by John Marco
"Welcome to Crote, Gago," said Biagio. He offered his enemy a mannerly bow. "I would say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie."
Gago paused, stunned at the statement. Hatred bloomed on his face. "Still an impertinent little elf, eh, Biagio?" he said. "I had hoped your exile might have changed you for the better. But I see it has only made you more bitter."
Biagio wasn't listening. He was looking over Gago's shoulder toward Herrith. The old bishop was struggling out of the boat and coming ashore. Refusing Nicabar's help, Herrith walked alone, his head held high despite his weakened appearance. Behind him came Nicabar, his expression stoic.
"Who else has come?" Biagio asked absently.
"Claudi Vos, Tepas Talshiir, Deboko," replied Gago. "Eleven lords in all."
Biagio's heart leapt. "Good," he said evenly. "I'm glad. Maybe we can accomplish something."
"Don't be too sure of that, Biagio," warned Gago. "Some of us aren't in the mood to bargain."
But you came, didn't you? thought Biagio happily. Stupid man.
"Let's be open-minded," he said. Then he walked toward the approaching Herrith. Surprisingly, Biagio felt a little fluster of fear. Even after so much derision, there was still something awe-inspiring about Herrith. Biagio made sure to give his nemesis a respectful greeting, bowing low.
"Herrith," he said reverently. "You honor me by coming here. My thanks, old friend."
Herrith had the look of the heartbroken about him. He stared at Biagio vacantly. The count tried to coax him to speak with a smile.
"I want you to be comfortable here," he said. "Have no fear. We're here to talk, nothing more."
"The sight of you still sickens me," said Herrith finally. "Do not call me friend, Biagio. We are not friends and never will be. God curse you for what you've done. God burn you."
The curses stung Biagio's pride. He heard Kivis Gago's annoying snicker. The minister's bodyguards kept their swords drawn. Biagio mustered up his diplomacy.
"Still, I thank you for coming, and for bringing the others. Gago tells me Vos has come. That's good. What about Oridian?"
"He's aboard the Black City," Nicabar chimed in. "The skunk wouldn't stay aboard the Fearless."
"Never mind, Danar," said Biagio cheerily. "Old differences. We'll settle them soon."
"No," said Herrith icily. "We will not, Count. Not so easily. I agreed to come to put an end to the bloodshed. That's all."
Biagio nodded. Herrith had no idea about bloodshed. "As you say in your sermons, Herrith, peace is the way to Heaven. Let's begin right here, right now." He glanced at Gago. "No?"
Gago smirked. "We shall see, sinner."
Biagio leveled his eyes on Gago. "We are all sinners, Kivis," he said. "Make no mistake."
"Some are worse than others, Count," countered Gago. He put up his hand, and the gesture made his bodyguards sheathe their swords. "But you are right, at least partially. We will listen to you. Just don't waste our time."
"You see, Herrith?" said Biagio. "We can put our differences aside, for a while at least. We must talk. We must also listen."
The bishop scowled. "There are things I want to hear," he growled. "Explanations. That's first. And I make you no promises, devil. I am here. That is all."
The venom in Herrith's voice was appalling. Biagio had expected it, but not to feel its bite so keenly. He swallowed down a counterattack, gracing Herrith with a smile.
"Walk with me, Herrith," he said calmly. "Please." The count stalked off down the beach a few paces. Then he paused, waiting for Herrith to follow. The bishop looked at him questioningly, but he soon relented, following Biagio down the beach. The bishop walked slowly and with effort. Biagio waited until they were well out of earshot before speaking. The constant sound of the surf helped to mask their words. He decided to start with an innocent question.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "You do not look fit."
"I am withdrawing from your devil's brew," replied Herrith.
"Withdrawing? Why? Didn't Nicabar give you my last gift?"
"He did. You can suck it out of his floor boards if you like. That's where I poured it--right on the floor."
Biagio was aghast. "How could you? I mean, look at you! You need it, Herrith."
"I do not." Herrith straightened. "God gives me vigor, sinner. I will not surrender my soul to Bovadin's potion any longer."
