by John Marco
"Oh, yes," said the duke. "She's been through so much, yet she didn't complain the whole way here, not once. You do have a place for her, don't you, Holiness? I don't want to impose. I just thought--"
"Don't fret over the girl," said Herrith. "We'll find a place for her. But now tell me, Duke Enli, what is this bad news? War with your brother?"
"Aye, bad news indeed," said Enli. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed, working the kinks out of his face. "It's black, Holiness. Dragon's Beak is divided, like I always feared. Eneas, my brother . . ."
"He attacked you?" coaxed the bishop.
Enli nodded. "He's sided with Biagio. He flies the Black Flag now. My own men have seen it over his castle. We were attacked without warning." The duke balled his hands into fists. "God curse me, I should have seen this coming. I knew when Arkus died Eneas would try something like this. Yet I did nothing!"
"Be easy," crooned Herrith. "And tell me everything that happened. When did your brother attack?"
"Oh, it must be weeks now. I don't even know what's going on back home. When we left, the battle was at a stalemate. Eneas' troops had gained some territory on the south fork, but my own men had kept them back. I don't know how long they'll last, though. The army of the air is voracious, Holiness. They keep us from fighting back." The duke's face grew earnest. "I'm afraid, Your Grace."
Herrith rose from his chair and walked around the desk. Enli's pain was like a magnet drawing him closer. He gazed down at the duke, trying to look resolute.
"Do not be frightened, my son. You fly the Light of God in Dragon's Beak, yes?"
"Yes, Holiness. Of course."
"Then God will protect you. Have faith."
"Holiness, I need more than faith. I need your help."
Enli started to rise, but Herrith held up a hand, stopping him. "Sit, Duke Enli. You need rest. Tell me what you want of me."
"We need troops in Dragon's Beak, Holiness. To fight back my brother. We need the legions to come and help us. Like in Goth."
Herrith froze. "Goth? What do you know of Goth?"
"I know that you crushed the Black Renaissance there," said Enli, blanching. "I'm sorry, Holiness. I thought it was common knowledge. I meant no disrespect. . . ."
"There is none taken, my son," said Herrith. He hadn't expected news of Goth to have travelled so quickly. "It's true. We did subdue the Renaissance in Goth. A horrible price, but necessary."
"Yes," said Enli. "And you can help me do the same. Please, I beg you. Send General Vorto and his men back to Dragon's Beak with me. If Eneas sees them he might even surrender. But it must be done quickly, before we lose the southern fork."
Herrith leaned back against his desk, thinking on what Enli had said. It was a bold request. Dragon's Beak was very far, and not particularly important. It would take weeks for Vorto to march a legion there. Worse, winter was coming--not the best time of year to fight a war. The bishop mulled the request over. Enli watched him. He was a good man, this duke. Despite his reputation as an independent thinker, he had been loyal to Arkus and the old Empire, and when the old man had died he had refused to side with Biagio, choosing the Light of God instead. A man of high ideals. Very rare these days.
"What you ask is difficult," said Herrith. "If Vorto gets to Dragon's Beak and finds that Eneas has already taken over, it could be another massacre. I don't mind telling you that I don't crave another one of those on my conscience."
"But we on the south fork are loyal," the duke implored. "We're faithful to you and the new order. Holiness, you can't let Dragon's Beak fall to the Black Renaissance. I don't ask this for myself, but for Nar. Dragon's Beak is only the beginning. Where will it end?"
Where indeed? wondered Herrith grimly. Enli was dramatic, but correct. Biagio could never be allowed to regain a foothold in Nar. It was why Herrith had ordered Goth destroyed, why he had let Formula B escape the war labs. God was testing him, he decided. He would not fail.
"I will consider what you've told me, Duke Enli. Be at ease. God will direct me to the proper action. And I will confer with General Vorto. He is the military man, after all. Much will depend on what he says."
"With respect, Holiness, there isn't time for this. We've got to--"
"There is always time for prayer, Duke Enli. We must make time for God." Herrith stretched out his hand for the duke. Enli took it, but didn't hide his disappointment. Reluctantly, he let Herrith help him out of the chair, flinching a little at the frigid touch. "Go and find Father Todos. He will give you food and drink and a place to sleep. Have you brought men with you?"
