The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  ‘Whatever,’ the commander rumbled, then stalked off into the night, leaving Simon alone with Richius.

  An awkward silence engulfed them. Richius shut the door so as not to disturb his daughter. Simon stared down at his feet, embarrassed. Then he shrugged.

  ‘You broke my nose again,’ he said.

  ‘I think you deserve that, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Richius looked at Simon in the starlight. The bleeding had stopped but his nose had indeed swollen into a purple mass. It looked like it hurt badly. Richius was happy to see it. But Simon didn’t seem happy about anything. He seemed dejected, sick of himself and weary of his life. He couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head.

  ‘Look at me, Simon,’ Richius directed. He wanted to see into those eyes, to try and gauge the truth in them. Simon looked up reluctantly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Believe it or not, I am sorry.’

  ‘I don’t know what to believe,’ said Richius. ‘I thought you were a friend, Simon. Do you know what a colossal fool I feel like now?’

  Simon didn’t look away, though it was clearly a struggle for him. ‘I don’t blame you for hating me. You have that right. And you have the right to turn me down. But if you do, you’ll only be hurting your own chances. I know what you want, Richius.’

  ‘Oh, really? And what would that be?’

  ‘Biagio.’

  Richius grimaced. ‘Good guess.’

  ‘I can help you get him,’ Simon continued. ‘I know everything about him, all his habits and strengths. I can serve him up to you on a silver platter.’

  ‘And why would you do that?’ asked Richius. ‘Isn’t he your master V He spat out the word in disgust.

  ‘I’m doing this for Eris,’ Simon insisted. ‘That’s the only reason.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re a Roshann agent. I know what that means. You’re supposed to serve Biagio until you die. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Death before dishonor? What you’re saying is treason.’ Richius poked at Simon. ‘Why?’

  Simon sighed, leaning against the wooden wall and staring up at the stars. ‘My life is complicated, Richius. I’m not what I used to be. And neither is Biagio. He’s insane now. He takes the drug to make him immortal’

  ‘I know about the drug,’ said Richius. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s made him mad, I think. I know he would kill Eris if he found out I betrayed him. And he will find out. If I don’t get her away from him, she’ll die.’

  ‘And why should I care about that? Any woman who loves you must be as mad as Biagio.’

  Simon gave Richius a sad smile. ‘I know you better than that, Richius Vantran. Eris is innocent. And you can’t stand to see innocent people die.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘If you don’t let me help you, Eris is going to die. And probably a whole lot of these children you’re planning on leading against Crete.’

  ‘They’re soldiers,’ corrected Richius icily. ‘They don’t kill because they’re getting paid for it, Roshann. They have honor.’

  ‘All right,’ Simon conceded. ‘But maybe I have honor, too. Maybe just a scrap of it, something the years haven’t buried yet.’ His eyes flicked back to the stars. ‘I guess that’s what I’m trying to tell you.’

  There was something so genuine in Simon’s tone that Richius wanted desperately to believe him.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Richius?’ asked Simon quietly.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘What are you trying to accomplish here? I mean, besides killing Biagio?’

  The odd question made Richius bristle. ‘Simon, I don’t understand.’

  ‘I looked around. I saw these so-called soldiers of yours. They’re just kids.’

  Richius chuckled. ‘You have a lot to learn about these people. Once I thought as you do, but not anymore. There’s more heart on this little island than in all the nations of Nar combined.’ He looked out over the darkened camp, proud of himself. ‘I’m not just leading an army. I’m championing a cause.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Simon quipped. ‘And what cause would that be?’

  ‘One word,’ said Richius. ‘Justice.’

  ‘Justice,’ scoffed Simon. ‘Looks more like revenge to me.’

  ‘Call it whatever you like. But these men and women have something you’ll never have. They have heart. You say you’re going back for a woman. You think that gives you heart? Maybe it’s just lust, did you ever think of that?’

  Simon regarded Richius. ‘You know, I remember another story about a man who turned his back on his country for a woman. Lots of people thought he was insane, caught up by a pretty face. But he did what he thought was right. At least that’s what he claims. I never argued with him, or questioned his heart.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Richius snapped. ‘I never kidnapped anyone.’

