The Saints of the Sword (52 page)

Along the shore of Aramoor were a number of small docking ports. Aramoor was not a hub of commerce the way Talistan was, but the little nation had one good port where ships from the north side of the empire could come. The port was nestled in a secret cove, removed from the busiest trading lanes and surrounded by a concealing forest. It was called Windlash, and it was perfectly suited for Leth’s clandestine business. The road they now travelled led directly to Windlash. It was empty but for the two riders. There was no activity, none of the wagon traffic Leth expected, and the quiet disappointed him.

“He’s doing nothing,” the governor grumbled. “If I find him sitting on his ass …”

A fit of sneezing cut off his threat. Leth wiped his runny
nose on his sleeve. Next to him, Shinn rode as if nothing was wrong.

“What do you think?” Leth asked. “It’s quiet, no?”

Shinn shrugged. “You tell me that Duke Wallach knows what he’s doing. Maybe you are wrong, maybe you are right. I don’t know.”

“But there’s no activity! Why did he pay for the wagons if he isn’t using them? I expected to see some traffic on the road!”

The Dorian didn’t answer. Duke Wallach had claimed to be moving as quickly as he could. Still, Leth wasn’t satisfied. It was why he had decided to check on Wallach’s progress—that and the summons from the king. Apparently, Tassis Gayle was growing anxious, too.

“We will surprise him,” muttered Leth. “And if he’s not working those bloody dogs hard enough, I’ll have a few words with him, I swear.”

“You should check on him more often,” advised Shinn. “This project of yours is too important. You leave it to the duke at your peril.”

“It’s his money, Shinn. I can’t tell the man how to spend it.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but it quieted Shinn. Elrad Leth had many reasons for not going to the project site. First, he didn’t care very much for Wallach. The Gorkneyman was as arrogant as Tassis Gayle. And, of course, there was the stink. Five hundred slaves could raise an awful stench. Since beginning the project some months ago now, more and more able-bodied Aramoorians were being conscripted into Wallach’s work crews. Their gaunt stares haunted Leth. Whenever he went to the camp, they glared at him. For some reason, they frightened him.

The road carried them quickly toward Windlash. The trees lining the path thinned and soon they could hear the ocean ahead. The scent of brine and human effort replaced the perfume of pine needles. Leth braced himself. He slowed his horse just as Windlash came into view, and for the first time in weeks saw his secret project.

All of Windlash had been turned into a work camp. The docks and piers were choked with men burdened like
beasts with ropes and chains. A garrison of soldiers stood armed with clubs, while mounted troops maneuvered through the crowds, ready to ride down escapees. There were chained dogs on the docks and overseers with whips—specialists from the slave yards at Bisenna, also purchased with Wallach’s fortune. Huge machines with booms and pulleys stood at the edge of the shore, used to grapple waiting ships, and long iron carts with wheels as tall as men stood ready along the main avenue. These were to transport the disassembled pieces of the vessels across the forbidden road to the south shore of Aramoor. So far only a handful of ships had made the journey. It was dangerous, treacherous work, and scores of workers had already been maimed or killed.

“God, what a wretched sight,” said Leth. He turned up his nose at the smell of sweat and urine. In the distance, he saw Wallach’s fleet floating on the waves. Only one vessel at a time could be disassembled and moved across country. Presently the men were at work on a two-masted galleon, using muscle-power and machines to pull her to dry dock. She was a big ship, and would be good for fighting once armed. And arms were another speciality of the duke, who had already purchased cannons and shot from Doria. Leth couldn’t help but smile. Wallach had his hands in everything. His fortune made him useful.

“Come,” said Leth, prodding his horse onward. Shinn followed without the slightest hesitation. Apparently, the sight of slavery didn’t bother the Dorian. Together they rode into the heart of Windlash where a handful of guards hurried over and offered their assistance. All along the docks and work yards, Aramoorians stopped to stare. A universal loathing galvanized the camp. Elrad Leth looked away.

“Where is Duke Wallach?” he asked the soldiers. “I must speak to him at once.”

One of the men pointed toward the shore, where a towering machine stood, piercing the fog. “The duke is at the shoreline, my lord, working on the boom.”

“Working? Is there some trouble?”

The two soldiers exchanged glances. “There is always
trouble. He has engineers helping him, but …” The man shrugged. “It goes slowly.”

“Yes,” Leth muttered. “Too damn slowly.”

