The Grand Design

by John Marco

  "I think so. Prakna?"

  "Darquis is correct," said the commander. "My schooners have them busy off the coasts of the Empire. By the time the Black Fleet does return to Crote, we'll have it secured. I intend to call my armada back to surround the island. Even the Black Fleet won't be able to break us. Not this time."

  Richius loved the conviction in Prakna's voice. He knew why men followed him so willingly. Prakna was the lion of the ocean.

  "Prakna," asked the queen. "Are you satisfied with the maps Simon Darquis has made?"

  The fleet commander gave a grudging nod. "They seem adequate."

  "They're better than that," snapped Simon. "They're as detailed as you'll need, Prakna. I know something of tactics, remember."

  "Oh, we remember," sneered Prakna. "Perfectly."

  Richius cleared his throat. "Fellows . . ."

  "Don't patronize me, Lissen," said Simon hotly. "You should be glad I'm helping you."

  "Glad? A traitorous Naren pig? If it wasn't for the Jackal--"

  "Stop," flared Richius, slamming a fist down on the table that sent the wine goblets jumping. "I don't want this arguing. We've got a mission to perform. We have to work together. This bickering is pointless."

  "I agree," said the queen mildly. "Remember where you are, please."

  Prakna took a breath. "Forgive me, Jelena. You're right, of course."

  Richius smiled. "You see? We're a happy family, Jelena."

  "Yes," laughed the queen. "You've done a splendid job with them, Richius. If they don't kill themselves on the way to Crote, we might have a chance."

  "We'll have more than a chance, my Queen," Shii interjected. "Simon Darquis is right. If Crote is unprotected, we'll have no problem taking the island from Biagio. I promise you, my Queen. I won't let us fail."

  "None of us will," agreed Prakna. He kept his eyes on Simon as he spoke. "Isn't that right, Darquis?"

  Simon chuckled darkly. "I have my own reasons for wanting this to succeed. It won't fail because of me, that's for certain."

  "Good," said Prakna. "Then we understand each other."

  Simon was about to reply, but Richius interrupted him.

  "We won't fail, Jelena," he said quickly. "We've got good people and a solid plan."

  "And we've got you to lead them," added Jelena with a smile. Richius saw that familiar fondness in her eyes again. Jelena was so beautiful. Like Sabrina. He supposed the resemblance had something to do with his need for victory. Maybe it was that part of him that still wanted to rescue Sabrina.

  Too late, he reminded himself.

  Sabrina was dead and there was no going back. This was something he was doing for himself. And when it was done, he would return to Lucel-Lor and live there with Dyana and Shani, satisfied that he had killed Biagio. Maybe then Sabrina's ghost would stop haunting him.

  "I want to be clear on something," he said, surprising himself. "After we take Crote, you're all on your own. Just like Simon, I'm in this for my own reasons. I want Biagio. That's all."

  Jelena looked heartbroken. "We understand that, Richius," she said softly. "But there will always be a place for you here. And we may need you a little longer than that. Please don't talk about abandoning us. Not until your work is done, at least."

  "Just so you know what my work is, Jelena. I want Biagio."

  "We all want that, Jackal," said Prakna. "Believe me."

  Richius nodded. "I do believe you. But it goes deeper for the rest of you. I just want the count."

  "You'll get him," said Simon. He slipped a hand on Richius' shoulder. "He won't be able to escape us. Promise."

  The odd pledge made Richius shudder. He didn't know whom to trust anymore. He wanted to believe Simon, but Simon was planning on murdering his master. He respected Prakna, but the doom-haunted commander had a wildness around the eyes, just like Shii. And Jelena? She was the greatest mystery of them all.

  They spoke for nearly an hour more, going over Simon's maps and discussing timetables for the invasion. It would take them more than a week to reach Crote, Prakna predicted, so they needed fresh food and water for the voyage, all items that his crews were taking care of. Richius' troops would be divided into three main groups, each of which would be led by a separate commander reporting to Shii and to Richius himself. They would converge on the mansion from three sides, surrounding it and securing it with minimum casualties.

  At least that was the plan.