"It keeps us alive, Herrith," said the count. "And there is more of it. I plan to spare you the agony of mortality, at least."
"Dying will send me to God," said Herrith. "Someone you will never see, believe me."
Biagio sighed. "We have much to discuss, you and I. It would be easier if you weren't so sarcastic."
Herrith stopped dead. His hand shot out and grabbed Biagio's sleeve, pulling him roughly around.
"Don't talk to me like a child, you sick little monster," he hissed. "I'm here because of what you and your midget did to my cathedral. And to my daughter!"
"Daughter?" Biagio grinned. "Oh, yes. I thought you'd like her."
Herrith's face purpled; Biagio thought the old man might strike him.
"God will curse you, Biagio," swore the bishop. "You can laugh in His face now, but there will come a judgment. You will answer for your sins and crimes, sodomite."
"Do not call me that," Biagio warned. He held up a finger. "That's the last time I will listen to that word from your lips. This is my island. You might still rule Nar, but on Crote I am the lord."
"Blasphemous snake," said Herrith. "Blind and stupid, too. All this murder. For what?" He looked at Biagio imploringly. "Why, Count?"
"For Nar," said Biagio with conviction. He pointed at himself with his thumb. "Because it's mine, and you took it from me."
"You're wrong. Nar belongs to no man. It is in the hands of God."
"It's an empire, Herrith," spat Biagio. "It's supposed to be ruled by an emperor. Arkus wanted me to have it."
"He never said so."
"He was afraid," argued Biagio. "Afraid of his own death. He was incapable of passing it on to me. But you know I'm right. You knew it even then, but you stole it from me. Now you see that I can't give it up so easily, though. That's why you're here. Now you're the one who is afraid."
The bishop's face was placid. "Biagio, I have more fears now than I ever thought possible," he said sadly. "You're just one in a giant collection. I'll listen to your rants. And I'll talk peace with you, if that's what it takes to stop your murdering. But I'll never agree to make you emperor."
"Say it, Herrith," Biagio insisted. "Say Arkus wanted me to rule Nar. You know it's true."
"I'll say it, if that's what pleases. Arkus did want you to have Nar. He loved you like a son. It changes nothing."
But for Biagio, the statement changed everything. He stared at Herrith, thunderstruck at the admission.
Loved me. Like a son.
Biagio's anger wilted into sadness. "Then why did you fight me, Herrith? Why did you start this acrimony?"
"For the same reason I'm going to continue fighting you, Count. Because you're a lunatic and a sinner. And because the Black Renaissance is a disease that enslaves men and degrades Heaven. You want to bring that back to Nar." Herrith shook his head. "I won't let you."
"You can't stop me, Herrith," warned Biagio. "None of you can. I can reach you anywhere you go. I've already proven that."
"Yes, you've done a fine job of terrifying us," admitted the old man bitterly. "But we're all aligned to stop you. You have too many enemies now, Biagio. You can't beat us all."
The threat made Biagio laugh. "I see there's much to talk about," he said. "Let's wait before we make such claims and say things we'll regret. Today and tomorrow you should rest, all of you. After that, we will begin our talks."
"I would rather get this over with," snapped the bishop. "I'm not anxious to stay on your island."
"Stay, Herrith, please. If you won't take the drug, then have some food and wine. We have plenty of both. I've spared no e
xpense to make all of you comfortable. And I can tell the sea voyage has worn you out."
Herrith grimaced. "Very well. The day after tomorrow, then." He turned and walked back toward the beaching rowboats, leaving Biagio alone. The count watched his old enemy go, still astonished at his strength. To refuse the drug was unimaginable. Biagio had never thought Herrith capable of such resolve. Still, the count was pleased.
"The day after tomorrow," he whispered.
He had not told Herrith that the Fearless and her escorts weren't the only Naren vessels to come to Crote today. The Swift had arrived three hours earlier.