He dismounted and handed his horse to the soldier. Shinn did the same, then followed Leth toward the shore. The huge machine seemed about to topple. It groaned as the workmen milled around it desperately operating levers and lines. Off on the water, a small vessel was tethered to the machine, fighting against it as the tide pulled her out. A handful of men were in the water trying to hold the boat steady. Leth shook his head. Duke Wallach’s work camp looked like a circus.

Quickly he scanned the bedlam, sighting Wallach in a huddle of workers. These were engineers, mostly, covertly hired out of the Black City. They had all come to Talistan willingly—once they smelled Wallach’s gold. Two of them were shouting at the Aramoorians, ordering the boom into position. A dozen men worked the lines, trying to straighten the creaking giant. Hooks flailed and pulleys screeched as the Aramoorians toiled under the watch of overseers. Wallach stood with his hands on his hips shaking his head disgustedly. He was a stout man, about the age of Tassis Gayle, and he suffered from gout—an ailment that had given him a limp. The duke paled when he noticed Leth and Shinn approaching.

“Wallach, what the hell is this?” asked Leth, pointing at the wooden crane. “You’re about to lose that ship. Have someone on board drop the anchor before the tide takes her out.”

“We are trying, Leth,” said Wallach waspishly. “Captain Zerio knows what he’s doing.”

Leth looked around for Zerio but didn’t see him. The captain had come to Talistan with Wallach, promised command of the privateer fleet. He had beady eyes and a well-earned reputation for lechery, and a good part of his salary went to prostitutes. Leth was relieved he wasn’t in sight.

“Zerio is a fool, not an engineer.” Leth glared at the so-called experts around the duke. “And any idiot should be able to pull that little ship ashore.”

Duke Wallach purpled. “This is a delicate process, Governor. It isn’t like reeling in a fish. Those ships have been built for the sea, not land. If we pull them ashore too quickly, they break.”

“Hull fractures,” added one of the engineers. Leth remembered his name was Nitis. He was a native of the Naren capital, and had that city’s pasty pallor. “See that galleon over there? We almost lost that one getting her ashore. Her hull breached just as she reached land. Could have flooded her to the bottom. Now we have repairs to make.”

“Bloody hell,” hissed Leth. “How long is that going to take?”

“Don’t know. A couple of days at least. We’ll start moving parts of her soon. Masts and sails first, but the hull will have to wait.”

Leth rubbed his forehead. He didn’t know if it was the noise or the many annoyances, but he was getting a headache. Once, this project had seemed a fine idea. It was the only practical way of getting the ships to Aramoor’s south shore, since circumnavigating Lucel-Lor was impossible and rounding the Empire was too dangerous. Too many eyes in the Empire; too many things to go wrong. But now, faced with a quickly approaching deadline, either option seemed better.

“Wallach, take a walk with me,” said Leth. He put his arm around the old duke and led him away from the engineers, with Shinn following. Wallach tried to keep step with the governor, his gouty foot dragging. Leth led him out of earshot of the others and away from the eyes of the Aramoorians, stopping at last beside a collapsed pier with rotted mooring posts. The sea lapped at the shore, rolling out of the fog. Leth tried very hard not to sound angry. The last thing he wanted was to offend his banker.

“Duke Wallach, do you know what day it is?” he asked.

“It’s late. I know. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Well your best isn’t good enough. How many more men do you think I can get you? The farms around here are empty. You’ve got them all, Wallach, every able-bodied
man. Hell, I’m already under pressure from the Black City. Biagio knows something is going on. How long can we keep this a secret, eh?”

“As I said, I’m doing the best I can. Coming to pressure me only slows things down. You should know that. Look at the way the Aramoorians watch you. Now I’ll not be able to get a decent day’s work out of them. All they will talk about ’til sundown is you.”

“Then put the screws to them!” Leth growled. “Your men from Bisenna have whips. Let them use them for a change. Make some examples of this rabble!”

“I’m not a butcher,” said Wallach. “I’m only here because—”

“Because of your daughter. Yes, yes,” interrupted Leth. “I’ve heard your sad song, Wallach. Frankly, I’m sick of it. We all have our reasons for doing this. Every one of us has a score to settle with Biagio. So let’s settle it!”

“I am trying,” spat Wallach. “I’ve spent my entire fortune on this. Don’t lecture me, please!”

