by John Marco
When at last he came to Biagio’s private chambers, he found the double doors open. Simon peered inside. Biagio was seated on a red leather chair near the window, his back to the door, slowly draining a glass of sherry. The count’s golden hair glinted in the reflected moonbeams. Before Simon could knock, Biagio spoke.
‘I’ve been sitting here, thinking,’ said the count softly.
Simon hesitated. Was that an invitation? Carefully he inched into the chamber, drawing close to his master. Biagio’s breathing was languid, as if he were drunk or very close to sleeping.
‘Master?’ probed Simon. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, I’m quite all right, dear Simon. Just relaxing. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’
Simon stopped a pace behind Biagio’s chair. ‘Yes, very beautiful. I’ve been thinking that myself, lately.’
‘I wish I could spend more time here. I’ve been away too long, neglected things . . .’
‘The call of duty,’ replied Simon lightly. ‘Nar has needed you.’
‘Yes.’ Biagio put down his sherry. The jeweled hand beckoned Simon closer. As Simon approached Biagio looked up at him, his preternatural eyes glowing a furious blue. ‘I want you to stay close to me tonight. And I don’t want you to say anything. Just be near.’
Simon shrugged. He was always near his master. ‘Of course. You don’t have to worry about that, my lord.’
‘The others are growing restless. And Nicabar has brought news with him from Nar. I’m worried how they might react. Stay close. Remind them of my strength. Things are going forward, but the others can’t always see that. I need them to trust me. Or I need them to fear me. I don’t care which.’
‘My lord, I will be with you. Always.’
Biagio smiled warmly, one of his wild, insane smiles. He put up a hand for Simon to take. ‘You’re my finest friend,’ he said. ‘Come. Let’s go to dinner.’
Simon took the count’s hand and lifted him from the chair. Though loose clothing gave him a delicate look, Simon knew his lord was far from frail. The drugs he took to keep him vital had other side-effects. Besides the color of his eyes, Biagio was among the strongest men Simon knew, possessed of an almost super-human vigor. No one could run farther or longer without becoming winded, and no one could lift more weight above his head. Still, the count liked being pampered, and very rarely bragged about his strength. He ate sparingly and only of the freshest foods, and the wines he chose were always from his own, well-controlled vineyards. In old Nar, Biagio had enjoyed a reputation as a fop, but no one ever called him that to his face.
The head of the Roshann had dressed for dinner. His sable-trimmed cape made a peculiar rustling sound as he rose from the chair, and his luxurious hair hung loosely around his shoulders. Nearly all of his digits boasted a shiny bauble, and his teeth gleamed when he smiled, giving him the uneasy appearance of a prowling wolf. The count inspected Simon. A grin of approval graced his face.
‘Ready?’ Simon asked.
Biagio nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
As always, Count Biagio took the lead, exiting the chamber with a graceful stride that made his cape billow out behind him. Simon kept back the customary pace, close enough to hear his master yet far enough back not to overshadow him. Not that overshadowing Biagio was possible. The count shone like a beacon.
They crossed the corridors quickly, leaving Biagio’s personal wing behind and entering the main living area of the villa, where the count’s Naren guests were quartered. This part of the mansion was only slightly less garish than Biagio’s own. A pair of gilded glass doors hung wide at the entrance, bidding Biagio and Simon forward. Over the huge, octagonal table was a chandelier of blue and white crystal that glinted hypnotically in the candlelight. Biagio slowed a little before entering, and a practiced, theatrical smile appeared on his face. The servants in the dining room paused when they saw him. The men seated around the table looked in his direction. Simon dropped back a step and let Biagio make his entrance.
‘Good evening, my friends,’ crooned the count. He opened his arms to the gathered Narens. ‘It’s good to see you. Thank you all for coming.’
Each of the Naren nobles greeted their host, their uniformly blue eyes watching him coolly. Simon quickly sized up the group. At the far end of the table was Savros. The Mind Bender rose from his seat and beamed. Next to the torturer sat the diminutive Bovadin. Too fascinated with his plate of appetizers, the scientist remained seated. Biagio seemed not to notice the snub. He was pumping the hands of another man, a giant in the uniform of the Naren navy. Nicabar, Admiral of the Black Fleet, embraced Biagio with a good-natured laugh.
