The Saints of the Sword (84 page)

All the humor left Biagio’s face. “Nicabar may be dead, but I am emperor. And the Black Fleet goes where I tell it. You are doomed, Tassis. Surrender!”

“Never!” hissed Gayle. He drew his sword. “I will never bow to you, murderer! Not while there is breath in me!”

“Defend your land, then. Because you have more than these Highlanders to face today.” Biagio sidled his horse into the river. “You have dreadnoughts to deal with, Gayle. And guess what else?”

“Games!” wailed Gayle. “Games and lies!”

“Triin,” said Biagio. “Check your maps, old man. You have a twofront war today.”

Major Mardek galloped to the riverbank. “My liege,” he said, “if this is true …”

“It’s true,” said Biagio. “The invasion of Aramoor is underway. Richius Vantran has returned, and he’s brought a Triin army with him.” His laughing eyes fixed on Gayle. “It isn’t I who have lost, Tassis. It is you!”

“My liege, we must defend the coast,” urged Mardek. “And Aramoor …”

Tassis Gayle hardly heard him. “Lies,” he whispered. “All lies …”

Biagio retained his mocking grin. “You don’t have to believe me. You can all stay here and die.”

“Big words,” seethed Gayle. “But all I want is you.”

“No,” said Redburn. He steered his elk to Biagio’s side, the other clan leaders following. “We are allies, Gayle. Fight Biagio, and you fight us all.”

“Fine then, whelp. Prepare to die.”

Gayle whipped his horse around and rode back through the ranks of cavalry. Mardek was close behind him.

“King Tassis, we must see to the coast!” urged the major. “Please, let me send some troops. To Aramoor as well. I beg you …”

Slamming down the visor of his helmet, Gayle said, “Send fifty horsemen to the coast. No more than that, understand?”

“And Aramoor?”

“Damn Aramoor,” said Gayle. He still didn’t know if Biagio was lying, and he wouldn’t waste the troops. “Let Elrad Leth fight for himself.”

“Sir,” said Mardek cautiously, “if the emperor is right, then we are in peril. We should retreat.”

“What?” sputtered Gayle. “Retreat? When Biagio is so close?”

“But the dreadnoughts …”

“We will not retreat!” thundered Gayle. He looked across the river again. Biagio and the Highlanders were going back to their armies. At the left flank of the Talistanians, Wallach and his Gorkneymen were leaving the field. Raising his sword to heaven, Gayle stood up in his stirrups and screamed, “Are you listening to me, cowards? We will not retreat!” He pointed the tip of his weapon at Mardek. “Major, prepare the archers.” Then to Galabalos he said, “Count, you will be first. Make ready to avenge your baron.”

Gayle dropped back into his saddle, staring at the backs of Biagio and the clan leaders. A painful ringing sounded in his head. He knew it was the madness, come once more to claim him, but he clamped down on it, trying to banish it from his brain. Yet he knew he was too enraged to squash it completely. Today in battle, he would be a berserker.

T
wo hours past dawn, the
Dread Sovereign
hobbled into Talistanian waters. An hour later, she had located a target, a tall fortress buttressed against the shoreline. With her trio of starboard cannons, she opened fire.

It was rote work for Kasrin, who had bombarded countless Lissen strongholds from the deck of his dreadnought, and who knew the range of his guns perfectly. He had noticed the fortress through his spyglass and had quickly turned his cannons against her, seizing the target to get Tassis Gayle’s attention. The
Dread Sovereign
’s journey to Talistan had been difficult, and her ruined topsails had dragged at them like an anchor. She was very late for her rendezvous in Talistan, and Kasrin didn’t know what had become of Biagio, or if Richius Vantran had launched his attack on Aramoor. He knew only that he had pledged himself to do this, to distract the armies of Talistan with his warship’s powerful weapons. As the gunners worked the flame cannons, Kasrin directed their fire from the gunwale, watching through his spyglass as the Talistanians abandoned their fortress. Already the
Sovereign
had punched a gaping wound through their approach ramp and had turned her attention to their main watch turret. Onshore, soldiers pointed helplessly at their assailant, unable to stop her lethal pounding. Kasrin carefully avoided
turning the guns against them directly. The little ghost-girl from Liss was perched on his shoulder, whispering to him to be merciful. This time, Kasrin listened. Today, he didn’t have to be a murderer.

“There,” shouted Jelena. The thunder of the flame cannons made conversation almost impossible, and both she and Kasrin wore wax plugs in their ears to stave off the noise. As the queen spoke, she leaned into Kasrin. “Onshore. See them?”

