The Grand Design (71 page)

And find Nina
, he hoped. Vorto was the only thing blocking him from his daughter. Duke Enli grit his teeth, worried about the girl. He loved her truly, and to think of her gone was untenable. So instead he focused on the melee at his feet, pushing the ghastly image of a dead daughter from his mind, and hoped against hope that she still lived, and that these ravenous birds hadn’t gotten her.

“Please God,” he whispered. “Let her be all right.”

Or maybe it was as Vorto claimed, that God only heard the prayers of the faithful. If God was truly Vorto’s God, Enli knew his daughter was doomed.

Colonel Kye was in a panic. The sky had turned black and the earth was shaking, and all he could feel was the scrape of talons against his body and the insistent hammering of knifelike beaks. He was still on his horse, though only barely, and the thickness of feathers had blinded him so that he couldn’t tell where Vorto was or even if the general still lived. All around him, men were shouting and swinging swords uselessly, and the ground was littered with fallen horses, their bellies picked apart by beaks. Kye had dropped his own sword and was using his hands to shield his helmeted head. As he rode through the insanity he felt
the nutcracker jaws of the ravens chewing at his fingers, trying to pry them loose. He wanted to scream but could not, for there was precious little breath in him to waste.

Kye’s horse stumbled through the snow, unsure where to go. The colonel tried to steer it westward, toward the distant tower and, maybe, to safety. But the ground was choked and slick with ice. His horse faltered. Ravens screamed everywhere, and as he moved amidst the battle, Kye heard the cries of tortured men as the birds somehow managed to pull off helmets and feast on the flesh beneath.

Fighting was useless; Kye knew that now. He had to call retreat, try and make it to Gray Tower. And then another thought occurred to him, a dark thought that made his insides curdle. The formula. If its cannisters were damaged …

“General!” Kye screamed. “Where are you?”

He swatted his way through the ravens, searching for Vorto. At last he found the general, near the wagons with the cannisters, desperately trying to retrieve a discarded helmet from the ground. Kye caught a glimpse of Vorto’s bare head, now scarred horribly and bleeding. The colonel steered his frenzied horse up to the general.

“General!” he cried, offering his hand. “It’s Kye! Take my hand. We have to retreat!”

Vorto was in a daze. His bloodshot eyes blinked at Kye through the slits in the helmet. On wobbly legs he moved forward, grabbing the colonel’s hand and letting him pull him up onto the horse. Kye’s charger whinnied under the weight but didn’t stumble or throw them.

“To the tower,” Vorto seethed. “We have to get to the tower.”

“Sir, the formula. We can’t—”

“I’ve already told the others to guard it,” wheezed
Vorto. “Once we reach the tower, we can launch the poison against the beasts. God, Kye, call retreat. Hurry!”

Seeing Vorto’s weakened state, Colonel Kye took up command, waving his hands and crying out to his men. “Retreat!” he bellowed. “To the tower!”

Admiral Danar Nicabar was weary.

For five days now, he and his small fleet of dreadnoughts had been anchored off the coast of Nar, taking up positions within range of Gray Tower. It was tedious, boring work, and Nicabar felt useless, as if the entire world was somewhere else, living its life while he was stuck in this frozen wasteland. An arctic wind blew across the deck of the
Fearless
, biting through the admiral’s long coat. Snow had been falling for over an hour, cutting down his visibility, but he kept an eye glued to his spyglass, hoping vainly to see something interesting. On the deck beneath him, the big cannons of his flagship were trained on the tower, primed and ready to fire.
Black City
and
Intruder
were also in position, to the flagship’s bow and stern. They had the ancient tower in their sights, in an inescapable cross fire that would bring it crumbling down, and Nicabar was anxious to give the order. But so far, Vorto hadn’t shown.

“Don’t cheat me, General,” said Nicabar to himself. “I’ve come a long way for this, you big bastard.”

He had endured the cold and the long voyage, lived through the tedium without losing his mind, and all for the simple pleasure of blasting Vorto to Hell. As he stared through his spyglass, he wondered what might have happened to the Naren. Maybe Enli’s schemes had been discovered. But Nicabar had seen the ravens take flight an hour ago. Surely they were on their way. Gray Tower was the only cover for Vorto’s men. He
would
order them there. Nicabar was sure of it.

“Call down to the gun deck,” he said to a boatswain. “Have them check the azimuths on the cannons. I don’t want any mistakes.”

