The Saints Of The Sword (Tyrants & Kings)

by John Marco

  ‘What things?’

  Biagio didn’t answer. Instead, he merely closed her hand around the ring.

  ‘Tomorrow we will talk,’ he said. ‘I fear things are worse than I had imagined, and time is running out. Tomorrow I must see Redburn again. You must help me convince him.’

  ‘My lord, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Shhh. Tomorrow,’ he hushed her. ‘Not today.’ He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. The piece looked stunning on her. Biagio smiled. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Now come back to the hall with me.’ She tried to pull him away from the shadowy corner.

  ‘No,’ Biagio said. ‘No more for me. You go; enjoy yourself. I have things to consider.’

  She kept hold of his hand. ‘You promised you’d show me how to dance like a Crotan. Are you going to break your promise?’

  ‘Lady Breena . . .’

  ‘Don’t disappoint me, my lord. It’s my birthday.’

  Biagio looked at her. ‘All right, then,’ he agreed. ‘One dance.’

  Though he was drunk, Biagio danced with grace. Breena laughed as she twirled in his arms, and for a moment Biagio forgot his many troubles, losing himself in the music and the company of a beautiful girl.

  Thirty Four

  Elrad Leth rode through a dreary fog, his mood matching the climate. On his tail rode Shinn, characteristically quiet, and the silence of the morning unnerved Leth. It was unspeakably early to be roused from his warm bed, and the muddy road to Windlash did nothing to leaven his spirit. Two hours ago he had been asleep, only to be awakened by knocking at his door. Apparently, Captain Zerio had urgent news for him, news that couldn’t wait. As Elrad Leth galloped through the fog, he thought about the arrogant Gorkneyman, and what a pleasure it would be to pull his tongue out. If this was a joke . . .

  But no, Zerio wasn’t a trickster. He was a bucket of slime with scum on top, but he didn’t have the wit for pranks. Leth expected to see a slave uprising, or Nicabar’s dreadnoughts on the shore. So far, though, everything was quiet. Leth set his jaw as he rode, determined to reach Zerio. The soldier who’d been sent to Aramoor castle had known nothing, and his ignorance had vexed the governor to the point of madness.

  ‘If you don’t slow down, you’ll kill yourself,’ Shinn counseled. ‘And take me with you.’

  ‘Usually you don’t say a word, Shinn. Now I can’t get you to shut up!’

  They passed the wrecks of broken wagons, abandoned hulks with splintered axles that had cracked in the effort of dragging the ships across land. Groups of Wallach’s workers also went by in a blur, marching under the watch of Bisennan overseers or toiling in caravans, stopping just long enough to recognize Leth and spit. Leth ignored them. Since his last trip to Windlash, Duke Wallach had made astonishing progress. He had gotten his booms operational and had scheduled caravans with clock-like efficiency. According to the duke’s last report, nearly half his fleet had been brought across Aramoor and now lay at anchor off the southern shore. The other half would be across in two weeks. It was real progress, and Leth had been immensely pleased – until Zerio’s messenger had come.

  He hoped nothing was seriously wrong. He doubted he could take such a setback, not when everything was going so well. With work progressing and their goals in sight, Tassis Gayle’s elaborate plans had finally seemed feasible. Even the Saints of the Sword had been remarkably quiet. Not one raid had occurred since Alazrian’s . . .

  What? Death? Disappearance? He didn’t know what to believe about his so-called son. He only knew that he was gone, and that pleased him.

  Windlash came into view. Leth slowed his horse and scouted his destination. Work went on ceaselessly near the shore, and the familiar stink of toil eased Leth’s suspicions. Shinn trotted up alongside him, frowning at the routine scene. He gave his master a puzzled shrug.

  ‘What emergency?’ asked the Dorian. Then he started laughing. ‘It seems Zerio has gotten the best of you!’

  ‘Has he?’ snarled Leth. ‘Goddamn him, we shall see!’

