The Saints of the Sword (73 page)

“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.

“What is this place?” he asked. The tall structures here were made of white and pink marble, reflecting the sunlight. There were hundreds of people milling along its walkways and bridges.

“We’re near the village of Chaldris,” said the queen. “This canal is called the Balaro. It’s the largest waterway in this part of Liss.”

“Chaldris,” repeated Kasrin, testing the word. “Does that mean anything?”

“The word is from ancient Lissen. It’s the name of a sea god, if that’s what you mean. But this place has more significance than that. Chaldris was Prakna’s home.”

“Prakna lived here?”

“Near here, yes.” Jelena pointed to a bank of buildings connected with catwalks and covered with lichens and algae. “There, in those apartments. He lived in Chaldris most of his life, right up until he died.”

Kasrin felt an instant kinship to Prakna. The Lissen had died fighting the
Fearless
.

“Did you know him well?” he asked.

“Very well. He was a great man, and I loved him. I never felt like a little girl when he was around. He always
made me feel like a queen. I don’t think there will ever be a hero like him again.”

“What about his family? Did he have children to carry on his name?”

Jelena’s eyes lingered on Prakna’s village. “He had two sons. Both of them were killed in battle against Nicabar. That’s why Prakna hated Nicabar so much.” She glanced at him. “You would have liked Prakna, I think.”

“I like his memory,” said Kasrin. “I remember Nicabar talking about Prakna. He used to call him an incubus!”

“Well, we have righted that wrong, at least. But Liss hasn’t been the same without Prakna. When he died, part of our nation died, too.” Jelena gestured again toward the high apartments. “Even his wife killed herself. She jumped off a balcony.”

“God, how horrible. She must have been devastated, losing her whole family like that.”

“Prakna told me once that she was like a ghost after her sons died. He said she was never the same after. And Prakna wasn’t the same, either. He became distant, brooding.”

“War does that to people,” said Kasrin. Suddenly he didn’t want to talk anymore. He looked away from Jelena and watched as the village of Chaldris drifted by.

“There is a cenotaph near here,” said Jelena. “It’s a memorial to the Lissens who died in the war. It’s very close.” Kasrin blanched. “Jelena, I shouldn’t go there.”

“That’s what Timrin said,” laughed the queen. “I told him that I wanted to take you there, but he said it wouldn’t be appropriate. The cenotaph gets very crowded. People might not like seeing a Naren at their monument.”

“I don’t blame them,” said Kasrin. “I’m not sure I could stand the sight of it myself.” He closed his eyes. The little girl who had died from the
Sovereign
’s guns was staring at him across the years. He had hoped that killing Nicabar would banish her, yet she remained. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Jelena. There are things I want to tell you …”

“Do not tell me,” said Jelena gently. “I already know.”

“No, you don’t. You need to realize what I am, Jelena, before you come to love me anymore.”

The Queen of Liss slid a hand onto his thigh. “I know what you are, Blair Kasrin. Do you?”

“Eh?”

“Do you think of yourself as a butcher? Or as the man who stood up to Nicabar?”

Kasrin smiled weakly. “Sometimes I think I’m both.”

“Not to me, you’re not. To me, you are like Prakna.”

“I’m no hero, Jelena.”

“Not yet, maybe.” The queen patted his leg playfully. “But give it time. Now, no more of this talk.” She settled back again and watched the canal widen before them. “Let’s just enjoy the trip. We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Mischief lit the queen’s face. “You’ll see.”

“Not the cenotaph, Jelena, please. I told you—”

“We’re not going to the cenotaph,” she assured him. “Now be quiet. And have some patience, will you?”

Kasrin sat back, watching as the Balaro Canal widened and Prakna’s village fell away to starboard. The vessel clung to the portside coast as she rounded the island, slowly revealing the skyline of another, much larger island up ahead. A huge lake separated it from the others. Across the crystal lake Kasrin saw docks, huge slips projecting into the water. As the catboat continued, more of the island came into view. Kasrin saw its harbor clearly now, crystal blue and dotted with ships. Some were small, like the catboat, while others were enormous, with ivory sails and brass figureheads and gleaming hulls fitted with saw-toothed rams.

