The Saints Of The Sword (Tyrants & Kings) Page 6

  ‘You keep saying friend. What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s late,’ observed Donhedris. He yawned theatrically, putting his hand over his mouth and getting out of his chair. ‘You just be there tomorrow when your father testifies. I’ll find you.’

  ‘What? Wait . . .’ Blurted Alazrian, but it was too late. Donhedris had vanished around a corner.

  Alazrian stood in the library, blinking in confusion. He didn’t know what had just happened. He didn’t know who Donhedris was or who he worked for or what strange friends he had. But Alazrian knew one thing – he was in over his head, and the water was rising.

  Three

  A blood-red moon hung above the harbor and a mournful fog crawled across the docks. Somewhere over the sea a gull cried through the moonlight, and the distant din of boat winches whined from the water as the fishermen worked through the night dropping their nets onto the decks of shrimp boats. A welcome breeze swept through the harbor tempering the stink of fish and salt, and along the boardwalks and dingy avenues staggered sailors and fishermen, drunk from southern rum, their arms looped around willing whores. The clouds above threatened rain, but to the men and women from this side of Nar, any storm was a small inconvenience. The outskirts of the Black City grew hearty men and rats as big as dogs, and no one ran from a rainstorm.

  Blair Kasrin, captain of the Naren vessel Dread Sovereign, meandered down the street with a flower in his hand, his head awash with cheap liquor. He was on his way to see a lady named Meleda, and the state of his rum-soaked brain made the wilting rose in his fist seem priceless and perfect. By his side was his friend and first officer, Laney, who expertly flipped a gold piece as he walked, telling jokes too loudly for a sober man. It was well past midnight, but the two sailors had little sense of the time. Lately, time hadn’t mattered to the men of the Dread Sovereign. They had nowhere in particular to go.

  ‘I should ask her to marry me,’ Kasrin quipped, not meaning it at all. ‘And we will have pups and I will give up the sea and the Sovereign for good.’

  ‘And you won’t drink, either,’ added Laney, snatching his coin off a high toss. ‘Yes, I believe you.’ He handed the gold piece to his captain. ‘Here. You’ll need this. Meleda loves you so much, she can’t bear not to take your money.’

  They both laughed. ‘She’s a good girl,’ said Kasrin.

  ‘Her mother would be proud.’

  More laughter broke them up, but when they neared the house where Meleda worked, Kasrin grew serious. He straightened his crimson cape, squared his shoulders, and pulled the rim of his triangular hat down rakishly over his brow. A nearby window provided a reflection.

  ‘How do I look?’

  Laney grinned. ‘Beautiful as ever.’

  ‘You’re a charmer. Coming up with me?’

  ‘No,’ said Laney. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t feel like it, I guess.’

  Kasrin wasn’t satisfied. He could always tell when his friend was hiding something. ‘So you walked me all the way from the Sovereign just for the hell of it?’

  His first officer grinned sheepishly. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Rot.’ Kasrin stared at Laney, looking for the truth and realizing it quickly. ‘You just want to make sure I’m all right. I don’t need a wet-nurse, Laney. I’m not that drunk.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to,’ snapped the captain. He lowered his hands and let the flower dangle at his side, then leaned against the dingy stone wall. Suddenly he wished he was back aboard his ship. ‘Goddamn it, now I’m getting pity from you. Nicabar should have thrown me in the brig with the rapists and deserters. I’d have been better off.’

  ‘Oh, they would have loved you,’ quipped Laney. He reached out and pinched his captain’s cheek. ‘Pretty young thing.’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Kasrin, batting away the hand. Then he laughed, adding, ‘I’m spoken for.’

  ‘Go upstairs, Blair. I’ll see you back on board in the morning.’

  The morning. And the morning after that, and the one after that, too, and every bloody morning until the Dread Sovereign could set sail again. Kasrin set his jaw, his good mood shattered. The thought of being land-locked for another month made him grim. He looked up into the dark sky. From the height of the moon, morning was only hours away. The dawn of another dreadful day spent cleaning a ship that never got dirty. Kasrin hated his life these days. It wasn’t what he’d dreamt of as a boy, watching the Black Fleet from the dockside.

  ‘Do you think I was wrong?’ he asked quietly.

  The first officer of the Dread Sovereign grinned. ‘Permission to speak frankly, Captain?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘I think it doesn’t matter what I think,’ said Laney. He reached out and tugged on Kasrin’s hat, pulling it down farther over his brow. ‘I think you’re the captain. Now get in there. Have some fun.’

  Laney didn’t wait for his captain to reply, but turned and walked off into the fog, whistling a broken tune. Kasrin had asked Laney for his opinion a dozen times since being beached, and he always got the same stupid answer. It really didn’t matter to Laney what he or the other crewmen thought of Kasrin’s decision. Kasrin was still a hero in their eyes and would remain so no matter how Nicabar punished them. It was like a curse for Kasrin, who loved Laney like a brother and hated to see his friend’s career ruined for the sake of misplaced loyalty. But it was also something to be proud of and Kasrin wore their fealty like a naval ribbon. Even Nicabar didn’t have so fine a crew.

  ‘Piss on you, Nicabar,’ growled Kasrin. ‘And your slack-wristed emperor.’

  Men like Nicabar and Biagio were what was wrong with the world. They were blue-eyed devils who took drugs to steal life and butchered children to spread their reign. They were both to blame for Kasrin’s state and he loathed them. But it was a good loathing and it sustained Kasrin. Whenever he felt defeated, he fed on his hatred and steeled himself with the knowledge that someday, somehow, he would have revenge on them.

