The Grand Design (66 page)

“Hero,” he scoffed. “Jackal of Nar.”

That’s what they called him here. Even Jelena. She didn’t seem to care that it was an insult. It was simply how she knew him. In Liss, the Jackal of Nar was some sort of saint, a great warrior who had beaten back the Black Empire and saved the Triin homeland. To some, it was a great story. To Richius it was a distorted joke. But it followed him everywhere now, and no matter how hard he fought it, no matter how many times he corrected people, they always called him Jackal or Kalak, and they always expected something grand from him.

“Can I do this thing?” he wondered aloud. Now and then he still talked to the sky, just as Karlaz had taught him. He was still waiting for it to answer. “They want so much from me. And I have nothing. Where’s my army?”

Silence. The sky twinkled, ignoring him, and Richius looked away with a wry smile. He gazed across the great lake separating Haran Island from the rest of Liss. On the other side, he saw canals reflecting starlight and high, spanning bridges. Tall buildings reached heavenward, their windows blinking with candlelight. Silhouettes moved across the horizon, men in boats and
women with golden hair. They were a beautiful race, these Lissens. And they were all enigmas to Richius, no more comprehensible to him than the Triin he had struggled so long to understand. Especially Jelena.

The thought of the queen made Richius close his eyes. She was very lovely. Like Sabrina. And her loneliness was palpable. It was a dark aura around her, a pall that never waned. She had lost her parents and identity, and had grown a vendetta to replace them, but still she was just a child. To Richius, she seemed a little girl playing in her mother’s wardrobe; dressing like a queen, sometimes acting like a queen, but always through a thin veneer of adolescence. He liked Jelena. But just like Prakna and all the rest of them, she expected something impossible from him. She wanted a hero. She wanted a dragon-slayer from Naren mythology. Alone on the dock, weaponless and without an army, Richius felt barely able to defend himself, much less a nation.

As he always did when he felt alone, he thought of Dyana. It was very late. She would have put Shani to bed by now, and if he were there with her she would be in his arms, loving him. Prakna was with his wife. Marus might be with his wife, too. What the hell was he doing here, halfway across the world? But then the answer came to him like a hammer-blow.

“Biagio.”

He said the name so loudly, it echoed down the dock. Behind him, the two guards that had been shadowing him cocked curious eyebrows at his outburst. Richius waved at them.

“Just talking to myself,” he quipped. “Crazy men do that.”

“And so do sane men,” came a voice from the darkness. Startled, Richius whirled to see an hourglass silhouette walking toward him. Jelena lit the dock with a smile. She wore a long stole of white fur around her shoulders and a braid of sparkling silver in her hair
that caught the starlight. As she approached him he drew back a little, annoyed at the intrusion.

“Jelena, what are you doing out here?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. She slid up to him on the dock until they were face-to-face. “When I didn’t find you in your rooms I got concerned.”

“Well, you found me. What do you want?”

Jelena frowned. “Richius, what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Richius lied. “I just wanted to be alone, that’s all. Why were you looking for me?”

“I wanted to see how you were, that’s all. Tomorrow is an important day for you. I know you have a lot on your mind.” The queen shrugged demurely. “I thought you might want to talk.”

“Not particularly,” said Richius. He leaned back against the mooring post, trying not to look at her. Sometimes seeing her was unbearable. The resemblance to Sabrina was uncanny. “You can go back inside now. I’m fine.”

Jelena maneuvered herself in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “I’m very good at telling when a man is lying. If you were fine, you would be asleep, resting for tomorrow. But you are not fine, so you are out in the cold, staring like a dog at the moon.” She looked at him demandingly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why don’t I tell you what
isn’t
wrong?” he snapped. “That would be a much shorter list.”

“All right, then. What isn’t wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is wrong, Jelena. My being here is wrong.”

Jelena sighed. “Richius, you’re just afraid about tomorrow. You’re nervous. But I tell you, everything will be all right.”

“You’re not listening to me, Jelena.” Richius took her by the shoulders. “I’m very, very angry. Understand? And you’re not helping me any. I need you to stop telling me how great I am and start giving me the things I need.”

