The Grand Design (10 page)

“That horse meant everything to me,” Richius continued. “He was one of my best friends. That’s how it was for Karlaz, I think. Like losing a friend.” He tightened his arm around Dyana; she smelled of the sea. “We have both lost a lot, Dyana,” he said. “I don’t want to lose any more. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Can you understand that?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry I was angry, but if anything ever happened …”

She hushed him. “We are fine. We are all safe here, Richius. Nothing can happen to us.”

“You’re wrong,” said Richius. “Biagio is not a man. He is a devil, and he’s still powerful, no matter what we hear. In Nar, everyone fears him. And his Roshann.”

“He is nothing now, my love,” said Dyana. “He is broken, an outcast.”

“If only,” chuckled Richius. “No, not him. He’ll never give up the throne that easily. And his agents will always be loyal to him. In Nar there’s an expression—’the Roshann is everywhere.’ It’s said that Arkus had Biagio place a Roshann agent in every Naren court, to keep an eye on them and make them afraid. They
are
everywhere, and they can reach us even here.”

“Richius, it has been too long. And if he is fighting for the throne, why would he bother with us? I think you worry too much. I doubt we are so important to him.”

“But Arkus was important to him. He loved the old man, and he blames me for his death. I was sent here to find magic to save Arkus. Biagio will never forgive me for betraying that trust.”

“He is too busy with that bishop,” insisted Dyana. “It is the bishop, yes?”

Richius shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said bitterly.
“God, we’re so blind here! I’ve heard nothing since the Lissens left to fight Nar.”

The mere mention of Liss made Dyana stiffen. “Let us not speak of them,” she implored. “Please. Not today.”

“Not today? And not tomorrow? Then when?”

Dyana closed her eyes. “Never.”

“Dyana …”

“Please, Richius. I cannot bear it. I know you want to join them, but I hope they never come back for you.”

Her love was unendurable. He put his lips to her forehead and deposited a gentle kiss, caressing her shoulders and trying to comfort her. Liss was a subject that always drove them apart, and the recent rumors that the island kingdom had at last begun its assault on Nar had made Dyana even more skittish. She called them pirates now, much the way Biagio had. She hated them, forgetting all they had done for Lucel-Lor in its struggle against the Empire. Dyana had stopped seeing them as allies. To her, they were warmongers who only wanted to take her husband away.

“It’s been a long time, Dyana,” Richius said. “Longer even than I’d hoped. I told you I would have to go eventually.”

“Eventually,” she said. “It sounded so distant then.”

But it was how it had to be. For Richius, there was no alternative. He had tried and failed to convince her, and knew now that he never would. It changed nothing. His heart still yearned for vengeance—for his trampled homeland, and for Sabrina, who still came to him sometimes in dreams, screaming. They had murdered her, his first wife, simply out of hatred for him. Biagio had ordered it. Arkus was dead, as was Blackwood Gayle. But the golden man of Nar still lived. And while he existed, they could never be safe.

“You are not happy here,” Dyana said. “I have tried.
I thought Shani and I would be enough. I thought time would help you. But you do not want peace.”

It was a miserable thing to say, but Richius recognized the truth of it. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “It is just the way of things.”

“No,” countered Dyana. “Things are the way you make them. If Prakna comes back for you and you go, it is
your
decision. Do not call it fate, Richius. You want this vengeance. You are letting it destroy you … and us.”

“What would you have me do?” he flared. “Let Aramoor stay under Nar’s heel forever? Live like a coward while the Lissens do my fighting? I am the king of Aramoor.”

Very slowly, Dyana released herself from his embrace. “There is no more Aramoor. It is part of Talistan now. And you can never change that. Liss cannot help you get it back.”

“But they fight,” argued Richius. “They stand up for their honor.”

“They fight only for revenge,” said Dyana. “Nar no longer threatens them, so why must they attack? Because their hearts are full of poison, as is yours. They go to avenge the deaths of loved ones, yet they can never make them live again. And if you join them you leave me and Shani behind, to be alone.” She looked away. “It makes me wonder when you say you love us.”

