The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  ‘You bastard!’ she muttered, already certain of her quarry. ‘You did it, you monster . . .’

  She found herself cursing Simon and Richius both – the Naren for taking Shani, her husband for abandoning her. The unendurable thought that Shani might be—

  ‘No!’ she spat, refusing to believe it. ‘You will not take my baby!’

  Biagio . . .

  The name rang in her head like a bell. At the bottom of the stairs she collided with Deemis. Seeing her distress, the warrior took hold of her.

  ‘What is it, woman?’ he demanded.

  Dyana grabbed his shirt with both fists. ‘My daughter; have you seen her? Have you seen Shani?’

  Deemis frowned, clearly perplexed. ‘I have not. What is it?’

  ‘What about Simon? Have you seen him?’

  ‘Dyana, no. I—’

  ‘Deemis, help me! He has taken her, I know he has. Tresh is dead in my chambers! He killed her and took Shani. I have to find her.’

  She tried to tear away from the man but he held her fast. ‘Stop now!’ he ordered roughly. ‘Where is Tresh? What has happened?’

  Dyana hurriedly explained how she had gone upstairs and found Tresh murdered in her rooms. Her daughter was gone, she explained, and only Simon would have taken her.

  ‘Richius was right, Deemis,’ she insisted. ‘He has taken her. We have to find him. Lorris and Pris, help me!’

  ‘You will go to the kitchens and wait there with the women,’ Deemis ordered. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to listen. ‘Stay with them. We will find your daughter and this snake,’ he snarled. ‘We will, Dyana. Now go-’

  ‘Deemis—’

  ‘Go!’ he barked, shoving her away. He didn’t wait to see her leave, but instead turned his back and started bellowing for help and horses. The sound brought warriors running. At their master’s order they scrambled for the gates, spreading out in a wave. Dyana fell backward against the wall and closed her eyes, and all the loss she had ever felt in her life was nothing compared to the void swallowing her now.

  The horse Simon had stolen from the stables was fast and black and perfectly invisible in the moonlight. With the Jackal’s daughter wrapped in a coat in front of him, he sank low in the saddle and rode hard, following the trails through the grassy valleys and woodlands, past the eyes of owls and far, far away from the towers of Falindar. For the first hour of the journey Shani hardly made a sound, but well into their second hour of riding she began to fret. Simon tried to cheer her, but he dared not slow his pace. Every rough jolt made the child more uncomfortable and vocal. By the third hour, Shani was crying hysterically.

  ‘Easy, child. Easy,’ Simon pleaded. They were in a thick forest with only the moon to guide them, and Simon worried that the horse would break a leg. Shani wailed. It was very late, and the time of his rendezvous was fast approaching. He had made extraordinary time, but he wondered if the impatient N’Dek would wait past midnight for him to arrive. The recently departed Lissen schooners might have frightened the captain off, or he might decide that his passenger had been found out. Simon tried not to think of it, and found a distraction in Shani’s knifelike cries.

  ‘Not much farther, girl,’ he said, trying to soothe her. ‘I know it’s cold. I’m sorry.’

  He was sorry. Remarkably, he regretted every step. But then he remembered Eris and the mind-sick Biagio, and was able to subdue his regrets. With one hand on the reins he wrapped the other around the child, holding her fast, imparting what comfort he could. Shani seemed to nestle in his embrace. The human need for warmth overcame her, and she buried herself in Simon’s coat. She was light like her mother. Simon held her carefully, as if he were cradling an egg.

  By now Dyana had discovered them gone. Doubtless, she was frantic. Simon knew he had ruined her, maybe in a way worse than he’d murdered Tresh. At least the nurse’s pain was over. Dyana’s would be endless.

  ‘Your mother loves you very much,’ he said absently as they raced beneath a canopy of fruit trees. ‘You’ll see her again, if I can help it. I’ll do it if I can. God help me to try.’

  If God wasn’t deaf to the prayers of assassins, if He cared at all for innocent children, He would help Simon find the way. Simon grit his teeth at the thought. Suddenly he wanted God to damn him, to drag him to Hell for all the countless sins and burn him eternally. With all the self-loathing in the world he made a silent promise to Heaven, that he would gladly burn forever to save both Eris and the Vantran baby.

