The Saints of the Sword Read Free

with him. I’m afraid, Mother.”
    Calida’s thin eyebrows went up. “The Black City? The emperor has asked for you?”
    “Yes, I think so. Father just told me so. We’re to face the Protectorate.”
    Even from her sickbed Lady Calida had heard of the Protectorate. The emperor’s tribunal was famous throughout Nar. Or more precisely, it was infamous. War criminals from the corners of the Empire were being summoned to face Biagio and his inquisitor, Dakel. Since the death of Arkus, Nar had become a very unstable place.
    “I’m not surprised about your father,” said Calida at last. “The way he butchers these Aramoorians …” She thought for a moment. “Biagio is a devious man. Do you remember him, Alazrian?”
    “Not well,” replied the boy honestly. In the days before the death of Arkus when Biagio was merely the head of the Roshann, he would come to Talistan from time to time, mostly to supervise the goings-on in Aramoor. Alazrian’s grandfather always had a room ready for Biagio in the castle. The two titans had been friends then, or more precisely allies. But times had changed. “I remember he was odd-looking,” Alazrian mused. “I remember his eyes.”
    Lady Calida smiled. Biagio’s eyes were unforgettable. They were sapphire blue and preternatural, and they burned with fire. Alazrian didn’t remember much about Biagio, but he could never forget those eyes.
    “The emperor wants the truth,” Calida decided. “And he thinks he can get it from you.”
    “But I don’t know the truth. I don’t know what I can tell the emperor.”
    It wasn’t a lie. Elrad Leth kept everything he did a secret, especially from his son. And Calida had been too ill to find out what was happening. She had only the view from her window, and even that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to Richius Vantran, wherever he was now.
    “Don’t be frightened,” Calida told her son gently. “The Protectorate can do nothing to you if you tell them the truth. And the Black City, Alazrian … You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s breathtaking.”
    Alazrian sat down on the bedside waiting for his mother to regale him with a tale. She had only been to the Naren capital once, for the coronation of Richius Vantran, but it had left an indelible impression on her. Calida’s mind, soaked with painkillers, skipped back over her memories, picking out pretty pieces.
    “It’s so tall,” she sighed. “And the emperor’s palace looks like a mountain. There’s so many people that sometimes you can’t even move in the streets, but you can buy anything you want. Take money with you, Alazrian. Buy yourself some nice things.” Then Calida shook her head ruefully. “Oh, I wish the cathedral was still there for you to see. It was so beautiful.”
    In fact, it had been his mother’s favorite part of Nar City, and she had wept when she’d heard of its destruction. Now the memory almost made her cry again.
    “I will bring money with me,” Alazrian said. “And I’ll think of you when I’m walking the avenues.”
    “Yes,” she agreed. “You go to Nar City.” She was so excited suddenly that she tried to sit up. “There’s a library there, with scholars. They can help you find out about yourself. There are all kinds of texts there, about everything. Some about Lucel-Lor, I’m sure.” Her voice became a whisper. “And Jakiras.”
    Alazrian was shocked that she’d spoken the name, and quickly swiveled his head toward the door to make sure no one had heard. Only once before had she mentionedthe name of his father, and only then when they were far from the castle, away from prying ears.
    “Mother, hush. The medicines are making you tired. No more talk.”
    “Listen to me,” his mother insisted. “Don’t be afraid of this trip, Alazrian. Use it. Find out about yourself and your father. Find out who you are.”
    “Mother, please …”
    “I didn’t know, you see,” she said sadly. Again she reached out for him,