The Grand Design (32 page)

“Live your lie, brother,” said Eneas softly. “Kill me. Send me to my Angel. We’ll be together if you do.”

His brother shook with rage. The dagger in his fist quavered.

“Damn you!” Enli cried. “Damn you for making me do this!”

“I die, brother,” Eneas taunted. “Hurry now. Take your vengeance before I go.”

“You stole her from me!”

“Kill me, you wretched coward.”

Enli screamed, high and horrible. Eneas watched his brother’s breakdown, and all the hate in him evaporated. He kept his arms outstretched even as the dagger plummeted down.

Duke Enli stood over his brother’s dead body for a small eternity. The night had fallen quiet again and the light from the torch had been smothered by the dirt. It was very cold and the duke shivered, warmed only by the tears streaking his face. He was aware of his men staring at him, of Faren’s incredulous gaze and Devon’s slack jaw, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stir, not even to clean the dagger of Eneas’ blood. He was a murderer now. He felt it as surely as he felt the wind. Blindly, he stared at his brother crumpled at his feet. He poked at Eneas with the toe of his boot and was oddly disappointed when his brother didn’t respond.

“Duke Enli?” probed Faren. “My lord, we have to hurry.”

“Yes,” whispered Enli absently. “Yes, hurry.”

“The bird’s dead, my lord. Your plan …”

“Yes,” said Enli again. “My plan …”

The raven Cackle was still on his shoulder. Enli took an unsteady breath and gestured toward his dead brother.

“Undress him,” he ordered. “Quickly.”

The duke started undoing his own clothing, slowly working the buttons of his shirt. His men fell upon Eneas’ body, unceremoniously pulling away his garments. Yory, who had been silent through the entire fight, stalked over to the dead raven in the roadway and scooped the thing up, bringing it over to Enli. The silver chain still clung around its broken neck. Enli sighed with relief.

“Take the chain off,” he directed. “Don’t break it.”

Very carefully Yory undid the chain from around the dead bird’s neck, nearly pulling off the raven’s head as he stretched the neck for slack. When he had freed the tiny chain he handed it gingerly to his master. Enli, now shirtless, took the necklace to Cackle.

“Easy now,” the duke ordered as he slipped the ornament over the raven’s head. “Just take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Remarkably, Cackle twisted his head to accommodate the chain, and it slid quickly over his glossy feathers. Enli checked the chain to be sure it wouldn’t slip off in flight. Satisfied, he lifted Cackle in his hand and smiled at the bird.

“You’re a wonderful little beast,” he said softly. “Go now, my friend. Bring back your brothers and sisters.”

The duke hoisted his hand into the air and Cackle took flight, disappearing once more into the darkness. Enli watched him soar.

“My lord!” Faren scolded. “Dress now! You’ll catch your death.”

It was unspeakably cold, but Enli hadn’t really noticed it until Faren reminded him. His soldiers handed him Eneas’ shirt and mail, and Enli dressed in a fevered hurry, all the while looking at his dead, naked brother in the roadway, his body pricked with arrows and sliced open with a dagger wound. Eneas’ clothes were warm and bloody. Enli could smell his brother’s scent on them. One by one he fitted himself with the dead man’s accoutrements, finishing off by buckling the sword belt around his waist. When he was done, he gestured disgustedly at Eneas’ body.

“Take it away. And be quick. The ravens musn’t see him.”

Yory and Jace did as their duke directed, dragging Eneas unceremoniously into the woods. They would take him far away, far enough so that the ravens wouldn’t smell his familiar odor or catch a glimpse of their former master. If they did, Enli knew, they might turn on him. These were intelligent monsters, hardly ravens at all anymore. They were creations. Like Lorla born in the war labs, they had become more than nature ever intended. The trick now was to control them. Faren and the others took up positions around Enli, nervously watching the sky. None of them knew if this elaborate scheme would work, or how long it would take if it did. Back in Gray Tower, Eneas’ men were no doubt awaiting the return of their master. If Eneas didn’t return soon, they would come looking for him, and in greater numbers. Enli shuddered a little. He didn’t want to die here on the north fork.

