back, my boy. I missed having you so near. Since your mother died . . .’ He looked down at his plate. ‘Well, things have been difficult for me.’

  Alazrian put a hand on the old man’s sleeve. ‘I miss her too.’

  He thought the king might start weeping. This was what Biagio had warned him about, he realized suddenly. The moodiness, the uncontrolled emotion, the secrets; it was all part of a damaged psyche. They were the things that made Tassis Gayle dangerous.

  ‘I wanted to see you last night, but Father wouldn’t let me,’ said Alazrian. ‘He said he had business to discuss with you.’

  Gayle shrugged off his grandson’s touch. ‘Enough business,’ he said roughly. ‘I’m sick of it. Tell me more about Nar. What else did you see there?’

  Alazrian realized then that his grandfather was deliberately avoiding him. Perhaps he felt Alazrian’s suspicions and didn’t want to feed them. Or maybe he simply hoped to spare his grandson the gruesome truth of things. Either way, he was only proving Biagio’s case.

  ‘There wasn’t really much else to do,’ said Alazrian. ‘We weren’t there very long. After his testimony, Father wanted to come right home. I think he was anxious to see you.’

  Gayle took another bite of his food. Alazrian watched him carefully, gau
ging his reactions. Each mention of Leth, no matter how small, brought the same nervous twitch to the king’s eyebrows. Alazrian considered a different tact.

  ‘I didn’t have to face the Protectorate,’ he said. ‘Did Father tell you? Dakel didn’t bother with me. I guess he got all his answers from Father.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the king. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I was relieved. Really, I didn’t know what Dakel had planned for me. Or for Father, for that matter. Some people thought we’d both be executed.’

  The king looked at Alazrian questioningly. ‘Yes, that is a relief. A puzzlement, though. I wonder why Dakel summoned you, if not to speak to you himself. He didn’t speak to you, did he Alazrian?’

  ‘Only to greet me when I arrived,’ Alazrian answered. It was honest enough; he didn’t have to confess his audience with Biagio. ‘He seemed quite pleasant, actually. I think maybe he just wanted to frighten Father, by making him think I was in danger.’

  ‘Probably,’ said Gayle. ‘That is what I thought, too.’ Then his smile returned. ‘Either way, I’m pleased to have you both out of there alive. And I’m glad you didn’t have to face the tribunal. It’s not something a boy should have to endure.’

  ‘I’m not such a boy anymore,’ said Alazrian, sensing an opportunity. ‘I’m sixteen.’

  ‘Practically a man,’ agreed Gayle, grinning.

  ‘Yes, I think so. I mean, when you were sixteen you were already a horseman, right?’

  ‘A brilliant one.’

  They laughed.

  ‘So sixteen isn’t so young,’ Alazrian went on. ‘I think I’m old enough to start helping Father govern Aramoor.’

  Gayle glanced up from his plate. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘But I can do things,’ said Alazrian. He was careful not to argue, not to push too far. And it really wasn’t his father that he wanted to talk about. He just needed to open up the conversation. ‘I don’t need to be shielded from things anymore. As you say, I’m almost a man. Maybe it’s time I started taking on more responsibilities.’

  Tassis Gayle’s expression darkened. ‘Don’t rush to grow up, Alazrian,’ he said. ‘Getting old is the worst thing that happens to a man.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ said Alazrian. ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Because becoming a man means having all those responsibilities you talk about,’ answered the king sharply. ‘It’s about losing things – not just your youth but also people you care about. Your children, even.’

  There was so much pain in the old man’s face that Alazrian immediately regretted his insistence. The king pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair. He stared out over the distant ocean. It was the first time since coming outside that Alazrian noticed the sea at all.

  ‘Getting older is the only thing young people think about,’ said Gayle. ‘But they don’t understand what it means. They have dreams, big things they want to accomplish, and they think that it will all happen to them if only they could become an adult. You’re like that, Alazrian. You’re a dreamer, like your mother. But your mother’s time ran out, didn’t it?’

  Alazrian didn’t know what to say. ‘Yes, it did.’

  ‘Someday your time will run out, too. Then you’ll have to look back at everything you wanted to accomplish but didn’t, and you’ll have to face the fact that maybe you were a failure.’

  ‘Grandfather, I . . .’

  ‘It will hurt,’ the king continued. ‘Believe me. Then you won’t like being old so much.’

  ‘Grandfather,’ said Alazrian, ‘you’ve accomplished so much. How can you think you haven’t?’

  There was no answer from the king, just the sound of his breath. He seemed on edge suddenly, the very antithesis of the man who had greeted Alazrian just minutes ago.

  ‘Grandfather? You know you’ve accomplished things, don’t you?’