‘Renato,’ said Nicabar. ‘You look well’
Nicabar’s chest was a rainbow of ribbons and medals he had earned in countless campaigns. Biagio seemed to disappear in his embrace. Simon watched Nicabar carefully, studying the hard face for any trace of insincerity. The count and the admiral had known each other many years. Biagio counted Nicabar among his closest friends. Together they had left Nar to Herrith and had orchestrated the secession of the Black Fleet. They had even convinced Bovadin and Savros to join them. They were, in Simon’s estimation, an odd and dangerous team.
‘I’m so glad you’re back, my friend,’ said Biagio. The count placed a kiss on Nicabar’s cheek. ‘And undamaged.’
‘Good to be back,’ said Nicabar, ‘though sailing the Empire’s oceans was a pleasure. I miss them, Renato.’
This got Bovadin’s attention. ‘We all miss them,’ he said peevishly.
‘Please, sit,’ Biagio bid Nicabar, ignoring Bovadin’s jibe. The count took the admiral’s arm and led him back to his seat. Simon followed, and when Nicabar was seated he pulled out his master’s chair for Biagio to sit. Only when they were all seated did Simon take his own chair, the one at Biagio’s right hand.
‘Let’s have wine,’ suggested Biagio. A clap of his hands brought servants from the shadows, collared men and women expertly balancing silver platters and flagons of Crote’s fragrant vintages. As usual, Simon was served last. He waited for them all to take a sip before tasting the wine himself. It was typically excellent, and he watched the strange gathering as he sipped. From his position across the table, the midget Bovadin seemed hardly more than a disembodied head. Savros was chatting aimlessly with him. Nicabar was silent as stone. Of the four, only Biagio was married, to a woman he had left behind in Nar City. Countess Elliann hadn’t shared her husband’s lust for power, and had disappointed him by siding with Herrith. No one knew exactly where she was, and Simon doubted Biagio even cared. Nicabar was fond of saying he was married to the sea, and Savros was far too bizarre for any woman. Bovadin had the excuse of his affliction to ward off wedding bands. To Simon, the little man belonged in a grotesquery anyway. But not the golden count. He was handsome in an androgynous sort of way, and Elliann had never minded the way he bedded both women and men. Like him, she was of noble birth, and equally fickle in matters of the bedroom. What she hadn’t liked – what had appalled her about her husband – was his desire to continue the Black Renaissance. Elliann wasn’t a warrior. She was a pampered she-wolf who wanted only perfumed sheets and the good things of her birthright. She belonged in Nar. Not surprisingly, Biagio had let her stay.
The others had actually given up very little. Herrith knew how close they were to Biagio, and would never have let them live. Even Nicabar, Naren hero though he was, had stood beside the Count of Crote far too long to be safe from the bishop’s assassins. And Simon knew how he and Vorto hated each other. It was that old rivalry, the legions against the navy, and neither would surrender or bow to the other. When Arkus died and Herrith stole the throne, Nicabar had simply ordered his Black Fleet out of Naren waters. It had left the Empire easy prey to the marauding Lissens. Part of Biagio’s ‘grand design’, Simon supposed. There were still some nations loyal to Biagio, but they were few and probably dwindling. Since returning from Lucel-Lor, Biagio had only dropped tantalizing hints of their situati
on. Tonight, Simon hoped, they would all have some answers.
Biagio raised up his crystal goblet. ‘My friends, let me speak,’ he said. He shot a glare at Savros to silence the torturer. ‘I want to say thank you. I want you to know again how much I appreciate your patience and loyalty.’
They all raised their glasses. Even Bovadin, who snickered slightly, agreed to the toast. But when the drinking was done, the midget was the first to open his mouth.
‘What news from Nar, Admiral?’ he asked pointedly. ‘Renato says you’ve learned things.’
Nicabar started to speak but Biagio raised a quieting hand. ‘I’ll tell you all the news from Nar myself,’ he said. ‘Danar has brought news, it’s true, but I want you all to understand me first. I know you’re growing impatient. I know you all want to return home to Nar. But there are things in the works, things I can’t tell you about.’
