The Grand Design (9 page)

Lightning!

“Lucyler!” Richius screamed, dashing for the mouth of the cave. “I’ve found it!”

Rocks and dust flew from his feet as he scrambled back through the darkness. He had Jessicane raised as the sunlight splashed across his face. Below the cliff edge, he heard the horse’s manic cry, and peered down to see the beast stalking his steed, trapping it between two ridges. The thing’s hind legs were taut with coiled muscles, its body poised to pounce.

“No!” Richius screamed, flinging himself from the cliff. The lion glanced upward and widened its yellow eyes. A paw came up a moment too late as Jessicane fell. The paw split open and Richius hit the ground, rolling away from the enraged creature as it bellowed in pain.

“Run!” Richius screamed, but Lightning wouldn’t move. He merely stood in mute terror, watching the combatants. The lion opened its mouth and roared, baring its pointed fangs. Richius hurried to his feet and raised his sword, waiting for the beast to jump. The lion lowered its head. Richius took a step back. Giant haunches poised to spring. Jessicane trembled.…

And then a whoop came from above, followed by a blur of muscled flesh. Karlaz was in the air. He slammed into the monster’s side, driving his jiiktar into flesh. The lion pitched in agony and batted the man away, its eyes alight with hatred. It sprang for Karlaz, and the lion-master met the charge, colliding with the creature and wrapping his sinewy arms around its neck.

Dumbfounded, Richius could barely move. Lucyler slid down the ledge and hurried toward the melee. Richius hurried after him, sword in hand. But the beast was a blur, thrashing wildly as it fought to toss Karlaz from its back. Unable to get a clean blow, Richius and Lucyler circled, jabbing at the beast. Karlaz had lost his weapon. The creature roared and fought to dislodge the man, but Karlaz’s iron limbs were wrapped implacably around its throat. Blood sluiced from the lion’s back and its ruined paw, and its eyes bulged
from the pressure around its windpipe. But still it fought and at last threw Karlaz from its back, dashing him against the rocky ridge of the cave.

Lucyler raced forward. The Triin moved with impossible grace, slicing his razor-thin jiiktar into the beast’s hindquarters. The lion spun and thrashed, but Lucyler struck again, this time slicing its throat. The lion gasped. Its yellow eyes dimmed. Then Karlaz was on his feet again, jiiktar in hand. He raised his weapon and plunged it into the lion’s brain. A fountain of blood sprayed from the skull. The beast collapsed at his feet.

Karlaz dropped his weapon to the dirt. He knelt down beside the dead lion, put his bloodied face against its body, and kissed its hide. Then, with Richius and Lucyler watching, the lion-master of Chandakkar hung his head and wept.

Richius and Lucyler returned to Falindar without Karlaz. The lion rider stayed in the forest to bury the creature and take its teeth for a necklace for his son. It was an odd custom, but Richius respected it, so he left Karlaz alone to grieve. He liked the lion riders. He liked their simple ways and purity. For years they had been outcasts from the rest of the Triin, a nomadic tribe from faroff Chandakkar who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Nar’s invasion had changed all that, and now the lion people were Lucel-Lor’s benefactors. They stood watch over the Saccenne Run, the only land route into Lucel-Lor.

Like all the Triin warlords, Karlaz had come to Falindar to meet with Lucyler. Lucyler was master of the citadel now. Kronin, the former warlord of the region, had no heir, and the people knew and respected Lucyler. Lucyler had accepted the position reluctantly, and said on numerous occasions that he had only one reason for taking it—peace.

And Lucel-Lor
was
at peace now. The revolution that had brought the warlords together had held even after the Narens were defeated. Lucyler took no credit for this, but Richius knew his Triin friend was proud of the accomplishment. He had worked tirelessly to keep the tenuous alliance from tattering, and even the warlords appreciated his efforts. From time to time they came to the citadel to meet with Lucyler, to discuss whatever difficulties they were having. Lucyler, they knew, could refuse no one.

But Karlaz hadn’t come to the citadel to beg a favor. The man who had served Lucyler most asked the least from him, and so he had been invited to Falindar because he had never seen the spectacular place and because Lucyler simply wanted to show him some small measure of appreciation. There wasn’t much in the citadel these days, but it was still a breathtaking sight and its servants could provide a fine meal. Lucyler had ordered that Karlaz be treated like a king, a reward for the sacrifices his people were making to keep Lucel-Lor safe.

