The Saints of the Sword (69 page)

“Lorris and Pris,” gasped Lucyler. “You mean he has powers?”

“Like Tharn,” Praxtin-Tar answered. “Truly, he is gifted by the gods. I have seen it. He healed Crinion.”

“I do not believe it,” said Lucyler.

“Impossible,” interjected Richius. “He’s Talistanian!”

“He is the door to heaven!” proclaimed the warlord. “And he is half Triin. His father was of Lucel-Lor. He has the touch, I swear it.”

Richius and Lucyler looked at each other dubiously. Neither had ever seen Praxtin-Tar so sincere, or so calm. And Alazrian Leth seemed woefully out of place. Of the three, only Jahl Rob appeared dangerous.

“You want a truce, Praxtin-Tar?” said Lucyler. “Fine. I will accept your peace offering—as soon as I see you and your horde leave Tatterak. Go now, and never return.”

“I cannot,” replied Praxtin-Tar. “The boy has business with Kalak. That is why I have brought him.”

“What business?” Richius looked at Alazrian. “Boy? Why are you here?”

Alazrian Leth stepped forward. “I’ve come a great distance to see you, King Richius; all the way from the Empire. It’s about Aramoor, you see.”

“What about it?”

“It’s in trouble. My father …” The boy shrugged. “My
stepfather, I should say, Elrad Leth. He’s governor of Aramoor now.”

“I know that.”

“You’re wasting your time, Alazrian,” said Jahl Rob. “He doesn’t give a damn about Aramoor.” The priest glared at Richius. “Your homeland has been turned into Talistan’s chamber pot, Vantran. This boy came all this way to tell you that, and to help you get it back. But all you want to do is talk to him through a gate. Bloody coward …”

“Stop,” cried Alazrian. Then he walked to the gate and stood face to face with Richius. “Don’t send me away, King Richius. I’m here to help you get Aramoor back.”

The words rattled Richius. “Biagio sent you? Is this some sort of trick? Because if it is …”

“It’s no trick,” said Alazrian. “I’ve come a long way to deliver a message for the emperor, and if you turn me away now I don’t know what I’ll do.”

For some reason, Richius believed him. There was a glint of innocence in his eyes. Even if Biagio had sent him, he was probably just one of the emperor’s pawns.

“What do you mean saying I can get Aramoor back?”

“It’s a long story,” said Alazrian. “Open the gate and let me explain it to you.”

“Tell me from here.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” sneered Jahl Rob. “Just open the gate, Vantran. Stop being so gutless for once!”

“Keep quiet, priest,” Richius shot back. Then he looked again at Alazrian. “I’ve had my troubles with Biagio, boy. When you say that name, I worry.”

“I understand. But I swear to you, this is no trick. If you’ll just let me talk to you, let me explain why I’ve come …”

“All right,” Richius agreed. He told Lucyler, “Go ahead and open the gate.”

Lucyler shook his head. “Richius …”

“It’s all right, they’re unarmed,” Richius assured him. He cast a scowl at Jahl Rob. “Just make sure you watch out for that one.”

The priest smiled maliciously. “Don’t worry, Vantran. I won’t hurt you.”

Lucyler’s warriors opened the gates, swarming out and surrounding Praxtin-Tar. The warlord looked offended but did not resist. His head held high, he let his enemies lead him into Falindar, where at last he stood face to face with Lucyler.

“Peace,” said Praxtin-Tar. “That is my promise, Lucyler of Falindar.”

Lucyler’s hard eyes narrowed. “We shall see.” He glanced at Alazrian, speaking again in Naren. “The warlord says you are touched by heaven. That is a big boast.”

Alazrian shrugged. “I am a healer. I can’t explain it more than that. When I touch someone, I can feel their thoughts, read their pasts. And I can cure illnesses.”

“He cured the warlord’s son,” said Rob. “I swear to heaven, he is what he claims.”

Richius went to Alazrian, studying his features. His hair was soft and his skin light, and the eyes held a peculiar glimmer, reminiscent of Tharn. He had the features of the breed, much like Shani.

“Boy,” began Richius, “you couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. I had hoped I was done with Nar forever. But I will speak to you.”

“Done with Nar,” spat Rob. “Done with Aramoor too, eh?”

Richius ignored the barb. “Come with me,” he told Alazrian. “But leave the priest behind.”

“I will go with you,” said Lucyler.

“No. You stay and talk with Praxtin-Tar. Find out if he really means what he’s saying. And keep an eye on the holy man.”