  ‘I brought her back, Richius. I did because it was the right thing to do. Please, at least try to believe that.’ Simon put his hand on Richius’ shoulder. ‘Don’t make me beg for this. Not to save the woman I love.’

  Richius didn’t shrug off the Naren’s hand. He knew he should have, knew that Prakna would be appalled to see their camaraderie, but he liked the touch and the sincerity in it. He closed his eyes, considering things for a long moment.

  ‘You know, Prakna might kill me for this,’ he said finally. ‘Are you sure you can help me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Simon. ‘Very sure.’

  When Richius opened his eyes, the Naren was looking at him brightly, his face aglow with new hope. He stuck out his hand for Simon, who took it and gave it a hard, promising squeeze.

  ‘Don’t make me regret this, Simon.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Simon softly. ‘If I have a soul, I pledge it to you now.’

  Richius nodded, giving Simon his tepid approval. Then he turned his back on the Naren and returned to the chamber where his daughter slept, closing the door gently behind him. He knelt down beside the bed, resting his head on the mattress and lightly playing with Shani’s fine hair.

  ‘Forgive me, Shani,’ he whispered. ‘But I have to trust him. I need his help.’

  Just then, Shani opened her eyes. She yawned, confused, and looked at her father through a sleepy haze.

  ‘I love you,’ Richius told her. ‘Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.’

  His soft voice made Shani smile.

  Thirty-Two

  Prakna Defiant

  A black sea greeted Prakna as he stood on deck. Silent and sure, his Prince of Liss cut a swathe through the ocean, racing toward the three schooners anchored in the harbor and the Naren dreadnought they were guarding, the one called the Intimidator. The Naren vessel had been their prisoner since coming to Liss, not daring to make a run from the faster schooners, and Prakna knew that her crew was waiting onboard, fretting over their fate. He stood on the Prince’s prow, letting the wind pull back his hair, and wondered what would happen if he listened to Vantran.

  The Jackal had left Prakna with clear orders. He was to take the Naren sailors ashore as prisoners, and bring their ship back to dock. After the invasion of Crote, the prisoners could be returned to the Empire. Not until then, Vantran had said, because they might compromise the mission. Prakna steamed as he thought about his orders. Apparently, the Jackal still had a soft spot for his own kind.

  On the deck next to Prakna, Marus directed the flagship toward the waiting schooners. There were lights flickering on the other Lissen ships, signaling them closer. The Prince slowed on Marus’ order as she drew near. Prakna squinted through the blackness. The Intimidator was still in the center of the ring, as ugly as ever. Men in Naren naval coats stood on the deck, talking among themselves nervously. Prakna was nervous, too. He tried not to show it, but he knew Marus could tell.

  ‘Bring us about,’ he told his first officer.

  Marus called the order down the line. The flagship bent in the wind, leaning starboard toward the other ships.


  ‘How close do you want to get?’ Marus asked his captain.

  ‘Close enough to talk,’ Prakna replied. ‘I want to see this Captain N’Dek.’

  ‘He won’t believe you, you know.’

  The fleet commander shrugged. ‘He doesn’t have to.’

  A rushing wind blew over their conversation. The Prince skirted closer, until at last she slipped between two of the Lissen schooners and approached the Intimidator Marus called his orders, bringing them up along the dreadnought’s port side. All along the Naren’s deck, the men turned their heads expectantly and fretted over the coming schooner. Prakna stepped off the prow and went to the side of his ship, which was coming perilously close now to scraping the dreadnought. But Marus’ masterful piloting brought them up alongside with room to spare, and the Prince paused there, bobbing on the ocean as her crew worked to still her.

  The fleet commander put on his harshest scowl. He stared out over the thunderstruck Narens, their dirty faces sickening him. It was like looking at a bunch of rats.

  ‘Where’s your captain?’ Prakna shouted. ‘I want to speak to him.’

  A figure emerged out of the crowd, a man with a beaklike nose and sharp eyes. His uniform was torn and filthy and he favored his right hand as he came forward, playing with the bandages wrapped around it.

  ‘I’m Captain N’Dek,’ he said without flinching. ‘You’re Prakna, right?’