  Leth spurred his horse, sending the beast charging forward. It wasn’t enough that the seaman should summon him to this stink-hole, but to claim such urgency was unthinkable. Friend of Wallach’s or no, Leth intended to skin Zerio alive.

  Thundering through the dockside, he looked around for a familiar face. A hundred emaciated workers stared back at him. The booms and cranes towered overhead, creaking and whining as they worked, while around them milled Naren engineers. In the harbor, Leth could see Wallach’s merchant ships bobbing at anchor, patiently receiving row-boats burdened with men and cannons. Wallach’s tree was bearing fruit, and if he hadn’t been in so foul a mood, Leth would have been happy. Instead he was furious.

  ‘Zerio!’ he called. ‘Where are you?’

  Captain Zerio didn’t answer or appear from the crowd. Leth cursed and got down from his horse, bellowing to a group of soldiers.

  ‘You there! I’m looking for Zerio.’

  A single Talistanian stepped forward, bowed, then reported that the captain was still asleep. He pointed to a ramshackle tavern on the main street. ‘There, in the Silver Scupper.’

  ‘Trust Zerio to make his home in a tavern,’ Leth growled. He handed the reins of his mount to the soldier. ‘Look after my horse,’ he ordered. ‘Shinn, come with me.’

  Leth stormed off, heading for the dilapidated tavern. The Silver Scupper was a two-level monstrosity of weathered timbers and flaking paint, and the sign over its entrance hung crookedly from broken chains. Aramoor didn’t have a lot of taverns, and this one did nothing to encourage patronage. It had been abandoned after the tiny nation’s fall, but Wallach’s project had seen it reopened, mostly to quarter the engineers and workers. Leth didn’t like taverns much, and he despised this one in particular because it was associated with Zerio. He went through the door and into the main chamber where more Talistanian soldiers were lying about, some asleep, some playing cards or stealing swigs from wine bottles. Leth’s loud entrance startled the soldiers, sending cards flying and men scurrying to their feet.

  ‘Where’s Zerio?’ Leth demanded.

  A man of rank stepped forward, smoothing down his uniform, ‘Governor Leth,’ he sputtered. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

  ‘Obviously. Now answer my question.’

  ‘Captain Zerio’s asleep, sir,’ the man replied. ‘Upstairs in his room.’

  ‘Asleep,’ seethed Leth. ‘Isn’t that nice, Shinn?’

  Shinn, who had followed Leth into the tavern, gave a useless shrug.

  ‘Sound asleep while I race to Windlash half out of my mind with worry,’ said Leth. ‘You see, Shinn? I told you he was a pool of vomit.’

  Leth dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time and making sure his boots crashed like cymbals. As always, Shinn followed close behind. At the top of the stairs Leth discovered a multitude of doors, each of them closed.

  ‘Zerio!’ he bellowed. ‘Get out here!’

  There was no answer, so Leth took a more direct approach. Going to the first door he kicked it in, not bothering to try the handle, frightening a man in a tiny bunk. Without apologizing Leth went to the next door, kicked that one in too, and found the room empty. When his boot shattered the lock of the third door, it finally revealed his quarry.

  Captain Zerio bolted upright in bed. He was at least half-naked beneath the sheets, and he wasn’t alone. One of the harlots Wallach had purchased from Talistan was with him. Her eyes widened fearfully when she saw Leth in the threshold, and she quickly covered herself in blankets.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ demanded Zerio. ‘I’m sleeping, here!’

  ‘Sleeping? Is that what you call it?’ Leth glared at the prostitute. ‘Get out.’

  The woman looked at Zerio. ‘Who is this?’

  Hurrying toward the bed, Leth grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and dragged her out of the bed. She screamed and hit the floor, naked and clutching the sheets.
Leth grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, then shoved her roughly to the door.

  Zerio sprang from the bed. ‘You can’t do this!’

