The Grand Design (30 page)

“Cold,” Black said again. “Cold.”

Duke Eneas gave a wan smile. “Indeed it is, my friend. Let’s get inside.”

Together they went to the main doors of Gray Tower, passing a pair of raven-helmeted guards who opened the wooden portals for them without a word. Inside, Gray Tower was warm. Black flew from Eneas’ shoulder and darted down the hallway to perch on the mantel of a fireplace. It was very near mealtime, and Eneas could smell food being prepared. His stomach rumbled at the odor. Tonight he would eat and retire early, and pray to God that he didn’t dream. Of late, dreams came to him even while awake. He had taken to writing them down in his journal, and had been comparing them. He wasn’t at all surprised by their unified theme of loneliness.

Winter was a very lonely time in Dragon’s Beak.

Eneas walked past the mantel where Black was sitting, pausing to warm his hands. He pulled off his gloves and spread his long fingers, enjoying the warmth. Black closed his ebony eyes as if thinking. It was a strange magic the two shared. Eneas had been gifted with this power since his youth. Their father had shown a smattering of it, and their mother could read the minds of cats, but only Eneas was truly a master of the trick. Only he could peer into the primeval brains of birds and know what they were thinking. He knew now that Black was more hungry than tired, a fact others would miss from the bird’s sleepy countenance. Eneas knew when his birds were sick or afraid or vengeful, or when they needed exercise or attention. He was a magician of sorts, and though his ability had frightened Enli, he himself had never been afraid of it. He adored his gift just as he adored his ravens. In these bleak seasons, the ravens were his only true companions. He shared secrets with them, the sort of things he used to share with Enli. He told them his thoughts and his memories, and regaled them often with tales about Angel and the one he called his daughter.

“Hungry, my friend?” he asked Black. The duke stroked an index finger over the raven’s plumage. What passed for a smile crossed Black’s corvine face. He hopped onto Eneas’s shoulder, then playfully nibbled the duke’s ear. More than hungry, the nibble meant. Famished.

“We’ll eat now,” said the duke. He turned his back on the fire and escorted Black down the hallway, toward the kitchens and their waiting meals.

On the south fork of Dragon’s Beak, Duke Enli waited. And watched. He watched the sun go down, watched the eastern half of the world plunge into darkness, and watched the darkness spread across the earth until the channel separating him from his brother across the sea
became black and the wind picked up. On the far side of Dragon’s Beak, he could barely see Gray Tower on its precipice of rock. The water was rising and sea foam licked at Enli’s boots. He was cold and his men were cold, and the little boat that would convey them all across the channel seemed dubiously small. The moon lit the land with strands of light; moonbeams danced on the white caps. Enli opened the door of his lantern and extinguished the flame. His men did the same. There were six of them in all, including Enli and not including Cackle, who perched patiently on Enli’s shoulder. The men gathered around the boat waited for Enli to speak, but he did not.

He trusted these men. He knew they were skilled and would do their best for him. Yet still Enli fretted over the coming melee. They had doffed their dragon armor for ease of motion, and all had some minor experience with clandestine work. Unlike the mercenaries he was buying with Biagio’s fortune, Enli trusted these men. They were loyal to more than just coins. They had been with him for years, and he had hand-picked them for tonight’s work. Already the mercenary forces were rolling out of Red Tower, taking up positions outside Eneas’ fork. If all went well tonight, Enli would order them against Gray Tower. But there was one problem, one almost insurmountable obstacle. And it had taken Biagio’s keen mind to devise a solution. Now, with Cackle on his shoulder, the plan had seemed too obvious. But that was Biagio’s gift. The count was cunning. He could see things no other man could, and that was why Arkus had chosen him to head the Roshann. Some said the scientist Bovadin had the biggest brain in the Empire, but Enli knew that wasn’t so. Biagio—he was the mastermind. Enli smiled. He fished a nutmeat from his pocket and fed it to Cackle, who devoured it greedily. The raven clacked for another and Enli obliged. Tonight Cackle was more
important than any of the others gathered here on shore. Only Cackle could subdue the army of the air. Eneas had guardians and a happy populace to protect him, but he also had his dreaded ravens, and a more bloodthirsty army existed nowhere else in Nar. There was something evil about Eneas’ ravens, something that made strong men wither. But tonight, if Biagio’s grand design proved correct, the army of the air would be theirs.

