The Saints of the Sword (27 page)

“No, I don’t,” agreed Jelena. “That’s the problem. But I would like to know, if you’ll tell me.”

Kasrin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, don’t you see? This is why I’ve come to you. I need to understand you if I’m to trust you at all. I have many questions. If they aren’t answered, how can I agree to help your emperor?” Jelena’s tone became imploring. “Tell me about Nicabar.”

“What about him?”

“He is your enemy, yes?”

Kasrin chuckled. “Most definitely.”

“Why? Biagio says you are not an enemy of Liss. He says that you refused to fight us. That intrigues me, Captain. I’ve never known a Naren seaman to think kindly toward my people. Explain this to me.”

Kasrin began pacing slowly around the bench. Jelena watched him circle for a minute, then patted the seat next to her, asking him to sit. Kasrin was surprised at the offer but accepted gratefully, and the warmth of her body next to his was intoxicating.

“Where should I start?” he wondered.

Jelena shrugged. “At the beginning.”

So Kasrin began, and the tale made the young queen’s eyes widen. He described his feud with Nicabar, brokered
by his constant refusal to join the admiral’s war. He told her about the
Dread Sovereign
and its crew, how fine a ship she was and the agony of being landlocked, punished, and called a coward for refusing to butcher Lissens. And he confessed his fears over what might have happened to him, describing Naren justice and the power Nicabar held in his hands, so capable of crushing a single innocent life. Then, to his surprise, he told Jelena about Biagio. The emperor had helped him, he said, offering him one last chance at vindication.

Finally, his story finished, he looked at the queen and smiled weakly. “That’s it. That’s everything.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s … unbelievable.”

“Every word is true, Queen Jelena. Whether you believe it or not.”

“So that’s why you’re going after Nicabar? For revenge?”

“Isn’t that good enough? Isn’t that why you want him yourself?”

“I suppose,” Jelena admitted. “The
Fearless
is the dread of my people. She’s sunk countless ships over the years. There’s no way we could declare peace with Nar until she’s destroyed. Biagio is wrong to think it’s just about revenge, though. It is more than that. It’s important to us as a people. We cannot go on without sinking the
Fearless
.”

“I think I understand,” said Kasrin. “It’s a matter of pride. Really, it’s not so different for me. You’re talking about the pride of a whole nation. I’m talking about the pride of one man. Me.”

The queen smiled slightly. “All right, then. Since you’re the expert on Nicabar, tell me how we defeat him.”

“Oh? Have you made your decision, then?”

“Not yet,” the queen answered. “We are just talking, you and I. Let us imagine for a moment what we would do if we were up against the
Fearless
. What are her weaknesses? How would you defeat her, Captain Kasrin?”

“Blair,” said Kasrin.

“What?”

“My name is Blair.”

Jelena glanced away. “What would you do?” she asked again.

Kasrin considered the question. The
Fearless
was the largest dreadnought in the fleet, and the best armed. She was slower, too, but that wasn’t much of a weakness; her ponderous speed was the result of heavy armor. The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. Maybe the
Fearless
didn’t have any weaknesses, but Nicabar certainly did. Kasrin considered what Biagio had told them, that Nicabar would fall for any trap if he thought it meant conquering Liss.

“Ego,” concluded Kasrin. “That’s the weakness I’d go after. I’ve never met a man more arrogant than Nicabar. Or more driven. Biagio is right about him. If I tell him I have a way into Liss, he’ll believe it.”

“Are you sure? You just told me Nicabar hates you.”

“Ah, my queen, there is one thing that Nicabar hates more than me, and that’s Liss.” Kasrin chuckled. “That’s our trap. We have to draw him into a shallow fight, surround him with cannons with no way out. Someplace narrow, with high land around. The question is, are you willing to arrange it?”

Still the queen wouldn’t commit herself. Kasrin waited for her answer, but Jelena was silent. She rose from the bench and went to the edge of the pond, squatting down to reach for a handful of clear water. She let it dribble slowly from between her fingers watching it splash back into the pond.

“I love the water,” she said. “That’s what it means to be Lissen. The water is our home. It is everything to us. I never thought Narens could understand that. I’ve heard about your cities, your Black Palace and war labs. To me these things are abominations.” Then she turned and looked at Kasrin. “But you’re different, aren’t you?”