“I see them,” replied Kasrin.

“You can reach them!”

Kasrin lowered his spyglass and shook his head. “No.”

Jelena looked at him. She was about to speak, then abruptly stopped. Kasrin slipped a hand into hers, clasping it gently. He could see the poison in her expression, just as it must have been in Vares’ face. Together they had watched Vares turn the
Hammerhead
against the privateers. Part of Kasrin had been shocked. Jelena had been silently gratified. Now she wanted him to kill the Talistanians.
They are Narens
, he could hear her thinking.
Kill them
.

“I’m Naren,” he told her over the booming cannonade.

They stared at each other. Onshore, a glow was rising from the burning fortress.

“You’re not like them,” Jelena said, her voice barely audible. “You’re different.”

“But I am one of them,” Kasrin insisted. “Can you accept that?”

After a pause, Jelena took hold of his collar, put her lips to his plugged ear, and said, “I took you to my bed, didn’t I? I know what you are, Blair Kasrin!”

Smiling, Kasrin replied, “I’m not the Jackal. And I’m not a hero. But I’m a lucky man, Queen of Liss. Now …” He put the spyglass to his eye again. “Let me do my job.”

Spotting an unmanned wall in his lens, he directed the starboard cannons toward it.

B
iagio watched as, across the river, the line of longbowmen drew back their weapons. Tassis Gayle sat smugly on his horse, eager for battle. Redburn’s army readied themselves for the incoming missiles, bringing up their round shields. Biagio listened for the order, then heard the twang and rush of arrows. Overhead the sky darkened.

“Protect yourself!” he shouted to Breena, who had already brought up her shield. The arrows arced and began their screaming descent. A wooden rain stormed down, thumping into shields and banging against armor. Biagio watched an arrowhead pierce his shield. Along the defenses, unlucky men wailed as missiles found their marks. The elk bristled and shook their armored snouts against the assault, and men tumbled from their backs. Without archers of his own to return fire, Redburn lowered his shield and screamed across the battlefield.

“You missed me!”

The Highlanders howled and batted their shields with their swords, whooping like madmen at their foes. Again the archers fitted shafts in their bows, aimed skyward, and loosed at the order. Another volley streaked skyward as Biagio hurried to bring up his shield. His temples thundered and his mouth dried up, and his insides burned for Bovadin’s drug, for the familiar sense of fearlessness it had
always provided. As the arrows rained down he closed his eyes, hating his fear. When he knew he had survived, he threw down his shield, enraged.

“Fight us!” he bellowed at Gayle. “You craven bastard, fight us!”

It was all the taunting Tassis Gayle needed. He shouted something to his bowmen, then at the Voskans, who prepared to charge. Count Galabalos raised his silver sword. Next to Redburn, Olly Glynn pleaded for vengeance.

“Let me, my Prince, I beg you!” he said. “Let my men take on those pigs!”

Redburn bit his lip, thinking hard as Galabalos made ready. Olly Glynn had his hand on his sword and was breathing hard. Finally, as Galabalos and his horde started forward, Redburn gave the order.

“Do it, Glynn. Give them a screwing they’ll never forget!”

Olly Glynn spun his elk around to face his fighters. In unison they drew their blades, crouched in their saddles, and listened to their leader’s command.

“To battle!”

Fifty armored latapi raced for the river. Opposing them charged a hundred Voskan horsemen. The latapi lowered their racks as they bolted forward, chewing up the meadow with their cloven hooves. Galabalos gave a vengeful cry as he dashed through the river, waving his sword and facing down the first of the Highlanders—the roaring Olly Glynn. Glynn’s sword was up in an instant. Galabalos’ steed snorted. It raced for the elk and slammed into the latapi’s rack. A great cry went up from the horse. The latapi bellowed and thrashed its antlers. Olly Glynn held on tight as the horse’s neck fountained blood. Galabalos tumbled headlong out of his saddle and into the elk’s swishing antlers.

Biagio blinked in disbelief. Galabalos was screaming. Impaled on Glynn’s elk, he reached for the Highlander with clawed fingers. The latapi thrashed violently, shaking the count loose and tossing him to the dirt. Around him thundered the horses and elk, like two brick walls crashing together. Glynn wheeled his mount toward the helpless
Galabalos and brought down his sword, slicing off the count’s face, then shook a fist in the air and cried out, “No mercy!”

