The Grand Design

by John Marco

  "A ship of the Black Fleet will take you to Lucel-Lor. While you're there, it will stay behind to patrol Triin waters. It will be there when you need it to return."

  You've got this all planned, don't you? thought Simon bitterly. The master puppeteer at work.

  "My lord," said Simon cautiously. "Think again on this, please. Your vengeance against Vantran is clouding your mind. There are other things to worry about. Herrith and Vorto--"

  "Are being dealt with," snapped the count. "But Vantran has gone on too long without tasting my wrath. It's time for him to suffer. Time for him to pay for what he's done." Biagio stepped closer to Simon, until their noses almost touched. "He killed Arkus, Simon. He betrayed Arkus and the emperor died because of it. And all for a god-damned woman. Now I will take what has come from their cursed union. In the name of Arkus, I will take it!"

  Simon stood very still.

  "You will do this for me," Biagio continued. "And in return I will give you the dancer. That is our bargain. Do you accept it?"

  "Yes," said Simon sadly. It was the only word he could manage, for his voice had abandoned him.

  "You will leave in a few days," said Biagio. "I will look after Eris for you."

  And with that the golden count turned from his servant and strode away.

  FIVE

  The Conscience of a King

  The citadel of Falindar stood on a cliff overhanging the ocean, erupting from the rocky earth. In all the vastness of Lucel-Lor there existed no other structure as high or as splendid, nor any with such a pedigree. It had stood for centuries on its perch, weathering wars and the occasional hurricane, housing the royal family of Lucel-Lor--that long lineage of Triin noblemen that had called themselves Daegog. The Daegogs had ruled Lucel-Lor from Falindar, showering themselves in wealth and taxes, and had watched apathetically as the warlords of their land methodically carved up the nation and claimed territories of their own. In the era of the warlords, the last of the Daegogs had merely been figureheads, rulers in name only, until finally there were no more of their greedy clan. There were only the warlords and their squabbles.

  But Falindar remained. Like the memory of the Daegog, the citadel was permanent, and in these days of peace, the warlords looked to Falindar for strength and guidance and asked favors of the man who now called the place home. The new master of Falindar had taken the job reluctantly. The death of the old master had made any other choice impossible.

  Richius Vantran knew the sad chronicle of Falindar. He knew the warlords personally and had fought with them against Nar, had watched Triin comrades die at the hands of his Empire. Lucyler, Falindar's new master, was his closest friend, and the two had become like brothers. Yet still, long months after the war, Richius was no closer to understanding the Triin. In Aramoor, his homeland, he had been a king. A poor one, he believed, but a king nonetheless. He had not been an oddity because of his pink skin. There had been servants and responsibilities to occupy him, and the days were quickened by demands. He had despised the kingship the death of his father had thrust on him, but it had defined his life. It had given him purpose.

  All men need a purpose. Richius' father had told him that, and it haunted him. But in Falindar, the days dragged and the nights were unbearable. Richius had become little more than another of the castle's ornaments. He was still Kalak, the Jackal, and a hero to the Triin, but they seemed not to notice or need him anymore. In the months since Lucel-Lor's victory over Nar, Richius had rested and gained weight. He had watched the growth of his daughter, and had speculated about the goings-on back in the Empire, but he was isolated. Lucyler busied himself with the famines and the reconstruction of the Dring Valley--and the other territories scarred by the war--and he rarely had time for his Naren friend. Richius watched Lucyler with envy, remembering fondly what it was like to be busy. He helped when he could, loading carts full of grain and patrolling the grounds around Falindar, but he was nagged constantly by the feeling that he was simply in the way.

  He spent most of his days with Shani, idling the hours away. Shani was leading a pampered life. She was Kalak's daughter and so wanted for nothing, and Richius wondered sometimes what type of woman this would make her. Her face had some of his features, and that marked her as something more or less than Triin, but she could never go to Nar and discover the other half of her heritage. Aramoor was now firmly in the hands of the Empire. Unless he could create a miracle, she would never see the place her father considered home. Biagio had seen to that. Even exiled, the golden count had influence. Aramoor was ruled by Talistan now, just as it had been before the little nation had broken free. A new governor had been appointed to replace Blackwood Gayle--the iron-fisted Elrad Leth. Richius didn't know Leth well, but he knew his reputation. Aramoor was suffering under him, certainly.

