The Grand Design (70 page)

Kye spied the buildings, confused. “It’s cold and storming. Maybe—”

“No, Kye. Look at the ground. Horses have been here. Lots of them. Recently, too.”

Kye nodded, understanding. “A battle?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they just rode on.”

“But where are the soldiers?” Kye asked. “Where are Eneas’ men?”

Vorto chewed on the question for a long time. Defeated, maybe? Had Enli’s men been that good? Had they already won? The general looked around suspiciously, unsure what to think or say. He listened to the snow falling, listened to the wind. He needed answers but the town wasn’t talking.

Angry, he rode deeper into the village and drove his horse right up to the door of a storefront. Kye followed, confused. The general dismounted and unstrapped the battle axe from his back. Without asking why, Kye drew his own weapon, a thin sword of polished steel. Vorto didn’t wait for anyone to answer the door. He didn’t even knock. Instead he lifted up a heavy boot and slammed it into the door, kicking it open in an explosion of splinters. There was a scream from inside and the cry of a child. Vorto clasped his hands firmly around his axe and stepped inside the darkened home.

“In the name of Archbishop Herrith, come out!” he bellowed. “I order it!”

There was more worried gibbering from the shadows. Vorto’s eyes adjusted to the light.

“I am General Vorto of Nar!” he roared. “Come out now, or face my judgment!”

At last there was movement from a darkened corner. A cowering figure appeared in a doorway, followed by two more. It was a man, a farmer from the looks of him, and his wife and daughter. All of them looked at Vorto fearfully. The child, barely past toddling, clutched at her mother’s dress.

“Come here,” Vorto ordered, trying to sound mild. He lowered his axe just enough to encourage them. “All of you.”

The man led his little family out of their hiding place and into the center of the room. He averted his eyes, looking down at his feet. Vorto studied them all quickly, and, realizing they were no threat, took a step closer. The girl with the wild eyes cried when she saw his face, bursting into tears. Frantically her mother tried to calm her.

“Be easy,” Vorto told them. “You’ll not be harmed. I am General Vorto, supreme commander of the legions of Nar.”

The farmer grimaced. “Yes, sir,” he said meekly. “We’ve done nothing wrong, sir. I swear it. We were just afraid. All of us in the village. Just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Vorto asked. “Enli’s men?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man. He finally looked up at Vorto, brightening. “You’ve come to help us against them? Enli’s mercenaries?”

Vorto blinked. Unsure how to answer, he simply said nothing. He gave a questioning look to Kye, who returned it with equal confusion. A terrible feeling of dread quickly swept over the general.

“What mercenaries?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Dorians,” said the man nervously. He patted his daughter’s head to quiet her. “Fighting alongside Enli’s dragon troops from Red Tower. Hundreds of them.”

Colonel Kye groaned. “My God …”

“Tell me everything,” Vorto insisted. “What happened here?”

Suddenly the farmer seemed as confused as they were, but he explained how Duke Enli’s men had invaded, killing Duke Eneas, and how the north fork had been ruined. The mercenaries, he said, had slaughtered Westwind, a town just outside of Gray Tower.

“There’s nothing left of Duke Eneas’ army,” said the man. “Maybe the ravens still live, I don’t know. But we’ve been afraid to leave our homes. There’s no
one to defend us now. And if the mercenaries come back …”

Vorto put up a hand to silence him. He needed to think, to decipher this puzzle Enli had laid at his feet. He felt warm suddenly, flush with fear.

“Clever beast,” he whispered.

Enli had lured nearly a thousand legionnaires away from Nar City. Now they were trapped on this peninsula, miles from home, with winter bearing down on them. Dorian mercenaries, too. The general ran a hand over his bald scalp nervously.

“Kye,” he said simply. “We’re in trouble.”

“We should hold up here,” said the colonel quickly. “Make a stand against them.”

It was a good idea, but not good enough.

“No,” said Vorto. “We need a better place to fight from.” Quickly he turned again to the farmer, demanding, “Gray Tower. Is it undefended?”

“I don’t know,” stammered the man. “I think so.”

“That’s it, then,” said the general. He grabbed hold of Kye’s shoulder, spinning him toward the door. “Quickly, Kye. We have to move.”

