by John Marco
"Oh?" asked Simon half-heartedly. He was studying his own cards, realizing what a poor hand he'd dealt himself. "What do you intend to do? Talk them to death?"
"I intend to finish what we started," replied N'Dek. "Those Lissen bastards, thinking they can attack Nar. They think the Black Fleet is finished? God damn them, we'll show them who's finished!"
"Shhh!" scolded Simon. "Keep your voice down. You'll wake her."
N'Dek shrank back a bit. "All right. All I'm saying is that we're not done with Liss, that's all. When Biagio takes control of Nar, he'll have to reward the men that helped him. And I already know what Nicabar will ask for."
"Really? What?"
"Liss, you idiot. Haven't you been listening? That's why Nicabar is helping your master. He wants a chance at Liss again, and that bastard Prakna." N'Dek lowered his cards. "Ten bloody years he went after that devil. And all for nothing. They never even battled each other, not once. Can you believe it? Ah, but that's all going to change. And I'm going to be there for it."
"That's nice," said Simon dryly. "A man should have dreams."
"It's not just my dream, Darquis. It's Nicabar's and everyone else's in the fleet. It should be your dream, too."
"Mine?" Simon laughed. "What do I care if Liss stands or falls? It's not my problem, N'Dek."
"See? That's what's wrong with you, Roshann. Nothing is your problem. You're a man without a conscience. You don't care about anything but yourself. If you did, you'd see the glory in going back to Liss."
Simon looked at N'Dek over his cards, barely smiling. "Another card?"
"One more," said N'Dek. This time he didn't discard any of his hand, but slipped the card Simon dealt him into the pack. Simon took a card also. His own hand was very bad, and the card he drew did nothing to improve it. N'Dek would certainly win this round.
"I don't bother getting involved in things that don't concern me, N'Dek," said Simon. "If you want to go and fight in Liss, that's your business. I won't stop you. But why should I care? Forgive me, great Captain, but I don't see the glory in it."
"What about the Renaissance? Don't you see the glory in that?"
Simon had to think hard about that one. There once was a time when he'd shared Biagio's vision of the future, but that was gone, too. "I think the Black Renaissance is unstoppable, because it has Biagio behind it. That's all that matters. What I think of it personally makes no difference. It's coming back to Nar. Herrith can't stop it, and neither can his God."
"Damn right," rumbled N'Dek. There was a bright glint in his eyes that told Simon he knew he'd won. The captain leaned back in his chair. "Last card," he said. "Time to see what you've got, spy."
"You know, you're right," Simon remarked. "I don't really care about much, N'Dek. It's a shame. Maybe someday I can be more like you."
"I doubt it. Come on, show me your cards."
Simon always held his cards in one hand, fanning them in his fingers. His other hand had spent the evening at his side, occasionally lifting the mug to his mouth, but almost always out of sight. Now it very slowly drifted to his belt and pulled out his silver dagger.
"You know, I don't think it really matters what a man does for his whole life. But in the end, when it's all over, he has to have done the right thing. I mean, if I spend the rest of my life killing and murdering, I think I can get away with it all, just as long as I do something good at the end. Just once, you know?"
N'Dek found the notion deliciously funny. "Oh, yes," he laughed. "If you're wrong about God you'll recant on your deathbed?"
"Something like that," said Simon. He watched N'Dek carefully, the fingers of his right hand closing around the dagger as his left fanned the cards out on the table. "Here's what I've got," he said. "How did I do?"
The captain's smile broadened when he saw Simon's cards. "You're the loser, Darquis," he said gleefully. "Again."
N'Dek moved to put his cards on the table. Time slowed down as Simon's hand shot out to seize N'Dek's, holding it firmly on the table. Simon's right hand flashed and brought the dagger up and down, slamming it through N'Dek's palm and pinning it to the tabletop. The captain screamed, jumping from his chair. Simon held the dagger fast and firm. Blood spurted from N'Dek's hand. Immobilized, he stared at Simon in horror. With his free hand Simon reached across the table and grabbed hold of the seaman's lapel.
"Quiet!" he growled. "Shut up or I'll cut your bloody throat!"