  Today was a day like any other in Falindar. Dyana had spent the morning playing with Shani and trying to teach the girl her first Triin phrases. Shani could barely gurgle, but Dyana was convinced she knew the word mother. Feeling melancholy, Richius had gone off riding. Before leaving he had made Dyana promise that she and Shani would not leave the grounds of the citadel. Reluctantly, his wife agreed.

  So Richius rode for an hour and more under the cool afternoon sun, losing himself in the colorful show of Lucel-Lor's autumn. He rode until he reached the forest far to the east of Falindar, an ancient grove of tangled trees with bark like stone and black branches. Here is where he had left Karlaz to weep, when the lion-master had slain his rogue mount. Karlaz had not returned to the citadel. Instead he had remained in the woods.

  And perhaps it was this that drove Richius to the forest. Lonely but not truly wanting to be alone, Richius steered his steed into the heart of the forest, past the village where the rogue lion had attacked, and finally to the range of mountains where he and Lucyler had left Karlaz behind.

  Richius had barely arrived at the mountain lair when he heard Karlaz's unmistakable voice, singing. It was a low, droning chant, strangely joyous, and Richius followed it, hoping not to disturb the warlord. He tracked the voice to a clearing by a shallow lake, where Karlaz, his hair wet and matted with filth, knelt in the mud and cupped water in his hands, letting it dribble over his face as he sang. Richius reined in his horse a safe distance from the warlord, observing the odd ritual from the safety of the trees. Karlaz continued with his song through three more handfuls of water. When he was done, he laid his palms down on the soft ground, stooped, and kissed the earth. Then he raised his head. He did not turn, but instead sniffed the air like an animal.

  "Kalak?" he guessed.

  Richius grimaced. "Yes," he replied in Triin. He formed his words with effort, speaking slowly as he made the Triin language. "I am sorry, Karlaz. I did not mean to disturb you."

  "You are not disturbing me. My prayer is done." Then the warlord chuckled. "But if the Gods heard me, I know not."

  "Gods hear very little, I've learned," said Richius. He understood most of what the warlord was saying, filling in the rest with his imagination. "I can leave if you want."

  "Kalak, you have come a very long way. To find me?" "Yes."

  "Why?"

  Richius dismounted. Still Karlaz did not turn to face him. "Because I need to speak with someone," said Richius. "Because I am troubled."

  "And you chose me?" This intrigued the warlord enough so that he turned his head. There was a curious smile on his face. "I am not the village wise-woman. Why me?"

  "I am not sure," said Richius with a shrug. "Maybe because I have no one else who would listen. Or understand. I am--"

  "Troubled. Yes, so you have said. Come." Karlaz patted the wet ground next to him. "Sit with me."

  Richius grimaced. "In the mud?" Again the warlord beckoned Richius forward. "I have been watching you, Kalak. You live among us, but you are not Triin yet. I will teach you something. Come."

  Reluctantly, Richius picked his way over the rocky ground toward Karlaz. At the warlord's insistence he knelt down beside him. Immediatel
y his knees disappeared with a sucking sound, the water soaking through his trousers to the skin. "Now what?"

  "Shhh," Karlaz directed. "This will calm your mind. But you must be quiet. You of Nar, you are never quiet enough. You cannot hear the silence." Karlaz made a cup of his hands again. "Do this," he said. "Yes, that is good. Now . . ." He dipped his hands into the water until his hands filled, watching as Richius did the same. But when Karlaz dropped the cold water over his face and chest, Richius balked.

  "Karlaz, I am not very religious. I do not want to pray."

  "Shhh," said Karlaz. "This is not prayer. No. This is for you, not the Gods. When we do this thing, we are the center of the world."

  It was all cryptic nonsense, but Richius did as the warlord asked, raising his hands to his face and letting the water slowly dribble out. Not surprisingly, he felt no different, but he dipped his hands in the water again and repeated the process three more times along with Karlaz. Richius stole a glance at the lion rider, whose eyes were closed in contemplation. "What are we doing?" he whispered. "We are becoming part of the earth," said Karlaz. "Part of the soil, part of the water. Part of the sky if you look at it. Look at the sky, Kalak. Keep your eyes open and look."

