The Saints of the Sword (44 page)

“I am Captain Kasrin of the Black Fleet vessel
Dread Sovereign
,” he said. “I’m here to see Admiral Nicabar.”

One of the soldiers smirked. “The admiral is waiting for you,
Captain
.”

“Take me to him,” snapped Kasrin. “Now.”

The soldiers complied. They led Kasrin away from the gate and up a stone staircase along the wall in the opposite direction from the gathered Naren officers. Kasrin relaxed. He had guessed that Nicabar wouldn’t want the others to be part of their meeting. So far, he had been correct. If everything else went smoothly …

Stop
, he chided himself.
Don’t get cocky
.

The soldiers led Kasrin through the halls of the fortress, across a wall with a view to the ocean, and through a courtyard filled with armaments and horse tack. There were smaller buildings strewn throughout the yard, stables and lodgings and the usual accoutrements of a fortress, and occasionally someone would pause to stare. Kasrin ignored the looks. He let the soldiers take him through the fortress until at last they were on the opposite side from where they started, on the fortress’s northern facade. Here the sound of the sea died to a distant murmur, and the view was of palm trees and narrow, unpaved roadways. A tower stood watch over the northern cape, erect and foreboding. There were no guns peeking from it, only windows of stained glass and ornamental gargoyles perching on eves. Though he had never spent any time in this particular tower, Kasrin recognized it.

The church
.

Most castles of scale had one, and the folk of Casarhoon were a religious breed. They had heard and obeyed the word of Nar’s dead Bishop Herrith, and now they were zealots, just as he had been. It was a good place for a meeting, though, quiet and away from prying eyes, so Kasrin went willingly. Still clutching his leather case, he removed his triangular hat when he entered the tower. The soldiers who had escorted him waited in the threshold. Kasrin let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Ahead of him was a long aisle with rows of pews on both sides. An altar beckoned in the distance, lit by waving candlelight. A single figure sat in the front-most pew.

“There,” said a soldier tersely. Then he abruptly stepped out of the tower and closed the great doors. Sunlight poured through the stained glass windows animating their meticulous scenes. The candles wavered hypnotically, but there was no one else in the chamber, not a single priest or acolyte to lead the parishioner in prayer—because it wasn’t a parishioner. Kasrin knew exactly who it was who could cast such a chiseled, unmistakable outline.

“I knew you’d come back,” rang the voice. “I
knew
it.”

Kasrin stood very still. Fear coiled around him, making it hard to speak.

“Your timing is excellent, Kasrin,” said Nicabar. His words filled the chamber like the voice of God. “I’m wondering why you planned it this way.”

“I knew you’d be here,” replied Kasrin. “So I came.”

The figure stood up, blocking out the candlelight. He turned and stared down the aisle, lighting the way with his fiery blue eyes. Nicabar was as huge as ever, his hair cropped short around his head as though a sculptor had carved him out of granite. The sight of him was withering. He wore a uniform of naval blue with black and gold sporting his many ribbons. When he saw Kasrin, he did not smile.

“Can you imagine my surprise when I saw the
Dread Sovereign
approaching? It was pure vindication, Kasrin.”

Kasrin didn’t reply.

“Come forward, Captain,” ordered Nicabar.

Kasrin took off his cape and laid it across one of the pews with his hat, then went down the aisle like a bride to face his nemesis. He kept the all-important case in his hands, and noticed with satisfaction as Nicabar’s eyes flicked to it. The admiral waited patiently. Neither angry nor pleased, he simply stood blocking the altar until Kasrin was finally face to face with him. Then, with a reverence that turned his stomach, Kasrin dropped to one knee and bowed.

“My Lord Admiral,” he said, “I have returned.”

His eyes on Nicabar’s feet, Kasrin stayed that way for a long moment, knowing Nicabar relished his debasement. He waited for the hammer-blow of a fist, but instead felt the admiral’s freezing hand on top of his head, stroking his hair.

“Rise,” commanded Nicabar.

Kasrin rose. He looked straight into those unnatural eyes and was instantly lost in them.

“Thank you, sir,” he said shakily. “I … I thank you for seeing me.”

“Why are you here?” Nicabar asked. “For my forgiveness?”

“Yes, sir. And more.” Kasrin held up the leather case. “I have a gift for you.”

“Not yet, Kasrin. You can’t buy my pardon so easily.”

“If the admiral would let me explain what I’ve brought—”

“Quiet,” barked Nicabar. “Let me look at you.”