It was astonishing. With Breena cheering next to him, Biagio watched as the latapi drove through the horses, ignoring their numbers and armor, pulling apart their flesh with pointed tines. Suddenly leaderless, the Voskans scrambled to regroup, desperately slashing at the Highlanders. Soon the melee engulfed them all.

“My God,” gasped Biagio. “I don’t believe it …”

“I told you,” declared Redburn proudly. “They are no match for us.”

Across the river, Tassis Gayle seemed to draw the same conclusion. He spun toward his bowmen again, sputtering orders and waving his arms. The archers fixed their weapons and let loose another volley. Redburn called for shields. The arrows plunged downward, puncturing flesh and armor and felling the Highlanders. Breena’s shield absorbed two of the shafts, then another grazed her shoulder. She cursed at the pain, waving off Biagio.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Look to yourself, Emperor!”

More arrows came down. More Highlanders fell. Redburn shouted at his army to hold fast, and Cray Kellen and Vandra Greyfin did the same. The Lion of Granshirl trotted among his troops, singing a Highland battle song. Clan Greyfin took up the tune, and soon all the Highlanders raised their voices, taunting the Talistanians with defiant music. Between the enemy armies, Olly Glynn and his clan were battling the Voskans, and both sides had taken heavy damage. The outnumbered Highlanders pressed the advantage of their mounts, but the Voskans were a well-trained brigade and had regrouped after the initial clash. The numbers of both were dwindling. Biagio realized that he didn’t see Olly Glynn anymore.

“Glynn,” he barked. “Where is he?”

Redburn peered through the melee, pointing toward the middle of the fray.

Olly Glynn was off his elk and splashing through the river. He looked exhausted, smeared with blood and barely standing. He was staggering, raising his sword
against two mounted Voskans. One with a flail twirled his weapon, winding it up for the blow.

“No!” screamed Redburn.

If Glynn heard him, it was too late. The flail came down, crushing Glynn’s head with its spiked ball. The Highlander fell facedown in the river.

“God, no!” cried Breena. She looked at her brother, who had closed his eyes.

“Damn them,” Redburn muttered. “Damn them!”

Once more a rain of arrows fell. Neither Redburn nor his sister shielded themselves. Glynn’s remaining men were fighting the Voskans to a bloody stalemate.

“Redburn,” said Biagio, “sound the charge.”

Vandra Greyfin rode up to them. She heard Biagio’s sentiment and echoed it.

“Do it, Redburn,” she urged, “or we’ll be slaughtered here by arrows, one by one.”

Tassis Gayle was stupefied. He had lived on the border of the Eastern Highlands all his life, but never once had he seen their elk in battle. From between the eye slits of his demon helm, he watched the Voskans get slaughtered, skewered by antlers or crushed by hooves or simply hacked to pieces by crazed Highlanders. The bear clan of Olly Glynn had been decimated, too, but they had dragged down the arrogant Galabalos with them. Gayle glanced across the Silverknife, quickly counting the remaining Highlanders. Redburn hadn’t yet charged, nor had the lion or shark clans. What had looked to be a rout was quickly becoming an even match, and Gayle began cursing Duke Wallach for leaving them.

“My liege,” called Major Mardek, galloping up through the line of infantrymen. “Your orders—shall we retreat?”

Gayle looked at him in disbelief. When had Mardek become such a coward?

“We will not retreat. Look there, across the river. Redburn makes ready to charge. Prepare your cavalry.”

“My King, we cannot win. Look at the Voskans! The Highlanders are too strong—their beasts outmatch us.”

“Prepare your horsemen, Mardek.”

“But my lord, the emperor! This is foolish!”

Gayle reached through the distance between them, snatched Mardek by his gorget, and dragged him from his horse.

“I am the King of Talistan,” he roared. “You will obey me! Now prepare to charge, or I will kill you myself!”

Mardek stared up at his crazed king. “My lord, listen to me, I beg you. The emperor has found us out. He has dreadnoughts on the coast, and Triin attacking Aramoor. We are finished. You must surrender.”

“Get up, Mardek,” warned Gayle. He put the tip of his sword to the major’s throat guard. “Or die on your knees like a coward.”

Slowly Mardek got to his feet. “You’re mad,” he whispered. “Completely mad …”

What little sanity remained in Gayle snapped under the accusation. With a frustrated scream, he pushed against his sword and drove the blade through Mardek’s windpipe. The major gasped and gurgled, then dropped to his knees. With one hand he reached out for Gayle. Gayle pulled his blade free and kicked the major over.