The Grand Design (42 page)

“So, Commander,” said Richius. “What’s this about?”

“Did you expect me?” asked Prakna, avoiding Richius’ question. “I told you I’d come back if I needed you. Did you think I would?”

“I had wondered. I’m out of touch here in Falindar.”

“But you hoped I would, didn’t you?” probed the Lissen. He leaned forward across the table. “You wouldn’t have met my ship if you didn’t.”

“Prakna, I don’t mean to seem rude, but I could really use some answers,” said Richius. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“Why? For you, of course. We need your help.”

“Who’s we?”

“Liss,” said the commander. He shoved his plate of food aside as if it were suddenly annoying him. “All those who owe Nar a debt, you might say. I’m going to be truthful with you, Vantran. You want revenge as much as I do. I saw it in your eyes when we first met, and I’m looking right at it again now. I’m offering you that chance.”

“More,” said Richius, waving over an explanation. He didn’t like Prakna’s circular conversation. “Start at the beginning. What’s going on with Liss? I’ve heard that you’ve been attacking Naren shipping, but that’s all I know.”

“I have an armada of over fifty ships patrolling the coasts of the Empire,” said Prakna. “Mostly schooners like the
Prince.
”

“Prince?”

“My flagship, anchored offshore. And we’ve done a lot more than just sink a few Naren ships. So far the count is at least twenty-five. We’ve raided some coastal towns, too. Doria, even.” Prakna’s face lit with
satisfaction. “For the first time those Naren pigs know what it’s like to be invaded.”

Richius was astonished. “Doria? How? The Black Fleet—”

“Stop,” bade Prakna, holding up a hand. “You’re in need of a history lesson, aren’t you?”

“I guess so,” Richius admitted. “As I said, news travels slowly here.”

“Let me educate you, then,” said Prakna. He explained to Richius how Nar had fallen into turmoil after Arkus’ death, and how the two factions of the Empire, Biagio’s and Herrith’s, were at odds. Richius knew that much already. What he didn’t know was that the Black Fleet had sided completely with Biagio and were protecting him on his home island of Crote. Prakna went on to tell how the Black Renaissance was almost extinguished in Nar, and how Herrith had the imperial legions in his control. The Naren navy, he explained, had been staying away from the Empire.

“We had the run of Naren waters,” Prakna said. “And we pressed the advantage. But not just because we wanted to hurt Nar. We had a more important mission—to lure the
Fearless
and the rest of the fleet back to Nar.”

Richius was thoroughly confused. “The
Fearless
? That’s Nicabar’s ship, isn’t it? Why would you want him coming after you? I’ve seen Naren dreadnoughts. They’re a handful, I’m sure.”

“Two handfuls,” said Prakna. “But you’re not listening. The point wasn’t to lure them back to Nar, exactly. The point was to lure them away from Crote. And we’ve done that finally. I myself came across the
Fearless
two weeks ago. She and at least two other dreadnoughts are out of Crotan waters. They’re no longer protecting Biagio.”

Richius shrugged. “So?”

“So we finally have the chance we’ve been looking for,” said Prakna. He put his hands on the table and
steepled his fingers contemplatively, thinking very hard before he spoke. At last he looked straight at Richius and said, “King Vantran, Liss is planning an invasion of Crote.”

It took a moment for the words to register. When they did, Richius could only gasp. “What?”

“Crote is a strategic weak point for Nar. If Liss could gain control of Crote, our navy would be in easy striking distance from the mainland. We could set up supply lines, run blockades of merchant shipping—”

“Are you insane?” Richius blurted out. “Invade Crote? Biagio—”

“Would never know what hit him!” growled the commander. “With the Black Fleet gone, he has no one there to protect him. My schooners could sweep in there and let loose an invasion force long before he could ever summon help. And Crote has only a very small army, mostly guarding Biagio in his mansion.”

“And just where are you going to get this ‘invasion force’? I may not be very informed, but I know Liss was devastated during its war with Nar. You don’t have an army. You’re a bunch of sailors! I’m surprised you have enough ships left to harass the Empire.”