Kasrin remained very still as Nicabar circled, slowly skimming his eyes over every inch of him. Kasrin had expected the admiral to be furious, but Nicabar’s control was maddening.

“You look terrible,” declared Nicabar. “You’ve been drinking too much and eating too little. Sit down.”

Kasrin sat down in the front pew, laying his case next to him. Nicabar remained standing, an advantage that made him seem as tall as the tower. He glowered down at Kasrin contemptibly.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “You’re skin and bones. You’ve grown too fond of the rum. I can smell it on you.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Shut up.” The admiral sneered at Kasrin. “Is this what living in that rat hole did to you? Don’t you know how to shave anymore? And your uniform is filthy.”

Kasrin held his tongue. The stubble of his beard had been mere laziness, but the uniform was Nicabar’s fault. No one was supplying the
Sovereign
’s crew with anything these days.

“I wonder,” Nicabar continued. “Do you still have your Black Cross? Or did you sell it to pay for whores?”

“I still have it, sir,” said Kasrin. The Black Cross was the highest medal in the Naren navy, and Nicabar had struck it for Kasrin personally. Kasrin had earned it during the Criisian campaign, when that tiny queendom had thought of seceding from the Empire. The
Dread Sovereign
had been the only warship near Criisian waters. Kasrin had opened fire on their ports, wasting them. He had been young then, and eager to please his hero. It was a stupid move that he’d long regretted. “I’m very proud of my Black Cross,” he lied. “I would never part with it.”

“Indeed? Am I supposed to be pleased about that? After all you’ve done to me?”

“Sir—”

“Am I supposed to greet you like a son? Is that what you expect me to do?”

Kasrin was speechless. Nicabar’s face was scarlet and his eyes sparked with rage. His hands shook at his side, and the veins on his neck bulged. He took a long breath to calm himself, barely able to contain his fury.

“Look at me,” he spat. “Look what you’ve brought me to. You’ve driven me insane, Kasrin.” The admiral turned his face away, leaning against the opposite pew. “You betrayed me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kasrin softly, and this time he wasn’t lying. He had never seen Nicabar so broken, and all his old feelings for his hero bubbled up again, making him ashamed. He had never
wanted
to betray Nicabar. “Sir, forgive me.”

“I could have killed you,” Nicabar whispered. “I could have executed you for treason and mutiny.” He looked at
Kasrin, his expression ragged. “Do you know how many officers begged me to kill you, Kasrin? Do you know that even now L’Rago offered to murder you when you came ashore? But I said no. You always meant too much to me. You think I was harsh sending you to that village? I wasn’t. I was merciful.”

The words were too much for Kasrin, who looked away, ashamed and hating himself. He realized that perhaps he shouldn’t have come to Casarhoon at all, that his feelings for this man were still too powerful. There was love in his maddened voice, the kind of affection Kasrin had always longed for, and now to plot his doom seemed despicable.

“You overwhelm me,” said Kasrin, his voice breaking. “I never meant to hurt you, or disgrace you in any way. But what I did, I did from misguided conscience.”

“Now you admit you were wrong.”

“Yes,” said Kasrin. “I was wrong. I know that now.” With his last ounce of pride, he added, “I want to join you again.”

The smile on Nicabar’s face lit the chamber. “I was right about you. I knew you’d come back. You couldn’t stay away from the sea and the action, because you’re too much like me. It’s in your blood. You see the truth, don’t you, Kasrin?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“About Liss. I knew exile in that village would give you time to see the truth. That’s why you’re here. You knew I was rendezvousing with the others, didn’t you? How?”

“I’m still a captain,” said Kasrin evasively. “I have ways of finding things out. When I learned you were planning an attack on Liss, I knew I had to join you.” He feigned his most sincere expression. “I have something for you, Admiral.” He patted his leather case. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Yes, what is that?”

“First, tell me something. How are your plans for Liss going? Have you agreed on a strategy?”

“No,” said Nicabar. “Those cowards are as bad as you were. They’re afraid.” Then he grinned sardonically. “But
you were never really a coward, were you, Kasrin? Not really, not in your heart. That’s why you’ve come back to me.”

“So you have no plans for Liss?”

“Not yet, but I will. With you on my side now, I’m sure we can defeat them.” He reached out and placed a cold hand on Kasrin’s shoulder. “You’ve made me happy, Kasrin. I’m glad you returned.”