“Well someone should, because we can’t make a move until you get your ships ready. We need their protection, Wallach. Nicabar won’t let us get away with attacking the Highlands. When we do, he’ll come after Talistan, because Biagio will order him to.”

Wallach was about to retort when another figure stepped into view.

“Nicabar will do nothing of the sort,” declared the man. He flashed Leth a broken smile. “Good day, Governor.”

Leth had thought he’d been lucky, not encountering Zerio. Obviously, his luck had run out.

“Good day, Zerio,” he said. “I thought you weren’t available. Shouldn’t you be looking after your ships? There does seem to be some problem with them.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” The privateer smirked. “You were talking about Nicabar?”

“We were.”

“Don’t be concerned, Governor. Nicabar is obsessed with Liss. He won’t retaliate when you attack the Highlands.”

“Don’t be so sure,” countered Leth. He had already had this argument with Zerio. “You underestimate Nicabar’s loyalty to Biagio. When we attack the Highlands, Biagio will know we are threatening the Black City. He will retaliate the fastest way he can—with his navy.”

“It isn’t his navy.”

“Don’t argue with me,” flared Leth. “I was the one called before the Protectorate, Zerio, not you. I know what Biagio suspects. We must be ready before we attack the Highlands.
You
must have your fleet ready!”

“We’ll be ready. If Nicabar comes to attack us, and I say
if
, we will meet him.”

“Yes, and you must defend Talistan with all your heart. Are you prepared to do that? This isn’t just about money.”

“Zerio goes where the gold is best,” said Duke Wallach. “I have vouched for him, because I know he is loyal to my deep pockets. That’s good enough for me.”

“Yes, it would be,” growled Leth. “Mercenaries, both of you.”

The duke glowered. “I am no mercenary.”

Captain Zerio laughed. “I am.”

“Fine,” snapped Leth. “But just so you know, we can’t make a move until your ships are in position. There will be no attack on the Eastern Highlands until we can defend Talistan from the Black Fleet.”

“Leth …”

“Those are the king’s orders. And mine. You will be ready. And you will work these damn Aramoorians harder.”

Captain Zerio bowed deeply. “As you say, my lord,” he said, then turned and strode off.

“That man is a brigand,” Leth said. “I don’t trust him.”

“He is loyal enough,” said Wallach. “He knows who pays his debts. And Zerio has many debts in Gorkney. We will have our ships ready when you need them.”

“Very good. Now all you have to do is convince the king. He wants to see you this afternoon.”

“Me? What for?”

“The king is nervous, as am I. He wants your personal assurances. And it’s time to make plans. From what I hear,
Ricter and her troops have reached Talistan. The king wants you two to meet.”

A smile crossed Wallach’s face. “Ricter. Oh, that’s very good news. Things are finally starting to happen.”

“Indeed they are,” said Leth. “It’s almost time for you to avenge that daughter of yours. You should be happy.”

“I will be happy when I have Biagio’s head in a box.” The duke shook his head ruefully. “I wasn’t the best father, I admit that. But Sabrina was my only daughter. She was supposed to be a queen! She didn’t deserve what he did to her.”

Leth was sickened by Wallach’s lies of love for his daughter. Wallach cared for only one thing—gold. Having a daughter as a queen might have made him far richer than he was today. For that, he was endlessly vengeful.

“Don’t worry, Wallach,” said Leth. “Biagio may be a genius, but even he can’t change his past. Finally, his chickens are coming home to roost.”

T
assis Gayle stood at the far end of the graveyard, his head bowed in prayer. Before him loomed his family’s mausoleum, an imposing structure of engraved limestone containing the bones of his forebears and children. A light drizzle fell on his uncovered head and banks of fog crawled across the grass. Tassis Gayle was not aware of the time, but he knew he had been at the mausoleum for many hours. The headstones of fallen heroes and soldiers rose like fangs out of the earth. Behind him, he could hear the singing hinges of a distant gate. The rain was warm on his head and neck, and he kept his eyes open as he prayed.

“Holy Father,” he whispered, “comfort and guide me. Show me Your hand in all this blackness, and I will accept it. Thy will be done.”

Inside the mausoleum were the bones of Blackwood and Calida, Gayle’s children. They were rotting away, and Tassis Gayle couldn’t unravel the mystery of it. He was very old, and it seemed to him that a man should not outlive his offspring. But this was Tassis Gayle’s curse, and if it was his fate to suffer it, he demanded to know why.