"Yes, Holiness. The Father has already seen to their needs."
"Good, then. Don't be afraid, my son. God will guide us toward the right decision."
Enli bowed deeply and left the chamber. The door closed quietly behind him, leaving Herrith alone.
Biagio.
Truly, he was hell-spawn. Even from Crote he weaved his little webs, hoping to ensnare the Empire and drag it back into darkness. It was up to men like Herrith to bring light to the world. Herrith crossed the room and went to the window, looking down over the city. The sun had climbed higher and was pouring through the glass, warming his frigid skin. He could see with awesome clarity now, picking up every fleck of dust floating above the city, every wisp of smoke from the foundries. Across the river, the abandoned Black Palace stood on its hilltop, dwarfing the landscape beneath it. Inside its empty chambers stood the iron throne, vacant seat of the dead emperor. The thought of Biagio on that throne made Herrith's insides twist. "Never," he hissed. "Not while there is breath in me.
And then his thoughts shifted to the little girl, Lorla. She was a precious jewel, almost crushed by the weight of war. Herrith's hard expression softened. Poor thing. Sometimes the world was unimaginably cruel.
Lorla stood alone in the room, sipping on a glass of fruit juice and staring out over the enormous city. She was very high up, higher by far than she had ever been in the Red Tower, and the great expanse of Nar made her feel like a bird floating across the world. Father Todos had brought her here to rest and take some food. There was a bed in the chamber, soft and comfortable, with clean white sheets and plush pillows that swallowed Lorla's head when she tested them. The gigantic breakfast that Father Todos had fetched for her sat half-eaten on a tray near the bed. It was more than enough for two, and Lorla had eaten her fill. Outside the thick glass, Nar was entrancing. She hadn't remembered it being so vast or frightening, but then she had only seen glimpses of it through the tiny, dingy windows of the war labs. Now, high in the cathedral, she could see it all, and she knew why it was called "Nar the Magnificent." She felt weightless, bodiless, as if she were not tethered to the earth at all.
Faren and the others were nowhere to be seen, but Lorla wasn't worried about them. She knew she wouldn't be seeing them anymore. Her new life was here in Nar. Nina, Duke Enli, her memories of Goth; they would all have to be forgotten. She was Lorla Lon, now. An orphan. Lorla smiled to herself. She could play that part easily. What was she but an orphan, anyway? She had no mother or father. The only parent she knew remotely was Biagio, and he was more like a ghost or a fairy tale, no more tangible than air. She supposed she must see Duke Enli again before he left, but even that meeting didn't concern her. It was time to cut those ties. Time to become something truly different.
Lorla Lon had a mother named Nefri and a father named Po, she told herself. She is eight years old going on nine. Her birthday is in two weeks. She wants a doll's house for her birthday, one that looks just like the cathedral. There's a toymaker on High Street that can make her one. And if she doesn't get it, she will cry.
The game made Lorla grin. Why was she so good at it? She had learned a lot in the labs, more than she had realized, and it surprised her. It would surprise Herrith, too. Lorla frowned, a bit ashamed of herself. Other children learned it was wrong to lie. She knew that because she had seen mothers in Goth with their children, scolding them. But no one ever scolded Lorla. Was it because she was pe
rfect?
Or just something special?
There was a gentle knock on the door. Lorla looked around sheepishly. "Hello?" she called.
The door creaked open and Archbishop Herrith appeared, smiling at her. "Lorla?" he asked cheerfully. "May I come in?"
"Yes," said Lorla. She thought of getting up to greet him, but didn't. The bishop slipped through the door and came in to stand over her, inspecting her breakfast tray.
"Well, you certainly were hungry," he joked. "Was everything all right?"
"Yes, sir," she replied. "Very good, Your Holiness."
The bishop smiled. "You'll like it here, I think. It's safe. I want you to believe that. Nothing is going to happen to you. We've got a whole army to protect you."
"I'm not afraid, Holiness," said Lorla. She returned his smile as warmly as she could. "Not anymore." She looked around. "This is a nice room. Are the rooms in the orphanage like this one?"
