The Saints of the Sword by John Marco Read Free Book Online Page A

on his way to the Library of the Black Renaissance. According to Rian, it housed the largest collection of manuscripts in the city and had been commissioned by the late Emperor Arkus. Apparently, Arkus had a penchant for knowledge, and had named the library for his revolution. It was an odd name, but Alazrian liked it because it suited this mechanized city. If it was as grand as Rian claimed, then certainly it would have books about Lucel-Lor.
    And maybe magic.
    Alazrian lifted his hands and inspected them, turning them in the grey light. There was something inexplicable in his touch. This city, which had a magic of its own, might just have answers for him.
    The carriage stopped at a cross-street, letting a parade of people and horses pass. Alazrian glanced out the window and saw a woman approaching him, gesturing suggestively. She flashed him a smile. Alazrian looked her up and down, knowing in an instant that she was a prostitute.
    “My God.” He stared at her through the glass. She approached the carriage, ignoring the driver who threatenedher with his crop, and tapped at the window. When she winked, Alazrian’s breath caught.
    “Oh, you’re beautiful,” he said, not sure if she could hear him. She was young and tight-skinned, not like the other harlots he had seen, and her eyes were bright and inviting. She seemed to sense his interest and tossed back her hair. Alazrian laughed, remembering the coins he had brought along. He doubted that this was what his mother had in mind.
    “I’m sorry,” he said loudly, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
    She heard him plain enough, gave a suggestive shrug, then turned and strode away. Alazrian stared at her as she departed, admiring her walk. And then a darker thought came to him. He looked down at his hands again and flexed his fingers. Could he be with a woman? he wondered. He was at an age now when such things mattered to him. The changes that had wrought manhood in him had also delivered his strange gift, and the correlation vexed him. Could he harm as well as heal?
    The carriage moved off, bearing him far from the pretty prostitute. He wanted to believe that his mother had been right about things, that his powers had a purpose beyond making him different.
    It wasn’t much longer before an ivory building greeted him, a broad structure with white columns and sculptured depictions of scholars across its roof. Alazrian read the chiseled greeting over its wide threshold, each letter as tall as a man. The words were in High Naren, but Alazrian had learned the language as part of his upbringing.
    “To learn is to walk with God,” he read aloud. The notion made him smile. He wasn’t a god, just a boy looking for answers.
    The carriage came to a stop outside a flight of alabaster steps. Alazrian wasted no time. He tossed open the carriage doors and dropped down onto the street, staring up at the monstrous building.
    “This is it, Master Leth,” said the driver, another of Dakel’s countless slaves. “The Library of the Black Renaissance.”
    “Amazing,” said Alazrian. “Can I go inside? It’s very late.”
    “Late? Oh, no, sir. The library never shuts its doors, and there are always scholars available to help. Just go inside and someone will find you.”
    “Will you wait for me? I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
    “I’ll have to move the carriage,” said the driver. “But I’ll check back for you here on the hour.” He pointed toward a tower in the distance. On its face was a huge illuminated clock. “Look to the Tower of Time when you need me. You’ll hear when it strikes the hour.”
    “I’ll listen for it,” said Alazrian. “Thanks.”
    The driver snapped the reins and the carriage pulled off, leaving Alazrian on the stairs. He steeled himself with a breath, then began climbing the flawless steps. The library’s doors were opened wide, and when he reached the top of the stairs, Alazrian peered inside to see a vast arena of wooden shelves,