  Richius looked. He poured the water over his face, straining not to blink, and watched the blueness of the heavens blur in the waterfall. He felt giddy suddenly and he laughed.

  "Good!" Karlaz encouraged. "You see? You are part of the earth now. Part of nature. Now sing with me."

  Again Karlaz began to chant, elbowing Richius to join him. Richius joined in, shyly at first, then stronger as the mood swept him. It was still nonsense, but he loved it. He loved being part of nature, and he imagined the water washing him clean, carrying away his sins and his past. He chanted with the warlord for long minutes, and when Karlaz stopped singing Richius went on alone, louder until the birds flew from the trees and his song wasn't a chant suddenly but a pained, cathartic cry. . . .

  Richius let all the frustration blow out of him, and when he was done he opened his eyes and glanced at Karlaz, horrified. The lion-master stared at him.

  "Troubled," murmured Karlaz.

  Richius was breathing hard. "Yes. Oh, yes . . ."

  He had no other words. He was a prisoner of his memories. Aramoor flashed before him, perfect and green, and the shattering sight of Sabrina's head in a box, staring. A gift from Biagio. He had never truly loved her but he loved her now, and he feared suddenly that she would never be silent, that her screams would echo endlessly. He brought his hands to his face and covered his eyes, willing the images away, but they remained, just as they had always remained.

  "Karlaz," he said shakily. "I am alone here. I am like you. A stranger in Falindar."

  The warlord took Richius' chin in his hand and pulled him closer. "You are not alone, Kalak. Hear me? Kalak can never be alone here. You have a wife, and a daughter. I have seen them with you." He smiled, and the expression was surprisingly gentle. "Kalak is not alone."

  "Dyana," Richius nodded. "Yes, she is wonderful. I love her, but she does not understand. She does not know what I am going through."

  The warlord's grin broadened. "Always men talk about the wife that does not understand. Triin men are the same. They should listen to their wives more. The females know more than we think."

  Richius nodded, somewhat ruefully. "Yes. But I have tried to speak to her, and she will not hear me. She does not want to listen to what I have to tell her. To her, it is just bad news."

  The warlord's eyes narrowed to scrutinize him. "I have been watching you, Kalak. I have seen you at work, and I have heard the way the others talk about you. I know that you were married before; that Dyana is not your first wife. The guards, they talk. They say that you are unhappy here, and that your heart is full of vengeance. And you walk alone at night, in the courtyard. I have seen you."

  It was all true, so Richius didn't deny it. Those nighttime walks had been his only means to exorcise the demons that always came to him in sleep. But suddenly the warlord's perception made him uneasy. He got up from the ground, brushing the mud from his knees and wiping his filthy hands on his trousers. Karlaz looked up at him, but did not rise.

  "I have disturbed you," said Richius. "I am sorry. I will go now."

  He turned to go, making it halfway to his horse before Karlaz called after him.

  "Now Kalak runs," said the warlord. "And he still has no answers."

  Richius turned. "Karlaz, I . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Talking about this is hard for me."

  Still Karlaz stared at him. "If you go, you will only be frustrated. And then you will tell your wife that you are frustrated, and you will both be angry. You came to talk. So talk. I will listen."

  It was an odd invitation, but of all the Triin warlords Richius had known, only Karlaz had seemed like kindred. Perhaps it was why the other warlords had always shunned him; he was nothing like them at all. Richius lingered between his horse and the stream, contemplating what to say. He could think of no tangible reason for coming to Karlaz. He just wanted a companion. Amazingly, Karlaz seemed to read his mind. The man rose from his knees and strode over to him.

  "Lucyler is a good man," he said. "I trust him. But he is busy these days with great matters. The other warlords, they look to him for answers to their silly feuds. They eat up his time with nonsense. He has no time for you. And this discourages you."

  Richius laughed. Perhaps Karlaz was a magician. "Yes," he admitted. "That is right, I think. I feel alone here. I am not Triin, and I am out of place. And . . ." He stopped himself, wondering if he should go further. The warlord cocked his head inquisitively.