  Captain Kasrin twirled the flower in his hand, regarding it bemusedly. The Dread Sovereign had been docked for more than two months. And Nicabar hadn’t let him anchor his ship in the main harbor but had instead forced him into this dingy corner of Nar, away from the rest of the fleet. From here he could see the smokestacks of the city, but he couldn’t hear the incinerators or smell the pollution. It was like being on an island, this sad little fishing port, and the loneliness was maddening. The movement of the sea still rushed through Kasrin’s blood like it had when he was a boy. In those days, he’d go down to the docks and shipyards with a pocketful of sweets, eating them slowly and dreaming of the day when he was old enough to captain his own vessel. That time had come and gone and though Kasrin was still considered young by his peers, he felt curiously old.

  ‘Nicabar,’ he whispered, closing his eyes and calling up an image of his foe. The admiral had been his hero once. ‘God, but you’re a bastard.’

  Kasrin wouldn’t have his revenge tonight. Tonight all that he would have was the purchased love of a woman.

  Good enough, he thought, then left the dock and went inside.

  The ‘house’ Meleda worked in was a two-story structure with a long bar on the first floor and little rooms on the second. It was old and smelled of rum and unclean men. Gamblers and fishermen huddled around card tables and diced at gaming booths while two barmen slid glasses down the bar with practiced ease, spilling not a drop of the foaming beer. There was a good crowd for the late hour, and Kasrin recognized many of the unshaven faces. They had become his friends. At first they hadn’t trusted him, unable to fathom how a high-ranking naval man had ended up in their little armpit, but Kasrin could hold his rum and tell a good story, and he didn’t look down on the hard-working men and women of the town. In a melancholy way, they reminded him of his parents. Kasrin surveyed the room, smiling as he searched out Meleda. He found her dealing cards
at a faro table. There was a glowing pipe next to her glass of rum and her hair was pulled back from her face and tied with red ribbon, exposing her laughing eyes and infectious smile. When she sighted Kasrin, she waved.

  ‘Here, honey,’ she called, bidding him over. The men around the faro table tossed coins and studied their cards, greeting Kasrin with grunts.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Kasrin said. He handed the rose to Meleda. ‘For you.’

  Meleda smiled. ‘Oooh, thanks, lover,’ she cooed, admiring the flower. ‘It’s a beauty.’

  The men around the table chuckled and poked at Kasrin, ribbing him for the gift. Kasrin laughed and ignored them, looking at Meleda. She was beautiful, and he longed for her – not just in a physical way. That lust would be over in an hour. But there was something else about the woman, a sense of permanence and warmth. It could have been any woman, Kasrin knew. The hunger was for acceptance. For a gold coin, Meleda would sell acceptance to any man.

  ‘You want to go upstairs?’ she asked, giving him a wink.

  ‘Well, I’m not here to play cards.’

  Meleda grinned. ‘Just give me a minute. I’ll be right with you.’

  Knowing the procedure perfectly, Kasrin went upstairs and found the room Meleda always used to ‘entertain,’ dropping down on the bed and pulling off his shoes. It was hot, so he opened a window, letting in the fresh salty breeze, taking a deep breath Kasrin could see his ship bobbing in the distance. A little dingy was rowing toward it with three men aboard.

  Laney, thought Kasrin. Heading back. Good man.

  A very good man, really. Like all the men of the Dread Sovereign. A ship of fools, willingly sailing with the king imbecile. Kasrin turned away from the window, not wanting to see his lonely ship. He took off his shirt and tossed it into the corner, then laid back on the bed, staring pensively at the ceiling while he waited for Meleda. Finally, he heard footfalls in the hall outside.

  ‘Get in here, you beauty,’ he called.

  There was a hesitation outside the door. Kasrin laughed.

  ‘Come on, kitten. Don’t play games with me.’

  The door opened slowly. Kasrin started unbuttoning his trousers. And then a little man peeked inside, grinning.

  ‘Disappointed, darling?’ joked the man. Kasrin buttoned up his pants.

  ‘And angry,’ he growled, staring down the intruder. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m a messenger, Captain Kasrin. And you’re an inconvenient man to find.’ He went to the corner and picked up Kasrin’s shirt, then tossed it at the captain. ‘Here. Get dressed.’

  ‘The hell I will,’ snapped Kasrin. He threw the shirt away and stalked toward the man, staring down at him threateningly. ‘I’m busy. Now, what’s your message?’

  The man didn’t seem at all frightened. ‘You’re my message, Kasrin,’ he said. ‘I’m to take you to see my lord. There’s a carriage waiting for us downstairs. I’d suggest you hurry. My master doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

  ‘Oh, really? Am I supposed to care?’

  ‘You would if you knew my master. He has an infamous temper.’

  ‘Listen, you little troll,’ said Kasrin, grabbing hold of the man’s lapel and lifting him to his toes. ‘You’d better tell me who the hell you are in two seconds, or I swear to heaven I’ll twist your head off!’

  ‘My name is Malthrak. I work for Emperor Biagio.’ He put his hands over Kasrin’s and pried his fingers loose. ‘And if you don’t let go of me, you stinking son-of-a-sea-hag, I’ll have my associates suck out your eyeballs.’

  Astonished, Kasrin released the man, backing away and studying him. He had the look of a Roshann agent, cool and deadly.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ Kasrin asked.

  ‘I told you,’ said Malthrak. He looked Kasrin up and down, plainly disgusted, then inspected the room. ‘My God, look what’s happened to you.’

  ‘Biagio wants to see me?’

  ‘Clever man. What gave it away? My word-for-word explanation? Get dressed.’

  Kasrin didn’t move. ‘Why?’ he pressed. ‘What for?’

  ‘The life of a servant is humble and cruel, Captain Kasrin. I don’t know why the emperor wants to see you and I don’t care. The fact is, he does, and that’s why I’m here. So let’s move a little more quickly, hmm?’

  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 a
t 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.