“Schooners,” whispered Kasrin, awestruck by the sight. In the sunlight they looked alive, like golden sea creatures bobbing on the waves. He stood up in the boat, ignoring the rocking, and peered through the brightness for a better look. “God almighty. They’re beautiful.”

“They’re yours.”

Kasrin barely heard her. “I haven’t seen schooners like that since …” Suddenly he looked down at her. “What?”

“They’re yours, Blair,” Jelena repeated. “They’ve been called back from Crote. They are going with you and the
Sovereign
to Talistan. And so am I.”

“Oh, no,” said Kasrin. “You’re not going anywhere. This isn’t your fight.”

“Maybe not, but I am going,” Jelena insisted. “Even now those schooners are preparing for the voyage.” She pointed at the small armada. “Look.”

Kasrin noticed the activity. The catboats and jarls were ferrying supplies to the schooners.

“I brought you here so you could see them,” said Jelena. “I want you to inspect them before we set sail. And I want the crews to meet you.”

“But why? Jelena, I don’t understand. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Rowers,” called the queen to her servants, “take us to those ships.”

“Jelena …”

“Bring us around to the
Hammerhead
,” she told them. “I want Captain Kasrin to meet Vares.” She looked at Kasrin, adding, “He’s expecting you.”

“Oh, really? And who the hell is Vares?”

“Commander of the
Hammerhead
. You’ll be in command of the task force, but I thought Vares should be there for the others to follow. They’ll be more comfortable with him.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” said Kasrin sarcastically. “There’s only one problem—none of you are going.”

“Blair, you’re being silly …”

“Me?” Kasrin felt like screaming. “Explain this to me,” he demanded. “What’s this all about? Why have you assigned these ships to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jelena leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I care about you. I’m worried.”

“Jelena, this is kind of you, but I can’t accept it. This isn’t your fight. It has nothing to do with Liss anymore.”

“The
Dread Sovereign
is only one ship,” argued Jelena. “And half her firepower is gone. You can’t do this alone.”

“But the hard part is over, don’t you see? We’ve already beaten the
Fearless
. And Tassis Gayle doesn’t have a navy. Once the
Sovereign
reaches Talistan, she’ll be unopposed. I’m going to be all right, Jelena. You don’t have to send a fleet of bodyguards with me.”

Jelena looked away. “There is more,” she said softly. “It’s not just you that I’m thinking of. Liss owes a debt. This is our chance to repay it.”

“What debt?”

“I want Liss to have a part in saving Aramoor. Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I see,” said Kasrin. “You’re talking about Vantran again.”

“Please, try to understand,” urged Jelena. “Richius helped me. Without him, we couldn’t have won Crote. We owe him.”

“That’s a debt best forgotten, Jelena. I’m sure the Jackal doesn’t expect repayment.”

“Then it will be a surprise for him.” The queen grew adamant. “He gave us Crote, and helped free us from Nar. Now we’re going to help him free Aramoor. Like it or not.”

“Well I don’t like it. I don’t need help, and I don’t like the idea of your coming with me, either.”

“You’re being arrogant. You don’t know what’s out there waiting for you. Do you really think the Black Fleet is going to forget about you? Will the other captains forgive you for killing Nicabar?”

“They don’t know what my plans are,” said Kasrin. “And even if they did, I could handle them.”

Jelena laughed. “The whole Black Fleet? Well, then you must be a hero.”

“Don’t be nasty.”

“I’m just trying to make you see the truth, that’s all.” Jelena slid closer. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you won’t need our help. But I’ll feel better if there are other ships, and I have to do this for the Jackal. I
have
to. Can you understand that?”

Kasrin tried not to look hurt. “I suppose,” he said sullenly. “But why do you have to come?”

“Because,” said Jelena, taking his hand, “I want to be with you.”