Dyana had spent the day in her chambers, blankly studying the walls. She had heard the buzzing of Kyla and the other servants, saying how eleven Naren lords had arrived on the island, and that Archbishop Herrith was among them. Yet despite the interesting news, Dyana didn't care. Biagio was simply casting out one more of his elaborate schemes. Sure that she would somehow get caught in his net, Dyana decided to wait, and let things take their course. She was powerless now. Eris was dead, and Biagio was lost to her, and she knew that the count meant his threats. He would take her to the Black City. She was his bait in the trap he was springing for Richius. She had hoped she might reach into his warped mind and fix the broken things she found there, but Biagio was far beyond the influence of such naive tampering.
Since Eris' death, Dyana hadn't spoken to Biagio at all. They had passed each other in a hallway once, and he had given her an awkward smile, but Dyana had happily snubbed him. She didn't want his pleasure or his pity, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Surprisingly, she didn't really hate Biagio, not even after the heinous thing he had done to Eris. Dyana saw him more as a pathetic child, petulantly screaming for some out-of-reach toy. He was a menace and a murderer, but the question of his evilness still vexed her. Richius had called him a devil. The devil, even. But Dyana was Triin, and Triin Gods were more complicated. None of them were purely evil. To Dyana, that notion seemed impossible.
But he is unreachable, she reminded herself. So do not even try.
It was well past midnight and the mansion was silent. Dyana lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. An ornate plaster mural looked back at her, depicting something from Cretan history, but she didn't know what. Occasional footfalls passing her door disturbed her. The Naren nobles who had come were obviously keeping the servants busy. Dyana thought about Falindar, and how she had been pampered when she was Tharn's wife. Tharn had been a good man. He had never let her want for anything. Sometimes, she surprised herself by missing him. She wanted desperately to go home.
"Woman," said a sudden voice.
Dyana bolted up, frightened. She searched her dark bedroom and saw a golden figure in the threshold. Her pulse exploded.
"What do you want?" she asked. She pulled the sheets closer, hiding her body.
Count Biagio drifted toward her bed. His eyes glowed with incandescence. A rich cape of crimson trailed out behind him like a bride's train.
"Don't be afraid," he urged.
"How did you get in here?" she asked, realizing how stupid the question sounded. But she didn't care that he was master of the house. This was her bedroom!
"I didn't knock because I feared you wouldn't hear me," he explained. He was watching her with odd interest. Something like longing shone on his face. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Please get out," said Dyana. She felt herself shrink away from him. He was magnificent in the dark. "I do not want you here."
Biagio took another step toward her bed. "I will leave presently," he said softly, "but I want to make sure you understand what I'm going to tell you. Tomorrow night at this very time, you must be ready to leave Crote."
"Leave?" asked Dyana. "Why?"
He gave her the answer she dreaded. "We're going back to the Black City. When it's time, I'll send a slave for you. They'll take you to the beach. A boat will be waiting. You will get on it."
Dyana sat up. "Why now?" she asked. "Why so soon?"
Biagio grinned menacingly. "Your husband and his Lissen heroes are coming, woman. They mean to take my island from me."
"Richius?" Dyana gasped. "How do you know?"
The count's eyebrows went up. "So many questions. I thought you weren't going to talk to me anymore."
"Tell me," demanded Dyana. "Richius is coming? You know this truly?"
"I am the Roshann, woman," he reminded her. "I have my sources. Your worthless husband is on his way. No doubt he has a band of filthy Lissens with him. When they get here, it won't be safe for anyone. Not even you." The count folded his arms, mocking her with his glare. "I wouldn't want to lose you so quickly. I still have plans for you."
He enjoyed tormenting her, but Dyana saw through his motives. "Do not try to frighten me with your threats, Biagio," she scoffed. "It seems that you are the one who is afraid. You are running from the Lissens."
"Oh, woman, you are so shortsighted," he chuckled. "You truly don't know me at all, do you? Just be ready when I send for you. If you're not, I will drag you onto the Fearless. Naked, if I must."
From out of his pocket he pulled a key on a little silver chain. Dyana spied it suspiciously.
"What is that?"
"I'm afraid I can't let you out of these chambers until tomorrow night. I don't want any of my Naren guests knowing about you."
He turned to go, but Dyana called after him.
"You can lock me in, but I am still not your prisoner," she said hotly. "I am a free woman. You will never own me, Biagio."