Kasrin didn’t know what to say. He wanted to agree, to ingratiate himself with the queen, but all he could do was shrug. “Maybe. It depends on what you mean. I am Naren, Queen Jelena.”

“I know, but you’re also not like the others. You refused
to join the war against Liss. You’re a man of conscience, Captain Kasrin. I’m wondering how that happened to you. What makes you different?”

More impossible questions. Kasrin puzzled over a response. “I don’t know. I am different from Nicabar, that I admit happily. But not every Naren is evil, Lady Jelena.” Jelena smiled sadly. “Oh, I know that, Captain. Someone already proved that to me.”

The odd response made Kasrin frown. Jelena seemed to be in her own little world. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

“Let me show you something,” he said, going down to the bank to stand beside her. He began rolling up his sleeve.

Jelena reared back. “What?” she asked nervously. Kasrin laughed. “This,” he declared, tracing the faded scar that ran along the bottom of his arm from the elbow to the shoulder. “You know what that is?”

“A scar,” replied Jelena dryly. “A very ugly one.”

“That’s from a moray eel,” declared Kasrin. “I got that when I was eighteen years old. About your age, I’d bet.”

Cautiously, Jelena reached out a finger and ran it along the scar. “That must have been a big eel. I’ve seen them around Liss.”

“They’ve got teeth like needles,” said Kasrin. “Damn thing almost took my arm off.”

“What happened?” asked Jelena. She was engaged, just as Kasrin had hoped. Finally he was making a connection with her.

“I lived in a fishing village when I was a boy,” he began. “I always loved the sea, and I’ve been on ships since I can remember. When I was a teenager I had my own boat. It was just a rowboat, really, but I loved it. I took care of it like it was a child.”

Jelena nodded.

“One day,” Kasrin continued, “I was scraping barnacles off the bottom of my boat. It was moored, still in the water, so I jumped in and got to work. I had a knife with a shiny silver blade, and the sun was bright that day. I
remember because I could see it from under the water, shining on the surface.” The captain paused, considering his scar, and the memory of the awful pain bloomed fresh in his mind. “I guess that eel thought the knife was a fish or something. It came shooting out, took hold of my arm, and did this to me.”

“There must have been a lot of blood,” remarked the queen. “What happened?”

“Well, I didn’t die,” joked Kasrin. “My father pulled me out of the water and someone in the village stitched me up. Scared the hell out of me, I tell you. But the point is, I wasn’t afraid to go back in the water. I didn’t stay away from the sea because I couldn’t. The ocean was part of me, even way back then. It still is, really. So you see, my lady? We’re really not so different after all.”

A smile appeared on Jelena’s face. “That’s a wonderful story. I’m glad you told it to me.”

Kasrin grinned. “So? Have I convinced you yet?”

“It is not you, Captain. You are trustworthy, I think. It is Biagio that worries me. I don’t think you know how much we fear him.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. Believe me, I know what the emperor was like. I served with Nicabar, remember. Those two were a pair of hellions once. But Biagio has changed.”

Jelena’s face soured. “That doesn’t seem possible to me. He was the one who prosecuted the war against Liss, along with Arkus. He supported Nicabar, and ordered the blockade of the Hundred Isles. That kind of past can’t be changed.”

“Queen Jelena, listen to me,” Kasrin implored. “Let me tell you what I know about Biagio. He was a butcher and a madman. He was the vainest man in the Black City, even more arrogant than Nicabar. Does he look like those things now?”

After a moment, Jelena admitted, “No. But it might all be a trick. Biagio is Roshann, remember.”

“It’s no trick,” Kasrin insisted. “He has changed. I didn’t believe it at first, but I do now. If you can trust me, an officer of the Black Fleet, then why can’t you trust Biagio?”

“It’s more difficult with Biagio,” said Jelena. “He keeps secrets, even from you. Tell me—why does Biagio need a ship to take him to the Eastern Highlands?”

Kasrin hesitated, the only proof Jelena needed. “You don’t know, do you? Because Biagio won’t tell you. So how can I trust him?”

“It’s difficult,” agreed Kasrin. “But Biagio told you the truth. He is weak now. And the Empire is in danger. Biagio has many enemies, and he’s trying to get allies to help him.”

“He’s told you this?”