“You’re a good boy,” Enli crooned to his pet. “Do well for me tonight, all right?”

“Good boy,” Cackle echoed. “Good boy.”

They waited another hour, not speaking, until at last Enli felt comfortable with the darkness and ordered them all into the long boat. Each man had a short sword and a crossbow that he stowed beneath the seats, and the two with the strongest backs took up positions near the oars. Cackle flew into the boat before Enli, staking out the seat nearest the bow. The duke stepped into the vessel as the last two men shoved them off. The boat slipped out onto the cold sea. Above them, Red Tower glowed with candlelight and torches, and Enli steeled himself as he slowly drifted away from his home, studying its windows for Nina’s silhouette. He did not see her, but he hadn’t really expected to. She knew only that he planned to avenge himself on his brother, and that all the soldiers who had lately invaded their home would soon be gone to invade Gray Tower. Nina was a sensible girl. It was why Enli was convinced she had grown from his seed, and not Eneas’. She had given him no trouble at all about his plans to conquer the north fork. But that was because he had lied to her. He had promised her that her Uncle Eneas would be spared. Enli knew that if his daughter ever found out what he was really doing tonight, she would hate him forever.

The notion made the duke close his eyes. He sat down on the bench next to Cackle and banished the
image of Red Tower from his mind. There was work to do, he scolded himself. No time for sentiment. The rowers grunted as they fought against the wind and tide, hastening the boat toward the ever-looming shadow of Gray Tower. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, deadening the world. Cackle cawed angrily and bit at Enli’s hand, demanding attention. The duke put out a finger for Cackle to hop onto and lifted the bird to his shoulder, where the raven rested, contented for the moment. Enli’s soldiers looked about, murmuring darkly. They fidgeted with their weapons but their movements never rose above a whisper. It took nearly another full hour to make the channel crossing, and when at last Gray Tower rose on the rocky cliff above them, Enli raised his hand to stop the rowers.

“Easy,” he directed. “Go slow.”

He didn’t want to be seen, not by the tower’s guards or by any of the beastly ravens. The duke set his jaw and peered through the blackness. Lights flickered in the tower. It was early still and the moon had reemerged. Carefully, stealthily, the little boat let the tide pull it toward shore. Enli felt the touch of dread. It had been a long time since he’d seen Eneas. Curiously, he wondered if his brother had changed much. A flood of memories crashed into his brain, momentarily shattering his resolve. He had loved his brother once. But then he remembered Angel and Eneas’ wicked claims about Nina, and the old ire rose up in him. Tonight, he would have the revenge denied him for so long. And Biagio’s fortune would be put to good use as the mercenaries fought for the north fork.

The little boat drifted toward shore. The men aboard stopped murmuring. They retrieved their swords and crossbows and made ready. The oarsmen steered ashore, directed by the whispering Enli.
To the east side
, the duke counseled.
Slowly, slowly.
There were rocks and trees on the east side to hide them, and the main road was there. If his ruse was going to work, it had to be
perfect. The rowboat skidded ashore and Enli’s soldiers scurried out, cloaked by darkness and the out-croppings of rocks. Gray Tower hovered nearby, just over the stony hills. Enli waited for the boat to be well grounded before trudging out. Together his men hauled the boat onto the land and dragged it toward the rocks, where they wedged it beneath a granite shelf covered with moss. The duke took the time to study Cackle. The raven seemed unconcerned.

“Go to the road, like I told you,” Enli told his men. “Wait for me there. I won’t be long.”

“You should come with us,” said Faren, one of Enli’s most trusted confidants. “Let the bird go from the road. I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

“Just go,” said Enli, untouched by the sentiment. He wasn’t in the mood to have his orders questioned, and just now he wanted to be alone on the shores of the north fork. It had been too many years since his boots had trod this side of the dragon’s tongue. And in less than an hour his brother might be dead. For the moment, at least, Enli needed solitude. “I will be there directly,” he promised Faren. “Now go.”