  The captain rounded to face Leth, but Shinn was there, blocking him. The Dorian had a dagger in his hand. He smiled.

  ‘What were you saying?’ asked Leth.

  Zerio smoldered but did not reply. The prostitute still stood naked in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself.

  ‘I told you to go,’ Leth spat. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

  ‘Do as he says, love,’ said Zerio.

  ‘But my clothes!’

  ‘God almighty,’ sighed Leth. He located her soiled garments on the floor, then shoved them toward her with his toe. ‘Here!’

  The woman picked up her clothes, gave Zerio a disgusted look, then exited the room. Shinn snickered as she left, admiring her backside.

  ‘Now, Captain,’ said Leth, ‘why don’t you tell me what the bloody emergency is?’

  ‘Is that what you’re angry about?’ Zerio started laughing. ‘I asked you to come here, but I didn’t mean there was any emergency.’

  ‘That’s not what your messenger told me,’ roared Leth. ‘He told me you needed me at once!’

  ‘Sorry,’ offered Zerio.

  ‘I don’t want your apologies, fool. I want to know why you summoned me.’ Leth turned his face from the undressed man. ‘And get some clothes on, will you? It’s like looking at a naked scarecrow.’

  Zerio retrieved his trousers from the floor. As he pulled them on, he said, ‘It’s not an emergency, but it is important. I have news, Governor.’

  ‘I should hope so, Zerio. What is it?’

  The captain smiled. ‘I had a visitor last night.’

  ‘Lord, spare me your lurid tales . . .’

  ‘Not the girl,’ said Zerio. ‘Someone else. A friend of mine.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘A man named Taryn, from Gorkney; someone I used to sail with. He has a ship.’

  ‘A pirate,’ scoffed Leth.

  ‘A privateer,’ Zerio corrected. ‘And a friend of mine, as I said. He heard that Duke Wallach was bringing ships to Aramoor. He came here looking for employment, and he brought news.’

  ‘How did he hear about Wallach’s plans?’ Leth demanded. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret.’

  ‘Seamen talk, Governor. And anyway you’re missing my point.’

  ‘Then get to it, man.’

  Zerio fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. ‘Not only do seamen talk, but they hear things, too. And my friend Taryn heard something remarkable. Nicabar is dead.’

  Leth blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Admiral Nicabar is dead,’ repeated Zerio.

  ‘That can’t be!’ said Leth. ‘It’s impossible! How . . . ?’

  ‘During a raid on Liss. He got himself caught in one of their traps. The Fearless was lost, and Nicabar with it.’

  ‘How did your friend hear this?’ Leth demanded. ‘What proof is there?’

  As Zerio sat on the bed and began pulling on his boots, he explained how Taryn had been privateering in southern waters, and how news of Nicabar’s demise was already common in that region. An imperial task force led by the Fearless had sailed to Liss, apparently, but the Fearless hadn’t returned. Another ship, one called the Infamous, had also been sunk. The remaining ships had returned back to Naren waters, and the story was now spreading like the tide.

  ‘Taryn isn’t lying,’ said Zerio. ‘He has no reason to, after all.’ The captain clapped his hands together. ‘So, what do you say to that, Governor?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Leth turned away from Zerio, staring at the wall. It was remarkable news, if true, and it changed everything. There would be no counterattack on Talistan if Nicabar was gone. If Tassis Gayle attacked the Highlands, the Black Fleet would be in too much disarray to respond. And it meant Biagio was defenseless. Without Nicabar to protect him, the emperor was easy prey. Leth licked his lips, trying to decipher the maze of possibilities.

  ‘Well?’ pressed Zerio. ‘Big news, eh? Worth getting out of bed for, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Big news,’ echoed Leth absently. ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Do you know what this means? Now we don’t have to worry about Nicabar. We can use our fleet to attack the Highlands, or even the Black City. We can—’

  ‘Shut up, Zerio,’ snapped Leth. ‘I really don’t need your expertise.’ He looked at Shinn. ‘What do you think?’

