The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  Vaguely recalling the way Richius had taken him, Alazrian retraced his steps up the tower. It was a long climb, and by the time he reached the top he was winded. He stepped out into a hallway, looked around, and anxiety seized him again. Dyana Vantran might not even be here.

  But he supposed she would be; she would be expecting her husband. Alazrian steadied himself with a few deep breaths. She was his last chance at answers, and he was afraid of being turned away. Worse, he was afraid that she would tell him nothing.

  “Steady,” he told himself. “Remember to smile …”

  He put on a sunny face and went down the hall, ignoring the magnificent white stonework and banks of doors. Most of the portals hung open, revealing great, comfortable rooms, but the door at the end of the hall was closed. Perhaps the lady wasn’t in. He decided to try, going to the door and knocking quietly.

  He heard some rustling behind the door, then the sound of a child’s voice. The door opened to reveal Dyana Vantran. She looked startled by the sight of him.

  “Alazrian Leth,” she said uneasily. “I am sorry; Richius is not here.” A little frown betrayed her dismay. “I was expecting him. I thought you might be him.”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” said Alazrian politely. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. But actually it’s not your husband I came to see. The Jackal … er, I mean Richius is still down at the encampment, making plans with Praxtin-Tar. I came to see you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Well, I have a message for you, my lady. May I come in?”

  Dyana Vantran shrugged and stepped aside for him to enter. Shani was playing on the floor, batting a little wooden figure from hand to hand. To Alazrian, the carved figure looked like a mermaid. The child glanced up at him and giggled.

  “Triin,” she announced. “Triin …”

  Dyana looked embarrassed. “I am sorry. She heard Richius and I talking about you.”

  “That’s all right, I don’t mind,” said Alazrian. He went to the girl to squat down beside her, studying her fair hair and oval eyes, marvelling at the complexity of her features. She was neither Triin nor Naren, belonging to both races and neither simultaneously. “She’s a very pretty girl,” he said. “She looks like you.”

  “You are kind. Are you thirsty? I can get a drink for you.”

  “No,” said Alazrian. He stood up. “Really, I just came to talk to you.”

  “Yes, your message.” Dyana looked at him inquisitively. “What is it?”

  “Do you remember a man named Falger?” he asked.

  Instantly, Dyana’s expression softened. “Falger,” she echoed. “Why? Do you know him?”

  “When I came to Lucel-Lor I travelled through Ackle-Nye. When we got there, some riders came out to greet us. They were Triin. They took us to an old Naren tower, one the Empire had abandoned. The people living in Ackle-Nye are all refugees. Some are even from this territory, fleeing the war with Praxtin-Tar.”

  “Go on,” said Dyana.

  “The Triin took us to the tower to see their leader,” Alazrian continued. “A man named Falger. He helped us. He told us about the war here in Tatterak, and he gave us food and other provisions. He gave us a map, too, so we could find you.”

  Dyana nodded. “That sounds like Falger.”

  “He said he knew you, my lady,” said Alazrian with a smile. “He remembered you well, in fact.”

  The woman glanced away. “He was a good man,” she said softly. “We travelled to Ackle-Nye together. He tried to take care of me.”

  “He didn’t explain your relationship, but I could tell he thought kindly of you. I promised I would give you his greetings, and tell you that he’s well. That meant a lot to him, I think.”

  “You are kind to tell me this, Alazrian,” said Dyana. “Thank you. I have thought of him often, but so much has changed.” She looked around the vast room. “We were so poor, once, Falger and I. Now look at me.”

  Alazrian did. She was stunningly beautiful, and he understood why Vantran had left Aramoor for her. Just being in her shadow was bewitching.

  “Thank you for telling me this,” she said. “If you see Falger again in Ackle-Nye, give him my greetings. Tell him that I am well, and that I think of him often. And tell him that the war is done here, that he will be safe now. Will you do this for me?”

  “Gladly, my lady. But I think your friend Falger has an independent streak. I’m not sure if he’ll leave Ackle-Nye.”

  Dyana laughed. “You are right about that. He is a … oh, how do you say in Nar? A firebrand!”