The first few days had been wonderfully good. Then the lion went rogue. Karlaz couldn’t explain it any more than to say it happened sometimes to older beasts. There was a fragile link between lion and rider and on very rare occasions it was severed—either by disease or some feline senility. Richius grieved for Karlaz. He had come to love the cats that kept them safe from Nar, and he could not erase the memory of Karlaz’s profound sorrow. He and Lucyler rode back to Lucel-Lor under a pall, neither of them speaking.

Falindar was beautiful. They rode up the long, wide path leading to the citadel and looked at its perfectly turned spires shining brightly in the sun. In the distance the surf pounded, filling the air with brine, and a flock of gulls passed overhead, winging their way to the ocean. On the grounds of the castle they could see the milling of servants. Blue-jacketed guardians stood
watch in the towers, their milky hair long around their shoulders.

Richius ached to see his wife and daughter again. Dyana would be worried about him. She always worried, and he loved her for it. He turned to Lucyler who was trotting along silently beside him. The Triin’s face was long and distant.

“I’m going,” he told his friend. “I’ll see you tonight, maybe?”

Lucyler shrugged. “Maybe. I have things to do.”

“All right,” said Richius. He started to go, then abruptly stopped himself. Lucyler glanced at him questioningly.

“What?”

“I’m very sorry,” said Richius. “I know you didn’t want this.”

Lucyler smiled awkwardly. “You are right,” he said, gesturing toward the citadel. “I wanted none of this.”

“I meant Karlaz,” Richius corrected. “And Hakan. But it’s not your fault. Remember that, all right?”

Lucyler spied the citadel. “Sometimes this is all too much for me. And we still do not know where Hakan is. Gods, what will I tell his wife?”

“I’ll go with you,” offered Richius. “Come. We’ll do it now.”

“No,” said Lucyler. He straightened up in the saddle. “I have to do this myself. If I am going to be master of these people, I have to act like it.”

“What are you going to say?”

“That he is still missing,” replied Lucyler. “What else can I say?”

Richius grimaced. “You know what I think.”

“I know,” said Lucyler darkly. “And I do not believe it. It has been over a year, Richius. I think you fear ghosts.”

“Lucyler—”

“No,” snapped the Triin. “Stop it now. Stop it and get on with your life.”

It was Lucyler who sped off this time, hastening toward the waiting citadel. Richius bit back a curse, but did not pursue his friend. Instead, he lingered until Lucyler vanished into the citadel. These had been difficult days for Lucyler, and they had changed him. He had never been jovial, but now the pressures of his unwanted position had evaporated what little good humor he had. Richius missed his old friend. He missed the man Lucyler had been. In Aramoor, Richius had known how crushing the responsibilities of kingship could be. It was the one thing about his usurped homeland he didn’t miss.

When he was certain he would not encounter Lucyler in the courtyard, Richius made his own way up the winding road toward the citadel. There he saw Tresh, Dyana’s friend and nurse, sitting under an immense oak tree, a pile of knitting in her lap. She was an older woman of at least forty, but her eyes were bright and youthful. Lost in her needlework, she did not see Richius ride up to her until the shadow of his horse crossed her face.

“Richius!” she said with relief. “You are home!”

Like many of the Triin in Falindar, Tresh spoke the Naren tongue fluently. She was a holdover from the days when Lucel-Lor had believed the words of Nar’s manipulative emperor, when Narens and Triin had crossed into each other’s lands under the guise of friendship. The former ruler of the citadel had made all his servants learn the Naren tongue, supposedly to make his Naren guests feel welcome. Whatever the reason, Richius was grateful for the dead Triin’s insight. He spoke the Triin tongue well these days, but not perfectly. He got off his horse and smiled down at Tresh, who put her knitting aside and patted the ground next to her.

“You look tired,” she remarked. “Sit. Rest.”

“I can’t, Tresh,” said Richius. “I’m looking for Dyana. Do you know where she is?”

“She is with the child. They are playing.” Tresh grimaced. “Behind the north tower.”

Richius blanched. “Outside? Tresh!”

