The Grand Design

by John Marco

  "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 Crote, 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 god-damn 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 was
n'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 fit 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.

  "Where's the child?" came a familiar voice. Captain N'Dek, commander of the Intimidator, strode up to Simon. A ridiculous smile squirmed on his face. "What have you done with her, spy? You didn't drop her overboard, did you?"

  "She's in my quarters," Simon replied. "She was tired from the ride."

  "We have food and some milk for her," said N'Dek. "Not much, but it should get us to a safe port. Then we can gather whatever you might need for her."

  "Me? I'm no woman, N'Dek. Someone else will have to care for her."

  "Last I looked my teats were too small. You should have kidnapped a nursemaid, spy."

  I would have, but I had to kill her, thought Simon angrily.

  "I'll keep her with me," Simon agreed. "I don't want anything happening to her."

  "Good thinking," laughed N'Dek. "Biagio wouldn't be too happy with a dead little girl." He paused and looked out over the water. "He's after Vantran next. You saw the other agents?"

  Simon nodded.

  "Your master is a schemer, Darquis. I admire that. But he spends too much time on revenge, and not enough on winning the Iron Throne. I'll ferry you and the girl back to Crote, but after that I want to see some progress. I'm not a messenger boy."

  "Biagio knows what he's doing," said Simon. "He'll move against Herrith when he's ready. Not before."

  "I think he already has made his move," revealed the captain. "I've heard that Admiral Nicabar and a small armada have broken away from Crote. They're going to Dragon's Beak to help Duke Enli."

  "Why? What's in Dragon's Beak?"

  "That's the mystery," said N'Dek. "You see? We are all in the dark because of your master. And we don't like it."

  Simon smiled mirthlessly. "Neither do I, Captain N'Dek." He turned to head back to his quarters.

  "When do we set sail?"

  "Now," replied N'Dek. "We're pulling up anchor." Simon departed quickly, determined never to see Lucel-Lor again.

  What seemed like a hundred miles passed to Dyana in a fugue.

  Richius' horse Lightning, accustomed to hard riding, had galloped like a surefooted blur in the moonlight. Time raced by as they ran through the valley and the woodlands and the rocky crags of the shoreline. Lightning had lathered up to the point of exhaustion, but the stout-hearted horse never faltered. Dyana, exhausted herself, fought to focus on the narrow roads and forest paths. Falindar was far away and she felt the uncertain fear of being lost, but she was sure she knew the way to the tower. Her eyes blurred. Her hands had gone raw with cold. Lightning's hot body warmed her legs and she leaned down into him as she rode, trying to shield her wind-lashed face.

  And then at last, when she felt she would fall from the saddle, she saw the first hint of the tower. Dawn was very near. The sun began its first stirrings, swatting back the night. Dyana slowed the horse, drawing him down to a circumspect trot. The tower emerged in her vision, murky and foreboding. Just past the tower, barely visible on the ocean, was a ship. Hope rose in her. Simon was still here. He would be at the tower, she surmised, waiting for the light.

  "There is not much time," she told the horse. She urged Lightning closer to the tower, keeping to the shadows. With eagle eyes she spied the clearing for movement, but all she saw were tumbling leaves. The dawn would bring light, and the light would expose her, and the realization quicke
ned her pace. Lightning seemed to sense her caution. He picked his way along quietly, bearing her toward the tower like a hunting jaguar. When they reached the thinning trees bordering the clearing, Dyana brought the horse to a stop.

  "Here," she whispered. "No farther."

  She would have to go alone, and leave the exhausted horse to rest. She spied the tower entrance, black and vacant. Inside the structure a pinpoint of light flickered. Dyana bit her lip, sure that Simon had lit the flame. Sliding off Lightning's back, she gave the weary creature a thankful pat. He would wait for her, like he always waited for Richius. If she returned, if Simon didn't kill her. If Shani was still alive.

  Enough!

  Dyana made a fist. It hadn't occurred to her to bring a weapon, but now she wished she had. A dagger or an axe, anything to put in Simon's back. If Shani was harmed, she would use her fingernails to scratch out Simon's heart. He would pay.

  She moved through the clearing to the tower arch, reaching it swiftly. There at the entrance she paused by the crumbling wall and peered inside. The little flame she had seen before was now clearly visible, glowing on the far side of the circular chamber. Simon wasn't inside. No one was, or so it appeared. It was a large room with a thousand black places. Dyana listened, and a startling sound reached her ears--the shuffling of footsteps. Her eyes darted to a spiral stairway leading up into nothingness. Someone was coming. Dyana steeled herself and stepped into the chamber.

  "Simon!" she called. "Come down here!"

  There was a blur of movement at her side. A figure darted from the blackness, startled by her shout. Down the stairs raced another man, shocked at the sight of her. The one behind her wrapped strong arms around her torso, pinning her arms. Dyana cursed and writhed to get free, but she was too weak and exhausted to break the hold. She felt hot breath on her neck, the unpleasant smell of sour spirits. The dark-haired man at the staircase came forward to stare at her.