The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  Twenty-One

  The Ghosts of Gray Tower

  Nina trotted her horse through a field of bodies, astonished at the carnage her father had wrought. It was another frozen day on the north fork of Dragon’s Beak – Eneas’ fork. A terrible wind tore at Nina’s cloak, slicing through it like fangs. Snow blanketed the roadway and the abandoned buildings, all shuttered closed, and the rigored bodies in the avenues stared in endless horror, their eyes turned to ice by the cold. Somewhere up in a fog of clouds, the afternoon sun fought to warm the earth. Slicks of frozen blood in the roadway reflected the light and snow. Nina’s horse moved without purpose through the town, as aimless as its stunned rider, its vacant footfalls the only sound breaking the dreadful day. Ahead loomed Gray Tower, tall and shadowy, its hundred windows vacant of life. The home of Duke Eneas cast a pall on the ruined town, a gloomy headstone for all the icy dead.

  Duke Enli’s vengeance was awful and deep. Just how deep, Nina had never known . . . until today. All the rage that he’d suppressed, all the hatred for his brother, had gushed out of him in a violent torrent, a tidal wave without mercy. Nina looked about her, and realized with horrible certainty that she knew nothing about the man she called Father.

  ‘My God, Grath,’ she whispered above the wind. ‘Did you do all this?’

  Grath of Doria trotted up beside her with his entourage, a dozen mercenaries from his homeland.

  ‘I had my orders, girl,’ he said without flinching. Nothing seemed to bother Grath . . . not the ferocious cold, and not the terrible deed he’d done.

  ‘Whose orders?’ Nina asked. ‘My father’s?’

  ‘Yes. And my employer’s,’ replied the mercenary. All around him, his men nodded, as though such a claim could absolve them of the genocide. ‘Biagio was very specific,’ Grath went on. ‘I did what I was paid to do.’

  Nina couldn’t look at him anymore, so she turned her eyes back to the remnants of men and women – even children. Crushed helmets encased the faceless skulls of raven soldiers, guardians of Duke Eneas. Their slaughtered remains were everywhere, stiff with cold, their clutching fingers reaching heavenward in death. This was the north fork’s largest village, surrounded by farms and once populated by hardy peasants. It had been wiped clean. Other villages had been spared the ravages of Grath and his mercenaries, but not Westwind. The battle had taken place here, at the foot of Gray Tower. Eneas’ troops had defended the memory of their duke, and had paid with their lives. Without their army of the air to protect them, the raven troops were slaughtered. The strange count from Crote had purchased a fortune in mercenaries to overwhelm the north fork, for Grath commanded a force of nearly three hundred. Nina wasn’t an expert on military affairs, but she had heard her father, Duke Enli, speak of it often, for he was war-minded and constantly preoccupied with his brother across the channel. Now, it seemed, his obsession had erupted – with disastrous consequences.

  Nina closed her eyes in disgust. These were her own people. To see them slaughtered made her wonder about her father’s sanity.

  ‘Good God, he left nothing,’ said Nina shakily. The sight overwhelmed her. ‘How could you, Father? How?’

  There was no answer to such a question. Never had she imagined him capable of such an atrocity. Nina looked at the abandoned tower in the distance, now occupied only by corpses and angry ghosts. More than a decade had passed since she’d been there. In those days, she had run freely through her uncle’s keep, happy to be with him and his ravens. Happy, as they all were, to live in a land of peace.

  Times had changed remarkably.

  ‘Grath, you are a monster. You and all your men.’

  Grath blinked without emotion. ‘I told you what you would see here, Nina. But you’re as stubborn as your father.’ He started to rein his horse around. ‘Come. Let’s be gone. If this were summer, the stink would kill us.’

  ‘Stay,’ Nina ordered. ‘I’m not done.’

  There was enough iron in her voice to keep the Dorian from going. It was true that he had warned her, begged her in fact not to come to this place. But Nina had been too long in the confines of Red Tower, wondering what had gone on in the frozen world outside. Since her father had gone to Nar City with Lorla, Grath and his mercenaries had been hard at work. It hadn’t been difficult for Nina to guess at their activities, but she hadn’t imagined anything so ghastly. She had even held out the vain hope that her uncle might still be alive.

  Grath had explained things to her.

