The Saints of the Sword (75 page)

Biagio grunted. “I’d be better off arguing with a brick. But I’m not going to give up, not until I leave in the morning.”

Redburn knew he could do nothing but surrender. “All right. Since you’re determined to spoil my day, I’ll agree to your terms. I’ll listen to everything you have to say. But don’t expect any miracles.”

They rode along amid the hills, heading for the valley of the latapi. It was a long journey, made more so by Biagio’s detailing of his plan. “I have done unspeakable things,” he whispered. “In my rages, I have murdered and maimed. And it’s all blurry to me, like looking through a curtain. Sometimes I can’t even remember myself, or what I was thinking.”

“The rest of us remember,” said Redburn coldly.

“And that’s what I must overcome. Your memories. But you’re remembering a different man, Redburn. The old Biagio is gone. Those things I did, I could never do again. I remember once …”

Biagio stopped himself abruptly.

“What?” asked Redburn.

Biagio glanced away. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” pressed the prince. “Believe me, nothing you say will surprise me.”

“There was a woman back on Crote. A girl, really,” began Biagio. “She was a slave of mine, a dancer. Her name was Eris.”

“You and a woman?” joked Redburn. “I’m intrigued.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” snapped Biagio. “We weren’t lovers. She was a great dancer, the finest I’ve ever seen. Maybe the finest in the Empire. She was a treasure and I adored her.” Biagio’s tone took on regret. “In a rage one day, I hurt her.”

“Hurt her? How?”

“I thought she had injured me. I was angry.”

“What did you do to her?”

Biagio hesitated before answering. He couldn’t even look at Redburn as he said, “I maimed her. I took a dagger to her foot so she couldn’t dance anymore.”

“God almighty! Why in the world would you do that?”

The emperor shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I was jealous of her. I thought she had taken something dear to me. In my rage I wanted to take away the thing she loved most. Since she loved to dance, that’s what I took.”

Redburn was appalled. He stared at Biagio, knowing that this was the man he had always expected.

“Madness,” he whispered. “You see why I don’t trust you, why I can’t believe what you say?”

“But that was another me,” Biagio insisted. “I told you the story because I wanted you to know I’ve changed. I could never do something like that again.”

“God save you, Biagio. To butcher a girl like that …”

“What I did was cruel,” said Biagio. “But I’ve had to live with it since. I’ve had to live with all the blood on my hands, and it’s changed me, Redburn.”

“Yes,” said Redburn, studying the man. “You do want me to believe it, don’t you? You’re not the only one who can read people, Biagio. You want me to believe you’ve changed because
you
want it, and not just because you want my help against Talistan. I’ve seen it in you. You crave my approval like you used to crave that drug.”

“I do,” Biagio confessed. “I know I’ve changed, but I’m the only one in the world who believes it, and it angers me.”

Strangely, Biagio said no more. He merely rode silently alongside, falling into a contemplative fog as they drove deeper into the hills. They had been riding for over an hour and the sudden silence alerted Redburn. Soon they would enter the valley of the latapi. Redburn listened for the honking of the cows, but he heard nothing save for the gentle breeze. He prodded Biagio out of his stupor.

“Emperor, we’re almost there,” he said.

Biagio glanced around. “The valley?”

“Just up ahead. Now remember, this is a sacred place. No more arguing, all right?”

“Of course,” replied Biagio. “I’m no boor.” He straightened in his saddle, studying the path. The roadway dipped down precipitously and the trees thinned, partially revealing the valley. “It’s very quiet,” commented the emperor. “Is it always like this?”

“That’s why I come here. To get away from people like you.”

“A little company will do you good, Redburn. Don’t fret. I won’t interrupt your prayers.”

“I’m not going to pray. It’s just … oh, never mind.”

Redburn led Biagio toward the valley. But his annoyance with the emperor quickly turned to puzzlement as he noticed dozens of hoofprints in the earth. The farther they went, the more the roadway was churned up, littered with clods of earth. Redburn slowed his elk, studying the prints.