This brought Richius to his feet. “Never doubt that. I gave up everything to be with you. I love you, Dyana. Shani, too. More than anything.”

“Except revenge.” She got up, dusted the dirt from her dress, and went over to where Shani was fixedly examining a cricket. “We will go inside now,” she told her husband over her shoulder. “We will lock ourselves in the bedchamber for you.”

There was so much ice in her voice, Richius could
only let them leave. When they were gone he turned his attention to the ocean. Somewhere, the navy of Liss was under sail, their schooners armed and eager to exact their toll on the Black Empire. Maybe Prakna was on one of those ships. And maybe the Lissen commander was thinking about the Jackal of Nar.

T
here were portents enough, Biagio supposed. He simply hadn’t heeded them.

Biagio’s Roshann—his “Order”—had warned him for months before the emperor’s death. Blinded by his mission to save Arkus from old age, Biagio hadn’t seen Herrith’s rise until it was too late. Even before the emperor had slipped into dementia, Herrith had been laying plans with Vorto and convincing Naren noblemen to join him. Sure that Arkus could never die, Biagio had let the bishop play his dangerous game. For this he blamed himself, and no one else. Nar had fallen into the hands of a zealot, and the Black Renaissance was being erased.

Biagio liked being home again. He adored Crote almost as much as Nar City. Since overthrowing his father, he had spent precious little time on his island, and this forced exile from Nar had made him see the place differently. He valued it more, as his father had, and
even the olives and grapes seemed sweeter somehow. The winds off the sea were warm and good for his condition, and the recent weeks of sunshine had returned his skin to its natural bronze. More, the tranquility of Crote had eased his knotted mind.

It had given him time to think.

Count Renato Biagio moved with feline grace through the marble corridors of his villa, his heels clicking loudly on the ornately tiled floor. The sculpted eyes of masterpieces watched him pass, a dozen priceless sentinels purchased or looted from around the Empire. At the end of the corridor was a staircase twisting down into darkness. Biagio was in that part of his mansion forbidden to guests, a wing that was his alone and more splendid than any other. Except for the slaves and servants who occasionally disturbed him, only one other person now shared this space with the count.

Biagio took the stairs two at a time, his mood buoyant. Torchlight quickly enveloped him. The chirping of birds fell away in the distance. Near the bottom of the stairs were a pair of tiny shoes, discarded haphazardly in the corner. Biagio could hear the sounds of tinkering up ahead. He took the last step softly and peered through the smoky light. The hallway opened into a cavernous workroom lined with tall bookcases and shelves stuffed with curiosities. The floor was littered with tools and bits of junk: spools of rope; metal fasteners; a small, dirty anvil. The torches on the wall tossed up flames and shadows, giving the place a sense of gloom, and the ceiling was high and stained with soot. In the center of the room stood a stout oak table, and on the table was a bizarre apparatus, a vaguely cylindrical thing of metal and hoses, almost organic in complexity. Its shiny tubes hung limply off the tabletop, and its domed head bore a spring-loaded lever that looked to Biagio like a door handle.

Crouched beneath the table was Bovadin, his eyes gazing up through a cutout in the wood. The scientist’s
naked toes balanced a long, saw-toothed cutting tool, while his small hands worked on the hoses burgeoning from his creation. He squinted in frustration as he peered up into the center of the apparatus, both hands working to stuff in metal hoses. When he heard Biagio arrive, he let out a frustrated curse and barked, “What is it?”

Biagio took a wary step forward. He didn’t like bothering the scientist, especially during such important work. The room was cool and the count rubbed his hands together.

“I need to speak to you,” said Biagio.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Bovadin sighed. The foot with the cutting tool started sawing away at a length of hose. Biagio watched, fascinated at the freakish precision. It was like watching an ape work.

“Well?” pressed Bovadin sourly.

“I have news,” said Biagio, striding toward Bovadin. When he reached the table he studied the bizarre machine, running his hands over its smooth surface. With its appendage-like hoses, it seemed like a silver octopus. “It’s good news,” Biagio continued as he examined the thing. “You’ll be happy.”