  Upon returning from his black crusade, the Dorian had told her everything. About her father. About the murder of her uncle. And the news had shattered Nina. Like a sheltered child she had hidden herself, walled up in Red Tower, denying that her father could be launching a war against his brother even as it raged across the channel. She had even told Lorla that everything would be all right. Nina cursed herself now, hating her timidity. If she had stood up to her father, she might have convinced him to stop. She was the one thing he still cared about, and she knew it. She was his last link to Angel.

  I should have tried, she thought.

  Could she have reached into his mind and soothed the insanity there? God, was this her fault? Nina shook her head, banishing the idea.

  No! Don’t even think it.

  ‘There’s nothing else to see here,’ growled Grath. As the minutes ticked by, he grew more impatient. And maybe a bit fearful. No one had challenged them during the ride through the north fork, but that didn’t mean no one would, and Grath kept a watchful eye on the vacant homes and dead bodies, half expecting them to come alive. His men seemed to share their leader’s nervousness, wary of their gloomy surroundings. They had followed Grath this far because Nina had demanded it, but a mercenary’s loyalty was only so good. Nina gave a mirthless grin. Her father had taught her that as well.

  You got your wish, Father, she thought. All of Dragon’s Beak is yours now.

  Enli even had the ravens, his brother’s vaunted ‘army of the air’. Cackle, her pet, sat perched on her shoulder, clicking at the cold. Before he had gone to Nar City with Lorla, her father had warned her not to let the raven out of her sight.

  ‘He is lead raven now,’ Enli had said.

  Nina knew what the term meant. Cackle wore the gold chain around his neck now, symbol of lead raven. Nina remembered the story. Eneas had been very proud of his ravens, and had happily bragged to her about them. She knew all about lead raven status. No doubt Eneas’ own lead raven was as dead as its master. Nina turned toward the bird on her shoulder, grateful he was with her. As far as any of them knew, the army of the air was still around Gray Tower, waiting for Eneas to return. Without a lead raven to follow, they had simply let Grath and his mercenaries slaughter the tower’s defenders.

  ‘Stay with me, Cackle,’ said Nina. ‘I might need you.’

  She didn’t know what to expect when she reached Gray Tower. She hadn’t even told Grath that the tower was her true destination. She wondered what his reaction would be. Though she was the duke’s daughter and he was paid to protect her, he might easily abandon her. He had only come this far at Nina’s insistence. She had needed to see the carnage for herself, to understand the depth of her father’s madness.

  Now Gray Tower beckoned in a way she hadn’t expected. Memories rushed over her, long forgotten. She stared at the tower and felt its pull, and wondered if her life would change if she went there.

  Or end.

  ‘We go on,’ she said softly. Her voice was hardly audible over the wind.

  ‘Go on?’ said Grath. ‘Go where?’

  ‘To the tower.’

  ‘No. Forget it.’

  Nina was resolute. ‘I’m going. Come with me if you want. Or stay, if you’re afraid. I’ll return to Red Tower on my own.’

  There was a grumbling from the mercenaries. Grath brought his horse in close to Nina’s, leaning into her so his men wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Listen, you little wench,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve brought you this far, but that’s
enough. There’s nothing in the tower worth seeing. Don’t make me drag you back to the south fork like some child.’

  ‘I want to see it for myself,’ Nina said.

  ‘There’s nothing to see, you stupid girl! Just bodies. You want to see bodies? Take your fill of them here!’

  Cackle ruffled his feathers, but Nina was adamant. ‘I’m going, Grath. With or without you.’

  The Dorian’s face reddened. ‘You do, and so help me I’ll—’

  ‘What, Grath? Haul me back to Red Tower like a sack of grain? I don’t think so.’ Nina sharpened hard eyes on him. ‘If you touch me, I’ll tell my father you mistreated me. Raped me, even. He’ll tell Biagio, and you won’t get paid.’

  The menace in her voice made Grath hesitate. He knew Enli worshiped his daughter, and without Enli’s goodwill, Biagio’s purse just might not open. In the end, Grath relented.

  ‘There’s nothing to see,’ he warned again. ‘Nothing but those god-cursed birds. If they attack us—’

  ‘They won’t,’ Nina assured him. ‘Cackle will protect us. Stay close to me and nothing will happen.’