  Richius hoped Biagio would simply surrender when he saw himself trapped. Simon didn't hazard a guess either way. He said only that Biagio was proud and crafty, and that he might fight to the death before surrendering his homeland. He loved Crote almost as much as anything, Simon explained to them. Getting it from him wouldn't be easy. But Richius didn't care if Biagio died. That was the plan, after all. He wanted only to spare the others in the mansion, including Eris. For Simon's sake, he prayed the girl would be all right.

  When they had concluded their business, they lingered a while over the wine and food trays. Finally, Jelena rose from her chair and smiled at them all wearily.

  "I don't know what to say now," she confessed. "All that I can do is wish you luck, and hope you all come back to Liss safely." She grinned at Simon. "Even you, Simon Darquis. If you are truly what you say you are, you are welcome to bring your woman back here to hide from your Naren enemies."

  Simon seemed moved by the offer. "Queen Jelena, that is generous," he said softly. "We will need a place to go. But I didn't think it would be Liss."

  "If the Jackal leaves us, we might need a man of your skills and knowledge, Simon Darquis. It's something to consider."

  "Yes," agreed Simon. "Yes, it is."

  Prakna smoldered at the pleasantries. "I think you would be better off among your own kind, Darquis. Not all Lissens are as forgiving as the queen."

  "Nevertheless," corrected Jelena sharply. "You're welcome here, Simon Darquis. If you do as you say."

  "I will, Queen Jelena. Just give me the chance to prove it to you."

  Jelena nodded. "Then good luck to you all. Come home safely."

  All of them rose and began leaving the chamber. They would stay the night in the queen's palace, then set out in the morning. Always eager for a bed, Simon was the first through the doors. Shii followed him, and then Prakna, but Richius never made it.

  "Richius," called Jelena softly. "Please wait. I want to talk with you."

  Shii waited for her lord, pausing in the threshold. Richius gave her an encouraging nod.

  "It's all right," he told her. "I'll catch up. You and Simon go rest. We'll talk later."

  Shii politely shut the doors again as she left the chamber. Richius took a deep breath, smelling Jelena's perfume When he turned around she was right behind him, beaming a beautiful, forlorn smile.

  "What is it? "he asked.

  "I'm going to miss you, Jackal," she said. "More than you know. I wanted to spend some time alone with you, just to tell you that."

  "Just that?"

  Jelena blushed. "I think you know the rest."

  Richius backed up a step. "Don't," he cautioned.

  "But I want to," said the young woman. She looked up at him, and the sorrow in her eyes was so real Richius drowned in it. Jelena said, "There's so much I wanted to learn from you. Now I'll never get the chance. If you don't come back, I'll never see you again."

  "Never is a very long time, my Queen. Let's not try and predict the future."

  Jelena embraced him, putting her head against his chest. Suddenly she seemed like a brave little girl again. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know. Crote might just be the start for us. After that, we'll grow stronger. We can reach the Black City itself from there."

  Richius sighed. "Perhaps."

  "There will still be a place for you. There's still so much for you to show us. And me."

  "Jelena . . ."

  "Shhh," the queen bade. "Just listen to me. Just this one more time."

  Richius closed his eyes. "All
right."

  "When you first came here, I expected something more," she whispered. "I thought you would be a hero, even though Prakna warned me you were just a man, and not much older than myself. Now I see that we were both right. You are just a man. But you're still a hero to me. I want so much for you to stay here, even just to have you near. I need you, Richius." She tightened her embrace. "I'm afraid."

  "It's all right to be afraid," said Richius as gently as he could. "But you don't need me."

  "Oh, but I do . . ."

  "No," said Richius. "You've been a queen without me, and you'll be a queen when I leave. You've done a fine job. You just don't see it. And I can't give you that confidence. That has to come from inside you." Firmly, he broke the embrace. "Look at me, Jelena. I'm just a man."

  She smiled sadly. "And what am I? Just a woman?"

  "A woman and a queen. You should be proud of that."

  It wasn't what Jelena wanted to hear, so she drifted away from him, going back to where her wine goblet rested. She took a long, slow sip. Richius watched her curiously, sure that she had something else on her mind.

  "I'm going to worry about you, you know," said Jelena finally. "I'm glad you're confident, but I wonder about Simon Darquis. And about your troops."

  Richius raised an eyebrow. "You were the one who gave me those troops, remember?"

  "I know. But they're young and untested. Like me."

