The Grand Design (8 page)

It wasn’t a joke, so Eris didn’t laugh. She watched as Simon rose from the piano bench and went to a window. Outside, larks were singing. It had been hot when Simon left for Lucel-Lor, but now the island was cooling, hinting at a seasonal change. That’s all Crote ever did—hint at autumn. Simon wanted to escape outside, to lie with Eris under an oak and stare at the clouds like children. He wanted to be away, to stop being Biagio’s top man. He wanted to be normal.

“I’m changing,” he muttered. Eris slipped up beside him and took his hand, but Simon stayed focused on the panorama through the window.

“You’re tired, my love,” offered Eris. “Rest now. Come to me tonight if you wish. Or do not, and just sleep.”

Simon chuckled. “You’re not hearing me. I’m changing, Eris. I’m not sure I belong here anymore. The Master is different these days. All he thinks of is revenge. That drug has driven him mad. And we are all caught up in his insanity.”

“Do not say such things,” Eris cautioned. “Someone may hear you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone knows that Biagio has gone mad. Do you know he had me kidnap a man from Lucel-Lor? I brought him back with me. Savros spent the night torturing him to find out where Vantran is.”

Eris blanched. “What happened to him?”

“I killed him,” said Simon. “I had to. Savros was playing with him. It was sickening. I had to stop it.”

“You were merciful to him,” said Eris softly. “You see? You are a good man, my love.”

“A good man?” scoffed Simon. “I am Roshann. There are no good men in the Roshann. And if I am good, then I don’t belong here.”

She took his hand, and there was endless forgiveness in her sea-green eyes. “You do what you must, as do I. We are his. To defy him is death.”

Simon feigned acquiescence. “You’re right,” he said, hoping to end the conversation. “I was ill on the ship. It has unbalanced me.” He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry to greet you like this. I promise you, I’ll be a different man tonight.”

“Do not come if you don’t wish to,” she said gently. “Or if you think it will upset the Master. I’ll understand.”

“I will be there,” said Simon. He let his hand slide gently out of hers. “Look for me at midnight, near the garden wall. Now, get to your practice. Biagio wouldn’t want me keeping you from work.”

They spared each other a final kiss before Simon left the music room, his heart thundering with anticipation.

R
ichius Vantran drew back on the reins of his gelding and brought the beast to a halt near a grove of berry bushes. Here in the hills around Falindar the breeze was stiff, and if not for the wind he might never have noticed the bloodied swatch of cloth skewered like a flag onto the gnarled branch. He spotted it from atop his saddle, took a wary look around, then dismounted.

It was tranquil save for the buzz of the wind; the
animals of the hills had fallen into a disquieting hush. Not far away, Lucyler and Karlaz were following him, stealthily scanning the land, but somehow Richius knew their search had finally ended.

The sun was bright on the mountains. Richius shaded his eyes and turned the tapering cloth in the light to examine it. It appeared to have been torn from a well-worn shirt, like the sturdy kind the farmers wore. It wasn’t indigo so it wasn’t Hakan’s, but it wasn’t weathered either, and the dried blood still had color. Triin blood, he supposed, unless the farmer had been doing some slaughtering of his own. Richius looked around. Not far above, the rocky hill disappeared into what looked like a cave. He craned his neck to see, but the entrance was dark and hidden behind an avalanche of stones. The horse, seeming to read his mind, gave an unhappy snort.

“Don’t worry, boy,” said Richius to his mount, going over to the beast and scratching its ear. “We’re not going in there.”

The gelding dropped its head, letting Richius tickle its neck. A horse was a rare commodity in this part of Lucel-Lor, and this one seemed to appreciate its station. The land was rugged here, and most of those who had owned horses had eaten them during the lean days of the war. This one was a Naren beast, given to Richius by an old comrade. It had an impeccable gait and an easy manner that reminded him of home.

“Richius?” Lucyler and Karlaz were coming up the hill on foot, their white Triin faces shining in the sun. Richius hurried over to them.

“Quiet,” he cautioned. “I’ve found something.”