‘Hopefully things that will get us home,’ said Bovadin sourly. ‘I’ve built the device for you, Renato. I’ve kept making the drug. I want to know everything that’s going on. I insist.’
‘The device; said Biagio calmly, ‘is not a subject I care to talk about tonight.’
Device. Simon tucked the word in the back of his brain. He had known Bovadin was working on something, but had yet to learn what. The count continued.
‘I called us together because of some news Danar’s heard from Dragon’s Beak, and because I want to assure you all that I’m in control. Things are going according to my plans. I want you to believe that.’ Biagio looked troubled suddenly. ‘Still, what Danar’s heard may make you doubt that.’
‘The Lissens?’ asked Savros.
Danar Nicabar shook his head. ‘No, not just the Lissens.’
‘Herrith,’ Bovadin guessed.
Biagio took a contemplative pull from his glass, then leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, Herrith. I’m afraid the news from Nar isn’t good these days. Herrith has been making . . . trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ said Bovadin. ‘What does that mean? Renato, stop fooling. What’s going on?’
‘Genocide,’ said Biagio. There was no more humor in his expression. ‘What does your mighty brain tell you about that, Bovadin?’
Bovadin laughed. ‘He’s wiping out the loyalists. We all knew that would happen. That’s why we came here.’
Biagio sighed. ‘Does the term Formula B mean anything to you?’
Bovadin stopped laughing. His insectoid face went ashen. Biagio leaned forward and hissed, ‘Yes, your experiment seems to work, my friend. Too bloody well’
‘It was used?’ demanded Bovadin.
‘Two weeks ago,’ answered Nicabar. ‘In Goth. Vorto had Lokken’s forces surrounded. They surrendered, because they had no choice. Vorto went in, killed Lokken, then gassed the city.’ Nicabar looked down into his glass. ‘Only a few survivors. All blind.’
Bovadin was dumbfounded. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘They got it to work. It’s incredible.’
‘Incredible?’ spat Biagio. ‘Is that your word for it, Bovadin? You left a lot behind for them to build on, didn’t you? You promised me they would never get Formula B stable.’
‘I . . . I don’t know what happened,’ sputtered the scientist. ‘There aren’t many people in the war labs with the knowledge to continue the work. I thought for sure it would be too dangerous for them to go on without me.’
‘Herrith must have changed their minds,’ said Savros. The Mind Bender’s brow furrowed. ‘I wonder how.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Nicabar. ‘He’s got the formula. First Goth. Then what? Vosk? Or Dragon’s Beak?’
Biagio drummed his thin fingers on the table. ‘Apparently Herrith takes his mandate from Heaven seriously. My people in Nar City say he’s determined to wipe out the Renaissance. Completely. He won’t rest until there’s nothing left of it. Or us.’
‘Then we have to move quickly,’ said Bovadin. ‘Now.’
‘We are moving,’ said Biagio. ‘Don’t doubt that. As I’ve said, there are plans in the works to stop this madness. But it’s going to take time. You all have to be patient.’
‘We have been patient,’ flared Bovadin. ‘Renato, in a few months there may be nothing for us to go back to. We have to act. We have the navy, and the device is almost ready. I say we strike back.’
‘Is that the best you can think of, Bovadin? How can we strike back? True, we have the navy. And yes, some of the nations are still on our side. But Vorto controls the land, not us. His legions are loyal to him, and to Herrith. We can’t win with force. Not that way.’ Biagio tapped his skull with a finger. ‘We have to use our brains. Thankfully, I have been.’
Challenged, the tiny genius got out of his chair. To Simon he seemed no taller. ‘Really?’ said Bovadin. ‘And what have you come up with? I for one am tired of your riddles, Renato. I followed you because you said you would win this struggle. But I don’t see you winning. I see you hiding.’
Biagio’s smile was terrible. ‘You followed me because if you didn’t, you’d be dead now. Sit down, my friend. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’
There was just enough steel in the voice to make Bovadin obey. He returned to his chair, brooding.
‘We won’t get anywhere by arguing,’ Biagio went on. ‘And after all, there’s no need for it. My plan is simple. I have agents poised to help us, and allies sympathetic to our cause. Duke Enli of Dragon’s Beak has given us the fuel we needed for your device, yes, Bovadin? He is still on our side. And there are others.’
