The Grand Design (60 page)

D
yana awoke in perfect darkness.

It was as if she hadn’t opened her eyes at all, as if the sun had disappeared from the earth. She didn’t stir or bother to roll over. She didn’t draw the useless blanket closer to her body. The smell of rotting grain and sour spices assailed her, but she was used to it now and didn’t gag. She merely lay there in the blackness, trying to focus her mind.

Time had lost all meaning to her. She might have been asleep for days or merely minutes. Her ears rang with the drone of the ocean just outside the wall of her chamber, a filthy storage hold in the bowels of the Naren warship. Other than the constant darkness, the rapping of the sea against the hull was her only companion, save for the spiders and rats that crawled across her as she slept. Human contact was sparse and unwelcome, and the food slid under her nose, when it was given at all, was hopelessly wretched. So Dyana didn’t eat. In time, perhaps another week, she might be dead from lack of food. But it wasn’t food she craved. It was light.

Since leaving Falindar, so long ago now she could scarcely recall, she had only seen light briefly, whenever her captors brought her food or decided to empty her chamber bucket. Or worse, when they came to taunt her. The big one, called Donhedris, loved to run his hands over her. It hadn’t gone any further than that yet, but Dyana knew it was only a matter of time. She had heard the stories of seamen, how they hungered for months without women. The dread of rape was only one more horror she endured. Her clothes were in tatters now, and her hair hung in stringy ropes from her head. The atrocious smell of the cargo hold had permeated her skin, making it reek, and her forearms bore the scars of rat bites. The curious creatures always tested her while she slept, nipping at her flesh until she awoke to bat them away. As with Donhedris, Dyana knew she would eventually lose against the rats, too.

The ship
Revenge
had been at sea for many days. Of that, Dyana was sure. Of other things, her mind was vacant. The cargo hold was freezing, and her coat and thin blanket barely beat back the frost. Spilled grain rubbed against her, chaffing her skin, and the spiders dwelling in the rafters made midnight excursions on their silken ropes, dropping down to bite her face and limbs.

Is it late?
she wondered. It might have been noon or midnight. The darkness was always the same. And her meals, such as they were, came to her erratically, giving her no chance to gauge the passage of time. So Dyana dreamed of small things, trying to occupy herself with memories of better days, and fought to hold her mind together. She recalled with clarity the stories Lucyler had told her of his imprisonment in Falindar, when her first husband Tharn had locked him in the catacombs to teach him what torture was like. It had all been a lesson but Lucyler hadn’t known it at the time, and so he had endured the bleak place with only his wits to keep him sane.

Wits
, Dyana reminded herself.
You still have those. Hold on to them.

Dyana was determined not to let insanity rule her. She needed to be strong for Shani, to face Biagio on his island and somehow wrest her daughter from him. For that she would need all her wits. Biagio was a clever devil. A peerless tactician, Richius had claimed. If she were going to match intellects with him, she needed to be whole. She grabbed hold of her blanket, bunching it up in her fists, and concentrated on Richius’ face. Amazingly, it was starting to fade in her memory. So had Shani’s, and that frightened her.

Think
, Dyana commanded herself.
Do not let it confuse you. Think of a way out.

She was on a ship bound for Crote. Even if she managed to escape her prison, there was nothing but the open sea. And if she tried to escape they might punish her. Donhedris was the lecherous one, but Malthrak, the little dark one, was more cruel. Sometimes when he brought her food he would smile sardonically, loving her fear. That’s what the Roshann were, after all. Richius had been right. They were all dogs. Like Simon. When she found him, she would rip his heart out.

The thumping of footfalls echoed outside her room.
Dyana sat up, dreading the intrusion. She heard the lock on the cargo hold jingle and the rattling of chains. Instinctively she shielded her eyes from the painful light she knew would come. The door opened with a squeal. Two silhouettes blocked a flood of stabbing sunlight. Dyana winced and looked away, already recognizing the pair. As always, Malthrak stepped into the room first, Donhedris on his heels.

“Ah, what a lovely stench,” snickered Malthrak. He had left the door open and stood in its light, looming over Dyana. “Girl? Look at me, girl. I’m talking to you.”