Together they waited, then waited some more, until long minutes slipped by and Yory and Jace returned from the forest, slick with Eneas’ blood. They looked puzzled by the absence of the birds but said nothing, merely joining their comrades in looking eastward. A cloud crossed the moon, blanketing them in darkness. Enli’s heart sank. They might not come, he realized. But at least he had killed Eneas.

“Holy Mother …” drawled Faren. The soldier pointed at the moon. “Look at that!”

Enli looked skyward. Across the distance came a vaporous, black hand, a massive swarm of ravens, their beaks and feathers glistening in the moonlight. Enli’s men fell back in terror, crossing themselves and muttering prayers to stay the evil horde. But Enli stood his ground, a smile splitting his face. He opened up his arms as if to embrace the heavens, and summoned the army of the air to him.

T
he
Prince of Liss
sailed full-winded against the white caps, her masts groaning as she tacked north by northwest along the coast of Nar. On the orders of her commander, she had left the rest of her escort behind, and was now just two days south of Nar City. Her escort ships,
Vindicator, Battle Axe
, and the others, waited for her off the coast of Casarhoon, one of the Empire’s more southerly regions, to pirate what supplies they could from the ill-armed ships that sailed there. The
Prince of Liss
had gone north alone.

Fleet Commander Prakna waited in his quarters, worrying over charts as his flagship sailed again into the cold.
Gray Lady
had been gone for over a week, far longer than her patrol should have required, and
Prakna was worried. On their long trek south they had seen almost no Naren ships, but the ocean was vast and any ships, even dreadnoughts, might have evaded them. They had sailed into southern waters to enjoy some sun, and Prakna himself had ordered
Gray Lady
back north to scout out the sea traffic around the Naren capital. That had been eight days ago. Captain Haggi was a careful sailor, and Prakna trusted him. Haggi was also a friend, and Prakna had wondered about the prudence of sending him north unescorted. But there had been no signs of trouble, and Haggi had agreed to the patrol willingly. Prakna brooded as he absently studied his charts and rutters.
Gray Lady
was a fine ship, but she was no match for imperial dreadnoughts.

This cat-and-mouse game they were playing with Nar had wearied Prakna. It was dangerous, and Prakna realized that their recent successes had made him cocky. As far as he knew, the Black Fleet still stood at anchor around Crote, protecting Biagio, and that meant easy sailing for the schooners of Liss. After sinking the slaver some weeks ago, Prakna had turned his attention south and launched a raid on the port town of Karva. He hadn’t lost a single man in the conflict, an astounding accomplishment, and from there they had sailed on to Dahaar, where a convoy of merchant vessels were bringing their cargo to Nar City. These, too, had gone down under the rams of his ships. And all for the sake of luring the Black Fleet away from Crote. Now, as Prakna contemplated the fate of
Gray Lady
, he wondered if his plan had succeeded.

It was growing cold again but the afternoon was bright. Prakna worked to the sunlight streaming through his tiny window. On deck, Marus and the others were keeping watch for their missing comrades. The roof above Prakna’s head creaked with the familiar sounds of ship-board life. Despite the foolhardiness of his plan to go after
Gray Lady
alone, his men had agreed to it willingly. Long days at sea had made them
lean and irritable, but they were still the best crew Prakna had ever commanded, and they were loyal to a fault. If there was trouble up north, Prakna didn’t want his entire fleet embroiled in it. Better that they should stay hidden around Casarhoon. Prakna was confident he could outrun any dreadnoughts they might encounter, provided he sighted them before they sighted the
Prince. Gray Lady
might not have been so lucky. It was one of the great tricks of warring against the dreadnoughts. Their long-range flame cannons could burn down a schooner’s riggings with a single, well-placed shot. But they were ungainly beasts, these ships of Nar, not at all like the fleet-footed schooners of Liss. And Haggi was an accomplished captain. If he had encountered dreadnoughts, he would have known what to do.

Or so Prakna hoped.

Too fast
, mused Prakna. Haggi always went too fast. If he had blundered into a dreadnought’s path, he might not have had enough time to change course, to outmaneuver the ponderous devils. And all it would take was one lucky shot.