  Richius laughed. "If they're as strong as you, Jelena, I should have nothing to worry about." He glided over to her, sitting himself down on the table beside her and grabbing his own goblet. "Don't be afraid," he urged. He touched his glass to hers. "This is a new beginning."

  But Jelena didn't drink. "Do you believe that?"

  "I do," said Richius. "I'm certain of it."

  "I suppose," replied the queen dully. Then, more forcefully, "Yes. Yes, it is."

  "Good," Richius beamed. "Because these children of Karalon are going to make you proud. You'll see."

  "Richius," added the queen, looking up at him. "Just be careful."

  He gave her a wink. "I will."

  "I'm serious," said Jelena. "Watch out for yourself. And watch out for Prakna. He's a vengeful man, and I see the way he looks at Simon Darquis. He might be trouble."

  "I can handle Prakna," said Richius. "We understand each other, I think."

  "You know he sunk that Naren dreadnought, don't you?"

  Richius nodded. He'd heard Prakna's explanation and was satisfied. "I don't think he had a choice. The ship tried to escape."

  Jelena shrugged. "Still . . ."

  "Jelena, please don't worry about these things. I've got a good group of people, thanks to you. And with Simon's help I know we'll succeed. You might not trust him, but I really believe him this time." Richius scoffed at himself. "Maybe I'm just a fool. After what he did to me, I don't know why I should trust him. It's just a feeling I get when I'm around him now. He's going to help us. I'm sure of it."

  Queen Jelena put out her hand for him to take, and when he did she smiled warmly. "Thank you for everything," she said, her voice breaking. "Please don't forget us."

  "I never will," promised Richius. He put her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Never."

  Slowly her hand slipped from his fingers. Richius felt her eyes on him as he went to the door. Before leaving, he turned and gave her one last look.

  "Good night, Queen of Liss."

  Jelena lingered in her council chamber, waiting for Prakna to arrive. She had left orders with the sentries outside the chamber to summon the fleet commander when the Jackal was gone. It didn't take long for Prakna to respond to her order. The sailor appeared at the door, a little concerned that his queen wanted to see him.

  "My Queen?" he probed, sticking his head inside the chamber. "You summoned me?"

  Jelena put down the glass she'd been sipping at and bid Prakna forward. "Come in, please, Prakna," she said lightly. She was flush from the wine and her encounter with Richius, and her mood hovered somewhere between sour and profoundly sad. "Close the door."

  Prakna did as his queen commanded, stepping into the chamber and shutting the doors behind him, sealing off the outside noise. The room had grown darker since he'd left, and Jelena could barely see him in the shadowy lamp-light.

  "Sit near me," she said. "Talk with me."

  "What about?" asked Prakna as he took a chair beside her. He looked genuinely concerned for her, a trait that made her love him. "My Queen, what troubles you?"

  "Tomorrow you will set sail and I will not be there to control you, Prakna. You will take all that vengeance with you to Crote. That's what troubles me."

  Prakna went ashen. "Jelena, I will do what must be done. No more or less."

  "Like you did with the Naren ship?"

  The commander nodded. "It was necessary. And the Jackal still knows nothing of it."

  "You're right," said Jelena sadly. "He believes your story. We've deceived him perfectly, and that troubles me, too."

  "I know," admitted Prakna. "He's a good man. I don't take pride in lying to him. But he will get what we promised him. He'll have his revenge on Biagio. That should satisfy him. You heard it yourself--that's all he wants."

  Jelena grimaced. She hated herself for deceiving Richius, her beautiful new friend from across the ocean. He was nothing like other Narens. He was a hero. Certainly, he deserved better than lies.

  "I don't want you to do any more than you must to take Crote," she said finally. "Richius wouldn't want that."

  "I know," said Prakna.

  "Do you? I've heard about your handiwork, Prakna."

  The fleet commander leaned back, obviously offended. "Jelena, did it ever occur to you that the Naren pigs on that dreadnought might have been the same ones that slew your parents? Or Shii's child? Would you feel so bad for them then?"

  "No," admitted Jelena. "I wouldn't."

  "Of course you wouldn't. So let me do my job. Let me erase the memory of Liss the Raped. Let's make sure the Empire of Nar doesn't trifle with us again."