Herrith grimaced. "No, not really. But they're clean and we have good people to look after the children. They do God's work. We have many children to look after. Too many, I'm sad to say. There's been a lot of war in the Empire."
"Where is the orphanage? Can I see it from the window?"
"No, I don't think so," said the bishop. "It's on the other side of the cathedral. But I don't want you to think about the orphanage, Lorla." He walked around the table and sat down beside her on the bed, leaving barely an inch between them. "You like this room, eh?"
"Oh, yes," Lorla answered honestly. She had never seen a view so grand. "It's very nice."
"I'm glad," said Herrith. He picked up a piece of fruit and rolled it around in his hand. "You can stay here if you like. You don't have to go to the orphanage. I'm not sure that would be right for you."
"Stay here? In this room?"
"It's up to you, of course. My orphanage is nice too, and there are others your age there. But then you wouldn't have this lovely view or a private place to sleep."
Lorla felt afraid but tried not to look it. Herrith certainly moved quickly. She studied his tone, but to her surprise detected nothing but sincerity. The bishop was looking at her, his blue eyes sparkling. Her mind raced for an answer. Instead she asked a question.
"Why? I mean, why give this to me, Holiness?"
Archbishop Herrith put the apple back down on the table. Lorla could tell he was deciding how best to answer. Finally he shrugged and let out a pensive sigh.
"Lorla, I'm going to tell you something that might surprise you. I'm a very lonely old man. I've given my life to God. Do you know what that means?"
"Not really," she replied.
"Priests aren't allowed to marry or take a woman. That means they can have no families of their own, save the church. We can't have children." Herrith seemed embarrassed by this confession. "I love the church very much. I love Nar. But I get lonely sometimes. I suppose that's why I started the orphanage, so that I could be around children. I've always wanted a daughter or son of my own. I . . ."
He stopped himself, suddenly flushing. "Oh, but I'm frightening you. Forgive me." He rose from the bed and went to the door. "Stay here as long as you like. Spend the night and get some rest. In the morning we can talk, or Father Todos can take you to the orphanage."
Lorla knew she had to stop him. "Wait, please . . ."
He paused in the threshold. "Yes?"
"I . . . I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid. Would you stay with me awhile?"
Even as she spoke she was ashamed of herself, and the expression on the old man's face made her hate herself all the more. Herrith's eyes leapt with inner glee at her invitation.
"We can be lonely together," he said with a smile. "If you would like."
"I would like that," said Lorla. Amazingly, she meant it. She jumped off the bed and went to him. This is a man of guile and great deceit, she tried to remind herself. He was the Master's enemy, and the Master always knew best. Still, he was kind to her--the sort of kindness a father might have shown--and Lorla could barely help herself from responding to his gentle voice.
"Show me more of this place," she implored. "Would you?"
"Oh, child, I would love to," beamed the bishop. "This is a magical place. It's my home." He snapped his fingers excitedly. "Yes! I will show you something wonderful!" He put out his hand for her. "Come, there's something very special for you to see."
Lorla took his hand without hesitation. It was as large as Duke Enli's, but softer, almost cottony. It was also unbearably cold. Lorla gasped and pulled away.
"I'm sorry," said the bishop. He looked down at his hand disgustedly. "It's nothing. Just some treatments I take for some ailments. Forgive me." He opened the door. "Please . . ."
Together they stepped out into the splendid corridor. Lorla let the bishop lead her through the painted hall, all gilded with gold and utterly magnificent. The ceilings were high and frescoed, and everywhere angels watched them, staring down with marble eyes. Tall sconces of silver hung on the walls, and the polished floor beneath them echoed every footfall, bouncing them off the high ceilings like a concert hall. Lorla struggled to see every fabulous nuance, determined to miss nothing. In all her life, she had never seen anything to compare to this holy place.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll see. Trust me. It's something beautiful."
Everything in the place was beautiful. As they hurried down the hall Lorla kept her eyes on the windows and their fabulous stained-glass depictions. The sun was coming through them, dazzling, its rays setting the colored glass on fire. At the end of the hall they came to a staircase that spiraled endlessly downward. Herrith took the stairs like a man half his age, almost running in anticipation. Lorla wanted to laugh at the sight of him. She raced after him, keeping pace, until at last they reached the bottom of the staircase. Herrith finally stopped and looked at her.