“Looks like someone’s been training horses here,” said Biagio. “I thought you said this was a sacred place.”

The prince could hardly speak. “It is.”

He looked at Biagio, then back at the roadway, then at the valley up ahead. No sounds. Nothing. Redburn’s pulse raced.

“No,” he groaned. “Oh, no …”

He sped his mount onward, hurrying toward the hidden valley.

“Redburn?” Biagio called. “What’s wrong?”

Redburn ignored him. He passed through a cloak of evergreens and into the valley. A rolling plain greeted him, littered with bodies. Redburn stopped his elk, shocked by the sight.

For miles, all he saw was corpses. Gutted, bloated bodies of latapi lay in putrid heaps, some decapitated, others with their bellies sliced open, spilling blood and entrails. Maggots swarmed. Not a single latapi moved through the carnage, not even to raise a cry of pain. Barely newborn elk rested dead beside their slaughtered mothers while proud bulls lay fallen with arrows in their hides and great gashes through their torsos. A fetid stink blanketed the valley, borne to Redburn on the breeze. The prince put a hand over his mouth. Biagio reined in his horse.

“My God,” he exclaimed. “What the hell happened?”

Redburn couldn’t answer. Very slowly he slid down from Racer’s back, standing mutely in the valley, barely believing his eyes. There was nothing alive. All the latapi were mutilated. More of the telltale hoofprints riddled the field. Shaking in rage and grief, Redburn sank to his knees.

“Bloody butchers. Motherless sons of bitches …” He made two fists and shook them at the sky, screaming, “You’ll pay for this atrocity!”

“Redburn,” said Biagio, “this is Talistan’s doing.”

The Red Stag of the Highlands rose unsteadily to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was taut. “You will have your alliance, Biagio,” he said. “I will call together the other clan leaders, and we will make war on those Talistanian pigs. I’m going to chop off Tassis Gayle’s head, and make it a meal for ravens!”

E
lkhorn Castle had no throne room, just a grand hall that wasn’t very grand. Barely two weeks earlier, the hall had been filled with revellers, all celebrating the birthday of the royal twins. Today the hall was swelled with people once again, but there was no music, no lively dancing girls or children stealing sips of beer. Today, there was only business.

A table had been moved into the hall, a huge oval of polished ash that nearly touched the walls at its farthest ends. Around the table sat contingents from the Highland clans, wearing their colors and side arms, talking amongst themselves as they awaited their young host. The room was unbearably hot, made worse by the breathing of fifty bodyguards, for the three clan leaders had accepted Redburn’s invitation warily. And though they usually got along with each other, the news of the latapi massacre had made them edgy. Now, with their entourages of standing soldiers, the clan heads chatted nervously. It was past the appointed hour and Redburn was late. Biagio wondered what the prince was doing.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked Breena in a whisper. They were at the head of the table, sitting beside Redburn’s vacant chair. The din of the hall made Biagio’s voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” replied Breena. “Just stop worrying. He’ll be here.”

The answer did nothing to relax Biagio. Lately, a wall had risen up between him and the woman, and it agitated him. So did the stares of the Highlanders. The clan leaders and their kith looked at Biagio over their goblets, wondering why a Naren was seated at the head of the table. Biagio avoided their curious glares, dropping his gaze to his own wine glass. His ruby reflection revealed a worried visage. He took a sip of the liquor to calm himself, then noticed Olly Glynn grinning at him from across the room.

Besides Glynn, Cray Kellen had come as well, as had Vandra Grayfin, the only woman of the four Highland rulers. Biagio had witnessed Kellen’s arrival from his window. In the Eastern Highlands, Cray Kellen was called the Lion of Granshirl, and his sizable territory was far removed from Redburn’s own. Sensing the importance of the meeting, he and his gold-braided bodyguards had come a long way for the council. Biagio was pleased to see him. But he was more intrigued by Vandra Grayfin. Tall and fine-boned, Grayfin was impressive, more like a queen than a clan head, with snow-white hair and impeccable manners. Her clothes were expertly tailored and when she spoke her voice was musical. According to Breena, the matron of Clan Grayfin had ruled her tiny coastal territory since the death of her husband. No one dared to challenge her, for she was fierce despite her demeanor and respected throughout the Highlands. Biagio liked Vandra Grayfin immediately. When she had arrived at Elkhorn Castle, she sat proudly on a horse, not a latapi, and waited patiently under her standard for Redburn’s servants to greet her.