  They were bold words, and Nina could tell the mercenaries questioned them. She herself questioned them. Though she had been but a child of five when last she’d seen Gray Tower, she remembered Eneas’ ravens like a terrible nightmare. The memory of a thousand black eyes blazed in her mind. But only for a moment. Gray Tower awaited, and maybe some answers with it. Her father’s treachery had left a vacancy in her soul. For the first time in her life, she doubted about him. Or maybe it was simply the first time she had courage. She didn’t really know. But her sheltered life had come to a ruinous end, and she wanted someone to blame.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she ordered, spurring her horse up the road toward the keep. It was a long way off, through a narrow lane dense with trees. The wind picked up as she advanced. Grath and his Dorians grumbled but followed, and soon they had left the town behind, wandering into a thicket of trees canopying a winding road. Nina’s horse snorted unhappily. On her shoulder, Cackle let out a long, low whistle, a habit he’d picked up from Duke Enli. Nina cupped her hood around her face to stave off the cold. It had been many hours since they’d left the south fork, and her hands ached beneath her gloves.

  Grath rode up beside her. ‘You’re a fool, girl,’ he sneered. ‘You’re chasing ghosts. I tell you again, there’s nothing there.’

  ‘Then what are you afraid of?’

  Grath answered with a grimace. ‘I fear nothing. But we’re wasting our time, and it’s god-damn cold out here. Maybe dangerous, too. For you.’

  ‘That’s why I brought you; to protect me. Now stop talking. Your breath makes me sick.’

  They rode awhile longer. The lane was black with pines and rough with swales, and the branches knitting overhead bore heavy loads of fallen snow that sometimes gave way onto their heads. Here, they were nearing the tip of the Dragon’s Beak. Nina could sense the faint tang of salt in the air, and the sound of distant surf whispered in her ears. She spurred her horse to a quicker pace, eager to be out of the cold.

  At last, the corridor of branches opened, spilling them out into Gray Tower’s shadow. The keep rose up high above them, abandoned, desolate, and bearing the scars of a thousand storms. Nina stared at it, shocked and amazed, drowning in a flood of reborn memories. Emotion choked her, and were it not for the arrogant Grath watching her, she knew she would have wept.

  ‘Father,’ she whispered. ‘What have you done?’

  Gray Tower responded with an empty silence. Across the uneven meadow leading to the keep, Nina could see the remnants of battle, the broken bodies of the castle’s defenders fallen in the snow and the weapons left to rust on the ground, useless. The meadow itself was churned by horses’ hooves, eaten away by rushing beasts and strewn with great clods of earth. Beneath the snow, dead men lay against each other, misshapen mounds of white bent in impossible angles. When the winter ended and the warm weather came, there would be disease here, maybe even enough poison to reach across the channel. Her father would be horrified, she was certain. Grath had done a very poor job of cleaning up. She scanned the castle grounds, hoping for a sign of life, any small, surviving thing, but saw nothing moving across the field.

  Except for the ravens.

  They were everywhere. Huge and black, they toddled along the bodies and stone fences, oblivious to the cold, pecking at the corpses and peeling off long strips of flesh. Their shining plumage caught the sunlight like a big, sable ocean. Some of the birds noticed the intruders and turned their corvine eyes eastward, spying Nina and her troops. A fearful tremor moved through the mercenaries. Nina swallowed hard. The sight of so many of the frightful things made her heart flutter. They were monsters, freaks of Eneas’ careful breeding. Every alcove was covered with them, every fence post swathed in black. One by one they picked up the signals from their brothers, turning to regard Nina and the Dorians.

  ‘Good God,’ murmured Grath. ‘Look at them all. Just waiting.’

  ‘We should go,’ insisted one of the mercenaries, a notion echoed by his comrades. Grath silenced them with a sharp look.

  ‘Quiet, you idiots,’ he rumbled. Then he turned to Nina, saying, ‘They’re right. Let’s go, girl, before they eat our eyes out.’

  Nina stroked Cackle’s plumage. ‘I’m not afraid. You can stay behind if you wish. All of you can. But I want to see what’s in the castle.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Grath, exasperated. ‘There’s nothing there!’

  ‘There is,’ Nina replied. ‘I have memories here.’ She smirked, realizing how stupid that must have sounded. ‘Go if you want, Grath. I’ll be safe. And I don’t want to startle them with so many riders. Take your men and go back into the woods. I’ll be out for you soon.’

