The Saints of the Sword (10 page)

True to form, Dakel did tread carefully. Instead of responding to Leth’s jab, he steered the conversation back to solid ground. Once again he questioned Leth about the Saints, tottering his opponent’s smugness, drilling him about Jahl Rob and the massacre of his confederates. Dakel moved like a dancer across the floor. He had a feline’s grace and fierceness, and whenever Leth stonewalled, he turned to the crowd like a jester, plying his comical
smile and wit, turning the tide of opinion his way. Curiously, he avoided more questions about Talistan and its military, and Alazrian wondered if Dakel was afraid, or if he had simply gotten the information he sought. Alazrian tried to remember the last few months. Being in Aramoor had isolated him, and while his mother lay dying, he had seldom ventured out of the castle. Truly, he didn’t know what was happening in Aramoor or Talistan, but he supposed that Dakel’s charges were correct. Talistan probably was building up its forces. And as for Aramoor, well … Alazrian shrugged, wishing he knew more.

It was another hour before Dakel finally concluded his inquiry. By the end of it, even Leth looked drained. Dakel, by contrast, appeared refreshed and pleased. He told the audience that he was done for the day, then pointedly added that he might recall Leth to the tribunal tomorrow. The protective facade Leth had erected cracked a little at that news. Dakel flashed him a mischievous smile before stepping down from the stage. All around Alazrian, people were getting up from their seats, beginning to file out of the chamber.

“That’s it?” he whispered. “Not me?”

Apparently, he had been spared the ordeal of facing the Inquisitor, at least for the day. On the dais, Elrad Leth was stepping down. He looked dazed as he surveyed the room, unsure what to do with himself. Alazrian didn’t want his father to see him, so he sprang from his seat and turned toward the door only to find Donhedris in front of him, looking down with a smile.

“You!” Alazrian exclaimed. He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that his father was gone, then turned back to Donhedris and whispered, “I wasn’t called before the Inquisitor. Was it you? I mean, did you do something?”

“Maybe.”

“Who’s your friend? What’s going on?”

“Follow me,” said Donhedris. He walked off without looking back, expecting Alazrian to follow. Alazrian’s curiosity took hold and he did as the man ordered, hurrying after him as they descended the tiers. Most of the people who’d come to the trial were exiting through archways
on the western wall, but not Donhedris. Instead, he led Alazrian to a darkened corner on the eastern side, slipped through an open door, and came out into a quiet hall that seemed to swallow every sound. It was marble, like the rest of the place, and frighteningly austere. Small, glass-covered sconces lined the walls, protecting candles. There were more Shadow Angels in the hall. The dark soldiers turned their heads as Alazrian passed.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To see my friend,” said Donhedris. “The one who kept you from the Inquisitor.”

Suddenly, Alazrian wasn’t sure he wanted to meet this benefactor. But he had come too far to turn around now, and he was sure Donhedris wouldn’t let him retreat. When they came at last to a plain, unremarkable door, Donhedris stopped. He knocked twice before opening it. Past Donhedris, Alazrian saw a spartan room with chairs and a few windows. The shades were open and sunlight played on the furniture.

“Come in, Donhedris,” said a silky voice.

Alazrian froze. He recognized the voice at once.

“Master?” said Donhedris, stepping into the room. “I’ve brought him.”

Alazrian stood in astonishment, watching Renato Biagio inspect him from a chair, his long fingers drumming lazily on the armrest. Beside him were two more of the ubiquitous Shadow Angels. Biagio smiled. His hair was long and his clothes were splendid, and his skin still glowed a sunny amber. Yet remarkably, his eyes were dim.

“Emperor Biagio?” Alazrian asked.

“It is I, boy,” answered Biagio. “It’s been a very long time. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.”

But Alazrian did remember him, because Biagio was unforgettable. Warily he stepped into the room. Except for the two soldiers guarding the emperor, there were no other Shadow Angels. In fact, there was not much of anything in the chamber, just the chairs and a few tables. The one next to Biagio held a crystal bowl of candies. Alazrian recognized the treats at once. Casrish delight. His favorite. He made a note of Biagio’s effort, and his mother’s voice came
ringing in his mind, reminding him that Biagio wanted something.

“Thank you, Donhedris,” said the emperor. “Go now, please.”