Olly Glynn, on the other hand, was her opposite. Glynn didn’t let the hall’s solemn mood spoil his thirst. He quickly downed beer after beer, leering at the serving girls and winking drunkenly at Biagio.

He knows who I am
, Biagio surmised.

But no, that was impossible. To Olly Glynn and the other Highlanders, he was simply Corigido, a Naren noble from the Black City. Biagio recalled his brief conversation
with Glynn at Breena’s birthday, then laughed and shook his head, realizing that Glynn must be pleased. The slaughter of the elk had given him the excuse he needed.

Good enough. He’ll be willing to fight
.

As for the others, convincing them would be more difficult. Cray Kellen had a large territory to protect, but he was a very private man and prone to isolationism. And Grayfin was known as a woman of peace. Biagio and Redburn had discussed it already. Now they needed to make a credible argument. And they didn’t have much time—the first day of summer was three days away.

“Vandra Grayfin looks like a reasonable woman,” Biagio remarked. “I think we’ll be able to convince her.”

Breena merely nodded.

“I’m not sure about Kellen, though,” Biagio went on. “I’ve been watching him. He carries himself stubbornly. And he has suspicious eyes.”

“My, you’re like a wizard, aren’t you?” quipped Breena. “You can tell all that after just a few minutes?”

“No, after years of practice. I’ve made a life out of reading people. I am an excellent judge of character.”

“Indeed. What am I thinking, then?”

“That’s too easy. You’re thinking that this meeting is folly. And your face is letting everyone in the hall know it. I suggest you sit up straight and stop pouting—unless you want your brother to fail, of course.”

“You’re very cross today,” said Breena, picking up her wine goblet and sampling it absently.

“You don’t have to believe in me, woman. But you should at least support your brother. Frankly, I expected more of you.”

“Redburn!” cried Olly Glynn suddenly. The leader of the bear clan stood with a huge smile. One by one the others seated around the table arose, smiling deferentially as the young prince entered the hall. Biagio and Breena both got to their feet. Redburn said nothing. His face was taut, his expression brittle. But when he passed the chair of Vandra Grayfin he paused, giving the woman a welcoming kiss before proceeding to his chair. Cray Kellen nodded in approval, then began to clap. His entire retinue joined in,
surprising Biagio with their solidarity. Redburn was beloved by the other Highland rulers.

When Redburn reached his vacant chair, Breena’s smile lit up the room. She kissed and hugged her brother, whispered something in his ear that Biagio couldn’t hear, then joined in the chorus of applause and cheers. Redburn’s expression remained grim, as it had been since he’d discovered the murdered elk. He stood tall at the head of the table and raised his hands to quiet the crowd.

“Be seated, please,” he told his followers. He seemed embarrassed by their praise, even surprised. “Please …”

Cray Kellen ordered his people to sit, then sat down and adjusted his golden cape around his shoulders. A hush swept over the hall. Olly Glynn was the last to be seated. He leaned forward in his chair, anticipating Redburn’s words. Redburn himself remained standing.

“You honor me by coming,” he told them. “You are all friends of Clan Redburn, and I thank you.”

“You call, we come,” said Olly Glynn. “Clan Glynn is here to serve you, my Prince.”

Redburn nodded. “Your grace is a fine gift, Olly Glynn. And your allegiance to my family has always been unquestionable. But I warn you—I’m going to put your faith to the test today. This is no birthday celebration.”

“We know why we’re here,” Glynn assured him. He looked around at the other clan heads. “Talistan.”