The soldiers departed reluctantly, shimmying up the rocks and disappearing. Enli watched them leave, and when he was sure they were well away he pulled the note from his pocket. It had been folded thrice into a tight little package, light enough for Cackle to convey to Eneas’ window. He set the bird onto the rock shelf, then took the string from his pocket, using it to fasten the note to Cackle’s leg. The bird shifted a bit but did not bite at the string the way he had previously, a small favor for which Enli was enormously grateful. He had rehearsed this a dozen times with the clever bird. He was sure Cackle could do it. He tied the knot securing the note and stepped away from the raven, inspecting his work. Cackle’s black eyes twinkled.

“All right now,” said Enli. “You know what to do. It’s all up to you.”

The bird seemed to yawn, but he stretched his wings and cast his master a sober look.

“Angel,” cawed the bird. “Angel.”

Enli’s smile was sardonic. “That’s right. For Angel. Now fly, little beauty. Fly for my revenge!”

With a giant hop the raven leapt from the rock and gathered the air beneath his wings, going up and up against the wind, determined to deliver his master’s message. Enli watched as Cackle darted toward Gray Tower and the large balcony overlooking the western sea, the one with the tower’s only marble gargoyles.

Just as he had been trained to do.

Duke Eneas had eaten a hearty meal with his men and Black and had retired to his chambers early. In Gray Tower, when winter came, there was very little to do, and men of nobility in the northern lands generally occupied themselves with books and journals to fill the long hours. Because his mother had taught him a love of reading, Eneas often took to his bed early in the dark months, curling into his sheets with a cup of honey tea while Black watched over him from an open cage hanging not too near the fire. This evening, a bit of undigested stew had soured Eneas’ stomach, and so the duke had neglected the tea and instead taken only the book with him to bed, and even this gave his stomach little solace. As was his routine, though, he finished several pages before setting the book aside in favor of sleep. The hallway outside his bed-chamber was customarily quiet, for the folk of Gray Tower knew their lord’s penchant for silence, and so tiptoed past his rooms so as not to disturb his studies or slumber. The breezes off the ocean beat against the old glass of his balcony doors, and outside Eneas could hear the whistle of wind through stone and the groaning of the gargoyles perched on the ledge. His was the only balcony in the tower decorated with the grotesques, a gift
from the renowned Darago to celebrate his fortieth birthday. At first he had thought the gargoyles a pair of monstrosities, but Darago was an artisan whose works graced the Black Palace and the Cathedral of the Martyrs and countless other landmarks throughout the Empire. The emperor had commissioned the sculptures himself. To spurn a gift from Darago would have been the height of bad taste, and Eneas had grown oddly attached to the gargoyles over the years. They were like his ravens now—a permanent fixture of Gray Tower.

It did not take long for sleep to capture Eneas. The book he had been reading lay on the night table beside him, under the glow of a single candle. The lulling music of the wind helped calm the duke’s stomach, and very soon Eneas was asleep. He was dreaming of something he couldn’t quite recall when an intrusive tapping dragged him back to the world. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment the sound was gone. The wind? He looked to Black who had also awakened and was staring at the doors. The duke’s own eyes shifted toward the glass. Outside on the balcony, its beak pressed against the pane, was another raven. Curious and groggy, Eneas watched, and a familiarity dawned in his mind. The strange raven tapped again at the glass, insistent. Eneas frowned.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered. He flung his naked feet over the bedside and spied the balcony for others, but all he could see was the lone bird. Black flew from his cage to land on the duke’s shoulder. Eneas stroked his friend for strength. The visitation had unnerved him and he didn’t know why. The raven beyond the glass was big, as big as Black himself, and with the same intelligent expression. The duke eased toward the glass doors, then noticed the object around the raven’s leg. A note? He reached out to open the door, but Black screeched in his ear, stopping him.

“Quiet!” Eneas commanded, frightened by the bird’s
scream. “There’s nothing to worry about, you jealous beast. It’s just a bird.”

With Black still protesting, he turned the handle and opened the glass door. At once the strange raven hopped inside, clicking and cawing for the duke’s attention. Black’s talons dug angrily into Eneas’ shoulder, a warning not to be ignored. Eneas stepped away from the raven, pondering it.

“What do we have here, my friend?” he asked Black. His raven made an unusual hissing sound, and its ruddy little tongue clicked at the intruder. Eneas nodded.