  ‘Fleet Commander Prakna,’ replied Prakna icily. ‘I’m your master and your better, pig. Remember that.’

  N’Dek glowered. He had that same awful arrogance as all Narens, the same ridiculous confidence. ‘What’s your business?’ he asked tersely.

  Prakna cleared his throat, quickly going over the lines as he’d rehearsed them. ‘You’re free,’ he said. ‘On the orders of Richius Vantran and Simon Darquis, you’re being released.’

  ‘What?’ N’Dek blurted. ‘You’re letting us go?’

  ‘Get the seaweed out of your ears,’ rumbled Prakna. ‘You heard me. Your ship’s being released.’

  The proclamation sent a ripple through the Naren crew. N’Dek put up a hand to quiet them. ‘Why?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Why are you letting us go?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Prakna. ‘It’s not my decision. It’s Vantran’s.’

  ‘Same question,’ said N’Dek. ‘Why?’

  ‘Would you rather be taken prisoner?’ snapped Prakna. ‘Because if so, I’d love to arrange that for you.’

  The Naren captain looked around, surveying the three schooners encircling his ship. He seemed pensive, not at all sure of himself. Prakna struggled to keep up his façade. If the Naren suspected anything, they might not set sail.

  ‘Get under way,’ Prakna ordered. ‘I want you out of Lissen waters within the hour. And if you don’t sail straight and true, I’ll come after you myself and sink the lot of you.’

  N’Dek flashed an arrogant grin. ‘I know what you look like now, Fleet Commander Prakna. This has been an honor for me. Shall I send Admiral Nicabar your regards?’

  Marus exploded forward. ‘You lice-covered—!’

  ‘Enough,’ Prakna demanded, putting his hand on his officer’s shoulder. There would be time enough to avenge the insult. ‘Get under way, Naren,’ he commanded. ‘I’m going to escort you out of Lissen waters myself. Make your heading due east. You deviate, you die.’

  The captain gave him a sarcastic bow. ‘As you say, Fleet Commander.’

  He turned and began barking orders to his startled crew. Prakna stood at his ship’s edge, watching. The Narens jumped at their captain’s orders, readying their vessel for sail. Marus shouldered up to Prakna and nudged his friend.

  ‘Well played, Prakna,’ he observed.

  Fleet Commander Prakna spared a modest grin. ‘Move us off, Marus. Let’s give our pigeon room to fly.’

  *

  An hour after leaving the Lissen coast, the Prince of Liss broke off its escort of the Intimidator. Captain N’Dek stood on deck and watched the schooner turn back into the night, happy to see it go. He had escaped with his life and the lives of his crew, and, most remarkably, his ship. In war terms, that was a victory. N’Dek closed his eyes for a moment and let out a tremendous sigh. His hand ached and his stomach growled for food, but most of all he was tired. All he wanted was to disappear into his cabin and sleep.

  ‘Sleep.’ He chanted the word like a prayer. For the last several days, the only sleep he’d gotten was when Simon Darquis had let him, sprawled out on the cold floor of his cabin. N’Dek grit his teeth, remembering the Roshann agent. He recalled his promise to Darquis, that he would return to Crote and tell Nicabar what had happened. Nicabar would be outraged.

  Good, thought N’Dek bitterly. Maybe then he’d do something about Biagio.

  The only thing that vexed N’Dek now was the mystery of his survival. Vantran was on Liss? That had been a surprise. And for some reason, the Jackal had let them go. N’Dek shook his head, baffled by the turn of events. Perhaps Vantran was part of Biagio’s grand design. Or maybe Simon had convinced the Lissens to spare their lives. The captain shrugged, knowing he would never have his answers.

  Be happy you’re alive, he told himself, then headed for his cabin.

  The Prince of Liss headed west for two nautical miles before Prakna gave the order to turn. They were almost in sight of their sister ships when the order came. Dawn would be breaking soon, and Prakna wanted the cover of darkness for his attack. He remained above deck as his flagship began its arc, turning eastward again in pursuit of the fleeing dreadnought.

  Captain N’Dek would never get his chance to send regards to Nicabar. That much Prakna promised himself. He didn’t care about Vantran’s orders, and couldn’t stomach the thought of sparing the Narens. They had entered Lissen waters. They were Naren. That made them prey.