“Where are we going?” asked Alazrian.

Richius smiled. “Before you try to take me away, there’s someone you have to meet first.”

By the time Alazrian had climbed two hundred stairs, he was thoroughly drained. Richius Vantran had taken him into the citadel, leading him through the halls toward one of the keep’s several spires. A good-sized crowd had gathered
in the main chamber and had watched Alazrian with suspicion, but Alazrian was accustomed to being a curiosity now, and the eyes of his distant kin no longer bothered him. Richius Vantran seemed not to notice them, either. He moved with nonchalance, occasionally waving to friends, and took Alazrian up the spiral stairs to their destination. Slotted windows revealed the landscape of Lucel-Lor and the army of Praxtin-Tar, still camped at the base of the hill. Exhausted, Alazrian followed Richius up the stairs until his thighs burned, and when he thought he couldn’t go another step, they emerged at last into a vast hallway.

Alazrian leaned against the wall to catch his breath, weak from endless travelling. Richius saw his distress.

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking Alazrian by the shoulder. Instinctively Alazrian shrugged off the touch.

“Fine,” he said. “Just tired.”

“Come on, then. There’s a place for you to sit in my chambers.”

“Your chambers? Is that where you’re taking me?”

But Vantran didn’t answer. He led the way down the hall, which was splendid and made of smooth white stones, and came to a door that was partially open. He didn’t bother knocking but went inside, waiting for Alazrian to follow.

“Richius?” came a voice from inside. “Where have you been?”

Alazrian approached the chambers. Inside were a woman and a child. The woman was remarkably beautiful, and she looked up at Alazrian with breathtaking eyes. The child also regarded him, glancing up from the floor where she sat with the woman, balancing a quill and tablet in her lap. The woman didn’t bother to rise, but rather stared at Alazrian inquisitively.

“Alazrian Leth,” said Richius, “this is—”

“Oh, I know who this is.” Alazrian stepped into the chamber and smiled. “You’re Dyana. I saw you, in Biagio’s mind.”

The statement startled Dyana. “What?”

“Biagio’s mind?” said Richius. “What do you mean?”

Alazrian collected himself. “I’m sorry. That doesn’t make sense, does it? It’s hard to explain, actually.”

“Richius, who is this?” asked Dyana. She wasn’t alarmed, which pleased Alazrian, but she wasn’t comfortable either. “Do you know him?”

“Not really, Dyana,” said Richius. He gave his wife and daughter a kiss of greeting. “Alazrian has come from Nar.”

“Aramoor, actually,” added the boy sheepishly.

“Aramoor,” echoed Dyana. “Oh.”

Richius sat down on the floor beside his family but gestured to a chair for Alazrian. “Sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Confused, Alazrian sat. A deep breath steadied his nerves and prepared him for the long explanation he needed to make. Remarkably, Richius Vantran watched him with patience, as though he had been through countless visitations from Nar before. Even the child seemed at ease. She had a Naren’s round eyes but her mother’s white skin, and Alazrian knew he was looking at a copy of his younger self. Dyana Vantran saw the similarities, too.

“You are not just Naren,” she observed. “You have a Triin look about you.”

“He is Triin,” said Richius. “Well, half Triin. Like Shani. He’s the son of Elrad Leth, Dyana. Leth is governor of Aramoor. Only Leth isn’t really your father, isn’t that right, Alazrian?”

Alazrian nodded. “My real father’s name was Jakiras. He was a merchant’s bodyguard, but I never knew him. He loved my mother in secret. I was born …”

Abruptly he stopped himself, looking away in shame. Suddenly he didn’t want to divest himself to these strangers.

“It’s all right,” said Dyana. “You do not have to tell us.”

“But you do have to tell us why you’re here,” said Richius. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Dyana, Alazrian has come from Aramoor. He says that Biagio sent him.”

Dyana’s placid facade evaporated. “Biagio? What for?”

“Alazrian says he’s here to give me Aramoor back.”

“No,” corrected Alazrian. “Not
give
it back. I’m here to help you win it back.”

“How?” asked Dyana pointedly. “And how do you know Biagio?”

“He’s a healer, Dyana,” said Richius. “Praxtin-Tar claims he has the touch of heaven.”

“Like Tharn?”

“Yes,” admitted Alazrian. “That’s how I saw you in Biagio’s mind. I met with him in the Black City. I touched him. When I did, I felt his thoughts. You were there, my lady, inside him.”

“Biagio is a madman,” said Dyana.