N'Dek was bawling like a baby, shrieking in pain as he tried to pull his hand free. But the dagger kept him fastened to the table. Quickly the cards soaked with blood. Shani jolted up in her bunk, awakened by the captain's screams. Simon put his hand over N'Dek's mouth.
"I'm not kidding, N'Dek," he hissed. "Shut your big mouth or I'll slit you open from ear to ear. Do you understand me?"
N'Dek could hardly respond. He closed his eyes against the pain and nodded vigorously.
"Good boy," crooned Simon. "We're all friends here. And you know what you're going to do for me, friend? You're going to turn this tub around. We're heading back to Liss."
A muffled protest burst from N'Dek's covered mouth. He pulled away from Simon and spat at him.
"Liss! Why?"
Simon ground the dagger deeper to make the man obey. N'Dek howled in pain, begging Simon to stop. He was near tears, crying for mercy.
"Are you going to listen to me, you ugly squid?" Simon asked.
"Why Liss?" N'Dek stammered. With his good hand over his punctured one, he tried to stop the sluicing blood. "What for?"
Thinking fast, Simon said the only thing that came to him. "Because that's what Biagio wants," he lied. "I'm taking the girl there."
"What the hell for?"
Another jerk of the dagger made N'Dek scream. "No questions!" Simon commanded. "I am Roshann. And you will obey me, N'Dek. You and all your crew. Or so help me God, when we get back to Crote, Biagio will indeed cut you open."
"Darquis, I can't take the ship to Liss! Biagio must be mad. I--"
Simon's hand shot out again and covered the captain's mouth. "I'm only going to tell you this once more, N'Dek. This ship is now under the command of the Roshann, by my authority. You will do exactly as I say. Because if you don't, this tub of yours is going to take you back to Crote for your execution. Now, I'll need you to give the order. We're going to turn the ship around. We're heading back to Liss. Tonight!"
Too frightened and in too much pain to argue, N'Dek nodded. "All right," he groaned. "All right, you crazy bastard. I'll do it."
Simon smiled. "That would be best, friend. For all your sakes. And I'm afraid I can't let you leave this cabin, either."
In another lightning move, Simon pulled the dagger from the table and put it to N'Dek's throat. The table crashed aside as Simon grabbed hold of N'Dek's hair, dragging him to the ground. With N'Dek on his stomach, the blade to his neck, Simon shoved his knee forcefully into the captain's spine. N'Dek wailed in agony.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Making sure you don't go anywhere, Captain N'Dek. I'll need to keep an eye on you."
There were ropes beneath the table where Simon had hidden them. He worked quickly, binding N'Dek's bloodied hands behind his back. The captain whimpered and fought, but Simon was too strong for him, and in a moment N'Dek was helpless, trussed up like a prize turkey. He lay on the cabin floor, unable to rise, his hand oozing blood, and stared up hatefully at his captor.
"Biagio will pay for this!" he railed. "When Nicabar finds out about this, you'll all pay!"
"Oh, now don't be like that," said Simon. "I need your help, N'Dek. We're all one big happy family, right? And this family is going to do exactly what I say, because I'm the Roshann. And we all know what that means, don't we?"
N'Dek looked away defiantly.
"Don't we?" Simon roared, kicking N'Dek in the ribs. The captain hacked in pain, gasping for air. Simon knelt down beside him and put his lips against N'Dek's ear. "I know you understand me, Captain. I know you'll do exac
tly what I say. And if any of your crew try to mutiny or take this ship away from Liss, I'll cut you into tiny pieces."
N'Dek let out a little moan. Across the cabin, Shani was staring at them. Sure that N'Dek couldn't see him, Simon gave the child an encouraging smile.
Don't worry, girl, he thought boldly, hoping Shani would understand him. You'll see your father soon enough.
TWENTY-SIX
Island of Madness
Dyana awoke in perfect darkness.
It was as if she hadn't opened her eyes at all, as if the sun had disappeared from the earth. She didn't stir or bother to roll over. She didn't draw the useless blanket closer to her body. The smell of rotting grain and sour spices assailed her, but she was used to it now and didn't gag. She merely lay there in the blackness, trying to focus her mind.