‘What others?’ asked Savros. The Mind Bender had been studying the argument with detached fascination while he ate, his tongue scooping oysters from their shells.
‘Others who I’m sure will come through for us,’ Biagio replied evasively. ‘Others whom I trust.’
‘The girl?’ asked Bovadin.
‘Yes,’ said Biagio.
‘What girl?’ pressed Savros.
‘Oh, my dear Mind Bender, you would have loved this one.’ Biagio chuckled and brought a dainty hand to his mouth. ‘A truly beautiful thing. Too young for you, I think, but smashing.’
‘Renato?’ said Danar. ‘What girl?’
‘A very special girl, my friend. Someone Herrith won’t be able to resist. He has a fondness for children, you remember. I think this one will steal his heart.’
Baffled, Admiral Nicabar lowered his drink. ‘Explain yourself. Who is this child?’
Count Biagio steepled his hands. Everyone hung on his words, even Simon. Bovadin, however, seemed less interested, as if he already knew the story.
‘A long while ago,’ Biagio began, ‘when Arkus was still alive, Bovadin and I set up an experiment of sorts. An experiment regarding the drug. An experiment with children.’
Bovadin began to squirm.
‘It was a secret project of the war labs,’ the count continued. ‘We wanted to know if the drug could stop the aging process entirely. Bovadin thought the drug might work better on children.’
‘Their metabolisms are different,’ Bovadin jumped in. ‘I found that the way they process the drugs isn’t the same as adults, probably because their bodies are still developing.’
‘We were able to arrest body development,’ said Biagio. ‘Rather successfully, with one child in particular.’
Nicabar was plainly shocked. ‘My God. How many of these freaks are there?’
‘Just one, now,’ replied the count. ‘We had to abandon the experiment when we fled Nar. But we saved one. A very special girl. One that I knew I could use against Herrith when the time came.’
‘Abandon?’ asked Savros. ‘I don’t understand. What happened to the other children?’
Bovadin looked away. The truth was sickeningly obvious.
‘There was no choice,’ said Biagio. ‘We couldn’t risk being discovered, especially by Herrith. Only the girl was spared.’ The Crotan looked around the table warily. ‘And don’t accuse us of crimes, my friends. The experiment had a noble purpose. We were tryin
g to save Arkus, and perhaps save ourselves. We’re all still getting older, no matter how slowly. And if not for this girl, we wouldn’t have a weapon against Herrith.’
‘Where’s the child now?’ asked Nicabar.
‘Duke Enli is taking care of her. And that’s all I will tell you.’
‘Enli mentioned none of this to me,’ said the admiral. ‘God, you keep such secrets, my friend. Don’t you trust anyone?’
Biagio looked hurt. ‘Dear Danar, I trust you all. In fact, I have something very special to entrust to you. Another mission. To Nar City, this time.’
‘Nar City?’ laughed Nicabar. ‘A love note for Herrith?’
‘Not a love note, no. But it is for Herrith.’
The admiral frowned. ‘Renato . . .?’
‘I want you to take the Fearless and some of your dreadnoughts to the Black City. I have a message for the bishop I want you to deliver personally.’
‘What message?’
‘A letter, asking Herrith to sit down and talk peace with me.’
Now they were all astonished. Even Simon’s jaw slackened. Biagio looked about the room, grinning like a madman.
‘This isn’t a joke, my friends. You should say something.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ sputtered Nicabar.
‘Is this your plan?’ asked Bovadin incredulously. ‘To surrender?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Biagio. He beckoned a servant over to refill his glass, then rolled the goblet between his palms. ‘It’s just part of my grand design, you see. Herrith will never accept. He will eventually, but not right away. Gradually we will pressure him to come here. But first he’ll think we’re weakening. And that’s all I want for now. The girl and the Lissens will do the rest for me.’
‘But why me?’ asked Nicabar. ‘Why can’t one of your agents deliver this message?’
‘Because they can’t sail the flagship,’ said Biagio. ‘And it’s two messages, really. One is for Herrith. The other is for the Lissens. I want them to see the Fearless. I want them to think it’s out of Cretan waters.’