“We’ve been rebuilding,” said Prakna proudly. “But you’re right. We’re not land fighters. Never have been. That’s why we need you.”

Richius couldn’t help but laugh. He had almost seen it coming. “Oh, yes. I’m the answer to your troubles, eh? What do you want me to do? Train an army for you?”

“And lead the invasion,” said the commander with all seriousness. “We have more volunteers to go against Nar than you can imagine. Men
and
women. All ages, too. You could—”

“No, Prakna,” said Richius. He stood up and shook his head. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I’m no leader.”

“With respect,
you’re
wrong,” countered Prakna. “I
know all about you, Vantran. You were the one who beat back the Narens in the battle of Dring. And you led your own company for Aramoor. You’re a horse soldier. Good with a sword, I’d bet, too.”

“Not very.”

“Good enough to defeat Blackwood Gayle,” said Prakna. “And that’s good enough for me. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think you could help us. Liss needs you. We need someone with your gift for strategy, your experience in land fighting.” His face was earnest, imploring. “King Vantran, you’re our only hope.”

It was like hearing a prayer, and Richius couldn’t ignore it. He dragged his chair over to Prakna’s side of the table and sat down face-to-face with the Lissen.

“Prakna,” he said softly. “This whole trip of yours was a waste. I thought you were coming here to ask if I wanted to join you, not lead you. I’m no leader, despite what you’ve heard. Maybe when you get back home you can tell your people to stop worshiping me like some kind of hero. I had a lot of help defeating the Narens. Triin help. And most of them died doing it. You should think about that.”

Prakna’s voice was icy. “I have thought about it. Don’t lecture me about death, boy. I’ve drowned in a decade of it. But now is our chance to get even. Don’t you see that? I know what Biagio did to your wife. He gave the order for her execution. You can’t sit there and tell me you don’t yearn for revenge.”

“Enough,” hissed Richius. He held up a warning finger. “That far, no further. My wife is none of your concern. And get out of my mind! You don’t know what I’m feeling.”

“Wrong again. I lost two boys in the war against Nar. When Nar invaded they were hardly in their teens. But they ran off to defend their home just as soon as they were old enough. And now they’re both
dead. You want to trade one wife for two sons? I think it’s at least equal, don’t you?”

There was so much pain in Prakna’s voice Richius could barely stand it. “I’m sorry for you,” he said. “I didn’t know. But it doesn’t change anything, Prakna. I can’t help you, or lead this invasion. I don’t know how to make an army out of fishermen.”

“But you do,” said Prakna. “You led your own people, right? What is Aramoor but a land of farmers and horse breeders? Some fishermen, too, I’d wager. We’re not so different from your own folk. Let us help you take your revenge on Nar. And let’s do it now, while they’re weak.”

Admittedly, it was tempting. Prakna was a very persuasive speaker. More, Richius knew the plan had at least some chance at success. Crote was small, hardly protected at all. And Prakna was right about its strategic position. So close to the mainland, Liss could indeed strike against Nar. But these things were ancillary. Prakna was dangling a far greater prize in front of Richius.

Biagio.

“What makes you think the Black Fleet won’t go back to Crote?” he asked. “Biagio isn’t used to being unprotected.”

“Not all of our ships will be involved in the invasion. Just enough to carry the troops and supplies we’ll need. The rest of my armada will continue to occupy Nicabar’s fleet around the mainland.” The Lissen sat back smugly. “We’ll make sure the Black Fleet stays put, don’t worry.”

“Don’t be so sure. Biagio has his fingers in everything. If he so much as suspects an invasion, your plan is doomed.”

Prakna waved the remark away. “Biagio is completely isolated. He’s clever, I admit, but we’re clever, too. He won’t suspect anything.”

“And what do you plan on doing with him once you take the island?”

“That’s up to you,” promised the Lissen. “That’s part of my bargain. I take the island. You take Biagio. He’s yours. You can snuff him out like a candle. That would be justice, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not a murderer, Prakna. I’m better than that.”