Dyana tried to look through her fingers, her eyes watering with the light. She had thought it nighttime, but the sunlight through the portholes told her it was morning. Or afternoon, maybe. She really didn’t know. Malthrak was smiling at her, his sharp teeth glimmering. Donhedris had his mouth open as he breathed. Dyana sneered at them.

“What do you want now?” she spat.

“Get up,” snapped Malthrak. “It’s time to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“You’ll see.”

Malthrak stepped aside and let Donhedris enter the room. Dyana scooted away, backing against the wall, but Donhedris’ arms encircled her, scooping her from the floor. A rush of dizziness sloshed over her brain, threatening to black her out. She was too weak to fight him, but she dug her nails into his forearms anyway, raking through the exposed skin. Donhedris grunted with annoyance and gave her a shake. The bone-breaking grip knocked the wind from her.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Tell me, you bastards!”

“God, what a mouth on this one,” Malthrak remarked. He turned his back and left the cargo hold, gesturing for Donhedris to follow. Donhedris tossed Dyana over his shoulder and followed his comrade out
of the hold. Orange light stung Dyana’s eyes, releasing a flood of tears. She wiped at them furiously, trying to see where they were taking her. She heard Malthrak’s quick feet climb a stairway, then felt Donhedris duck under a beam. He put his meaty hand onto her head and pushed it down, keeping her skull from collision.

Up they went, first one level, then another. Dyana heard voices and the clear sound of the sea. The air was fresh and smelled of salt. She could almost see now, but just barely. Donhedris’ broad back was her first clear sight. His arms encircled her waist like a python, pushing out the air. One more level up, and a cold rush of wind ripped through her clothes. Sunlight poured down on her, warm and painful.

“Put her down,” she heard Malthrak order.

Donhedris stooped and loosened his grip. Dyana tumbled onto the deck. She sat there shaking her head, squinting. There were men around her, sailors like she’d seen when they’d brought her aboard. Their dark outlines crowded and loomed over her. Unsteadily, she rose to her knees, then to her feet, wobbling with the movement of the ship. Malthrak grabbed a tuft of her hair and pulled her head back.

“Look,” he ordered.

He pointed over the rail. As Dyana’s eyes adjusted to the sun, she saw a growing landmass in the distance, an island floating in a vast blue sea. Around the island she saw ships, great black vessels with towering masts full of satiny sails.

“Crote,” Malthrak declared. “Your new home.”

Count Renato Biagio sat in his parlor, brooding over a snifter of brandy. Bright sunlight from a wall of windows flooded the room, and he could see the
Revenge
anchored on the horizon, just beyond his rose garden. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, throwing off its scalding heat, and the leather of his thronelike chair
groaned when he shifted, unable to get comfortable. Matters of great weight occupied his mind. The
Revenge
had returned too soon. And the
Intimidator
hadn’t shown up at all. Already his servants were telling him that Simon wasn’t onboard the incoming vessel. Biagio swirled the brandy in his glass, sniffing at it absently. He hadn’t even tasted it yet, so angry was he over the turn of events. And something more than anger, something the Count of Crote hated to admit.

Worry.

Simon was a very poor sailor, but N’Dek was a master seaman. There was little chance they had blown off course or wrecked themselves, but either was always a possibility, especially on so long a voyage. That the
Revenge
should return so soon was unthinkable. Where the hell was Simon? Biagio closed his eyes, swallowing his nervousness. It wouldn’t do for Malthrak and Donhedris to see him fret.

“They’d better have an explanation,” said Savros. The Mind Bender had been waiting in the parlor with Biagio, eager to hear the news from the Roshann agents. Biagio had let him stay. The sight of Savros always had a peculiar effect on people, and Biagio wanted his agents afraid. Savros paced around the room, his blue eyes blazing with curiosity, his spidery arms crossed over his chest. He was precariously thin, and the shadow he threw on the floor was reedy. Biagio watched him stride the floor, noting the soundlessness of his footfalls.

“Don’t speak,” the count warned. “I’ll do the talking when they get here.”

“Renato, if they don’t have the child—”

Biagio raised a silencing hand. The gesture quieted Savros at once. At times like this, most people knew better than to task the count. But Savros was like a parakeet, always chirping. Admonished, the torturer went to the writing desk and poured himself another
brandy. He held the flask out for Biagio, who silently declined. Biagio wasn’t in the mood for drink. The only thing he wanted was answers.