The queen stared at him, stunned. Her guardians, who had been lingering in the shadows, now rushed onto the dock. Richius saw them but didn’t release her. Instead he stared back at her, eyes blazing.

“I need an army,” he said flatly. “I need maps and men. And I need them now, Jelena. No more waiting. I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“Richius,” said Jelena softly. “Let go of me.”

“Are you listening to me?”

The girl nodded. “I’m listening. So are my guards. If you don’t release me quickly, they’ll cut your head off.” She tried to calm him with a smile. “Please …”

Reluctantly, Richius released her. His gesture kept the guardians at bay. At their queen’s insistence, they moved back into the shadows, out of earshot. Jelena shook her head at Richius, clearly troubled.

“What is wrong with you tonight? I’ve never seen you this way, Jackal.”

“Don’t call me that!” Richius snapped. “My name isn’t Jackal. It’s Richius Vantran. Can’t any of you get that through your thick heads?
Richius.
”

Jelena gave another, infuriating smile. “To us you are the Jackal. And I’ve told you, it’s no insult.”

“No? Well, I hate it. If you call me that again I just won’t answer you.”

“You must get used to it, Richius,” said the queen. She slid her hand onto his shoulder. “You must understand what you are to us.”

Richius rolled his eyes back. “I already know. I’m a hero.”

“Yes. Is that so bad?”

“Jelena, I can’t be your hero. If you keep calling me that, you’re all just going to be disappointed. Let me do what I came here for. That’s all I want. Please.”

“That’s all any of us want,” she assured him. “Be at ease. We have more faith in you than you have in yourself. We know you can do this thing and be victorious.”

“Don’t be so sure. I haven’t even started to put a battle plan together. And why? Because I can’t! I need maps, Jelena. I need to know what the hell I’m doing!”

“Lower your voice,” she directed. “Please. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Richius wanted to scream. Were they all mad on this island? No one was listening to him. And no one of consequence could even hear him. Only Jelena, and she was too enamored with a myth to see the truth.

“God, Jelena, please listen to me,” he said. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, talking softly, hoping she might hear a whisper better than his shouts. “Just listen to me, all right? I want to tell you the truth of things.”

“I’m listening,” said the queen.

Richius opened his eyes. She was indeed listening. He took her hand and pulled her down onto the dock, so they were both sitting with their legs dangling over the water. Jelena didn’t protest the odd arrangement. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the intimacy.

“Talk to me,” she begged. “Tell me what troubles you.”

“First a promise. Will you listen to everything I say? I mean, will you truly hear me?”

The queen nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” Richius sighed, arranging his thoughts. There was so much in his head, a fractured mirror of ideas and anxieties. Finally, he folded his arms over his chest, saying, “I’m no hero, Jelena. I can’t lead an army this way. You think I’m a hero because you don’t know the truth of things, and because Prakna and the others won’t listen to the truth.”

“So what is the truth?”

“The truth is ugly. The truth is I’m just a man who’s been obscenely lucky. I’ve seen a lot of death.”

“So have I.”

Richius held up a finger in warning. “It’s my turn, remember?”

“I remember,” said the queen sheepishly.

Richius continued. “War isn’t the glorious thing you think it is. War is ugly. I know, because I’ve lived through it. And it’s only been by Heaven’s grace that I’m even here to talk about it, because I don’t deserve to be. Good people died just so I can be sitting here with you now, staring at the stars. I’ve lost a lot of friends and family.” He looked up into the sky. “I’m afraid, Jelena.”

There was an awkward silence after his confession. He glanced at Jelena, and found to his surprise that she was grinning at him.

“What is it? Why are you smiling?”

“Is that all you wanted to tell me? That you’re afraid? We are all afraid, Richius. Every day I fear for my life and soul. I don’t think any less of you for being like me. No one expects you to be more than human. Not me, and not your army.”

“Army,” Richius scoffed. “Right.”

There was immediate offense in the girl’s expression. “There is an army, Richius. Have no doubt.” She stared at him, and when he wouldn’t answer, she poked him with a finger. “You don’t believe me?”