  They rode in darkness for another hour, burying the distance between Falindar and their hidden destination. What had taken Simon a day to walk, they were traversing in mere hours, and when at last Simon heard the shore again he knew they were near the tower.

  Simon Darquis felt his stomach knot with dread.

  He slowed his horse just a bit and cocked his head to listen. Even Shani stopped her crying, pacified by the distant sound of surf. Simon took a sniff and smelled the brine of the ocean. He sharpened his eyes on the horizon, peering through the moonlight, and with his trained vision glimpsed the dark outline of the tower. His vigor renewed, he kicked his heels into the horse’s sides, propelling it on faster. The way was narrow and treacherous, but time was short and so was Simon’s patience, and when the horse hesitated he struck it again, harder this time, all his guilt and frustration cracking against the animal’s ribs. But when at last they neared the tower clearing, Simon drew back on the reins and slowed the horse to a cautious trot, finally bringing it to a full halt when the shadow of the structure fell upon them. In his arms Shani kicked and gave a gurgle of protest. Simon smiled bleakly down at her.

  ‘You’re right to fear, girl,’ he admitted.

  The tower seemed deserted, but through the moonlight Simon saw two black specks floating on the ocean. He stared at the horizon, dumbfounded. Two ships? What was N’Dek doing? Not caring if the horse ran off without him, Simon dismounted, then helped down his little parcel. He did not let the child’s feet touch the ground, though. Instead he held her in his arms as he abandoned the exhausted steed and headed cautiously toward the tower. The open archway beckoned with blackness. Simon held his breath. Shani, sensing his trepidation, did the same. Inside the dark recesses he heard a scraping sound, the sound of boots on stone. When he heard it a second time, he paused.

  ‘Who’s in there?’ he called.

  A long silence ensued. Finally a shadow appeared in the archway, man-sized and silent. Another one followed, and then two more. Simon could tell from the hue of their flesh that they weren’t Triin. He addressed the shadows loudly.

  ‘It’s Simon Darquis. Come out here and show yourselves!’

  The silhouettes came forward, giving Shani a start. Four men, two in uniforms of the fleet, the others clothed ordinarily, stepped out into the moonlight and peered questioningly at Simon. One of them, a tall man with a scarred, clean-shaven face, took the lead.

  ‘Darquis,’ said the sailor with a wave. ‘Is that the child?’

  ‘It is,’ Simon declared. ‘Those other two, who are they?’

  All four men walked toward Simon, eyeing the confused child in his arms. The sailor who had spoken first laughed when he saw the girl.

  ‘Captain N’Dek was right about you,’ he chuckled. ‘He said you’d make it, and with the child.’

  ‘We thought the gogs had found you out,’ added another, one of the men who wasn’t a sailor. Simon fixed iron eyes on him.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked. ‘Not a sailor.’

  The stranger took no offense at Simon’s tone. Instead he offered out his hand, saying, ‘We share the same master, Simon Darquis. We know of you. And we know of your work here.’

  Simon bristled. ‘Biagio sent you?’ he growled. ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re to watch the Jackal for the Master while you bring his daughter to our lord,’ the man answered. He had the same lilting voice as many Roshann agents, the same inscrutable expression. ‘The Master is awaiting you back on Crot
e, but he doesn’t want to be without eyes here.’

  Son of a bitch, hissed Simon silently. Biagio trusted no one these days.

  ‘Is that why there are two vessels offshore?’ he berated the sailor. ‘You fools. There are Lissen schooners about! If they see your goddamn ships we’re finished.’

  ‘We saw no schooners,’ stammered the sailor. ‘And this is Biagio’s will’ He seemed shocked by Simon’s rebellion, almost in awe. ‘The other came to deliver these two. That’s all I know.’

  ‘It has to be off the coast by daybreak,’ Simon snarled, turning again on the Roshann agents. He started to tell them about Richius being gone, but then, remarkably, stopped himself. ‘Do you hear me?’ he stalled. ‘Before the dawn that ship must be gone!’

  ‘The Revenge arrived two days ago,’ explained the other Roshann agent. This one was smaller and darker than his brother, with black eyes and sharp white teeth that reflected the moon. ‘She brought us here and we’re establishing our base in the tower. When we are done, when we need nothing more from her, she will depart.’

  ‘We’re to take you aboard Intimidator,’ said the sailor. He tried to look brave in the face of Simon’s ire. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘Captain N’Dek is waiting for you,’ said the small one. He reached out and stroked Shani’s cheek. ‘Go quickly. The Master is waiting for his prize.’