“It may be dangerous,” he warned. “You might be right about the fleet. I didn’t want to tell you that, because I didn’t want you to worry. But you’re right—they may be lying in wait for me.”

“That’s why you need protection. And I am not afraid.”

No
, thought Kasrin.
You’re not afraid of anything, are you?

“All right, then,” he agreed. “But there isn’t much time. We set sail the day after tomorrow. If not, we’ll never reach Talistan by the first day of summer. Tell your Commander Vares not to dally.”

“You can tell him yourself.” Jelena motioned to a schooner in the harbor, much closer now and looming large. “That’s the
Hammerhead
.”

Kasrin stood up and folded his arms over his chest, a gesture he had seen Nicabar make a thousand times. He had always thought it made Nicabar look impressive. He hoped that Vares was an impressionable man.

T
en days before the first day of summer, Biagio finally lost heart.

His stay in Elkhorn Castle had been restful and eye-opening, but it hadn’t been successful. He had spent time with Breena and had begun to learn the value of a simple life. He had expected to be homesick for Nar, but he found the castle remarkably comfortable, and his lungs had been purged of the Black City’s peculiar perfume. Best of all, his mind was his own again. Though he still craved the drugs, his cravings were fewer, and his hands no longer shook. Now he had dreams instead of nightmares, and woke up to the unusual music of laughing children, a sound he had once found grating.

Yet despite these many ironies, Biagio knew his mission had failed. He had spent endless days and nights in Redburn’s castle, arguing and cajoling, trying to convince the prince that war with Talistan was imminent. Panicked by the news of Tassis Gayle’s navy, Biagio had almost begged Redburn for help, telling him that time was running short, and that Richius Vantran would soon arrive with his Triin army. The Jackal would need support; he would need the men of the Eastern Highlands.

Still, Redburn hadn’t listened.

And Biagio didn’t really blame the prince, for he knew that Redburn was burdened by rulership. Looking at
Talistan was like staring down a dragon, and it took remarkable courage not to blink. Redburn wasn’t a coward, Biagio knew, but he didn’t have the necessary resolve, either. It was a miscalculation that Biagio regretted. There would be no two-front war, no attack on Talistan while Vantran invaded Aramoor. Blair Kasrin and his
Dread Sovereign
might still open fire on the appointed day, but only half an army would be ready to answer his call. Forlorn, Biagio resigned himself to failure. He would take up his sword against Talistan, somehow. If Vantran would have him, he would join the Triin army in the Iron Mountains. But he wouldn’t ride at the head of a Highlander army, and he wouldn’t have the forces he needed to win. Together with the Jackal of Nar and the reckless Captain Kasrin, he would fight—and he would lose.

On a typically pleasant afternoon, filled with sunlight and barking dogs, the emperor set out in search of Breena. He had news for the woman and wanted to deliver it personally. He was attracted to her and he knew it, and the yearning was irksome, for he was a man who had always gotten what he desired, either by gold or by command. But Breena was unattainable. On some nights, Biagio was lonely. Often he thought of taking Breena to his bed the way he had the men and women on Crote. But he didn’t want to buy her affections with favors. And because he knew he could only have her friendship, he never pursued more. He merely spent time with her and let her teach him things he desperately needed to know. In his short time in the Highlands, Breena had been his tutor. Though Arkus had taught him about power and glory, Breena taught him about sunrises.

This afternoon, the sun was remarkably hot. It was very close to summer now, and Biagio was dressed in an itchy Highland ensemble. A servant girl directed him to the rose garden. Biagio had seen the rose garden only once, but he remembered that his Crotan gardeners were desperately needed at Elkhorn. He thanked the girl and went out into the yard, passing under a broken archway to the south side of the castle, where the sun was strongest and merciless to
Breena’s feeble vines. It was very quiet; Biagio immediately detected the sound of Breena’s spade. He followed the noise and soon discovered her on her knees, digging. A tangle of half-dead rose bushes sprouted randomly around her, reaching for a teetering trestle. Breena looked sweaty and frustrated. She didn’t notice Biagio until his shadow blocked her light.