The Grand Design

by John Marco

  "Well, you found me." Simon patted the cold bricks beside him. "Sit down."

  To Simon's surprise, Richius didn't hesitate to slide down next to him. Simon stole a glance at the younger man, sizing him up. Richius was studying the moon.

  "You've got something on your mind," Simon declared. "Spit it out."

  "All right," said Richius. "I'm going to Liss with Prakna."

  Simon nodded. "I thought you would. Have you told your wife?"

  "I have. She's angry."

  "And what has the Lissen promised you? A chance to fight for Aramoor? Some Naren heads?"

  "Oh, much more than that. He's promised me Biagio."

  Dumbfounded, Simon could only blink. What the hell was Prakna planning?

  "Biagio?" he blurted. "How?"

  "By invading Biagio's island," Richius explained. "Says he's been decoying the Black Fleet away from Crote. Apparently Nicabar's ships have been lurking around Crote, protecting Biagio. But all the Lissen raids on the mainland have finally lured the Naren dreadnoughts back to imperial waters. Prakna plans to invade just as soon as he has an army ready."

  Good God almighty! Simon looked away, trying hard not to betray his shock, but he was staggered by the news. An invasion of Crote? And Biagio didn't know? There would be hundreds killed. More, maybe. Maybe Eris.

  "What does he want you for?" asked Simon. "To help him fight?"

  "Sort of. He wants me to lead his army. Train them, too." Richius laughed bitterly. "He thinks he needs me. The Lissens are sailors, not soldiers. They need someone experienced to lead them."

  "And you're the best they could get?" exclaimed Simon. "Good luck to them."

  "I've led men before, Simon. I think I can do the job. Besides . . ." He rubbed his hands together. "It's my chance to get that bastard Biagio. If we capture him, I can do what I want with him. Prakna said so."

  The old training rose up in Simon like a wave. He thought of pulling his dagger and ramming it through Vantran's ribs. He thought of smashing his smug head against the wall until it cracked. Like the old days. But he just sat there and did nothing, reminding himself of his role and mission.

  "You're a damned fool," Simon said finally. "You're starting down a path you won't ever come back from."

  "I have to do this, Simon. I have a responsibility to Aramoor, and to Sabrina. It's--"

  "Stop fooling yourself, Richius. This isn't about Aramoor, and it isn't about your first wife, either. This is about revenge."

  "So what if it is?" rumbled Richius, getting to his feet. He glared down at Simon, his eyes wild. "I thought at least you would understand! You know what Nar is like. Is it so wrong to want revenge?" He jammed a thumb into his chest. "I want revenge, Simon. And God damn it all, I'm going to have it!"

  Simon smiled mercilessly. "Good for you. Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me about your heroic quest?"

  "No," said Richius. "I have a favor to ask. I want you to look after Dyana and Shani while I'm gone. Be Dyana's friend for me. She's alone here, especially with Lucyler gone. But she likes you, I think. You can protect her. Will you do that?"

  Simon refused to think about it. "No, I won't," he said flatly. "Your wife and daughter are your responsibility, Richius. Don't try to push them off on me."

  Even as he said it, Simon felt nauseated. But he had already broken one promise to Richius, that day when he had met Dyana and the baby in the field. He had sworn not to harm them, and that pledge was going to be broken in four more days. He wasn't about to leave Lucel-Lor with another shattered oath on his conscience.

  "Simon, I'm asking you as a friend," said Richius. "Look after them for me, just for a while; until I return."

  "And what if you don't come back, Richius? What am I supposed to do with them?"

  "Simon, what is this?" asked Richius. He knelt down on the hard ground of the garden. "Why are you so angry with me? I thought you of all people would understand."

  "Wrong." Simon looked away, unable to stand Vantran's earnest face. Yet he knew it wasn't hatred he felt. It was shame. "Don't make your problems mine. I've got a plateful of my own."

  "Please," Richius cajoled. "I'm leaving with Prakna the day after tomorrow. Say you'll change your mind by then. Don't make me leave worrying about them. Without Lucyler--"

  "I said no! Are you deaf? I'm not going to look after them. I'm not going to give you my blessing, and I'm not going to say everything is all right. So make this stupid decision without me!"

  Richius was stunned. Very slowly he got to his feet.