  “Yes,” Alazrian agreed. “But I will give him your greetings with pleasure. Or your husband can tell him—I wouldn’t mind.”

  The mere mention of Richius made Dyana darken. “As you wish.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Alazrian fumbled. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “It is all right,” Dyana told him. “Richius’ leaving is no secret to me.” She went to her daughter and sat down on the floor, occupying herself with Shani’s wooden figure. Shani looked at her mother with some annoyance, wanting her toy back. “Richius will be here tonight. It will be the last night we will spend together for some while.”

  Her voice was distant and sad, and Alazrian wanted to comfort her.

  “It’s a long way to Aramoor, my lady. And the first day of summer isn’t far off. We have to leave quickly if we’re to make it on time.”

  “I know,” said Dyana. “I just wish things were different. Pardon me for saying this, but I wish you had never come.”

  Alazrian took no offense. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me,” he said. “But I don’t think I had a choice.”

  “I am not angry at anyone. Not even Richius. Like you, he has no choice. I had hoped this day would never come, but this is something Richius must do. This is what I told him.”

  “Really? I had thought you two had, well, words over it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Pardon me, my lady, but your husband isn’t well. He frets over you and the child. He’s worried about you. I had thought maybe you didn’t give your blessing.”

  “I did not bless him,” Dyana corrected. “I merely told him to do what he must. You do not know Richius, Alazrian. You think he never cared about Aramoor, that he just abandoned his country without looking back. Well, you are wrong.”

  “I know that now,” admitted Alazrian. “And I’m sorry for what I said. Your husband is a good man.”

  “Yes he is. He is good and proud and strong. He is the best man I have ever known. And tonight I will be with him—maybe for the last time.”

  “This was a mistake,” whispered Alazrian. Slowly he backed away toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come, not tonight.”

  Dyana examined him. “You have something special you want to talk about? Something private?”

  “Well, yes …”

  “About Richius?”

  “No, ma’am.” Alazrian sighed. “About myself.”

  Dyana studied him. Her inspection reminded him of Biagio. “You are a puzzle, Alazrian Leth. I am wondering why you would come to me. Did Falger tell you something?”

  “No. Well, yes, actually, he did. He told me you were married to Tharn.”

  “That is so. That interests you?”

  “Tharn interests me, my lady. I wish to know about him.” Alazrian took a few steps closer. “I told you when we met that I came here for answers, to find out about myself. Do you remember that?”

  Dyana nodded.

  “I’ve met people who knew Tharn,” Alazrian continued. “Praxtin-Tar knew Tharn, and your husband did, too. But none of them have been able to answer my questions. Praxtin-Tar says that Tharn was a mystery, and I’ve tried to ask Richius, but he won’t talk about it.”

  A smile curved Dyana’s lips. “Richius rarely speaks of Tharn. He was my first husband.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I still have questions. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “That may be dif
ficult. What do you want to know?”

  “I’m not certain, really,” said Alazrian. “He had magic, yes?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dyana. “If ever a man was touched by heaven, it was Tharn. And you, perhaps.”

  “I don’t know what I am, that’s the problem. Jahl Rob calls it magic. Praxtin-Tar calls it the touch of heaven, as you do. But to me it is all a mystery.”

  Alazrian sat down in front of Dyana. He was inexplicably drawn to her, and suddenly thought nothing of etiquette. Shani crawled over to him and put her hands on his legs. Alazrian stroked her fine hair. “Look at her,” he said. “She’s just like me. But she knows who her parents are. She knows what she is, and she doesn’t have to keep asking herself where she belongs. I envy that.”

  “Shani is Triin,” said Dyana. “Though she is also half Naren, we have raised her here in Lucel-Lor. You were raised in Nar. That makes you Naren.”

  “I wish that were good enough.”

  “But it is. You are the mating of your mother and father. You are Alazrian Leth.”

  “But I’m not, you see? I never knew my real father. And I’m not Leth’s son. He’d rather have me dead than part of his family.”