“Nonsense,” said Prakna. “None of us are any better than the next. You’re not so different from me, Vantran. We may be from different sides of the world, but we’re both the same now. Life has made us brothers. And you know that, don’t you? You can’t hide from it. It’s all over your face. You may not be a butcher like Biagio, but you can kill him. If I handed him to you, you’d slice his throat.” Prakna leaned in and whispered, “Wouldn’t you?”

Richius stood up, unable or unwilling to answer, he wasn’t sure which. “You may stay in Falindar as long as you like,” he told Prakna. “Have your men come ashore for fresh food and drink. There’s lodging here for all of them.”

“Vantran,” cautioned the Lissen. “I need an answer.” He struck out a hand for Richius to take. “Are you with us?”

“Prakna …”

“Don’t make this all be a waste of my time,” Prakna begged. “We can’t do it without you. We don’t have the knowledge.”

Richius sighed. “When are you leaving? I’ll give you an answer then.”

“You’re thinking of your wife, I know. I left my wife behind, too. Her name is J’lari. I love her very much. It changes nothing.” Prakna kept his hand outstretched. “Liss needs you. Please …”

“We might both be fools, my friend,” Richius whispered gravely.

Then he clasped Prakna’s hand.

All was silent. Out in the garden the world had grown cold, and Simon shivered in the moonlight. Two eyes blinked at him from a treetop, the curious gaze of a night bird, and the garden statues, half-eaten with lichens, listened deafly to the breeze. Simon cocked his head, surveying his surroundings. Except for his anxious breathing, he heard nothing. Overhead, the towers of Falindar glowed with candlelight. It was late, and most of the citadel had retired. A moment ago two Triin guardians had paced through the garden, giving him a puzzled stare. Simon nodded at them, and the small gesture was enough to send them on their way. Thanks to Vantran, he was trusted now.

Simon stuck his hand in his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, neatly folded into a tiny square. Unfolding it, he inspected the numbers one through forty he had scribbled on the paper. All but five of them had been struck through, denoting the passing of the days. Simon looked up to consider the moon. There were still many hours until dawn, but he pulled his piece of black chalk from his pocket anyway and drew a line through day number thirty-six. In four days the
Intimidator
would be offshore, waiting for him. He had that much time to steal Shani. Simon muttered a curse. He had done a remarkable job of earning Vantran’s confidence. Normally he would have been proud of himself. This time, however, he felt hollow and sick. Vantran and his wife had treated him like a friend, a turn of events even he hadn’t foreseen, one that made the despicable act of stealing their child all the more difficult. He liked Richius. He liked Dyana, too. And he knew the young woman would be heartbroken by the loss of her daughter. Simon folded the paper again and returned it to his pocket.

Biagio
, he seethed.
May God damn you eternally for making me do this.

There was no choice, Simon told himself; there never had been. Despite the kindness of the Vantrans, he had never wavered in his commitment to his mission. This was about Eris. If he didn’t return with the child as he’d promised, her life would be forfeit. It wasn’t just that Biagio would forbid them to marry. He would kill her. Worse, he would hand her over to the monstrous Savros, who would ritualistically disembowel her. That was Biagio’s way.

He hated Biagio now. The feeling had stunned him, because he had loved his master once. He was Roshann, and that meant unwavering loyalty. But Biagio had changed over the years, corrupted by the drug and thoughts of immortal power. There was a time when even Biagio would have spared a little girl, but no longer. Now he cut off heads without regard, and turned whole families over to the war labs for experiments. He was a monster, like Savros and the rest of them. And Simon was trapped. Simon knew he could only obey.

“You’ll have the baby, Biagio,” he whispered to the wind. “And that is all.”

When he was done with this mission and Eris was his, Simon would take her away from Crote. They would not go to the Black City with Biagio. They would leave him and go underground, someplace where the Count of Crote would never find them, and they would live together as normal people and Simon would forget the blood he had spilled.