“No, my lady. He was mad, but no longer.” Alazrian got out of his chair and went to her. “You spent time with him. You started the changes in him. You know what I’m talking about.”

Dyana shook her head. “No one can change that much.”

“Especially not Biagio,” added Richius.

“Please,” implored Alazrian. He knelt down before them. “I’ve travelled miles to see you. I’ve almost been killed more than once to get here, even by my so-called father. So I’m begging you both—just listen to me.”

Richius nodded gravely. “Go on. Tell us why Biagio sent you.”

“He wants to make a deal with you. He’s emperor now.”

“I know.”

“Well, he’s prepared to give you Aramoor back—if you’ll help him.”

“Help him how?”

Alazrian prepared himself for Vantran’s reaction. “He needs you to fight Talistan with him. He needs you to battle my grandfather.”

Richius and Dyana looked at each other, though neither of them spoke.

“Tassis Gayle,” Alazrian explained. “King of Talistan.”

“I know who your grandfather is, boy. But why does Biagio want to fight Talistan? They were always allies. And why in the world does he need my help?”

“Things have changed, King Richius, more than you know. Talistan isn’t the same as when you left, and Emperor Biagio isn’t as strong as you think. He has many enemies now, and my grandfather knows this. My grandfather plans on challenging Biagio. Do you realize what that means?”

Richius nodded. “A very big war.”

“I do not understand,” said Dyana. She was stroking the child’s hair, holding her close. “You are from Talistan, yes? Why do you tell us this?”

“I may be a Talistanian, my lady, but I know my grandfather’s wrong. He is insane. It’s been happening to him gradually, and since my mother died he’s gotten worse. It’s driven him mad.”

Richius Vantran frowned. “What you’re doing is treason,” he said. “You realize that, don’t you? Tassis Gayle is still your kin.”

“You’re wrong,” countered Alazrian, stung by the accusation. “Is it treason to want peace?”

Richius laughed. “Biagio doesn’t want peace, boy. He’s using you. You’re just his pawn.”

“I am not! I touched him; I felt the truth in him.”

Dyana gave her husband a look of disapproval. “I believe him, Richius. I think you are judging him too quickly.”

“All right. But it’s still treason. Whatever you call it, you’re turning on your own family and country. Believe me, I know. We’re not so different, you and I.”

“I don’t have a choice,” argued Alazrian. “My grandfather is sick.”

“So? Why don’t you just heal him?”

“What?”

“Use your powers. If you really have magic, why don’t you heal your grandfather?”

Alazrian chuckled. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“How do you know? Have you tried?”

“Well, no,” Alazrian confessed. He had never even thought to heal his grandfather. “But I don’t think it would work. And I could never reveal my powers to him, anyway. He doesn’t know, and I promised my mother I’d never tell him.”

“Lady Calida,” said Richius. “She’s dead?”

Alazrian nodded.

“I am sorry for you. She was not the beast her brother was.”

“Brother?” said Dyana.

“Blackwood Gayle,” Richius replied.

Dyana’s face tightened. “Oh.”

“King Richius,” said Alazrian anxiously, “I’m not here because I’m a traitor. I’m here because Biagio thought you would listen to me.” Finally, he reached into his shirt and pulled out the note Biagio had given him so long ago. Travelling had crinkled the paper and turned it grey, but it was still sealed, just waiting to be delivered. Alazrian handed it to Richius.

The Aramoorian was circumspect. “What is that?”

“A letter from Biagio. He gave it to me when I was in the Black City. That’s my message, King Richius.”

Richius Vantran took the envelope but did not open it. His wife leaned in closer, looking equally anxious. Their little girl giggled as if it were a game.

“I don’t know exactly what it says,” said Alazrian, “but Biagio promised it would explain everything.”

Dyana nudged her husband. “Are you going to read it?”

“I’m afraid to,” said Richius. But then he drew a breath and opened the envelope, unfolding the parchment and holding it so Dyana could read it, too. Together they scanned the words in silence, and when they had finished reading they stared at the letter, blinking.

“He wants Triin help,” whispered Richius. “God, he must be crazy …”

Alazrian asked, “Is that all it says?”

“No. He also wants me to have an army ready by the first day of summer. He wants me to attack Aramoor!”

“Yes,” admitted Alazrian. “I knew about the Triin army. But the first day of summer …” He shrugged. “That I didn’t know. It’s not very far away.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Richius tossed the letter down between them. “Biagio wants me to bring an army of Triin into battle. The letter says he’s going to be leading
another army against Talistan, an army of Highlanders. He’s even got a dreadnought involved!”