  Dyana reached out to touch his sleeve. Alazrian pulled away. Seeing his fear, her hand stopped just short.

  “You are afraid to be touched?” she asked.

  Alazrian felt his face flush. “Not afraid, no. It’s just that … well, the magic.”

  “You cannot control it?”

  “Not well. Sometimes I fear it.”

  “Is that all you fear?” pressed Dyana. “Or something more?”

  Alazrian frowned. “What to you mean?”

  “Richius told me about your mother. He said that she was a good woman, and that is a high compliment; Richius does not like Gayles. But he also told me about your father, the one called Elrad Leth.” Suddenly Dyana looked profoundly sad. “I am sorry for you. I can see what he has done to you.”

  “Can you?” said Alazrian, embarrassed. “My God, is it so obvious?”

  “Yes,” said Dyana gently. “Your pain is like a cloak. In some ways you remind me of Richius, always sad behind the eyes. And you are like Tharn, too, perhaps.” She studied him more, then concluded, “Yes, like Tharn. You have his strength.”

  “Tharn was strong?”

  “Oh, like the ocean. Tharn was a force of nature; he was irresistible.”

  “Did you love him?”

  The question made Dyana pause. “I am not certain,” she replied. “I loved him the way a subject loves a ruler. The way a sister loves a brother, perhaps. But not the way a wife loves a husband. Not the way I love Richius.”

  “But Tharn knew what he was, didn’t he?” pressed Alazrian. “I mean, he knew he was touched by heaven? He was certain?”

  “Tharn claimed that he was cursed. Yes, he was touched by heaven. He had no doubt of it. He was Drol, completely. But you ask if he knew what he was?” Dyana shook her head. “He did not. Tharn was a mystery, even to himself. Even when he died, he did not know himself.”

  The answer smothered Alazrian’s hope. If Tharn didn’t know what he was …

  “That’s impossible,” he said. “He ruled Lucel-Lor. He must have known.”

  “He did not. He used his gifts to destroy life, and the gods punished him for it. That was something he could never understand. He had devoted his life to Lorris and Pris, and they maimed him. After that, he did not live much longer. But he spent his days questioning himself. That I know for certain.”

  “Then I really have wasted my time,” said Alazrian. “I came looking for answers, but there are none, are there? I’ll never know what I am.”

  “You are wrong,” said Dyana. “You are Alazrian Leth.”

  “I know my name. But I don’t know what I am. Why have I been touched by heaven, if that’s truly what it is? Why do I have magic?”

  “Hush,” said Dyana, “and listen to me. You are a boy, Alazrian. Why should you have all the answers? You cannot be older than seventeen.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen? And you want to know what your life is about? It is more of a mystery than you think, Alazrian. Life does not have easy answers.” Once again Dyana reached out for him, and this time he did not pull away. She squeezed his wrist reassuringly. “Do not waste your life searching for myths. You have been gifted. Use your gifts. Do good things with them. But do not question them so much.”

  “But …”

  “Live your life,” she insisted. “Do not read the end of the book first.”

  “But Lady Dyana,” Alazrian begged, “I want answers.”

  “There are none, Alazrian. Not for you, not yet.”

  “When, then?”

  Dyana smiled warmly. “You are not listening. You are making it harder than it is.” She sat back, thinking. “You came to me for answers about Tharn. But Tharn himself had no answers. And he was a wise man. If he had lived longer he might have learned his answers.”

  “So you’re saying I’m not old enough to know?”

  “Yes. And you must accept that. Can you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alazrian. He was frustrated, but suddenly Shani wrapped her small hand around his thumb. Her touch soothed him. “I’m afraid,” he whispered.

  “That is all right,” Dyana assured him. “Even Tharn was afraid.”

  “Really?”

  “More than you could know. Yet he won two wars against Nar. He did well for a man without answers, did he not?”

  “Yes,” said Alazrian, understanding. “Yes, he did.” Suddenly he rose and smiled down at the woman and child. He felt a great satisfaction. “Thank you, my lady. I should go now. Your husband will be here soon.”

  “You have no more questions?”