Bovadin’s squeaky voice rang from beneath the table. “Happy? Does that mean we can all go home?”

“Your fuel is here. Nicabar just arrived.”

There was no more tinkering under the table. Biagio smiled and dropped down to see Bovadin’s face. The scientist stared at him in relief.

“Did he get it all?” asked Bovadin. “Three shipments, like I asked?”

“Three shipments,” agreed the count. “Just like you asked.”

Bovadin beamed. “Oh, thank Heaven.”

“Thank
me
,” Biagio corrected. “And Nicabar. He could have blown up his whole damn ship carrying
that cargo so far south for you. He didn’t run into any Lissens, though. I suppose that’s some good fortune.”

Bovadin nodded. “Your duke in Dragon’s Beak has done well, Renato. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Biagio’s smile widened. “I’m often underestimated. Duke Enli has strings just like any other man. I just needed to pull the right ones. I knew he still had the fuel you needed. I remember when your war labs agreed to his order.”

“So do I,” said the scientist. “But I would have thought it long gone by now. Even so far north the fuel breaks down, becomes dangerous. Duke Enli was taking a chance keeping it so long.”

“Duke Enli’s kept every weapon ever shipped to him, my friend. Fear of his brother, I suppose. I knew he’d still have the fuel. I just needed Nicabar to persuade him.”

“He hasn’t unloaded it yet, has he? I should be there for that.”

“Be as close as you like,” said Biagio, grinning. “I will be nowhere near you at the time.”

The count rose to study the device again, marveling at its intricacy. The little genius had outdone himself this time. The thing was heavy and the table bowed slightly under its weight. Loaded with fuel, it would certainly be heavier yet. And such unstable fuel; how would he keep it cool?

“How does it work?” asked Biagio. “Show me.”

“Renato, I’m busy right now.”

“What are these hoses for?”

“Later.”

“Take a break, little man,” insisted the count. “I want an explanation of this thing. It intrigues me.”

Bovadin groaned but rose, brushing his knees of dust and metal filings. Once again playing the monkey, he climbed onto the table and stood over his invention, proudly walking around it. He was not much taller than the device and the scene was oddly comical,
but Biagio had vast respect for Bovadin. The little scientist had created the war labs; he had invented the flame cannon and the acid launcher and, most importantly, he had created the drug that kept them all from aging.

“Explain it to me,” Biagio said. “How does it work?”

“Oooh, now that’s a secret, my friend. And I don’t really think you could grasp it.”

“Don’t patronize me, midget. Tell me.”

Bovadin laughed gleefully, and his filthy face split with a grin. “It’s simple really. Beautifully simple. I’m very proud of this, Renato. Very proud …”

“I’m glad for you,” said Biagio dryly. “But will it work?”

“Oh, it will work,” promised Bovadin. “I plan to test it. That’s why I wanted three crates of fuel. It will be working flawlessly by the time it’s delivered.” Bovadin looked at the count skeptically. “
If
it’s delivered as you say.”

“It will be,” replied Biagio. “Don’t worry. I’ve already made those arrangements with Duke Enli. It’s all coming together as planned.”

“I’ll make a deal with you, Renato. I’ll explain how the device works if you explain to me what’s going on. I’m getting tired of your little island. I want to go home to Nar. Soon.”

“Soon enough, my friend. The wheels are in motion. More than that I can’t explain to you now.”

“When, then?”

“Tonight,” said Biagio. “Now that Nicabar has returned I can tell you a bit more. We will all sup together tonight. I will explain myself.”

Bovadin seemed surprised by this. “Oh? Has Nicabar brought news from the Empire?”

“Some news, yes,” said Biagio, trying to evade the inquiry. He didn’t like having his plans questioned, especially by someone with a mind as keen as Bovadin’s. “Enough news for me to act on, at least. Now …”
The count pointed a finger at the device. “Tell me about this machine of yours.”