  Simon yanked Shani away. ‘Keep back,’ he threatened. ‘And don’t presume to tell me what to do, Roshann. I am Dark-Heart.’

  The name had enough weight to erase the agent’s grin. ‘And you’ve done well, as well as the Master expected. Now go and bring him the child. Go home, Dark-Heart. Rest in Crote.’

  The warm body in his arms gave Simon the smallest pause. He looked down at the creature he had kidnapped. Shani looked up at him, her expression confused, her face flush from the cold. A little trail of mucus ran from her nose. He bunched up his coat sleeve and wiped the trail away.

  ‘The boat’s waiting for you,’ said the sailor. He pointed toward the rocky shore. ‘That way.’

  Because they were all watching him, because he had done this evil thing and could never turn back, Simon walked in silence toward the shore and the rowboat that would take him to the Intimidator.

  At midnight, when the moon had set and Falindar had fallen into silence, Dyana Vantran sat alone in the bedchamber of her abducted daughter. Deemis and the other warriors had found no trace of Shani, and though they were still hard at the search, hopelessness grew by the minute. Simon Darquis, if that was his name, had disappeared, and the coincidence of it convinced Dyana of her daughter’s fate. As she stared at the moon through an open window, her husband’s words came to her on the breeze.

  The Roshann is everywhere.

  She hadn’t believed him. Neither had Lucyler. The golden demon Biagio who stalked Richius’ dreams was very real, Dyana knew now, and obviously as evil as Richius had claimed. Tresh was dead. Deemis’ men had taken her body away and had scrubbed clean most of the blood on the floor. Dyana didn’t want to be with her women friends tonight. She insisted on being alone – in Shani’s room. Dyana stared blindly out of the window, wondering bleakly what Richius would think of her. He had only been gone for a day and a half, and already she had lost their daughter. She was alone again, like she had been before meeting Richius, and the familiar feeling angered her.

  ‘Where are you, Simon?’ she whispered. She could hear the ocean and could see the moon on the waves, and these things calmed her and cleared her mind. ‘Roshann,’ she chanted. ‘Where are you?’

  He had come to Lucel-Lor by ship no doubt. There was simply no way he could have come so far on foot or horseback. Falindar was on the northern fringes of Lucel-Lor, and far away from the Saccenne Run, the only route linking the Triin to the Empire. Dyana focused on the ocean, recalling everything she could about the Naren. He was tall and thin and strangely quiet, especially lately. No doubt he had been planning his kidnapping. Dyana remembered her talk with him in the hall outside the meeting chamber, when Prakna had come for Richius. He had actually seemed to care about her. And she had stupidly believed him. It was like Richius had said – the Roshann were devils. Like shape-shifters.

  ‘My fault,’ she hissed.

  How, she wondered, had he come to them looking so ragged? Another Naren trick? Had he starved himself and laid in the sun? He had claimed he had wandered since the end of the Naren invasion. According to Richius, Simon had subsisted on the provisions of the land, stealing sometimes, gathering what he could, and generally keeping to himself. There were hundreds of villages in Tatterak alone.

  But there were no towers.

  Dyana inched away from the window, almost stumbling.

  Towers.

  Simon had said he’d seen towers. But there were no towers in the south. The only abandoned towers were . . .

  She bolted from Shani’s bedroom to her own, riffling through her closets for warm clothes and boots. Hurriedly she dressed, pulling on her clothing and lacing up her footwear, her mind exploding with hope.

  ‘Towers,’ she gasped. ‘One tower!’

  The one far away, past the valley on the sea. It was abandoned and had been for years. Lucyler had shown it to them once, when they had all ridden from Falindar to picnic on a summer day. It was tall and wretched and perfect for a hideout, and if Simon had known of it he had surely lied to them about coming from the south.

  ‘He is there,’ she said. ‘He must be . . .’

  If he was trying to escape, then there would be a ship waiting for him.

  There were few men left in the castle to help Dyana, and she knew they wouldn’t let her go anyway. She was a woman, and in old-fashioned Falindar that meant very little.

  She darted out the door and dashed down the stairs.

  She would need a mount. She wasn’t an accomplished rider like her husband, but she could handle a horse and knew that in the stables there was one already waiting for her, the one steed in Falindar that no Triin warrior dared to touch, not even Lucyler.

