The Saints of the Sword Read Online Free PDF Page A

yet?” he asked.
    “Unfortunately, yes. He’s waiting for you inside your reading parlor.”
    “Has he said anything?”
    “No, my lord,” replied Malthrak. Then his nose crinkled and he added, “Well, that’s not precisely true. He did mumble something about Liss.”
    “Oh, yes,” laughed Biagio. “I’m sure he did. Very well. Go and tell him I’ll be in directly. Get him something to drink and eat. Something expensive. Try to …,” the emperor shrugged, “make him comfortable.”
    Malthrak nodded and scurried away, his big, wordless brother following close behind. Biagio watched them disappear into the palace, then took his time following. He wanted to think before meeting Nicabar, but he didn’t want to keep the admiral waiting too long, either. Surely his friend would be enraged. And Biagio had half-expected the visit anyway. But now he needed to summon the old Crotan charm and diplomacy. Nicabar was a very old, very dear friend. Surely he would be able to handle him.
    The “parlor,” as Malthrak called it, was a private readingroom Biagio kept for himself on the first of the palace’s many floors. It was a comfortable room housing the collection of rare books and manuscripts Biagio had assembled from around the Empire. Because of its location, Biagio often greeted dignitaries there. Nicabar had known exactly where to go.
    Once inside the palace, Biagio doffed his cape, handing it to another of the ubiquitous slaves, then headed off toward the parlor to meet his old ally. These had been difficult days for the two of them. Since helping his friend win the Iron Throne, Nicabar had turned his attention back to Liss. The admiral had spent the past year in a bloody campaign against the seafarers, a protracted waste of blood and energy that had gained him few victories. Now Biagio needed peace with Liss—especially with ambitious Talistan nipping at his heels.
    Biagio slowed a little as he neared the parlor. The collection of statues lining the hall stared at him. Suddenly he was afraid to face Nicabar. He was emperor, but that didn’t make things easier. What he was about to do frightened him.
    Outside the parlor, two of Nicabar’s officers waited, guarding the door. Not surprisingly, Malthrak and Donhedris were there as well. Next to them were a pair of Shadow Angels, keeping a conspicuous eye on the men from the
Fearless
. The Shadow Angels were everywhere now. Biagio preferred them to the legionnaires, who no longer served the emperor unquestionably since the murder of their general, Vorto. The two skull helms turned toward Biagio, then to the sailors. Nicabar’s men bowed courteously and stepped aside.
    Biagio pushed open the door and stepped into the parlor. The drapes were opened wide letting sunlight pour inside. At the far end of the chamber, his back turned toward the door as he stared out over the city, was Admiral Danar Nicabar. The officer had a glass of wine in his hand and was swirling it absently, lost in thought. Biagio could almost feel the fury rising off him. He put on a smile and closed the door behind him. Nicabar did not turn around.There was a long, uncomfortable pause before either of them spoke.
    “Renato,” said Nicabar at last, “I’m very angry.”
    “Indeed, my friend? Too angry to greet me properly?”
    “Too angry to call you friend,” sneered Nicabar. He turned from the window, slamming his glass down on the sill. The glass slipped and shattered on the floor, but Nicabar ignored it as he stalked toward Biagio. “Why did you order the war labs to curtail my shipments of fuel?”
    Biagio folded his arms over his chest. “Do not presume to bark at me, Danar,” he warned. “I’ve not the character for it. You’re here to discuss this matter. Fine. I expected you to come. But do not shout at me like a cabin boy. I am your emperor.”
    “I put you here!” Nicabar growled. He was taller than Biagio by at least a foot, and the imposing figure would have made a