  He lingered over Simon for a moment, then turned and stalked away. But before he was gone he paused near the ferns and cast one last look in Simon's direction.

  "I don't know what I did to make you so mad, Simon," he said softly, "but I thought we were friends."

  He was gone as quickly as he'd come, swallowed up by the darkness. Simon buried his head in his arms and closed his eyes.

  "You want to know why I'm mad, you fool?" he whispered. "Because when you're gone and I take the baby, Dyana will have nothing."

  EIGHTEEN

  Men-at-Arms

  Duke Enli sat back into the cushions of the coach, highly satisfied with himself. Barely three days had passed since he'd come to Nar's capital, and already Vorto's army was readying itself. At the duke's urging, the Archbishop of Nar had wasted no time in preparing for the coming battle in Dragon's Beak. That night he had summoned Vorto to the cathedral and together the three of them had laid plans. General Vorto had been vocal and displeased, but had acquiesced to Herrith's demands. And despite his opposition to the long trek, Vorto had moved with amazing speed. Through the windows of his coach Enli glanced at the driver who had brought him the news. He was a small man in service to the general, and had come unannounced to Enli's room in the cathedral.

  "General Vorto wants you," he had said. "Quickly."

  Now it was just past dawn. Enli rubbed fatigue from his eyes. He had thought of sending the driver away, but he thought it best not to antagonize the general. Vorto was the key to their entire plan. Enli wanted his trust. Alone in the comfortable carriage, Enli pondered their destination. They had crossed the bridge over the river Kiel and were heading toward the Black Palace, the vacated seat of Naren power. Enli put his cheek against the glass to see better. In the Black City, the palace was called "the onyx jewel," and now Enli knew why. It was an awesome structure. Not beautiful the way the cathedral was, but chilling and strangely stunning. The sun was coming up behind it, setting it aflame. Compared to his own Red Tower, the palace was massive, fit for giants.

  His driver had neglected to tell him where they were going, so Enli had guessed. Vorto, he supposed, had taken up residence in the palace.

  Balls of iron, thought the duke.

  Outside the window, the breaking dawn tossed shadows through the streets. The smell of the polluted river and the smoke of the war labs wafted through the glass, stinging Enli's nose. An umber sky lit their way as sunlight struggled in the haze. The Black City was awakening. Already vendors and merchants pushed through the avenues, dragging their wares to the market. A slave trader and his convoy shuffled past, and a band of beggars stretched in an alleyway between two houses, roused by the light. They would breakfast on rats, and if they were lucky pick a few pockets, for this was life in Nar for the poor. But higher up, in the towers and tall spires, the Naren lords awoke in splendor in perfumed beds, their skin soft and oiled, their minds cloudy with narcotics. Weary from a night of lovemaking, they would go to the window and check the weather, and not think twice of the toil in the streets. Enli's eyes narrowed as his gaze drifted upward. Biagio was one of those lords. And the count didn't give a damn about the destitute or the depraved. He only wanted Nar.

  The carriage driver steered them through a broad street and ascended the palace road. The Black Palace had only one approach, a wide avenue trimmed with golden lamps and marble bricks that wound snakelike up to the impressive castle. But though Enli had expected to
find the road deserted, it was not. A caravan of soldiers was walking toward the castle, while another was coming down. Men wearing the insignia of the Naren legions walked and rode on horseback and dragged packs and animals up and down the way, and the street quickly choked with activity. Enli rapped hard on the carriage wall with his boot, bidding the driver to hurry. But the driver kept his slow ascent up the mountain road, leaving the duke to puzzle. Aggravated, Enli pressed his nose up against the glass to study the throng of soldiers. There was purpose in their movement, and Enli realized at once that this was the force Vorto had arrayed for him.

  His heart sank.

  So many men. He had asked for a division without really knowing what the number meant to Vorto. It was Biagio's plan to get as many legionnaires out of the city as possible, but now the success of the count's design became apparent. Enli's eyes widened. Vorto had taken his plea for help with all seriousness. Quickly Enli tabulated the figures. He had the army of the air back at home, and Biagio's mercenaries, all waiting for him in Dragon's Beak. He also had Nicabar's Black Fleet, if the admiral was on his way as Biagio had promised. But were they all enough? This really was a division, and the sight of it withered Enli's confidence.