  “Oh, I have dozens of questions, my lady,” said Alazrian, going to the door. “But I have time to learn the answers, I think.”

  Dyana smiled. “Good-bye, Alazrian Leth.”

  “Good-bye, ma’am. And thank you. I will give your greetings to Falger when I see him.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kasrin sat back in the catboat admiring the sunlight on the canal. His body swayed to the rhythms of the rowers, and the air’s briny scent filled him with satisfaction. Next to him sat Jelena, her golden hair hanging loose around her shoulders. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, mimicking the sunlight, and a coy smile on her face that told Kasrin not to ask too many questions. They were alone in the catboat, except for the rowers, yet neither of them spoke. Kasrin avoided putting his arm around the queen, as he might have if they were alone. But he could smell her perfume and he longed to be with her, at least once more before he left.

  The late spring day was wonderfully fair, and Kasrin was happy. For the first time that he could remember, things were going well. Being with Jelena was like a dream, and her company had salvaged his black mood, rescuing him. He was no longer the broken thing that had washed up on the shore of the Serpent’s Strand. Once more, he felt like a Captain of the Black Fleet.

  He said nothing as the catboat drifted deeper into the folds of Liss. They were far from Karalon now and had been cruising for hours, exploring the canals and waterways of Jelena’s fascinating homeland. Kasrin was awed by Liss, just as Jelena had promised. During the long Naren war, he had only seen Liss from the deck of the Sovereign, and then only to pepper it with cannon fire. But he had never seen the interior of the Hundred Isles or experienced its fabled beauty. Today, at Jelena’s insistence, he was blinded by it.

  The boat passed under a blue-grey bridge, a span made of sculpted stone linking two of Liss’ countless islands. Kasrin craned his neck as they cruised beneath it, admiring the flowering vines tumbling down from its side. He stood, shaking the boat, and reached up to snatch one of the blooms. The rowers frowned in irritation, but Kasrin ignored them, sitting back down and presenting his prize to Jelena.

  “For you,” he said. “You can put it in your hair.”

&nb
sp; Jelena accepted the flower with a smile. “I’m still not going to tell you where we’re going.”

  “Now how could you say that?” asked Kasrin, pretending to be hurt. “This isn’t a bribe. But now that you mention it …”

  “It’s a surprise,” the queen said. “Just sit back and relax.”

  So Kasrin sat back, sighing dramatically. He was enjoying the excursion, but Jelena’s furtiveness vexed him. She had told him that he had been working far too hard, and that now that the Sovereign was almost ready, it was time to take a break. In two days he would set sail for Talistan. Jelena had expressed sorrow that he hadn’t seen any of her homeland save for secluded Karalon. Today, she insisted, he would spend some time with her.

  “Beautiful,” commented Kasrin. On both sides of the canal, the strange and compelling architecture of Liss rose up in towers and shining bridges and marvelous, spiraling aqueducts. Yet despite the sights, Kasrin’s thoughts kept drifting back to Karalon. The Dread Sovereign was almost seaworthy again. Jelena’s engineers had rebuilt her damaged hull and refitted her yards with strong new sails, and though some of the scars from her battle with the Fearless were still evident, she looked fine and proud. His ship would be ready, that much was certain. But would its captain be ready, too?

  “Jelena, tell me where we’re going. No more games, now. Where are you taking me?”

  “I told you,” said the queen. “I just wanted you to see some of Liss before you go.”

  Kasrin didn’t believe her. Perhaps it was the twitch of a smile on her lips she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “We’ve been gone a long time,” he observed. “It’s getting late.”

  “It’s not even noon. Now hush.”

  The little vessel continued, its crew dipping the oars steadily into the water. Other catboats passed them on the canal. In the smaller canals, jarls snaked between buildings and across watery avenues, conveying Lissens on their daily rounds. Most paused to gape at their queen and her strange Naren companion. But unlike Nar, where the emperor was revered, the Lissens showed no particular awe of Jelena, and Kasrin thought the whole thing remarkably odd. Liss, he was quickly discovering, was nothing like he’d imagined.