“Yes,” said Kasrin. “In his own way, he’s told me all that he could. Then he asked me to trust him.” In his eagerness he almost took Jelena’s hand. “That’s what I’m asking you to do now. For the sake of peace, can’t you show a little trust?”

Once more, the queen refused to answer.

Biagio stood in the main hallway of the western wing staring at a single statue gracing a lonely corner. The statue depicted the goddess Irisha, a figure from Naren mythology; she was cradling a lamb in her arms. Irisha was the ancient goddess of youth, a symbol that had particular meaning to the life-stealing lords of Nar, and she was always shown as a young girl, just on the cusp of womanhood. The lamb, Biagio supposed, represented the constant hope of rebirth and the idea that all people were the lambs of heaven, carefully held in the loving arms of the gods. Because it was a particularly striking rendition of Irisha and because Biagio had an affinity for her, he had long ago purchased the statue from a dealer in the Black City, and had placed it here in the main corridor where he thought the light best captured its essence. It had been an expensive purchase, but that hadn’t bothered Biagio. Back then, his fortune had been vast indeed, enough to a buy a thousand such pieces. Yet today, it wasn’t the careful work of Irisha’s sculpted face or single exposed breast that caught Biagio’s attention. Rather, he was shocked to see the statue at all.

During his two days as Jelena’s captive, he had discovered
one awful truth about his former home—it was almost completely stripped of all his scrupulously acquired treasures. The portraits on the walls, the important tapestries from Vosk, the meticulously detailed masterpieces of Darago; they were all gone, sold to pay for the Lissen war. Only Irisha and her little lamb remained, and the strangeness of it bewildered Biagio. As he stood alone in the corridor staring up at her half-naked elegance, Biagio puzzled over the mystery.

But his contemplations were interrupted by the sound of approaching feet. Queen Jelena’s shoes clicked on the marble floor announcing her arrival. She was alone. Biagio’s heart skipped at the sight of her. Finally, he might have his answer.

“Queen Jelena,” he said courteously. “I’m pleased to see you.”

Jelena was her typically cold self. “Biagio, I must talk to you.”

“That’s fine,” replied Biagio. “But first …” He gestured to the statue. “What is this doing here?”

The question confused the queen. “What do you mean?”

“As far as I can tell, you sold everything else. There aren’t any other statues in the entire wing, not even the small ones I had on the veranda. Yet you kept this one of Irisha, right where I left it.” Biagio looked at her pointedly. “Why?”

“Irisha,” echoed the queen. She regarded the statue, letting the whisper of a smile grace her face. “So that’s her name.”

Biagio was intrigued. “She’s an ancient goddess of youth, from old Naren myths. Just a child, really, but almost a woman.” He decided to nudge a little. “Like you, perhaps?”

“No,” said Jelena venomously. “Like my mother.”

The answer made Biagio draw back. Jelena’s brief smile had been replaced by a mask of disdain.

“I see,” said Biagio.

“She was killed in a Naren attack,” Jelena continued. “Along with my father. I was sixteen at the time.”

Biagio nodded. He already knew the story of the queen’s ascension. Again he looked at the statue. “This reminds you of her, does it?”

“Very much. I shouldn’t admit this to you, but this statue looks strikingly like my mother. She was very young when she had me, about the age of this girl, I suppose. When I saw this statue it was like seeing her again.” Jelena sighed. “That probably sounds silly to you.”

“Not at all,” replied Biagio. He remembered all the time he’d spent in Baron Jalator’s Wax Works communing with the figure of Arkus, hoping to glean some comfort from the display. Somehow, Jelena’s attachment to Irisha’s cold stone seemed sadly appropriate. “You were wise to keep it,” he told her. “It is good to have things that connect us with the past.”

Jelena glanced at him quickly. “That surprises me to hear, coming from you, Biagio.”

“Why should it? You’ve already seen my fondness for antiques. I should think you would understand me better by now, having spent so much time destroying my home.”

“As you destroyed mine?”

“My lady, I have done things you wouldn’t believe,” Biagio told her. “The rape of Liss is just one more thing on my conscience. But I have changed.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You’ll never believe that, will you? I have wasted my time coming here.”

“But I do believe you,” said Jelena.

“You do?” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

The queen laughed. “You may thank your Captain Kasrin for that. I think he is a man of honor, despite the uniform he wears. He trusts you, Biagio.”