Donhedris bowed and left the room. Biagio flicked his wrist at the Shadow Angels, commanding them, too, to depart. They did so at once, closing the door behind them. An enormous silence rose up in their wake. Unsure of what to do, Alazrian pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. Then, realizing his gaffe, he jumped to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “May I sit?”

Biagio laughed. “Of course. Please, be at ease, my friend.” He held out the bowl of sweets, offering them to Alazrian. “I remembered these. They are your favorites, are they not?”

“Yes,” said Alazrian. He reached out for one of the confections and placed it on his tongue where it melted like butter. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for remembering.”

“You’re apprehensive,” observed Biagio. He put the crystal container back down beside him. “Don’t be. I only want to talk to you. I have …” the emperor groped for words, “… something of a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” answered Alazrian before he realized what he’d said. But it was too late. Biagio was grinning.

“I remember you being a very good boy. No trouble at all to your mother. Or your Uncle Blackwood. You were rarely about when I was in your home, never underfoot. I appreciated that.”

“Thank you, Lord Emperor.”

“A great shame about your mother,” Biagio continued. “She was a fine woman. A credit to the House of Gayle. You must miss her very much.”

“I do,” said Alazrian. He didn’t bother keeping the sadness from his voice. “She was very important to me.”

Biagio nodded. “A mother protects her son,” he said. “And Lady Calida protected you, I know.”

Alazrian frowned. “Lord Emperor, please tell me. Why am I here? What is this favor you want from me?”

“Donhedris tells me you were at the library last night. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“You were looking at a book about Lucel-Lor.” Biagio’s smile shifted a little. “Why?”

“Just an interest,” Alazrian lied. “Something that fascinates me. I’ve grown up so near Lucel-Lor, yet I know almost nothing about it. It’s a mystery to me.”

“Is it, now?” mused Biagio. His quick mind seemed to be taking notes. “I’ve never been to Lucel-Lor myself, but I’m something of an expert on it, having worked so closely with your Uncle Blackwood. If you have questions, maybe we can discuss them.” He spread his ringed hands. “Feel free to ask me anything.”

“All right,” said Alazrian. “Why am I here?”

Biagio laughed. “Hmm, you’ve grown up to be a bold young man. Direct, like your whole family. But I
am
answering your question, young Alazrian. I’m just doing it slowly. Be patient with me. We’re unraveling something here.”

Alazrian’s heart began to race. He wanted to be anywhere but in this tiny chamber with this mind reader. He took a breath to calm himself.

“I’m not angry with you, Alazrian,” said Biagio. “As I said, I have a favor to ask. It’s one suited to you, I think. And one you will appreciate, if I know you as well as I hope I do.”

“Know me?” blurted Alazrian. “You’ve hardly met me. How—”

But then he remembered who he was talking to, and how Biagio had once headed the Roshann. It wouldn’t make sense for him to lie to Biagio, because Biagio might already know the truth.

“Lord Emperor, I’m confused,” Alazrian confessed. “I don’t know why you summoned me here, and I can’t begin to guess at this favor of yours. If you want me to talk about my father, then I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t really know what’s going on in Aramoor and Talistan. I was too busy helping my mother—”

“Stop, please. And listen to me. The short answer to your question is this: You’re here because of Belle.”

“Belle? Who’s …”

Alazrian’s voice shrank to nothing. He locked eyes with the emperor and for a moment shared a moment of awful clarity. Belle wasn’t a person. Belle was a goat.

“How do you know about that?” Alazrian whispered. “Who told you?”

Biagio leaned closer. “So it’s true?”

Alazrian was trembling. “You know it is, or you wouldn’t have me here.”

“I want to hear it from you. Tell me about the goat. Tell me everything. Did you heal it? Its leg was broken, yes? And you mended it? How?”

The barrage was too much. What Alazrian was about to admit was unthinkable, yet Biagio already seemed to know.

“I … I can’t tell you,” Alazrian stammered. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” said Biagio. He was out of his chair now, on one knee before Alazrian. A slender hand reached out and took Alazrian’s chin, turning it toward him. “The truth, boy. Tell me what I want to know. You healed this animal when your father said it would have to be slaughtered. You did it with your mind, didn’t you?”