  ‘No,’ refused the soldier. ‘I’ll go with you, though God curse me for it. I’m supposed to protect you.’ He sighed, miserable with the duty. ‘You’re sure that bird will protect us?’ he asked, pointing at Cackle.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Nina. She wasn’t really, but saying it made her feel better. Cackle was lead raven now. And the army of the air did nothing without the lead raven’s order. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she warned the bird. Cackle bobbed on her shoulder, understanding.

  Nina gave her horse its head and began moving toward the tower. Grath kept well behind her, making certain the ravens in the yard could see the bird on her shoulder. There was some fluttering of wings and staccato caws. Nina fought to quell her growing fear. Beneath her, she could feel the trepidation of her horse as it, too, watched the rapacious birds. She heard Grath’s desperate whisper behind her.

  ‘God, look at them all’

  ‘Quiet,’ she snapped. Any small sound might disturb them, sending them to flight. But Cackle was on her shoulder, perched proud and commandingly, and the ravens in the yard noticed the lead bird and the golden chain around his neck, and soon settled into a uniform disinterest. Nina’s racing heartbeat slowed a bit, relieved. Up ahead, she could see the tower’s door, blown open wide and buried with snow in its threshold. There was a dead man in a heap barring the way inside. An enormous raven stood on his head, comically oblivious to its gruesome perch. Nina steered her horse through the courtyard, careful to avoid the thickest patches of ravens. The way was choked with bodies. Eneas’ men had numbered maybe two hundred at best, and Biagio’s mercenary force had obliterated them. Now, amidst his bloody handiwork, Grath was stoic. Like one of the dead, he seemed not to notice anything. Or to care.

  The ravens around them broke ranks, letting them pass. Nina drew a sigh of relief as she reached the tower. In the doorway, the last raven stared at them from atop the dead man’s helmet, cocking its head inquisitively. A sudden, angry bark from Cackle sent it flying off. Nina smiled at her pet.

  She and Grath trotted past the dead soldier and through the gate. Once inside, Grath dismounted and closed the castle doors, sealing them off from the birds. The hall went dark with shadows. Nina slowly
slid off her horse. More than ten years had passed since she’d seen this great home, and the sense of it now was overwhelming. The sound of herself laughing as a child echoed in her mind. Exposure to the weather had ruined the carpet and pulled things from the wall, but it was still her uncle’s house, even after so many years.

  ‘Uncle,’ she said meekly, hoping his ghost was home. ‘It’s me.’

  Unsure where to go, Nina stood there for a long moment. She pulled the hood off her head and shook the dampness from her hair. She clapped her boots on the floor to dislodge the snow. She did all these things as a ritual of homecoming, a vain attempt to make some sense of the destruction and fractured bits of her past. Down the hall, light flooded in through broken windows. Like its twin, the Gray Tower had a simple layout. There wasn’t much to the place, just a tall spire ringed with rooms. Across the hall was the library, and her uncle’s study. Past that were the kitchen and dining hall, a big and jolly chamber where she had once sat with her father and uncle and listened to them laugh together over pints of beer. She remembered that now with an ache.

  ‘I want to find my uncle’s rooms,’ she said softly.

  ‘This is madness. What’s your point, girl?’

  Nina shrugged. ‘Maybe nothing.’

  It was impossible to explain to Grath. No one could understand the hollowness her life had become, the mystery of not knowing. Only Lorla had come close to understanding, and she was gone now, part of her father’s impenetrable schemes.

  ‘Stay here, Grath. Look after the horses. I won’t be long.’

  Grath balled up a fist. ‘No, Nina! Now this is enough. You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Don’t open the door,’ Nina warned, ignoring him. ‘You might not be safe without Cackle.’

  ‘Damn it, Nina . . .’

  ‘Stay,’ she ordered, then drifted down the damp corridor. To her relief, Grath didn’t follow. A thousand thoughts came at her at once, glad and mournful memories she had thought buried a decade ago. There were more bodies in the hall, servants that Grath had slaughtered, even an old woman Nina thought she recognized. She paused over the lifeless body, unable to recall the name but sure she had worked in the kitchen. Once she had served Nina carrot soup. Now she was dead. An enormous puddle of dried blood framed her face, gluing her hair to the floor. Nina forced herself to look away.