“You honor me,” Kasrin lied. Though part of him still idolized Nicabar, he could see the madness in his every move. “We will take Liss, this time, sir. And to prove myself to you, I’ve brought something special.”

“Well, open it up. Let’s have a look.”

Kasrin undid the ties of the case and carefully opened it. Inside was the usual collection of captain’s things—a few charts, some compass headings on scribbled notes, but beneath it all was the paper that Jelena had drawn up for him—the map of the Serpent’s Strand. Kasrin could see Nicabar frown inquisitively as he pulled the map from the case. He rose from the pew with the map in his hands and walked over to the altar, telling Nicabar to follow him, then moved some of the candles aside and spread out the map.

“What is it?”

“Your dream, sir,” said Kasrin. “Your secret passage.”

Admiral Nicabar reached out for the map, brushing his fingertips over the inked headings and landmarks. The map showed the Hundred Isles of Liss in a way neither seaman had seen before—in great detail, with all its many tributaries revealed. Nicabar caught his breath, unable to speak. He glanced up at Kasrin, his face ashen.

“How …?”

“You’re pleased,” said Kasrin. “I can tell you are.”

“Where did you get this?” asked Nicabar. “How did you find it?”

“It was drawn for me, by a captured Lissen. Look here.” Kasrin traced his finger over the map, showing the particular waterway Jelena had revealed to him. According to the queen, it truly was one of Liss’ great secrets. “This waterway is called the Serpent’s Strand. It’s very narrow, but it’s
deep. Deep enough for the
Fearless
, even. It leads south, straight to one of Liss’ main islands, called Karalon.”

“Dear God.” Nicabar caressed the parchment lovingly. “It’s beautiful. It’s …”

“It’s all true,” said Kasrin, smiling proudly. “Do you like it?”

“I can hardly believe what I’m seeing,” said the admiral. “You got this from a Lissen, you say? How?”

“I knew you wanted a way into Liss. So when we set sail for Casarhoon we went looking for a Lissen schooner. It wasn’t long before we encountered one, not far from the coast of Crote.” He became grim. “I put the crew overboard one by one. When that didn’t work I took a knife to one of the mates. He cooperated once I cut his fingers off.”

“You did that?”

Kasrin shrugged. “Left hand only. He still needed his right hand to draw.”

Nicabar laughed, pleased at the news. “Oh, you’ve done well, Kasrin! I’m proud of you.”

“Are you?” asked Kasrin. “I want you to be. I’ve changed, sir, I swear it. I thought if I could prove it to you …”

“You have, Captain, a thousandfold!” The admiral put an arm around Kasrin. It was like being squeezed by a cobra. “This is wonderful news. Now I can take this map to those other cowards and show them what we can do!”

“The others? Oh, no, sir. I don’t think that would be wise.”

“What? Why not?”

Kasrin said it just like he’d practiced. “Well, you see the Serpent’s Strand is very narrow.” He showed this to Nicabar on the map. “It’s a long way through the strand to Karalon. There’s a lot of opportunity to be spotted before reaching the island and taking it. And there’s no room to turn around. We can get in, but we can’t get out if something goes wrong, not before reaching the island so we can loop around it. It will be like a bottleneck if we go with too many ships. We’d be trapped in there.”

“But no one would be expecting us,” said Nicabar. “With more ships we can protect ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral, but I don’t agree,” said Kasrin. He had expected Nicabar’s argument and was prepared for it. “The
Fearless
is too big to keep a secret, and if they do start firing on us from these hills …” he showed Nicabar the tall canyons lining the strand, “… we won’t be able to fire back. Not without risking damage to our own ships.” Nicabar stroked his chin. “Goddamn, this is a tight one you’ve brought me, Kasrin. What are you suggesting?”

“I saw maybe a dozen ships at anchor here, am I right?”

“Yes. That’s all of them, I’m sorry to say.”

“Well, look, then.” Kasrin referred to the map again. “The Serpent’s Strand is part of an estuary. That’s how we’ll be getting in. We’ll have to ride the high tide, which will let us drift south. Now with only the
Fearless
and the
Sovereign
, we can make it to Karalon. We can take the island by ourselves.”

“What for? What’s on Karalon?”

“Ah, that’s the best part,” said Kasrin with a devil’s grin. “A training base. Not just for sailors, mind you, but for ground troops. The same type of troops they used to take Crote. If we can take the island, we can wipe them out.”