The fleet commander scolded himself for his lack of faith and shoved his charts aside, burying his tired eyes in his hands. Like the rest of his crew, he hadn’t slept much the past two days. Sailing the coast required attention. They weren’t in deep waters anymore, and anyone might see them. They needed to be alert, a razor’s edge. But Prakna didn’t feel very much like a razor. He felt dull, easily distracted. He heard a call from the deck above that hardly stirred him, but then it grew louder. Curious, Prakna lifted his head. Someone was racing down the gangway toward his quarters. There was a thundering at the door and Captain Marus poked his head in, not waiting to be invited.

“Prakna, it’s the
Lady
,” he said anxiously. His face was drawn with worry. “We’ve sighted her!”

Prakna sprang from his chair and headed for the door. “Where? Is she alone?”

“Not alone,” said Marus. “Dreadnoughts.”

“Damn it! How many?”

“Three, I think. They’re far away yet; I couldn’t tell. They’re pursuing.”

The two men climbed the gang ladder and emerged onto the deck. Prakna’s lieutenants were shouting orders to the men. Cannoneers made ready on the guns, packing powder and loading grapeshot. Up in the crow’s nest the lookouts were pointing north, dead ahead. Prakna buttoned up his jacket and looked past the prow. He could see the
Gray Lady
in the distance, pitching on the sea. A pack of dreadnoughts were steaming after her, their masts full of wind as they tried to flank the schooner and catch her in their gunnery range. Just behind
Gray Lady
was another ship, this one smaller than the dreadnoughts. Probably a cruiser. She was dogging the Lissen vessel, tacking parallel to her, keeping her toward shore. And behind them all, looming large against the horizon, was the giant of the pack, a black behemoth with square-rigging and a prow as big as a hillside. Prakna’s jaw fell open at the sight of her.

“Oh, lord,” he whispered. “The
Fearless
 …”

“Prakna?” asked Marus. “Your orders?”

“Stay on course,” said Prakna. “Get me closer. Shift all the cannons to the starboard side. We’ll cover
Gray Lady
’s escape. Go, man. Quickly.”

“Aye, sir,” said Marus, snapping into action. He grabbed hold of a young ensign and started toward the cannons. The
Prince of Liss
had only four of the weapons, but they could easily be moved about on the upper deck of a ship, and that made them perfect for the schooners. Yet, because they weren’t permanently secured to the deck, they were dangerous weapons to use. They were also small, with a much shorter range than the guns of the dreadnoughts. But when loaded with grapeshot they could pull down the rigging of a ship, crippling her. Marus and a group of sailors started
hoisting the port cannons to the right-hand side of the
Prince
, fitting the barrels into the makeshift cradles. The guns were spaced far enough apart so that a concussion from one wouldn’t send a spark flying to another. The cannoneers lit their fuse poles, readying to fire. They were far out of range still, but it wouldn’t take long for the
Prince
to make up the distance.

Prakna went to the prow of his vessel, peering out over the sea. He was elated, even in his dread. The sight of the
Fearless
had buoyed his mood, causing an evil smile to stretch across his face. They had actually succeeded in luring the big bastard away from Crote, and he could scarcely believe the luck of it. But
Gray Lady
was in trouble. Lieutenant Vax rushed up to him with a spyglass, handing it to him. Vax was a young man, tall and lean. He was a good sailor but the appearance of the dreadnoughts had turned his face ashen.

“
Gray Lady
’s been hit,” he said unsteadily. “Look.”

Prakna put the spyglass to his eye. He could see
Gray Lady
sailing desperately toward them, her armored sides marked by cannon fire. Her stunsail had been torn to tatters and her front yards and rigging were ruined, pulled apart and blackened to ashes. She was limping, only barely quicker than the dreadnoughts now. The cruiser pursuing her was fast on her stern, still maneuvering to get alongside for a shot. Behind the cruiser were the two smaller dreadnoughts, sailing wide apart like a net, while the enormous
Fearless
kept its distance, unable to match even the damaged
Lady
’s speed. Prakna lowered the spyglass, collapsing it with a sigh. Doubtlessly the dreadnoughts had already seen the
Prince.
But they were too far away to be much of a threat. It was the cruiser Prakna was worried about.