He handed the shred of cloth to Lucyler. The Triin’s gray eyes narrowed as he inspected it. Lucyler nodded knowingly and passed the tatter to Karlaz, who sniffed it and grunted.

“Where did you find this?” Lucyler asked.

Richius gestured to the bushes. “There, near the
rocks. It was in a branch.” Together they walked to the bushes where Richius showed them the spiky twig that had impaled the cloth. It was a stout bush with thorny appendages reaching out in all directions, but there were no other fragments of cloth. Several more branches had been snapped away and lay strewn on the rocky ground. Karlaz ran his hand over the top of the bush, examined the dirt, and grunted again.

“Tasson,” whispered the lion-master knowingly. It was the name of the beast they were hunting, a Triin word meaning “gold.” Just as Richius had dubbed his sturdy horse Lightning, the lion riders always named their enormous cats. Karlaz knelt down and put his face to the earth, drawing a breath. Then he dug a finger into the dirt and tasted the soil. Seemingly satisfied, he looked up at Lucyler and nodded.

“What was that?” Richius asked. Then, in the Triin’s own tongue, he said, “Karlaz? What is it?”

“Urine,” Lucyler explained. “The cats always mark where they have been. Karlaz can taste it. He thinks it is very near.”

Richius pointed toward the cave’s maw. “Up there,” he guessed.

Karlaz seemed to agree. The trio reached for their weapons. Both Triin undid the jiiktars from their backs while Richius freed his giant sword Jessicane. Lucyler chuckled when he saw the monstrous blade.

“A good weapon for slaughtering lions,” he remarked. “Not much else.”

Richius drew an unsteady breath and wrapped his hands around the sword’s hilt. He was under six feet tall, and the sword stood almost as high as a man. It had been made decades ago for his father, and even after months of practice with it the huge blade could still exhaust him.

“This is not Hakan’s,” said Lucyler glumly, tucking the soiled cloth into his own shirt. Hakan had been missing now for weeks, and while some assumed that
Karlaz’s rogue lion had devoured him, the lion had only escaped a few days ago. They all hoped the warrior would return to the citadel with some bizarre story of having fallen into a well or being injured in the mountains, but as the weeks passed each story seemed equally absurd.

The rogue lion, however, had already killed two people. One was its rider, who had probably been more shocked than anyone by his mount’s sudden madness. The other was a farmer from a nearby village. Richius hadn’t known either man, but he had seen the incredible damage done to the lion rider’s body. A single swipe of the beast’s paw had decapitated him. The farmer hadn’t been as lucky. His children claimed he was still screaming when the cat dragged him into the forest.

Richius didn’t expect to find Hakan in the lion’s lair. He didn’t think he had fallen into a well, either. Hakan was a Triin warrior, one of Falindar’s best, intimately familiar with all of Lucel-Lor’s dangers. Some said the lion had found him, some said snow leopards, but Richius suspected a more sinister creature had gotten to his friend, a monster with golden hair and blue eyes and an insatiable appetite for cruelty.

“We’re not going to find him here, Lucyler,” said Richius.

“He was out hunting,” Lucyler reminded Richius sharply. “He might have come along here on his way back to the citadel.”

“It’s been too long, Lucyler. No one goes out hunting for two weeks. Even if—”

“Eeashay!” Karlaz snapped, silencing them. The leader of the lion people crouched down, motioning them to do the same. Richius realized what the man had planned.

“No,” he hissed. “Are you mad? We can’t go in there after it!”

Lucyler looked at Richius sternly. “We have to. The thing is a killer.”

“But not in
there
,” argued Richius. “It’ll have us trapped.”

“Karlaz thinks it might be sleeping. It is the best time.”

Richius shook his head. “No way. Now that we’ve found it we should get help. It’s going to take more than the three of us to kill it.”

“Karlaz will kill it,” said Lucyler. “We just have to protect him.”

Richius closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer. The sight of the decapitated lion rider sprang into his mind, making his stomach pitch. Karlaz was certainly a capable fighter, but even he was no match for one of his lions. Though he was twice the size of Richius, the lion was three times the size of him. Worse, this one was mad. It would not recognize its master when it saw him, and it would not hesitate to attack.

