by John Marco
Richius understood instantly. "They're waiting for us," he said. "Biagio knew we'd come."
Prakna lowered his spyglass. His face was set in the most disquieting way. "The Fearless," he whispered. "Look at her, Marus."
"Aye, sir," the first officer replied. "She's a big bitch."
"Too much for us, do you think?"
Marus smiled. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't try."
"They won't make us fight them," said Richius. He was certain of Biagio's motives. "Biagio wants me. He's not going to open fire until he has me aboard. You can get away if I go to him."
Prakna shook his head. "Very brave, boy, but I'm not giving you up that easily. If Nicabar wants a fight, he'll get one."
"Prakna, please," Richius implored. "Don't open fire. You wouldn't stand a chance against them, and you know it. Just bring us in, and let's try to talk with them. Maybe I can get Dyana off the ship. Biagio might trade for her."
"You instead of your wife," said Marus darkly. "A sick trade."
Richius knew he had no choice. "If that's what it takes," he said. "I think Biagio might agree. It's me he wants, not Dyana."
"Very well, Jackal," said Prakna. "We'll get in closer. Let's see what the devil wants."
Dyana noticed the Lissen schooner just as the call came from the masts above. All along the deck of the warship, men made ready for the conflict. She heard the admiral barking orders and the strange creaking of metal monsters below her feet, where the gun deck held Nar's infamous flame cannons. Biagio flew to the ship's railing, pointing out the incoming ship.
"There she is!" he shouted. "The Prince of Liss." He shook his fist in victory. "I told you they'd come, Danar. I told you."
Admiral Nicabar wasn't listening. He was getting his ship into position, ordering it around to face the interloper. Dyana watched in confusion as sailors along the deck signaled the two other dreadnoughts with colored flags. The dreadnoughts signaled back, responding with shouts and movements of their own. Together the two ships broke their mindless pattern and slowly came into formation, flanking the flagship and turning their starboard guns toward the Lissen schooner. Dyana panicked.
"No!" she screeched, dashing along the deck toward Biagio. "Do not fire! Please!"
She grabbed a fistful of Biagio's cape and tugged wildly, fighting to make him listen. Biagio seized her wrist, almost lifting her off the ground.
"Let go, little beast!" he hissed. "I'm not going to fire unless I have to!"
He tossed her aside, sending her tumbling backward. She scrambled up again, refusing to be ignored. "Listen to me," she begged. "Richius is no threat to you. You do not have to do this. Please!"
"Shut up, woman," Biagio snapped. "I can't hear myself think."
Dyana grabbed his hand, falling to her knees before him. "You want me to beg?" she asked angrily. "All right, then, I am begging. I am your prisoner. You have won. You have already beaten him." She stared up at him, hating herself for pleading. "Please, Biagio. Do not kill my husband."
Count Biagio looked down at her. For a moment she thought he would strike her, but there was no rage in his eyes. He took her hand, squeezing it with surprising gentleness.
"Do not beg me, Dyana Vantran," he insisted. "Rise."
He lifted her to her feet. Dyana trembled. Why didn't he do something?
"Count Biagio, please . . ."
"I'm going to call the Jackal aboard," he said. Then, without explanation, he turned his back on her and went to Admiral Nicabar.
Prakna piloted the Prince toward the waiting dreadnoughts, ordering her cannons moved to her port side. The starboard guns of the Fearless and her smaller sisters tracked the Prince's movements as she slipped closer, still at full sail. They were barely a quarter mile away, and the three dreadnoughts grew in their vision, looking ominous. The Black Flag of Nar flew from their masts, stiff with wind. Richius waited on the Prince's prow, cracking his knuckles nervously. A boat was descending off the side of the Fearless. In it were a handful of sailors. Richius couldn't tell exactly how many, but none of them looked like Dyana.
"What the hell's he doing?" wondered Prakna. "Sending over a launch?"
"It's for me," said Richius. "He wants me to come aboard."
"Well, you're not going," said Prakna. "Not just like that."
"Yes, I am. It's my decision, Prakna. Please don't try and stop me."
The fleet commander groaned. "All right. We'll have to get you closer, then."