"Shhh," he directed, putting a finger to his lips. "We're almost there."
"Where?" Lorla whispered.
"Almost there," Herrith teased. "Yes, yes . . ."
The bishop turned and strode down the hallway. Lorla followed. It was a quiet part of the great cathedral, and though she could hear voices far away, there was no one else in the hall. The corridor was wide and graceful, with a rounded ceiling trimmed with delicate plaster work. Up ahead was an archway leading to a dim chamber. As they approached it, Herrith's gait slowed.
"The great hall," he whispered. "This is what I want to show you."
They crossed under the arch and entered the great hall. Throughout the chamber, pots of paint and soiled brushes littered the floor, and canvas had been laid on the marble tiles, adorned with colorful footprints. The great hall was a fountain of light, fed by banks of stained-glass windows that tossed radiant sunshine into the chamber. Lorla looked around, baffled by it all. But when she glanced at the bishop for guidance, he merely grinned and pointed at the ceiling.
"Look up," he said softly.
Lorla looked. What she saw astonished her. Above her was a masterwork, a rolling fresco of color, meticulously painted into the plaster of the ceiling a hundred feet up. There were scaffolds and ladders along the walls, reaching up to touch the top, and all along the roof danced painted cherubs with wide cheeks and red-tongued devils, maidens and heroes and beautiful gods, all entwined in an endless waltz that looked to Lorla like the canvas of Heaven. She gasped, unable to speak for the beauty of it. It was alive, unimaginably bright, and the sight of it took her breath away. "What is it?" asked Lorla. "It's beautiful."
"The book of Creation," whispered Herrith. "All told in paintings." He directed her view toward a panel on the north side. "See? That's the betrayal of Adan. And that one is the murder of Kian. Do you recognize them?"
"No," said Lorla. "But they are beautiful. Oh, so beautiful . . ."
"I will teach you these things, Lorla," said Herrith softly. "A child should know about the holy book. It's all up there, the whole story." His face split with a proud smile. "The artist
Darago has worked years on this. Now it's almost done. When it is I will open this hall to the people again, and everyone will see the glory of God." He knelt down beside her. "This is my greatest gift to Nar. And I wanted you to see it, Lorla. This ceiling, this whole place, means more to me than just about anything. It's the house of God, and it's my home. It can be your home, too, if you want."
So awed was Lorla by all she had seen, she could hardly bring herself to answer. Herrith's face was soft and imploring, and try as she might to turn away, she could not.
"What will happen to me here?" she asked. "What will I do?"
"Whatever you wish," said Herrith. "You will be schooled and learn things, and grow to be a fine woman. Nar is changing. Soon, I hope, this will be a great city for you to live in. I will make it great. For you and all the children." His hands hovered just above her, wanting to embrace her but not daring to touch. "I can't replace the family you lost, but I can treat you well, and I can teach you things. You can be happy here, Lorla. With me."
Lorla nodded, unsure of what to say. With all her heart she wanted to accept his offer, and the desire startled her. This was a grand place, and this man was not what she'd expected. Suddenly she was afraid. A sickness grew in her stomach.
Just the breakfast, she told herself. You ate too much.
"If I stay here, that room will be mine?"
Herrith glowed. "Yes. And so much more. I have all of Nar to show you, child." He stared at her, waiting and hoping for an answer. At last, Lorla's defenses collapsed.
"I would like that," she said. "I don't want to be an orphan anymore."
SIXTEEN
The Device
Count Renato Biagio stood on his private beach and watched his men at work, his polished boots soiled with sand. It was a warm day, like most in Crote, and the breeze off the ocean stirred the count's silken shirt and made his hair fall into his eyes. Beside him stood Admiral Danar Nicabar, looking tired and agitated. Thirty feet away, a handful of his men were struggling with a huge wooden crate, fighting to fit it into the boat that would ferry the parcel to the warship anchored in the distance. Bovadin directed them, shouting at them to be careful. It was the day Nicabar had dreaded--the day that they loaded the device.