“Yes!” Alazrian cried, tearing loose from Biagio and springing from the chair. “Is that why you brought me here? To go on questing for your magic? Aren’t you done with that yet?”

Biagio remained on his knee staring up at Alazrian, his jaw half open in amazement. “My God. It’s true, then?” he whispered.

Alazrian wrapped his arms around his shoulders, swaying like a frightened child. “How …?” he choked. His voice was leaden. “How did you find out?”

“A man named Larr, who worked in your stables at Aramoor castle.”

“I know him,” said Alazrian. “Or used to. He left our employ.”

“I have many people under my wing, Alazrian. I pay
money to learn things about my enemies. This man Larr told me what I know about you. You were not alone in that barn, boy. He saw you.” At last, Biagio rose and moved toward Alazrian. “Larr didn’t leave your father’s employ,” he said simply. “He was killed by your father, who must have suspected he was spying for me. But as you see, I did find out some interesting things.”

“And now?” Alazrian asked. “What will you do with me?”

“You still have me wrong,” said Biagio. There was a surprisingly gentle tone to his voice. “Tell me, are you a healer?”

“Yes. At least … I think so.”

“And you can heal anything? Anyone?”

Alazrian nodded. He didn’t really know the depth of his ability, but he suspected his powers were limitless.

“Remarkable,” breathed Biagio. “I looked so hard. So hard …” He walked away shaking his head, and collapsed back into his chair. The emperor was gone, and in his place had arisen a brooding, tired man.

“May I go now?” Alazrian asked.

“Sit,” ordered Biagio without lifting his head.

Alazrian complied. This time the emperor didn’t offer him any treats or cajole him with disarming smiles. Biagio merely looked at him.

“I have to know something,” he said, “and I want you to tell me the truth. Larr was the only operative I had working in Aramoor, and I have none in Talistan. I am deaf and blind now, boy. What is your father doing in Aramoor? And your grandfather in Talistan; tell me about him, too.”

“Honestly, Lord Emperor, I don’t know. I would have told Minister Dakel the same thing if he’d called me to testify.” Alazrian slumped. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what’s happening back home.”

“Then let me tell you what I suspect. There is much going on in my Empire. Too much to keep a handle on sometimes. And your father …” Biagio paused. “Should I call him that?”

“Please,” said Alazrian. “Not everyone need know.”

“I agree. To continue, your father and your grandfather are plotting things, young Leth. And I don’t know exactly what they are. All that I know for certain is that your father is conscripting men from Aramoor to join the armies of Talistan. And there is some slave labor project going on in Aramoor, something big. Do you know about that?”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t. I’ve heard my father refer to Aramoorian slaves, but that’s all I know.”

Biagio brooded over the answer. “As I feared. I had hoped you knew more, but I suspected that you did not. Still, I was right about one thing. You hate Elrad Leth enough to have told me the truth about him and for that I am grateful.”

“And is that all? Is that why you called me here, to ask what I knew about my father? Or was it to hear me confess my powers?”

“Both,” said Biagio. “And neither.”

Another cryptic answer. Alazrian was starting to squirm. “Lord Emperor …”

Biagio held up a finger. “Wait.”

The emperor got out of his seat and began pacing around the room. He seemed distracted, as if he had some terrible news to tell and didn’t know how best to phrase it.

“You’re a bright boy, Alazrian,” said Biagio finally. “So I think you can comprehend what I’m about to explain to you. I need you, you see, for something extraordinary. I wasn’t sure that you would be interested, but now that I’ve learned your magic is real, I think perhaps you will help me.” He stopped pacing, pausing beside Alazrian’s chair. “You were looking for answers in the library last night. You were trying to find out about yourself and your abilities. But you won’t find those answers here in Nar City. I lied to you when I claimed I was an expert on Lucel-Lor. What I know about the Triin can be contained on a single page. And there is no book anywhere in the Empire that can answer your questions. The only place you can find what you seek is in Lucel-Lor itself.”

Alazrian looked at him blankly. “Lord Emperor? I don’t think I understand.”

The emperor sank down. “Alazrian, I need you. The world is in peril. I know that Tassis Gayle is planning an attack on the Black City. He’s been setting up alliances with my enemies. And believe me, I have plenty of them.”

“I believe that.”

“And do you believe what I’m saying? That your grandfather wants me overthrown?”