Before long, the mahogany door of the parlor rang with a cautious knocking. Savros glared questioningly at Biagio, who knew he needn’t reply. The door swung slowly open, and Malthrak of Isgar stuck his head inside. Behind him was his brother, the giant Donhedris. Malthrak chanced a step into the parlor.

“My Master?” he said. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” replied the count flatly. “I’ve been waiting.”

“We’ve both been waiting,” adding Savros with a smile. As predicted, the sight of the Mind Bender drained the color from Malthrak’s face. The Roshann agents entered the room, closed the door behind them, and fell to their knees in homage.

“Forgive this intrusion, Master,” said Malthrak. “But we have news for you. A gift.”

Biagio’s mood brightened. “A gift? You’ve brought the child, then?”

“No, sir, not the child,” stuttered Malthrak. “Simon Darquis has the child.”

“Look at me, Malthrak.”

Malthrak dreadfully raised his eyes to Biagio. “My lord?”

“Simon Darquis isn’t here,” seethed the count. “The
Intimidator
never arrived. Why is this, my friend?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, Master.” The smaller man licked his lips nervously. “I saw Darquis when he left Lucel-Lor. They set sail a day before us.” He shrugged apologetically. “I really don’t know where he is.”

“Donhedris?” pressed Biagio. “Is this so?”

“It is so, Master,” agreed Donhedris. Unlike his brother, he kept his head bowed while he spoke. “The
Intimidator
left the day before us. I remember perfectly. Simon Darquis went on board. He had the Vantran child with him.”

Count Biagio closed his eyes, letting a small, annoyed sigh dribble from his lips. Malthrak and his brother weren’t liars. They had been loyal for years and were very skilled; everything they had ever told the count had been the truth, or at least the truth as they understood it. Biagio reasoned they had no reason to lie now, either, and that meant Simon had vanished.

“Explain this to me,” said Biagio. “Where could the
Intimidator
be?”

“Honestly, my lord, I don’t know,” said Malthrak. “Darquis warned us of Lissen schooners in the area. He told us he had seen them. Perhaps the Lissens found them.”

“Lissens?” boiled Biagio. “In Lucel-Lor? Why?”

Malthrak blanched. “I don’t know.”

“You know very little, Malthrak,” said Biagio, his tone rising dangerously. “I want some answers, not some feeble gibberish. Speculate for me. Did you see any Lissens?”

“No, Master. None.”

“And the weather? What was that like?”

“Nothing dangerous,” said Malthrak. “Certainly not enough to take the
Intimidator
off course. She should have been here by now, my lord.”

Biagio leaned forward in his chair. “That much I know already. Get up, both of you.”

Malthrak and his brother stood. Savros walked over to stand beside Biagio’s chair. The Mind Bender cocked his head at the pair, as if sizing them up for something unpleasant.

“My last question,” Biagio said calmly. “Why have you returned?”

“My lord, we have special news,” said Malthrak excitedly. He tried to smile but it came out askance. “And we’ve brought you something. A gift, you might say.”

“Biagio is listening,” said Savros. “Go on.”

Malthrak came a little closer. “Master, Richius Vantran is no longer in Falindar. He has left Lucel-Lor and gone to Liss.”

“What?” Biagio erupted, springing from his chair. “How do you know this?”

“His wife,” Malthrak explained quickly. “We have her. We caught her, trying to find Darquis. We brought her back with us.”

The news made Biagio drop back into his chair. He looked at Savros for support, but the Mind Bender was equally astounded. Malthrak nodded, pleased with himself.

“It’s true, my lord. We captured the woman at the tower, where we rendezvoused with Darquis. Somehow she’d guessed he had gone there. She came looking for him, but he was already gone.”

“So you kidnapped her instead?” asked Biagio. “Was she alone?”

“She was,” answered Donhedris. “We are certain of that, Master.”

“This is amazing,” Biagio whispered, more to himself than any of his henchmen. He stroked his chin contemplatively, riffling through all the permutations. Simon was gone, but now he had the woman. That was almost as good as having the child, wasn’t it? More pressing, though, was Vantran’s journey to Liss. That had never been part of the grand design. If the Lissens had turned to Vantran for help, they might indeed be planning their attack.