  ‘Marus,’ he called to his waiting officer. ‘Take us in fast, before the sun breaks. I don’t want them to see us coming.’

  Marus nodded. Like Prakna, neither he nor any of the Prince’s loyal sailors cared about Vantran’s orders. Here on the sea, Prakna’s word was law. When he got back to Liss, he would explain to Richius how the dreadnought had tried to break away, how the crew had resisted being taken prisoner. He had been given no choice but to pursue them, Prakna would say. He wasn’t sure Vantran would believe him, but then he didn’t really care, either. None of them cared. Prakna knew his Lissen sailors would never betray the truth.

  The Prince of Liss devoured the waves. Soon the Intimidator would be in sight. Prakna drew his heavy collar close around his neck, settling in for the brief wait. He was looking forward to sinking the dreadnought. It had been too long since he’d sent Narens to the bottom. This one he would sink for J’lari.

  Alone in his tiny cabin, N’Dek finished a simple meal of cold soup and beer, then blew out the candle and settled in to the sheets. The soft embrace of his mattress was like the touch of a woman to his aching body, and he moaned as he got comfortable. His cabin had one porthole, a window of octagonal glass that let in starlight. He had already given the command to head straight for Crote, and was confident that he would have no more troubles. In a little more than a week, he would be safely back in the waters of the Empire.

  Captain N’Dek closed his eyes and began fantasizing about a prostitute he had met once in Casarhoon, when a distant shout reached him. His eyes opened slowly and he cursed, angry at the disruption. Then he heard the shout again, loud and desperate. N’Dek blinked, unsure what he was hearing, and swung his legs over the side of his bunk.

  ‘Lissens!’ came the shout again. ‘Off the port side!’

  N’Dek’s stomach somersaulted. He went to his little porthole and looked outside. It was dark and the glass was covered with sea spray, but he could just make out a hint of something monstrous and shining.

  N’Dek realized a Lissen ram was racing toward him. In the next second he was dead, cut cleanly in half by the all-devouring blade.

  Prakna and his crew how
led like madmen as the Prince of Liss slammed into the unsuspecting dreadnought. They had come flying out of the darkness, catching the Intimidator amidships and landing a fatal blow. Water poured into the gash in the dreadnought’s hull, flooding her lower decks as the Prince bobbed up, pulling free its fanged ram and ripping off a mouthful of timbers. A tide of freezing ocean blasted across the dreadnought, sweeping away its sailors and pushing her down like a giant hand. Exhilarated, Prakna shook his fist, shouting above the beautiful noise.

  ‘Give my regards to Nicabar!’ he crowed.

  All across the sinking vessel, sailors clung vainly to rigging as their ship listed to port. The ocean gushed in, drowning their screams. Prakna hoped his victims were married and would leave behind widows. With cold detachment, he folded his arms over his chest and watched the Naren warship sink, enjoying the show.

  Thirty-Three

  The Swift

  Captain Kelara of the Black Fleet vessel Swift stood on the prow of his ship as it swooped out of the rising sun. A full wind filled the sails of his fleet-footed ship, speeding her along like a dolphin. For three weeks the Swift had been on patrol in Lissen waters, carrying out Biagio’s orders. They were to wait until the Lissens set sail for Crote. Then they were to fly home with all the speed of Heaven to warn the count of the coming invasion. It was a task for which the scout ship was well suited, for she was of the Leopard class, the only vessels in the Black Fleet capable of pacing Lissen warships. She had a keel like a knife and seven wide sails slung low on her masts, and with a complement of only twenty seamen, she wasn’t fat amidships. She had no armaments or cannons to slow her, no extraneous weight at all. Built for speed, she had but one purpose – to be as fast as her Lissen enemies.

  Captain Kelara admired Renato Biagio. Because he believed the Crotan count to be a peerless tactician, he had taken this perilous commission with pride. Through careful planning and well-placed lures, Biagio had managed to lull the Lissens into a sense of superiority. Soon, Biagio had promised, the Lissens would launch their attack on Crote. And Crote needed to be ready for it. Most importantly, they needed forewarning. That was Kelara’s mission. And with the Swift at his command, he was sure he would succeed.