Her question made Richius shrug. “I think you’re hiding them from me,” he told her. “I think you’re not at all proud of the rag-tag group you’ve assembled, and you’re trying to whip them into something presentable before I see them. That’s what I think. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You are wrong,” she said with iron. “There
is
an army waiting for you. A proud group. On the morrow you will see them.”

“On the morrow. Always on the morrow. I’ve been in Liss for three days, Jelena. Why can’t I see them now? Why can’t I get to work?”

“Because they’ve been assembling for you, Richius. There’s much to do. On the morrow—”

“Yes, yes,” snapped Richius with a wave.

The insult brought Jelena to her feet. “You really don’t believe me, do you?” she asked, glowering at him.

“I’ve told you what I believe.”

The queen grabbed hold of his collar, angrily pulling him to his feet. “Then come,” she demanded. She turned from him and stormed down the dock, waving at him to follow. “Come on!”

“What? Where are you going?”

“
We
are going to see your army, Jackal. Right now.”

“Now? Jelena …”

“Follow me,” the queen commanded. She snapped her fingers at her guards, shouting orders that brought more of them running. Richius hurried up to her, confused and surprised at her vehemence. Suddenly there was nothing of the little girl in her. That adolescent veneer had vanished, unveiling a confident ruler. Jelena demanded a boat and men, and she wanted them quickly. To be precise, she wanted them right now.

“A boat? Now?” Richius asked, flabbergasted. “But it’s so late. So dark.”

“You wanted to see your army, yes?” she shot back. “Then that’s where we’re going. Since you don’t trust me enough to wait ’til morning, we’ll go now.”

“I never said that I don’t trust you,” Richius tried to explain. But Jelena would hear nothing. Her face was granite as her guards went to work, arranging passage for their mistress. The docks sprang quickly to life as her sailors emerged from the darkness with lanterns and gear, shouting across the grounds in preparation for a journey. For the first time in days, there was actually real activity around the palace, a sight both heartening and confusing. Where the hell were they going?

Queen Jelena continued to ignore Richius as her men led them both to a waiting catboat at the other
end of the pier. This one was like the boat that had brought Richius to the royal island, a splendid, single-masted vessel bearing the figurehead of the haran and outfitted with a polished brass sternpost. The sail had been furled, and a team of rowers climbed aboard, taking positions on the rowing benches and grabbing up the long, tapering oars. They were remarkably efficient and had readied themselves in an instant at their queen’s request. A man in a royal uniform hurried up to the boat, still pulling on his coat as Richius and Jelena arrived. He greeted the queen with a bow and a smile, a gesture which Jelena perfunctorily returned.

“Timrin,” the queen addressed him. “I want to go to Karalon. Right now.”

The sailor Timrin blanched at the order. He was very dark and hidden in the shadows. “My queen, it’s dangerous. Let me take the Jackal there himself. I think it would be best if you stayed behind. The lagoons around Karalon are, well, treacherous.”

“The Jackal of Nar insists on seeing his army tonight,” said Jelena. “I must escort him, to prove a point. No arguments, Timrin, please.”

“As you wish,” said the sailor reluctantly. He stood aside so that his monarch could step on board. Jelena didn’t wait for the astonished Richius to accompany her up the gang-walk. But when she got on board and saw he wasn’t following, she gave him an irritated scowl.

“Are you coming or not?” she barked at him.

Richius planted his feet resolutely in the dirt. “Not until you tell me where we’re going. What’s Karalon?”

“Karalon is where your army is stationed. And that’s all I’ll say to you. I can be as stubborn as you, Richius. Get aboard.”

Against his better judgment, Richius walked up onto the waiting boat. Behind their oars, the rowers stared at him through the darkness while other sailors fitted the vessel with lanterns to pierce the darkness.
One by one the lanterns were lit, until the boat glowed with yellow light. Timrin, the apparent captain of the vessel, was the last aboard. He pulled up the narrow plank, checked the darkness with a worried eye, then settled in to the bow, not far from where his queen was sitting. Richius stood, staring questioningly at Jelena. The queen ignored him.

“This show isn’t necessary,” he said softly. “I never said I didn’t trust you.”

“Sit down, Richius. You might hurt yourself.”

“Jelena—”

“Just sit.” She gestured to the place on the bench beside her. “You’ll see where we’re going soon enough.”