  The bodyguard was circumspect. ‘I think you need to tell the king.’

  Tassis Gayle awoke with strands of silver hair in his eyes. Next to him, Baroness Clarissa Ricter was still asleep, her gentle breathing making her chest rise and fall. Her naked back was turned toward him. Gayle’s nose was buried in her scented hair. He remembered falling asleep like this, fitting his body to hers like spoons in a drawer. A delicious sense of accomplishment swept him as he extricated himself from the embrace, careful not to wake her. He studied the lines of her body, clear beneath the sheets.

  Like a lion, he told himself. I’m king of the beasts!

  And the baroness from Vosk was a tigress. She was insatiable, and hadn’t wasted time in courtship. She had needs and urges and no husband, she had explained, and the two of them had wound up in bed together the first night of her arrival. Her constant, ecstatic moaning, the way she scraped her nails across his back, her short, convulsive breaths; all these boosted Gayle’s ego. It had been a long time since he’d taken a woman, and the conquest was thrilling. He didn’t love the baroness, but he loved being with her. He loved his immutable prowess.

  Gently he slid to the edge of the bed, turning to see the window. Rain-drops streaked the glass. Gayle smiled despite the dreary day. He would be busy inside today, going over war plans with Duke Wallach. The duke had reported good progress, and the hundred men that Clarissa had brought with her had been training hard. Things were falling into place, and for the first time in months, Tassis Gayle felt satisfied.

  He was about to awaken Clarissa with a kiss when a knock at the door did it for him. The baroness moaned at the interruption. Gayle was infuriated.

  ‘Go away!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Shhh!’ scolded Clarissa.

  ‘My lord?’ came Damot’s familiar voice. ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘No!’

  Clarissa muttered angrily and sat up. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘My lord, it’s urgent. Governor Leth is here. He says he must speak to you.’

  The baroness wrapped a silky arm around Gayle, whispering, ‘Tell him to leave us alone, Tassis, dear.’

  Another round of knocking followed, this one much louder. ‘Tassis?’ shouted Elrad Leth. ‘It’s me. I must speak to you at once!’

  Gayle rolled his eyes. ‘Damot, did you let Leth up here?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The door started creeping open. ‘Forgive me, but—’

  ‘Close that damn door!’ Gayle barked.

  ‘Get up, Tassis,’ Leth insisted. ‘It’s important!’

  Gayle jumped out of bed, naked to his toes. He went to the door and flung it open, glaring at the two intruders. ‘Goddamn it, doesn’t anyone listen to me anymore? I’m the king!’

  Damot gasped and turned away. Elrad Leth raised his eyebrows in surprise, but was more shocked by the woman sharing Gayle’s bed. The governor of Aramoor sighed.

  ‘Good lord, am I the only one sleeping alone these days?’ In deference to the baroness, he turned aside. ‘Tassis, get dressed. I have news for you.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gayle, going back to his room and muttering, ‘Sons of bitches.’ He found his robe on a peg, got into it quickly, then gave Clarissa an apologetic glance. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. I won’t be a moment.’

  Clarissa smiled. ‘Hurry now.’

  ‘I promise,’ he told her, then went into the hall and closed the door. ‘So?’ he barked at Leth. ‘Couldn’t you see I was occupied?’

  ‘Oh, I saw everything quite clearly,
’ replied Leth. He dismissed Damot with a wave. ‘Get out of here.’

  When the servant was gone, Leth leaned against the wall and put on a smug smile, baiting Gayle to question him. In no mood for games, the king growled, ‘Well?’

  ‘Nicabar is dead,’ said Leth flatly.

  Gayle didn’t reply.

  ‘Nicabar is—’

  ‘I heard you,’ snapped Gayle. ‘I just don’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, you’d better, because it changes everything.’