  Lightning.

  Richius’ horse was fast, and Dyana knew that the gelding would be waiting there for her, unattended as the other men of the citadel rode off in search of Shani. At the bottom of the stairs she took a breath to quiet herself. The lateness of the hour had sent most everyone to bed, but Dyana risked no chances. If Deemis or one of his warriors sighted her, they would drag her back to her chambers. And time was running out. Carefully, she stalked through the silent hallways of Falindar and reached the double gates that would take her to the stables.

  Cold night wrapped around her as she stepped outside. Her breath drew from her lungs in white vapor. Quickly she scanned the flat field, but there was no one around. Relieved, she walked across the trampled ground to the stable. It was an elaborate building, too grand for animals, built to the excesses of Falindar’s former, royal rulers. The large wooden door, carved with ornate figures of horse heads, hung half open on its hinges. Dyana peeked inside. As she suspected, Deemis and his warriors had taken all the horses to hunt for Simon.

  All but one.

  Lightning stood in his stall at the far end of the stable. Dyana’s mood jumped when she saw him. His brown eyes turned on her questioningly.

  ‘Easy, boy,’ she whispered. She put out her hand and lightly patted his nose. ‘I am not going to hurt you. You know me, yes? I am Dyana.’

  The horse sniffed at her.

  ‘Yes,’ urged Dyana. ‘It is me. Please, Lightning. Please let me ride you.’

  She had only ridden the gelding once before, and then only with Richius. But he was a good-natured beast, and Dyana hurried to fit him with a blanket and bridle, all the things she had seen her husband do countless times before. Finally she opened wide the gate to his stall and approached him.

  ‘I need you to take me to my daughter,’ she told the horse. ‘Will you help me?’

  Very gently she fitted her foot into a stirrup. Lightning snorted. Dyana rubbed
him, cooed to him, then threw herself up and onto his back. The steed shuddered. Dyana held tightly to his neck and kept up her encouragement, her voice as soft as a lullaby.

  ‘It is all right,’ she said. ‘I will not hurt you. But we have to go quickly. My baby – your master’s baby – she needs us . . .’

  The steed moved toward the gate. Dyana gave an encouraging cheer. She grabbed hold of the reins, remembered all she could about riding, and steered the horse out of the stall. From there they trotted through the stables, and finally out into the night. Once in the moonlight, Lightning stopped, awaiting her commands.

  ‘Thank you,’ sighed Dyana. ‘Lorris and Pris, thank you. Come now, Lightning – give me some of your famous speed.’

  The Intimidator, still at anchor off the coast of Lucel-Lor, pitched in the moonlight. Though he had been on board for less than an hour, Simon was already seasick. He stood on deck, trying to regain his sea legs and staring at the other warship anchored beside them. The Revenge was bigger than the Intimidator, easier to detect from shore. Simon wondered whether either ship would make it back to Crote without the Lissens sighting it. If Prakna and his vessels were still in Triin waters, they would certainly be discovered.

  On shore, Simon saw the outline of the abandoned tower, barely visible in the haze. The two Roshann agents Biagio had sent to spy on Vantran were still inside the filthy place, unaware that the Jackal had already fled Lucel-Lor. Simon puzzled over his intentional omission. Something was wrong with him, something he was losing control of. It occurred to him that they might go after Dyana now, and that frightened him, but they were dangerously vulnerable and wouldn’t find out too soon that Richius was gone.

  ‘I’ll bring you the baby,’ Simon muttered. ‘For Eris. But nothing more.’

  Biagio would have to get Richius on his own. Simon would help no more. He would deliver the child to his master and then steal away with Eris. He would ruin the Vantrans, but Richius would be free to stalk Biagio and, later, him. Someday, if the Gods existed at all, Biagio would be accountable. Oddly, Simon had already mapped out the rest of his life. After marrying Eris he would flee Crote and Biagio, he would take Eris to a place hidden from the Roshann, if such a place existed, and they would spend the rest of their lives together. Eris would be happy. And Simon would be fearful. Every other thought would be of Biagio and his schemes, and every time he heard a branch snap he would jump. And he would worry about Richius, too, and how the Jackal of Nar’s life had become a quest to find the man who killed his daughter. A great, relentless guilt fell atop Simon.