He ordered his crew to slow them. The sailors responded with their usual precision, working the sails and yards until the schooner lost the wind and drifted toward the waiting dreadnoughts. But he made certain that his cannons were ready, ordering his gunners to stay alert.
Slowly the Prince of Liss approached the dreadnoughts, coming up alongside of them and matching their speed. Hardly a ship's length lay between them. The little launch struggled across the gap, rowed by four brawny seamen. Richius went amidships. Prakna and Marus followed like two older brothers. All the Lissen crewmen watched as Richius waited for the rowboat. He could feel their eyes boring through his back and wished suddenly that he had never left Lucel-Lor. Biagio had beaten him. Now, his only hope was that he could get Dyana free.
"Wait for my wife," he said to Prakna. "If Biagio lets her go, take her back to Lucel-Lor." He smiled awkwardly at the fleet commander. "Will you do that for me, Prakna?"
Prakna's hard face melted. "God, you honor me," he said sadly. "I am pleased to have known you, Richius Vantran."
"Will you, Prakna? Promise me. A real promise, this time."
"I can't make that promise, Jackal," said the Lissen. "Nicabar won't let me go. Even if your wife comes aboard, she would only die in the battle."
Richius knew Prakna was right. Nicabar's hatred of Prakna was legendary. And mutual. So he settled for shaking the commander's hand, and hoping that somehow, Biagio would let Dyana go.
"Good luck to you, Prakna," said Richius. The graveness of the moment seemed to erase the earlier events. Now they were just men again, rivals against Biagio. "Tell Jelena I'll be thinking about her."
"Richius," said Marus, gesturing over the rail. "The boat's here."
Richius looked down and saw that the rowboat had indeed reached the Prince. The four Naren sailors glanced up anxiously.
"Are you here for the Jackal?" Prakna called down to them angrily.
"We are," replied a sailor.
Marus gave the order to drop the rope ladder, then told the crew to slow the Prince to a standstill. Richius gazed down at the bobbing rowboat, so small and insignificant beside the grand schooner. A rush of fear overwhelmed him for a moment, but he subdued it quickly. In many ways, he had lived longer than he should have. Today, at last, his charm of protection had worn off.
With a final nod to his Lissen comrades, Richius straddled the rail and dropped over the side, catching the rope ladder and easing himself down toward the waiting Narens.
Biagio stood beside Nicabar, his heart thundering with anticipation. Across the gap between the Fearless and the Prince, the little rowboat they'd dispatched was returning with Richius Vantran. The Jackal sat up straight, scanning the deck for his wife. Dyana leaned over the railing, calling out to him with tears in her eyes.
"Richius!"
The Jackal saw his wife and smiled, holding out his hands as if to touch her. Biagio watched their reunion, astonished. Richius Vantran looked much as he had two years ago--dark and brash and far too young to have brought an empire to its knees. Seeing him made Biagio's jaw go slack. The count listened to Dyana's cries, wondering if he should silence her. But he did not. He let her call out to her husband.
The rowboat ground against the hull of the Fearless. Nicabar called down to his men, ordering them to get Vantran aboard. Dyana hurried over to him, shouldering Nicabar aside and reaching out to her distant husband.
Biagio stepped back, so as not to see their reunion. He heard the rope ladder fall and the sounds of his enemy climbing aboard
. He was safe, certainly, and yet he feared the man coming toward him. Or rather, he feared seeing him. Richius Vantran was a potent reminder of all the things that had gone wrong in his life.
The first thing Richius saw when he looked up was Dyana's beautiful face. She was reaching down to him with tears in her eyes.
"Dyana!" Richius cried. He threw himself onto the warship's deck and into Dyana's waiting arms, ignoring all the sailors around him.
"Dyana," he moaned. Her smooth arms encircled him in a rapturous embrace, and he buried his nose in her hair, smelling its sweetness. She kissed him savagely, refusing to let go.
"Richius," she sighed, "I am all right. Do not worry. . . ."
He peeled her away and looked at her at arm's length, running his eyes over her perfect body and seeing that she was, indeed, all right.
"You're all right," he gasped. "You really are . . ."