Duke Enli rode like a madman through the gathering storm, loudly exhorting his men to follow. Three hundred strong, they galloped along the slick road, through the howling wind and driving snow, to the north fork of Dragon’s Beak and the waiting forces of Nar. Faren rode beside him, and Cackle the raven wheeled above, leading them deeper into the unknown. Enli’s beard was stiff with snow and frozen spittle. At his side his long sword slapped, eager for blood. The hot flesh of his horse steamed in the cold, run to a lather in the duke’s zeal. They had long ago crossed the border and had already galloped through the first village. As Faren had predicted, it was shut up tight, and they hadn’t
bothered to stop for rest or information. Enli had known from the newly disturbed snow that Vorto had already passed through the village. He could see the wide tracks the war wagons had cut through the ice and the obvious prints of galloping horses. Vorto’s men had moved quickly.

He has discovered me
, thought Enli nervously.
He knows we have trapped him.

Now he would go to Gray Tower to make his stand. Enli cursed himself, hating his arrogance. If Nina was still alive, she would certainly be there waiting for him. Vorto would discover her and …

Unable to bear the thought, he banished it from his mind. With ferocious single-mindedness he grit his teeth, refusing to accept defeat. If Nina still lived, he would rescue her. He would, and no one—not even Vorto—would stop him.

They were in a meadow now, wide and white with snow. The trail they were following was almost invisible, blanketed in ice, and the winds howling off the hills tore through their garments and dug at their skin, eating it alive. Enli’s face burned with pain. If he could have seen his nose, he knew it would be black with frostbite. Great gushing tears poured from his eyes to stave off the wind, and his fingers bled beneath his gloves. Worse, his Dorians and dragon troops were faring no better. They rode with him because they knew they must, and because Vorto would turn on them all if their trap failed. But they were weary now from riding, hungry and unbearably cold. And Enli didn’t know what they would be facing. He knew only that his daughter, whom he still called a daughter despite all evidence, was in desperate trouble, and that the love he had for her could make him endure any cold.

What seemed like an eternity passed in the storm. And then through the gales Enli saw the moving horde
of Vorto’s troops. He raised his hand, bringing his column to a halt. The Light of God flew above the legion. A dozen war wagons pulled by giant greegans trudged along, and the horses drove on, undaunted, toward Gray Tower. They were very close to the tower now. Enli could see the first inklings of it from his place atop a hill. But the ocean beyond was hidden, and he could not tell if Nicabar and his dreadnoughts were positioned there as promised. The duke rubbed his hands together, desperate for a plan. They were woefully outnumbered. And if Vorto saw them first, they would be slaughtered. To Enli’s mind, there was only one hope.

“Call the ravens,” said Faren desperately, as if reading the duke’s mind. “Do it now, before they see us.”

“Aye,” agreed Enli. It would only take a moment for Vorto’s legion to discover them, and time was their enemy now. He stretched out his arm toward the sky, shouting, “Cackle! To me!”

The bird, who had been circling overhead, now swooped down to rest on Enli’s arm. Enli looked at the raven desperately.

“I need you now, my friend,” he said. “Call your brothers. Bring them here and attack our enemies. Kill, Cackle! Kill!”

He snapped his arm and sent Cackle winging skyward. The bird hurried into the storm, sailing toward the western horizon and Gray Tower. Enli watched him go, licking his lips with worry. A thousand yards away, he saw Vorto’s legion coming to an unexpected stop.

“There they are!” seethed Vorto, pointing eastward. “There they are!”

Through the gauzy snowfall he had sighted them, waiting on an eastern hillside. There were three hundred,
he supposed. Maybe more. And Dorians, just as the farmer had claimed. Vorto could tell by their haphazard colors that they were indeed mercenaries. Among them was a sprinkling of Enli’s dragon troops, dressed in spiky armor and bearing the reptilian helmets of their ilk. One by one, the heads of Vorto’s legion turned eastward to see their enemy. The column came to an abrupt halt.

“We have them now,” Vorto laughed delightedly. He shook his fist in the air, hoping Enli could see him. “I have you, you traitorous dog! You’re no match for us!”

He was glad he had brought so many men with him, glad he had war wagons and acid launchers for the fight. Enli had miscalculated the force he would bring, and it would be the duke’s undoing.

“Stupid, stupid man,” said Vorto. “Today you die.”