Time had lost all meaning to her. She might have been asleep for days or merely minutes. Her ears rang with the drone of the ocean just outside the wall of her chamber, a filthy storage hold in the bowels of the Naren warship. Other than the constant darkness, the rapping of the sea against the hull was her only companion, save for the spiders and rats that crawled across her as she slept. Human contact was sparse and unwelcome, and the food slid under her nose, when it was given at all, was hopelessly wretched. So Dyana didn't eat. In time, perhaps another week, she might be dead from lack of food. But it wasn't food she craved. It was light.
Since leaving Falindar, so long ago now she could scarcely recall, she had only seen light briefly, whenever her captors brought her food or decided to empty her chamber bucket. Or worse, when they came to taunt her. The big one, called Donhedris, loved to run his hands over her. It hadn't gone any further than that yet, but Dyana knew it was only a matter of time. She had heard the stories of seamen, how they hungered for months without women. The dread of rape was only one more horror she endured. Her clothes were in tatters now, and her hair hung in stringy ropes from her head. The atrocious smell of the cargo hold had permeated her skin, making it reek, and her forearms bore the scars of rat bites. The curious creatures always tested her while she slept, nipping at her flesh until she awoke to bat them away. As with Donhedris, Dyana knew she would eventually lose against the rats, too.
The ship Revenge had been at sea for many days. Of that, Dyana was sure. Of other things, her mind was vacant. The cargo hold was freezing, and her coat and thin blanket barely beat back the frost. Spilled grain rubbed against her, chaffing her skin, and the spiders dwelling in the rafters made midnight excursions on their silken ropes, dropping down to bite her face and limbs.
Is it late? she wondered. It might have been noon or midnight. The darkness was always the same. And her meals, such as they were, came to her erratically, giving her no chance to gauge the passage of time. So Dyana dreamed of small things, trying to occupy herself with memories of better days, and fought to hold her mind together. She recalled with clarity the stories Lucyler had told her of his imprisonment in Falindar, when her first husband Tharn had locked him in the catacombs to teach him what torture was like. It had all been a lesson but Lucyler hadn't known it at the time, and so he had endured the bleak place with only his wits to keep him sane.
Wits, Dyana reminded herself. You still have those. Hold on to them.
Dyana was determined not to let insanity rule her. She needed to be strong for Shani, to face Biagio on his island and somehow wrest her daughter from him. For that she would need all her wits. Biagio was a clever devil. A peerless tactician, Richius had claimed. If she were going to match intellects with him, she needed to be whole. She grabbed hold of her blanket, bunching it up in her fists, and concentrated on Richius' face. Amazingly, it was starting to fade in her memory. So had Shani's, and that frightened her.
Think, Dyana commanded herself. Do not let it confuse you. Think of a way out.
She was on a ship bound for Crote. Even if she managed to escape her prison, there was nothing but the open sea. And if she tried to escape they might punish her. Donhedris was the lecherous one, but Malthrak, the little dark one, was more cruel. Sometimes when he brought her food he would smile sardonically, loving her fear. That's what the Roshann were, after all. Richius had been right. They were all dogs. Like Simon. When she found him, she would rip his heart out.
The thumping of footfalls echoed outside her room.
Dyana sat up, dreading the intrusion. She heard the lock on the cargo hold jingle and the rattling of chains. Instinctively she shielded her eyes from the painful light she knew would come. The door opened with a squeal. Two silhouettes blocked a flood of stabbing sunlight. Dyana winced and looked away, already recognizing the pair. As always, Malthrak stepped into the room first, Donhedris on his heels.
"Ah, what a lovely stench," snickered Malthrak. He had left the door open and stood in its light, looming over Dyana. "Girl? Look at me, girl. I'm talking to you."
Dyana tried to look through her fingers, her eyes watering with the light. She had thought it nighttime, but the sunlight through the portholes told her it was morning. Or afternoon, maybe. She really didn't know. Malthrak was smiling at her, his sharp teeth glimmering. Donhedris had his mouth open as he breathed. Dyana sneered at them.
"What do you want now?" she spat.
"Get up," snapped Malthrak. "It's time to go."
"Go? Go where?"
"You'll see."
Malthrak stepped aside and let Donhedris enter the room. Dyana scooted away, backing against the wall, but Donhedris' arms encircled her, scooping her from the floor. A rush of dizziness sloshed over her brain, threatening to black her out. She was too weak to fight him, but she dug her nails into his forearms anyway, raking through the exposed skin. Donhedris grunted with annoyance and gave her a shake. The bone-breaking grip knocked the wind from her.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded. "Tell me, you bastards!"