  The coach picked its way through the swarm of soldiers, finally stopping at the apex of the hill, just outside the sprawling parade grounds at the base of the Black Palace. Enli waited inside, awed by the sight before him. Hundreds of men, garbed in metal and heavy coats, toiled in the new-day sun, stuffing backpacks and shoeing horses, sharpening steel and loading carts. Horned greegans, the huge, armor-plated beasts used to pull war wagons, honked and snorted as trainers brushed their scaly hides and fixed their mouths with bridles. Horsemen trotted by, dwarfing the scurrying infantrymen in their high-topped boots. In the center of the grounds stood a gang of officers, chatting among themselves and shouting directions to their men. Bare-chested slaves heaved their shoulders against the nearly immovable weight of steel wagons, pushing them into position while their brethren hooked up the flame cannons. Acid launchers waited atop wheeled frames, their baglike bellows slack. Cannisters of munitions stood beside them, filled with the corrosive agents that could eat through human flesh.

  "Too many," Enli whispered nervously. "Too bloody many."

  Before he had left for Nar City, there had been four hundred mercenaries in his army, plus the two hundred men of his own brigade. That meant they would be outnumbered by the legion, and certainly out-gunned. If Nicabar and the heavy guns of the Fearless failed to make it to Dragon's Beak, they would be routed. He gave a low curse, hating himself for making such a convincing case to Herrith. He had begged the bishop for the troops, and now bitterly recalled that old adage--Be careful what you wish for.

  The coach driver got down from his bench and came around to open Enli's door. A rushing stench of horse manure blasted Enli in the face. He got out and stepped into the trampled earth of the parade ground, swallowed by a cacophony of noise.

  "Where's Vorto?" he asked the driver. The slow-witted man pointed a bony finger at the officers in the center of the throng. Enli squinted to see past the press of bodies and detected the giant general among his men. Vorto's shaved head stood taller than the rest. He was busying himself with a pair of officers, one of whom Enli had met two days before, the dour-faced Colonel Kye. Vorto was gesturing to a flat-bedded wagon, while a crew of engineers hoisted rocket launchers into the conveyance and strapped them down securely. Beside the wagon stood a dozen metal cannisters, oddly shaped and bigger than those of the acid launchers. Seeing that his driver wouldn't lead him farther, Enli shouldered into the crowd and approached General Vorto. The bald giant caught a glimpse of him as he neared and a sardonic smile split his face.

  "Duke Enli," he bellowed, waving the duke over. "Come and see what I've done for you."

  Enli didn't bother to greet the general or his underlings. "Are these your men?" he asked. "The ones dispatched to Dragon's Beak?"

  "Enough for you, I hope?" said Vorto. "We've been preparing throughout the night for the trip. With luck we'll be ready to deploy on the morrow."

  "This is quite an army you've arranged," said the duke, looking around. "How many are there?"

  "A division," said Vorto. "What you asked for."

  "And how many is that, precisely?"

  Vorto and a young officer chortled. Colonel Kye remained quiet.

  "A division is three units. Does that help you at all, Duke?"

  Enli sighed, too tired to play the game. "They look like enough. And if they're as good as you claim, we should win the day."

  "We will win the day. In a day," Vorto prophesied. "Against that undisciplined rabble of Dragon's Beak, it will be over in an hour. Look . . ." The general gestured toward the crowd. "More men and materials than I took with me to Goth. We have war wagons, acid launchers, supplies for the trip, everything." Vorto reached out and patted Enli's cheek. "Don't worry, sweet fellow. We'll get your country back for you."

  The taunting gesture raised Enli's hackles, but he checked his anger, saying, "This is wonderful, Vorto. You've done a very good job. Dragon's Beak will thank you."

  Vorto's enormous chest puffed out. "I want some pretty maids when we're done with our work, Enli. Let Dragon's Beak's daughters show me their thanks!"

  More laughing from the young lieutenant. More dark silence from Kye. A stray horse trotted by, then voided itself near their boots. Enli turned his nose away. Vorto's round face reddened.

  "I'll see to it," said Kye quickly. He took hold of the horse's reins and led the beast away in search of its master. Vorto watched him go, keeping his eyes on the colonel's back. Enli noted Vorto's sourness.