Vorto looked around quickly, studying the terrain. They were in a snow-covered valley between the hills, wide out in the open with plenty of room to maneuver. That, along with their sheer numbers, gave them the advantage.

“This will be our battlefield, Kye,” he said. “We will fight here!”

“Sir, they won’t attack us,” said the colonel. “When the mercs realize how many we are, they will retreat.”

“Then we will run them down, Colonel Kye! For God and country, we shall destroy them! Make your men ready. This is why we’ve come so far! ”

Without wasting another word, General Vorto thundered eastward, toward the hill where his enemies waited, and shook his giant fist again and cursed all manner of creatures in the name of God. He was possessed now, frozen to the bone and full of violence. And when he had separated himself from his legion, standing apart so he was easily seen, he spun his horse around and addressed them.

“We have been deceived, my men!” he cried. “But our true enemy shows himself! There, on yonder hill! Duke Enli!”

The legion of Nar let out a battle cry, pushing back the storm with their fury. General Vorto unstrapped the gleaming battle axe from his belt and brandished it.

“We have come to fight!” he shouted. “Are you ready?”

Another cheer, bold and bloody, rose up from the ranks. Swords leapt from scabbards and banged against shields in an anxious drumbeat. Greegans honked, filling the air with a prehistoric noise, and battle-ready horses pranced, eager to take their riders to the fight. Colonel Kye rode through the soldiers, shouting orders and positioning his battalions. War wagons circled around to flank the men, readying their acid launchers. Formula B, that noxious stuff that could kill them all, was in the center of the crowd, still heavily guarded by a troop of brawny soldiers. Vorto smiled, proud of his men. They wouldn’t need the formula today. Today it would be old-fashioned steel.

He turned back to the hillside. Enli and his men were still there. Surprised they hadn’t run yet, Vorto waved at them.

“Can you see me, Enli?” he shouted. “I’m going to kill you!”

There was a speck on the hill that looked vaguely like the duke. Vorto could just make out the hint of a red beard. As he shouted, the speck stared back at him, resolute, unmoving. Vorto took it as an insult.

“Brave bastard, aren’t you?” he muttered. “We shall see about that.”

“Good God!” someone cried.

Vorto whirled. He looked out over his men, confused, then noticed they were all staring westward. The general’s eyes narrowed on the horizon. Something gigantic was moving toward them, a storm cloud maybe,
big and black. Over the wind he heard a high-pitched tremor, like a thousand squeaky hinges opening. The thing that approached was moving quickly, too animated to be a storm, and far too loud to be a thunder-head. All at once Vorto’s soldiers pointed skyward, gibbering and terrified. The general himself sat upon his horse, dumbfounded by what he was seeing. If the ocean were black and could fly, the thing would be a tidal wave.

“Mother of God,” he whispered. “What in hell is that?”

But he knew what it was, and the revelation made him wither. The army of the air was winging toward him, filling the world with its horrible noise, bearing down on them with sharpened talons. Vorto crossed himself, begging God for strength. Never in all his imaginings had he considered anything like this. He rode back to his men, flailing his arms to get their attention.

“Be easy!” he ordered, hoping to steady them. “They are only birds! We will fight them! And we will win!”

Yet even as he made his claim, Vorto doubted its likeliness. The rapidly approaching beasts were like something from Hell, huge in the extreme and winged like demons. The air throbbed with their cries.

Determined not to die like a coward, General Vorto wrapped his fists around his axe handle and waited for his enemies to descend.

From his place atop the hill, Duke Enli watched the ravens fill the sky and fall upon the unprotected Narens. It was a horror to behold, and of such great pleasure to Enli that he could not help but grin. The ravens, he knew, would decimate the brigade, no matter how many or how well armed. They were in the open, easy prey for the flying monsters despite their metal armor,
and would be driven one by one to their knees until the beasts pulled their helmets off and ate their eyeballs out. Duke Enli put his hands to his frostbitten nose. It had gone numb.

“My God,” whispered Faren. The soldier’s face was drawn with shock. “God help those poor wretches.”

“What?” joked Enli. “God is on their side, remember? Surely He will help them.”

“Should we attack?” asked one of the mercenaries. “Drive them to the tower?”

“No need,” said Enli. “We’ll let the ravens pick them clean first. Then we will go to the tower—alone.”