"God, what a mouth on this one," Malthrak remarked. He turned his back and left the cargo hold, gesturing for Donhedris to follow. Donhedris tossed Dyana over his shoulder and followed his comrade out of the hold. Orange light stung Dyana's eyes, releasing a flood of tears. She wiped at them furiously, trying to see where they were taking her. She heard Malthrak's quick feet climb a stairway, then felt Donhedris duck under a beam. He put his meaty hand onto her head and pushed it down, keeping her skull from collision.
Up they went, first one level, then another. Dyana heard voices and the clear sound of the sea. The air was fresh and smelled of salt. She could almost see now, but just barely. Donhedris' broad back was her first clear sight. His arms encircled her waist like a python, pushing out the air. One more level up, and a cold rush of wind ripped through her clothes. Sunlight poured down on her, warm and painful.
"Put her down," she heard Malthrak order.
Donhedris stooped and loosened his grip. Dyana tumbled onto the deck. She sat there shaking her head, squinting. There were men around her, sailors like she'd seen when they'd brought her aboard. Their dark outlines crowded and loomed over her. Unsteadily, she rose to her knees, then to her feet, wobbling with the movement of the ship. Malthrak grabbed a tuft of her hair and pulled her head back.
"Look," he ordered.
He pointed over the rail. As Dyana's eyes adjusted to the sun, she saw a growing landmass in the distance, an island floating in a vast blue sea. Around the island she saw ships, great black vessels with towering masts full of satiny sails.
"Crote," Malthrak declared. "Your new home."
Count Renato Biagio sat in his parlor, brooding over a snifter of brandy. Bright sunlight from a wall of windows flooded the room, and he could see the Revenge anchored on the horizon, just beyond his rose garden. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, throwing off its scalding heat, and the leather of his thronelike chair groaned when he shifted, unable to get comfortable. Matters of great weight occupied his mind. The Revenge had returned too soon. And the Intimidator hadn't shown up at all. Already his servants were telling him that Simon wasn't onboard the inco
ming vessel. Biagio swirled the brandy in his glass, sniffing at it absently. He hadn't even tasted it yet, so angry was he over the turn of events. And something more than anger, something the Count of Crote hated to admit.
Worry.
Simon was a very poor sailor, but N'Dek was a master seaman. There was little chance they had blown off course or wrecked themselves, but either was always a possibility, especially on so long a voyage. That the Revenge should return so soon was unthinkable. Where the hell was Simon? Biagio closed his eyes, swallowing his nervousness. It wouldn't do for Malthrak and Donhedris to see him fret.
"They'd better have an explanation," said Savros. The Mind Bender had been waiting in the parlor with Biagio, eager to hear the news from the Roshann agents. Biagio had let him stay. The sight of Savros always had a peculiar effect on people, and Biagio wanted his agents afraid. Savros paced around the room, his blue eyes blazing with curiosity, his spidery arms crossed over his chest. He was precariously thin, and the shadow he threw on the floor was reedy. Biagio watched him stride the floor, noting the soundlessness of his footfalls.
"Don't speak," the count warned. "I'll do the talking when they get here."
"Renato, if they don't have the child--"
Biagio raised a silencing hand. The gesture quieted Savros at once. At times like this, most people knew better than to task the count. But Savros was like a parakeet, always chirping. Admonished, the torturer went to the writing desk and poured himself another brandy. He held the flask out for Biagio, who silently declined. Biagio wasn't in the mood for drink. The only thing he wanted was answers.
Before long, the mahogany door of the parlor rang with a cautious knocking. Savros glared questioningly at Biagio, who knew he needn't reply. The door swung slowly open, and Malthrak of Isgar stuck his head inside. Behind him was his brother, the giant Donhedris. Malthrak chanced a step into the parlor.
"My Master?" he said. "May we come in?"
"Of course," replied the count flatly. "I've been waiting."
"We've both been waiting," adding Savros with a smile. As predicted, the sight of the Mind Bender drained the color from Malthrak's face. The Roshann agents entered the room, closed the door behind them, and fell to their knees in homage.