Then he saw Biagio. The count had yet to step forward or say a word. Richius turned slowly toward his enemy, holding Dyana's hand. Biagio's golden face was lit with a strange fascination. He stared at Richius curiously, but remained remarkably hushed.
"I'm here," said Richius, trying to sound brave. He wondered if Biagio could see him trembling. "Now, let Dyana go."
Count Renato Biagio merely looked at Richius, his blue eyes sparkling with unnatural light, his amber skin beautiful. He was frightening to behold. Richius could barely stand the sight of him.
"Say something, you bastard," Richius demanded. "I'm here. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Biagio's eyes flicked toward Dyana for a brief second. Then he offered a dazzling smile. For the first time in years, Richius heard his treacly voice.
"Your wife says I have no quarrel with you, Jackal of Nar," said the count. "I wonder, what do you think?" "Let her go, Biagio. You don't need her." The count took a step closer, regarding Richius coldly, the way a scientist might stare at a specimen. "You haven't changed very much, Jackal. A bit older. Still the same arrogance, though. Perhaps that's what your wife loves so much."
The riddles enraged Richius. "Will you let her go or not?" he flared. "I came aboard in an honorable exchange. Just for once, show the world you have some honor, too. Let Dyana go."
"First, answer my question," said the count. "What about our quarrel?"
"Your quarrel," replied Richius bitterly. "I never had one. All I wanted was to save Dyana. That's why I left Nar." He grit his teeth, trying to contain his rage. "And that's why you killed Sabrina. God, I hate you, monster."
Biagio laughed. "That is the second time today I've heard that," he mocked. "But continue, please. Have you no quarrel with me at all?"
"I would kill you if I could," said Richius, meaning every word. "But I give myself to you instead. Let Dyana go. I won't fight you."
"And if I let you both go free?" asked Biagio. "What then?"
Richius was stunned. So was Dyana. She let go of Richius, taking a step forward.
"What are you saying?" she asked. "Would you let us go?"
Count Biagio's face was impossibly serene. His expression brightened when he looked at her.
"You have given me much to think about, Dyana Vantran. Perhaps I owe you something in return."
"Don't play with us," Richius growled. He took a step toward the count, only to be halted by Nicabar's sailors, who grabbed at his coat and dragged him backward. But Biagio raised a hand to them, making them release Richius. Richius looked around, unsure what was happening.
"A trick," he sneered. "Dyana, don't believe him."
Biagio ignored him. "Lady Vantran, I offer you back your wretched husband. You're free to leave."
"What?" blurted Nicabar. "Renato, what are you doing?"
"Repaying a debt, Danar," replied the count lightly. He reached out and took Dyana's hand, then gave it a gentle kiss. Richius couldn't believe his eyes.
"Why?" he gasped. "I don't understand."
Count Biagio turned and went to him. "You have a remarkable wife," he said with soft anger. "This favor is for her, not you."
"Biagio, if this is a trick . . ."
"It is no trick, Vantran," said Biagio. "I have an empire to rule now. I cannot entertain myself with trifles like you any longer."
Richius was astounded. "That's it? You're letting us go? After all you've done?"
"Biagio," said Dyana, coming up to him. "Look at me.
The count obeyed. Dyana studied his face. After a moment, she slowly nodded.
"I believe you," she said. "But why?"
Biagio scoffed, straightening proudly. "Count Biagio does not explain himself," he said gruffly. "And Jackal, know this--our quarrel is done. Do not try to seek your revenge on me again. If you do, I will most certainly kill you."
Richius was speechless.
"Go in peace," Biagio added. "Keep your hands off of Nar, and I will keep mine off Lucel-Lor. Are we agreed?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"Good," smiled the count. "You are a cagey opponent, Richius Vantran. It has been interesting dueling with you. But I'm tired of it now. Please leave me alone."
"You do the same," said Richius. "Then we will have a bargain."
Biagio rubbed his hands together, grinned wickedly, then said to Dyana, "Farewell, Lady Vantran. We will not be seeing each other anymore. But you were a graceful guest. I will miss you."
Dyana put a hand to her mouth. "Thank you," she gasped. "Thank you."
"The boat will take you to the Black City. From there you'll be brought back to the Lissens on Crote."