  The speech stoked a fire deep within her. He was right, of course. Nar deserved every bit of derision. Jelena didn't care about Nar, but she did care about Richius Vantran, more deeply than she had ever thought possible.

  "I want no harm to come to the Jackal," she said firmly. "Or I swear, Prakna, you will know my anger."

  The fleet commander grinned. "I respect that boy as much as you do, my Queen. I swear to you, I won't let anything happen to him."

  "And the other one. Simon Darquis. I see how you hate him, Prakna. Give me your word you will protect him, too."

  The commander frowned. "Don't make me wet-nurse that pig, please."

  "Your word, Prakna," she insisted. "You will treat him as an ally. Yes?"

  After a long pause, Prakna reluctantly acquiesced. "I promise," he said bitterly. "But I don't approve."

  "You don't have to like it," Jelena reminded him. "Just do as I say." She smiled to herself, remembering Richius' words. "After all, I am the queen."

  THIRTY-NINE

  Eleven Lords

  Two days after the tragedy of Eestrii, Herrith and his loyal Naren lords set out for Biagio's island of Crote.

  It had been a surprisingly easy decision for the bishop, because he knew he simply had no other choice, and the Naren lords agreed. Biagio could reach them, even from his island. With the orchestrated murder of Vorto and the destruction of the cathedral, Biagio had proven that he could not be safely ignored. And Herrith, distraught over the death of Lorla, didn't care about his own safety anymore. He hoped only to convince Biagio that the Black Renaissance was a godless heresy, and that the Empire had been better off since the old emperor's death. He was not planning on handing the Iron Throne over to Biagio. None of the Naren lords would agree to that, anyway. This journey was simply the opening of a dialogue. Where it would lead, no one wanted to guess.

  Archbishop Herrith chose eleven Naren lords to accompany him to Crote, the most influential
men in the Black City. Among them was Baron Ricter, master of the Tower of Truth; Claudi Vos, Arkus' former Lord Architect; Tepas Talshiir, the city's leading merchant, who lived in a royal-sized palace of his own; and Kivis Gago, Nar's Minister of Arms, representing the civilian interests of the Empire's military machine. Since Vorto's death, Kivis Gago had been very busy, rearranging the power structure of the legions and convincing the irate soldiers that he was capable of leading them. The military leadership had been calling for Biagio's head in retribution for Vorto's slaughter, and Kivis Gago's job was to convince them that this was essentially impossible, at least for now. Biagio was on an island, with the entire Black Fleet protecting him. It was this fact, more than any other, that convinced the eleven lords to accompany Herrith to Crote. Biagio had forced them into a corner.

  It was a gray morning when Herrith and the noblemen, all accompanied by throngs of bodyguards, disembarked from the docks of Nar City. The Fearless and her two sister dreadnoughts waited far off in the harbor, and Nicabar had sent long rowboats to ferry his passengers over. Herrith was the only one who didn't bring guardians. Not even Father Todos accompanied the bishop on the dock. With the Cathedral of the Martyrs in ruins, every one of Herrith's priests and acolytes were needed in the Black City. There were deep spiritual wounds to tend, for the audacious attack had left the population stunned.

  "It is now," Herrith had told Todos, "that we really do the work of God."

  God might want him to speak to Biagio, or God might not. Herrith didn't know, because his prayers went unanswered. He was quickly becoming faithless. As he shivered in the cold, waiting for his own ferry boat, he wondered if God had abandoned him. Or if he had abandoned God. He saw the sunlight glint off the big guns of the Fearless. The warship had her cannons trained on the city. One slip-up, Nicabar had promised--one act of sabotage against his vessels--and he would open fire. He would pummel Nar City day and night in retaliation to any attack. That message had gone to Herrith and Kivis Gago both. Gago in turn relayed it to the legions, who impotently agreed. At least for a while, there would be a truce.

  Time enough, Herrith hoped. He pulled up the collar of his coat, hating the wind. He was sick and weak, and the thought of the long sea voyage brought bile to his throat. The last effects of the drug had worn off and his entire body was in rebellion, hellishly craving more. He thought his bones might break in the breeze, and he had swallowed down pain-killing potions from his physicians, hoping to stem the unbearable pain. The remedies were useless. Herrith had been through the drug withdrawal before. He knew the ordeal facing him.