But he also knew Lucyler was right. The thing had already killed two men, and would kill again if not stopped. They had tracked it for two days and now they had it trapped. Richius felt the weight of Jessicane in his fists. The old blade hadn’t been bloodied in over a year. He hoped it would only be the cat’s blood that stained it this time.

Karlaz went first, shimmying up the rocky incline toward the mouth of the cave, his big body scraping against the stone. Next was Lucyler, as silent as the cat itself as he picked his way up the slope. Richius was the last and the clumsiest, trying vainly to keep his sword from banging against the rocks and announcing their arrival. When they had all slithered up the cliff face, they paused at the opening of the cave and peered inside. Darkness shrouded the inner chamber, but they could nonetheless see that it was vast and moist and filled with ledges and dentate stalactites. Not far inside, where the sunlight surrendered to the endless rock, they saw the unmistakable outline of a human torso. There were no legs to the thing, just two bony
stumps encased in ragged flesh. The face was gone. Karlaz had once explained this odd practice of rogue lions. For some inexplicable reason, the dead eyes of their victims enraged them, so they always went for the face first.

“I think we’ve found it,” Richius quipped.

He stood up and peered farther into the blackness, but could see nothing more than the ruined corpse and the endless gloom of the twisting cavern. Karlaz proceeded into the cave, his twin-bladed jiiktar held out before him. Lucyler and Richius followed, quickly engulfed in the cavern’s dripping darkness. Already vermin had set to work on the farmer’s body. Maggots swam in the cavities of its nose and eyes, and Richius could hear the squeaking of well-fed rats. Karlaz cursed.

“The lion is farther in,” said Lucyler. “Be ready.”

It was advice Richius didn’t need. All his senses were alert, picking up each tiny sound in the cavern. They stalked farther into the darkness, until the mouth of the cave became a far-off circle of brightness and they could barely see their feet beneath them. For Richius progress was slow and treacherous, but the two Triin moved with inhuman accuracy, picking their way instinctively over the terrain. Richius tried to focus on them, to use their white skin and hair as beacons. They were in a vast chamber of blue-gray rock where the air was dense and the stones rose from the earth like grotesque statues. Pockets of blackness honeycombed the walls where narrow tunnels twisted into nothingness, and the roof perspired a viscous green water that echoed as it splashed into pools a hundred feet below.

But they found no lion.

“Where is it?” asked Richius. “I can’t see anything.”

He was getting nervous now. He could barely see the entrance to the cave, and the heat of the place made him sweat. Lucyler was licking his lips and scanning the chamber, while Karlaz had his eyes closed tight and was sniffing the dank air. When at last his
eyes opened, the lion-master seemed confused. He growled something Richius barely heard.

“He does not know where the lion is,” Lucyler whispered. “The air is too thick. He cannot smell him.”

“We should go then,” said Richius. “We aren’t safe.”

Lucyler shook his head. “No. We have to find him. You stay here, Richius. You will not be able to see if you go any further. Karlaz and I will start searching the tunnels.”

“What? Just the two of you? Forget it. I’m coming with you.”

“No,” insisted Lucyler. “You would be blind in there. Stay here.”

Richius started to protest but Lucyler and Karlaz quickly disappeared into a large tunnel, leaving him alone in the echoing chamber. He let Jessicane’s tip droop to the floor. In Aramoor, he had been a king, albeit briefly. But here he was just a pink-skinned human, an outsider with none of the physical prowess of his Triin hosts. He loved Lucyler like a brother, but at times like this he resented him.

Richius busied himself with searching the chamber. It was true what Lucyler had said; he was nearly blind. But he picked his way along carefully, watching the shadows and the ledges overhead, listening for the throaty notes of the lion’s breath. Somewhere in the darkness a frog or a snake splashed through a filthy pool, and he could hear the whistle of the wind as it skirted through the hills. Yet still he could find no trace of the monster, and he wondered suddenly if the lion was stalking him instead. Uneasily he looked up. There was nothing on the ledges. He started off toward the tunnel where Lucyler and Karlaz were, then heard a panicked whinny from outside.