  "A good man," said Vorto, "but no faith." He turned to Enli and jabbed a finger into the duke's chest. "You must have faith, Duke Enli. Do you?"

  "Faith in what?"

  "Faith in God almighty," thundered Vorto. He took his finger out of Enli's chest and pointed it at the flag flying in the center of the company. The Light of God, that ubiquitous symbol seen everywhere in Nar, fluttered in the wind. "That's what we're fighting for, Enli. Make no mistake. If our hearts are pure, God will deliver victory."

  Enli smiled thinly. "I welcome any help the Lord might offer. But don't get overconfident. This won't be the walk in a rose garden you're imagining. It's already winter in Dragon's Beak. My brother has many troops of his own. And he has his army of the air."

  "Bah! I have heard of your brother's trained birds. You make too much of them, I think."

  "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever seen them," observed Enli. A tremor of anticipation overcame him. "Or fought against them. They're not just ravens, not like you're used to. These are bloody beasts, big as your head. Bigger, even. They feast on eyeballs and drink blood, like a bunch of bloody vampires."

  The lieutenant standing next to Vorto blanched at the description. "How big?" he queried. He held his hands a foot apart. "Like this?"

  "Bigger," said Enli. "Not like your head, boy. Like the general's."

  Vorto frowned. "That's all brain."

  "Whatever. These ravens will eat that too, if you let them." Enli grinned at the young soldier. "Take a helmet with you, lad."

  "General?" squeaked the soldier.

  "He's trying to scare you, Vale. You just keep your wits about you. We'll swat those damnable birds right out of the sky." He turned on Enli and laughed. "Bloody birds. The day I'm afraid of a bird I'll hang myself."

  The duke shrugged. "That day may be sooner than you think. But we'll worry about that then, eh?"

  "General . . .?"

  "Shut up, Vale. Enli, I'm looking forward to dealing with those butcher birds. This legion wears the armor of Heaven." Vorto folded his meaty arms across his chest. "We have some surprises of our own for your bastard brother."

  "Such as?"

  With his chin, the general pointed toward the flatbed of rocket launchers. "That."

  Enli shook his head. "It won't work. It's already winter up nor
th. Too much wind for rockets."

  "Not rockets, Duke Enli." Vorto leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. "Something better."

  Enli's eyes flicked toward the cannisters. "What's in those? Acid?"

  Vorto put his arm around the duke and led him toward the wagon. The engineers worked a little quicker as their leader approached. Enli squirmed at the general's touch but did not pull away.

  "This is something very special," whispered the general. "Something not even the army of the air will be able to escape from. A present from the war labs."

  The cannisters were the size of a helmet, polished metal containers smooth to Enli's touch. He ran his hand over one and felt its cool surface for flaws. Instead, he found a machined perfection.

  "The rocket launchers have been modified to fire the cannisters," Vorto explained. "They don't need to be as accurate as rockets."

  "What's in it?" asked Enli. He picked up a cannister and gave it a gentle shake. Inside, something liquid sloshed about. He cocked his head to listen, unsure what he was hearing, then very slowly put the container down, horrified by the thought. When he lifted his eyes to Vorto he saw the general grinning.

  "Goth," said the duke breathlessly. "Don't tell me--"

  "Formula B," said Vorto. "Perfected, no thanks to Minister Bovadin. Just the thing to deal with your brother's flying pests."

  "No!" railed Enli. "You can't let this poison loose in Dragon's Beak. I won't allow it!"

  "You won't?" laughed Vorto. "Enli, it's not your choice. This is my army. My war to wage."

  "It's my country, you idiot! I won't let you turn it into a wasteland just to wipe out some birds."

  Vorto smoldered at the insult. "It's the north fork we're fighting for, not your territory. And I'll do what I must to take it. The Renaissance, Enli. That's what this is about. I'm going to eradicate it in Dragon's Beak just as I did in Goth. And if you get squeamish on me . . ." His three-fingered hand snatched Enli's lapel. "I will throw you to your brother's birds and watch them peck your liver out."

  Very slowly, Duke Enli took hold of Vorto's hand and removed it. But he did not back away from the wild-eyed general. Instead he matched his steely gaze. "I won't let you murder my country, Vorto. You're coming with me to quell the rebellion. And that is all. When you're in Dragon's Beak, you're under my dominion."