  "And?"

  "I have dreams," said Richius. "Bad dreams. Of home. Of my first wife, Sabrina. It is all inside me, in here, crying to get out. I do not belong here. Since the war with Nar ended, I have done nothing for my people in Aramoor. They think I have betrayed them, and they are right. Sabrina died because of me." He looked away, horrified at what he was admitting. "I am cursed, Karlaz. Everyone who trusts me dies, but I always live. That is my curse--to live while everyone else dies."

  Karlaz's brow wrinkled. "Narens are superstitious. Curses and portents--they are nonsense. It does you ill to speak so. I know of your wife, Kalak, the cruel thing they did to her. Your vengeance must be great. It is right to feel your anger. It is what a man should feel."

  "It screams at me, Karlaz. Sometimes it is all I think about. I need to be doing something for Aramoor, something to avenge what they did to Sabrina."

  "But you have avenged her," said Karlaz. "I have heard the story of the man with the metal face, the one called Gayle. You battled and killed him. She is avenged, Kalak. You cannot slay a man twice."

  "Would that I could," spat Richius. He would love to have that pleasure again. Often he remembered his sword cutting through Gayle's skull and the look of astonishment on the baron's face. But Blackwood Gayle had only been a pawn, a puppet on Biagio's strings. Gayle was dead but Biagio lived on, and had yet to answer for his crimes.

  "There is another man," Richius explained. "The one who ordered her death. I know you do not know much about Nar, but this one is a devil. He is a Naren nobleman. He was the emperor's closest advisor before the old man died. His name is Biagio."

  Karlaz tried to wrap his tongue around the name. "Beeagyo," he managed to say. "A bad man?"

  "Oh, worse than bad. Evil. Do Triin believe in Hell? Because he is from Hell, I swear it. He ordered my homeland overrun, and he gave it to Talistan to rule."

  Karlaz folded his arms over his chest. "Where is this Beeagyo?" he growled. "In the Empire?"

  "I am not sure," said Richius with a shrug. "The news I hear from Nar is not very reliable or recent, but I have heard he is in exile. After the emperor died, there was chaos in Nar. Biagio had to flee, probably to his island. There is a bishop in power now, a holy man you might call him. Not a friend of Biagio's. But not a friend of mine, either." He sighed. "I cannot r
eally explain this to you. It is something you have to see to believe, but Nar is run by evil men. Not just bad or cruel, but truly evil. Their souls are black, you see? Black like death. They have to be stopped."

  The warlord looked at him suspiciously. "By you?"

  "Maybe," said Richius. "Why not?"

  "One man alone against an empire. That sounds like a fool's crusade, Kalak. And you are an outlaw in Nar, yes? Show your face, and you are dead. Your wife is widowed, your daughter fatherless. That is not being a hero."

  "But I would not be alone. I would go with the Lissens. I would join in their fight."

  "The Lissens have left our waters. They do not come to Lucel-Lor anymore."

  "But they might be back. Their commander told me so. He said I could join them if I wanted."

  "And what did you say?" asked Karlaz, looking like he already knew the answer.

  "I told him that I would help if I was needed. Can you understand that, Karlaz? You helped the other Triin to fight Nar because they invaded your land. You were willing to die. Should I not be at least as brave as that?"

  "It is different, Kalak."

  "Why?" asked Richius hotly. "Why is defending Aramoor any different from defending your village?"

  "It is different," repeated the warlord firmly, "and I will not argue this with you." Then he sighed and his face became mournful. "You have much to think on, Kalak. You should talk to the sky."

  For a moment Richius thought that his Triin had failed him. Talk to the sky? "What does that mean?"

  "In Chandakkar, when a man is troubled, he talks to the sky. He goes away from all others, like I have been doing here. I have had things to think on. I have been talking to the sky."

  And to the mud and water and trees, thought Richius wryly. "Karlaz, I am not understanding you. You want me to go away? Leave Falindar?"

  "For a time, yes. Talk to the sky. Listen to what it tells you." The big man poked his finger into Richius' chest. "Listen to what this tells you. Your heart, Kalak. Your heart."