“I know,” said the nurse miserably. “But she would not listen to me, Richius. She never does. I told her you would be angry.…”

“Look after my horse,” Richius snapped. He raced toward the north tower. A few friends waved and called to him, but he ignored them as he crossed the courtyard and soon found himself near the back of the citadel.

Here the north tower rose out of the earth, dwarfed only by the endless sea beyond it. It was a secluded part of the castle, and Dyana liked to come here and think while their daughter played. Sometimes she would sit Shani on her lap and they would watch the ocean together, and Dyana would relate long stories. This happy recollection did nothing to soften Richius’ mood, however. Even when he saw them his rage did not diminish. They were walking along the cliff, Shani’s little hand in her mother’s as she toddled shakily alongside. The warm breeze stirred Dyana’s hair, making her look beautiful. Richius bit his lip. He did not want to love her just now. He wanted to be angry.

“Dyana,” he called out. Dyana lifted her face and peered through the sunshine. She waved back happily when she recognized him, pulling the little girl’s hand and making her laugh. They met halfway to the cliff, and Richius bent down and picked up his daughter and held her close.

“Richius,” said Dyana innocently. “When did you get home?”

“Just now,” replied Richius stiffly. She offered him a kiss but he turned away, storming off with his daughter toward the citadel. Behind him he heard his wife sigh.

“Richius, please …”

“I don’t want to talk, Dyana,” he said as he walked.

“Did you find the lion?”

“Yes.”

Dyana hurried up to him and seized his sleeve. “Tell me,” she insisted. “Are you all right?”

“Everyone’s fine,” said Richius. Shani had her hands on his face and was tracing his nose with her tiny fingers. She giggled when her father put her on his shoulders.

“Why are you angry?” Dyana asked.

At last Richius stopped and faced her. “You know why,” he said. “Lord almighty, Dyana, what were you thinking? Don’t you hear anything I say? It’s dangerous out here.”

“It is not,” said Dyana. She touched his arm again but he shrugged her off.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“You are angry,” replied Dyana, “but for no good reason. We were safe out here, Richius. Look …” She pointed up to the tower where a pair of Falindar’s blue-garbed warriors paced a watch. “They would see any trouble before it got to us. There is nothing here. There is nothing anywhere.”

Exasperated, Richius started back to the castle. “Don’t argue about this anymore, Dyana. When I’m not around, you stay in the citadel. Understand? Don’t go outside again without me. Especially not with Shani.”

This time Dyana hurried to block his path. “I will not be a prisoner in my own home, Richius. Not anymore. It has been over a year. Nothing is going to happen to us.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t know what he’s like. A year is nothing to him. He’s the head of the Roshann, Dyana. If you were a Naren you’d know what that means.” He shook his head. “But you’re not Naren. None of you are. Just me. So why won’t any of you listen to me, damn it?”

“Easy,” urged Dyana. She brought up a hand to caress his cheek, and this time he did not pull away. “You look tired.”

She hefted Shani from his back and set her down. Shani teetered but did not fall. Richius smiled. He hadn’t wanted to come home like this. All through the ride back he had dreamed of seeing them, and now he had shattered the moment with his rage.

“Oh, lord, you’re right,” he groaned, dropping to the ground. “I am tired.” He reached up and pulled his wife down next to him. Her hand felt small and insubstantial in his own. “Sit with me, and let me tell you what a bastard I am.”

Dyana chuckled. “An ogre,” she agreed. But then her face became serious and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I am glad you are home. I was worried about you.” She hesitated before asking the expected question. “What happened?”

“We found it, near a cave,” said Richius. “It’s dead. Karlaz killed it.”

“Good.”

“It got a farmer this morning near the river bed. We found him in the cave. He was dead, too.”

Dyana curled closer to him. “My love …”

“No, I’m all right.” Richius was watching Shani toddle around them, picking up sticks and tasting them. He had already given up trying to break her of this habit. Now he simply watched out for what she ate. “Karlaz stayed behind to bury it. You should have seen him, Dyana. I swear he was heartbroken. I remembered losing a horse when I came home to Aramoor after the first war. My father had already died, and I was lost and afraid. But my father had given me Thunder, and he meant everything to me.”

“What happened?” asked Dyana.

“We went out riding one morning. It had snowed the night before and we were going through the forest when a pack of wolves attacked.” Richius’ voice
trailed off. “They killed Thunder. They dragged him out from under me and killed him.”

“Richius …”