  ‘What things, boy? Can you list them?’

  Alazrian gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, many things! You are king. Talistan has been restored under your rule. You’ve regained Aramoor. You’re respected. And you’re strong.’

  The king nodded. ‘Yes, I am strong.’

  ‘That should be enough for any man.’

  Gayle looked at him as if he understood his hidden meaning. ‘But there was supposed to be much more. I wanted to build a legacy for all of Nar to see and admire. I would have left it all to my son, if he hadn’t been taken from me.’ The old man’s tone became angry. ‘I blame people for Blackwood’s death, Alazrian. He would have made a great ruler. He was strong like me. But now the Empire will never know that. Because of—’

  He stopped just short of saying the name. Alazrian watched him intently, hoping the words would just fall out, but they never did. Tassis Gayle composed himself. He ran a hand through his hair and considered his breakfast, trying to pull himself back from the brink. Alazrian cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t be upset,’ he offered, not knowing what to say. ‘You have a legacy, Grandfather. You will always be remembered.’

  For a moment there was a sardonic flash in the king’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Indeed I shall.’

  They ate in awkward silence. Alazrian did what he could to put his grandfather at ease again, buttering his biscuits and offering him slabs of bacon, but still the pall would not lift from the table. Alazrian berated himself quietly while he ate, angry for pushing his grandfather. He was hiding things, certainly, but Alazrian hadn’t expected those things to be so painful. Clearly Biagio had been right about Tassis Gayle. The king hadn’t admitted his plot, but he hadn’t needed to. The guilt of it laced his every word.

  Finally, Alazrian decided to break the silence, saying, ‘Do you think Father will be coming to breakfast? It’s getting cold.’

  Gayle shook his head. ‘I told you, your father’s in a state. He’s planning on going after Jahl Rob.’

  Alazrian dropped his fork. ‘What? Is he going into the mountains?’

  ‘He’s had enough, and I don’t blame him. That priest assassinated a member of my own government. I can’t have lawlessness, not like that. It’s time that bastard payed for his crimes.’

  ‘But the Triin,’ argued Alazrian. ‘What about the lions?’

  Tassis Gayle waved his fork nonchalantly. ‘That’s a risk, yes. There may be Triin close enough to be trouble. But Jahl Rob and his Saints have survived somehow. Their hideout may be closer to the border than we thought.’

  Alazrian sat back, considering the news. If Leth sent men into the mountains . . .

  ‘Grandfather, when is this going to happen? Do you know?’

  Gayle shrugged. ‘Soon as you get back to Aramoor, I imagine.’

  ‘Is Father going with them?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I think he’s planning on sending a patrol. Shinn will probably lead it.’ Tassis Gayle paused and regarded Alazrian suspiciously. ‘Why are you so interested?’

  Because I’ve just found my passage to the mountains, thought Alazrian.

  ‘I just think it’s interesting, that’s all. Do you know where Father is now? I’d like to talk to him about it.’

  ‘Now? What about your breakfast?’

  ‘Grandfather, there’s enough food here for an army! Please, let me go speak with Father.’

  ‘He’s down by the stables, I think, talking to Shinn. He said he wanted to practice shooting, clear his mind.’ Gayle waved Alazrian over. ‘Give your crazy old grandfather a kiss first.’

  Alazrian beamed at the old man. After all the emotional tussle, all he wanted was a kiss. He bent over the king and placed a peck on his head.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he promised. ‘We’ll spend some more time together.’

  The king grunted, then shooed his grandson away. Alazrian left the balcony in a hurry. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had spent the entire voyage wondering how he was going to deliver Biagio’s letter, and now the opportunity was in front of him. All he had to do was convince L
eth to let him go along. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. He had already been asking to be treated more like a man. Here was a chance to prove himself.

  Alazrian skirted the kitchens and navigated the stone corridors until he came to the courtyard. The yard led out over the open drawbridge and onto the parade field where the soldiers drilled. The stables were around the east side of the castle near the green the Gayles always used for an archery range. There, amid the budding wildflowers and insects, stood Elrad Leth, his arms folded over his chest as he waited for Shinn to take his shot. The Dorian had his bowstring drawn back and one eye closed as he spied the target, a circular bale of hay a remarkable distance away. Alazrian knew it was an easy shot for the marksman, but Shinn drew out the drama, taking his time before letting the arrow fly. There were other arrows around the bale, most littering the ground. These were Leth’s, Alazrian supposed. He walked over toward the two men quietly, waiting for Shinn to take his shot. A moment later the bodyguard loosed his bolt, letting it sail to the target. The shaft made a peculiar whistling sound before burying itself in the center of the bale.