"What?" flared Richius. "Take us back to the Prince!"
"I cannot," said Biagio. "It wouldn't be safe for you there." He glanced at his admiral. "Danar, Black City and Intruder can escort them back to the Lissens, can't they?"
"I suppose," replied Nicabar. "But, Renato, I don't understand. . . ."
Biagio smiled. "You will," he said lightly. Then, to Richius and Dyana, "Go now. And do not trouble me again, Jackal."
Astonished, Richius wondered what Biagio had planned for Prakna. But he realized also that he had just struck a remarkable bargain with the count, one that might evaporate without warning. So he took Dyana's hand and led her quickly off the Fearless, accompanied by a sailor who would explain Biagio's orders to the captain of the Black City. Before she descended the rope ladder, Dyana gave a last lingering look at the inscrutable man of gold. Then she followed Richius into the rowboat, as amazed as her husband to still be alive.
Prakna watched in mute fascination as the little boat left the Fearless with Richius and his wife aboard--then set off in the wrong direction. She was headed toward the lead dreadnought, the one just behind the Fearless on her port side. Prakna stared at the rowboat uncertainly. He could see Richius standing up in the boat, shouting and waving his arms wildly.
"What's he saying?" Prakna asked.
Beside him, Marus studied the goings-on through a spyglass. "He's waving us off," said the first officer. "I think he wants us to go."
"Go? Go where?"
Marus shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Biagio set them free."
"And sent them to another dreadnought? What for?"
Even as he left the rowboat and climbed up the side of dreadnought, Richius continued shouting at them. With his free hand he went on waving, trying to signal them. Prakna let out a frustrated curse. What was Vantran saying?
"Shall we move off?" asked Marus. "They have him. If they're not letting him go, we won't be able to get him back."
Prakna considered the option. He waited a very long time before answering, long enough to see the two rear dreadnoughts unfurl their sails again and pick up the wind, pulling away from the Fearless. But the big flagship still made no moves. Prakna snatched the spyglass from Marus and scanned her deck. He saw Nicabar on board, scowling at them.
"That whoreson," Prakna rumbled. "He's waiting for us."
On the forecastle of his giant ship, Admiral Nicabar watched his nemesis across the narrow gap, impatiently hoping that she'
d open fire. Even without the protection of Black City and Intruder, he knew the Fearless could devour the Prince. Biagio stood beside him, tapping his foot impatiently. The insipid noise did nothing to break the admiral's steely concentration.
"Ready, my friend?" asked the count.
Nicabar nodded. "Yes, thank you."
"It's nothing," quipped Biagio. "I just thought it was time I paid you back, as well. You've been very loyal, Danar. I appreciate that."
The admiral smiled. It had been a great gamble to side with Biagio against Herrith, but now his bet was paying off. He balled his hands into fists, anticipating the coming battle. If he knew Prakna as well as he thought, the fleet commander wouldn't run from the fight.
"He's baiting me," said Prakna. "He wants me to fight him."
The deck of the Prince had gone quiet. Sailors stood ready, awaiting their captain's orders. Marus leaned against the rail beside Prakna, both of them considering their options. Nicabar was giving them a chance to turn and run. Or a chance to land the first blow.
"We could leave," Marus suggested.
Prakna nodded. "Aye. We could."
They looked at each other. Two men who had served together for years, who had both lost sons to the devils of Nar, gazed deeply into each other's eyes and saw the same restless need for vengeance.
"Or we could fight," said Marus.
Prakna clasped his comrade's shoulder. A lot of people had died today. In the great scheme of things, a few more hardly seemed to matter. And for Prakna and his crew, it was the difference between living like sheep or dying like lions.
"Give me full sails, Marus," said Prakna. "I want speed."
When he saw the Prince unfurl her sails, Biagio frowned, surprised that he had been wrong. "They're moving off," he said incredulously. "They're not fighting."
"No," replied Nicabar, blackly jubilant. "They're just giving themselves some room to maneuver." The admiral turned to his waiting lieutenants, shouting orders down the line. "Full sails!" he cried. "Bring us five degrees starboard. Don't let them out of our sights. And tell the gun deck to stand by."