The count paused. "Dyana Vantran, I could snuff you out like a candle anytime I wish. Is that what you call freedom?"
He didn't wait for her answer. The darkness enveloped him and she heard him leave her chambers, locking the door behind him. Dyana sat in bed, listening to the sounds of her captivity. But her fears weren't for herself.
"Richius," she whispered desperately. "Please be careful."
FORTY-THREE
The Day After Tomorrow
Richius Vantran waited in the cold hours before dawn, watching the island of Crote through a spyglass. Biagio's island was barely visible in the dark, and the Prince of Liss and her three escorts were reasonably far offshore, letting the night hide them from Cretan eyes. They had not seen any Naren dreadnoughts in the waters around the island and had moved in closer with confidence. The Prince stood at anchor, one nautical mile from Biagio's mansion. A wicked ocean wind tore through Richius' shirt. Like his troops, he wore no coat, only a thick woolen shirt topped with a chainmail chest-guard. A pair of deerskin dueling gauntlets kept the cold from his fingers.
He peered through the lens, trying to penetrate the darkness. The Cretan shore was smoother than the shores of Liss, with a long, white beach and cleanly cut grasses that were visible even in the pale starlight. Richius was very quiet as he surveyed the terrain. On the deck beside him stood Simon and Prakna. Shii and a dozen Lissen troops were piling into the first launch, a long rowboat dangling off the side of Prakna's flagship. A similar boat was filling up on the starboard side of the vessel, and on both sides of Prakna's three other schooners. Each carried as many fighters as possible.
It was at least two hours until dawn. Enough time, Richius hoped, to surround Biagio's mansion. He didn't want his troops cut down trying to get ashore, so he was having them beach away from the mansion, where Biagio's guards couldn't see them. Simon had chosen a safe landing spot, a place the Naren promised would be free of sentries. From there Richius would march a small force onto the mansion's grounds, taking out the sentries posted around the mansion. Here, too, Simon would be indispensable. Simon knew all the habits of the count's household. Or so he claimed. Richius grit his teeth and handed the spyglass back to Prakna. He glanced apprehensively at Simon.
"I can't see anything," he whispered. "I hope you're right about those sentries."
"I'm right," Simon assured him. "Biagio posts about a half dozen men around his grounds. I
told you."
Richius nodded. Simon had told him, countless times. But Richius kept running over the numbers anyway. Half a dozen men, two at each entrance and two roaming, patrolling the grounds. Those latter would be the hardest to find and eliminate. And they had to be found quickly. That would be Simon's job. The Roshann agent had readied himself for the task, dressing in black like a lean and hungry panther. He wore a dagger and short scimitar at his side, both simple, and had cropped his hair around his skull. In the darkness he cut a frightening image. His malevolent look reminded Richius that the Roshann were still a hidden danger throughout the Empire.
"How long a march to the mansion, do you think?" Richius asked. "Less than an hour, right?"
"A little," said Simon. "We'll make better time than the rest of them, though, since I'll be leading."
"The others have the maps," Richius agreed. He was confident those groups would find their way to the mansion without a guide. And he wanted Simon to lead the first wave to Biagio's home quickly. A smaller number could go unnoticed more easily. Shii and the others in the boat would come with them. The other three leaders, Tomr, Loria and Delf, would take up positions on the north, west and east, respectively. Together they would form a noose, tight enough to force Biagio out of hiding. Prakna, it had been agreed, would stay aboard the Prince with Marus and the other sailors, none of whom were experienced fighters anyway. Nevertheless, they had curved Lissen scimitars ready if they were needed. Richius didn't plan on calling the sailors into combat, but Biagio might surprise them. He looked at Prakna in the starlight. The fleet commander's face was grave.
"Time to get aboard, my friend," he said, gesturing to the waiting launch. Then he stuck out a hand for Richius to shake. Richius took it warmly.
"Don't leave without us, Prakna," Richius joked. He felt the Lissen's grip tighten.
"Richius, no matter what happens, I want you to know I've always thought well of you. Liss thanks you for what you've done."