“Sir, they’ve been checked,” said the sailor. “Just a moment ago.”

“Well, check them again!” Nicabar growled, sending the young man off in a scurry. The admiral lowered the spyglass and collapsed it with a curse. No one knew the pressure he was under, the enormous strain of their mission. If it worked, Vorto would be dead, along with a goodly chunk of his army. What was the matter with all these fools, not to see the importance of it? Nicabar shook his head. He had already had so many disappointments in his career, had seen the loss of the Empire to Herrith and lost a ten-year battle against Liss. Now, on the eve of Vorto’s destruction, he couldn’t bear the thought of failing again. All he needed was a little luck, and for Vorto to have the common sense to come in out of the rain.

A sudden shout from the rigging grabbed the admiral’s attention. He snapped his spyglass open again and peered through the whiteout engulfing Gray Tower. For a moment he saw nothing and swore at the lookout in the masts, but then his vision cleared and something came to his eyes, something big and moving ponderously. Something black and armored.

“Vorto,” Nicabar hissed triumphantly. “Welcome to Gray Tower.”

He turned to his sailors, who were awaiting his commands. “Make ready,” he said happily. “Tell the gunnery deck to prepare to fire. Signal
Black City
and
Intruder.
And no one fires till I give the order. This one is all mine.”

Vorto and his men reached Gray Tower through a haze of shock and blood, kicking open the gates of the keep and barreling inside. They had lost many men, so
many Vorto couldn’t count. All that he knew was that he’d left behind a trail of lacerated bodies stretching from the battlefield to the tower. They had abandoned the greegans in the frenzy, leaving the war wagons and acid launchers to Duke Enli, a tactical blunder which might well come back to haunt them. But they had managed to save the Formula B. The wagon containing the super-poison was intact, along with a single, modified launcher. Now, as his men piled into the keep, Vorto ordered his soldiers to unload the cannisters of Formula B, even as the monstrous birds continued their endless assault. They were crashing against the windows now, breaking the glass and tearing at the shutters. The entry hall of Gray Tower echoed with their cries. Vorto and Colonel Kye hurried the men inside, urging those unloading the poison to hurry.

“Quickly now!” Vorto roared through the open door. He had picked up a sword and was swatting at the beasts buzzing around him like giant wasps. Kye was tending to the wounded, fretting over their dwindling numbers. The casualties had been unbelievably high. Even now, just outside the courtyard, Vorto could see some of his men being dragged off, pulled into the storm by the impossibly strong birds. Knowing they had to shut the doors quickly, he dashed outside to help unload the formula. The wagon was covered with squawking ravens, violently biting and scratching at his men, denting helmets with their iron beaks. Vorto threw himself onto the wagon, crushing a raven beneath his boots and grinding it to pulp. There were only two of the cannisters left to unload, so the general wrapped his arms around one of them and lifted it with a grunt, ignoring the ravens covering him and clawing at his helmet. Blood from his previous wounds spilled into his eyes, blinding him. He could hear Kye’s voice, encouraging him forward. Next to him, two others were manhandling the last cannister into the keep. A raven seized on his helmet just as he staggered
into the keep. The doors shut loudly behind him and Vorto dropped the cannister, then reached up with his bare hands, pulling the bird from his shoulders and strangling it with a scream, snapping its neck.

“Damn you!” he roared, tossing the carcass against the wall. “Damn you to Hell!”

Vorto collapsed to the floor, his whole body battered. He tore off the pitted helmet and tossed it aside, then ran his hands over his scalp to feel his hundred wounds. All around him men were groaning, wide-eyed with shock. Quickly Vorto counted up their numbers. There were at least a hundred of them in the hall.

A hundred. He closed his eyes in grief. So few. So many more lay dead outside, a feast for the demon-birds. They were trapped here now, with no hope of escape save for the formula, and Duke Enli and his mercenaries would soon be circling outside, making demands. Vorto balled up a fist and slammed it against the floor.

“We’re not done yet,” he hissed. “Kye, have some of the men search this place, anyone who can walk. I want all the windows closed and shuttered. Doors, too. Barricade them fast. And find any weapons you can.” He looked around the bleak chamber, realizing only now that not all the bodies in the hall were Naren. There had been a slaughter here, just like he had seen in Westwind, the little town below the tower. “God condemn your soul to Hell, Enli,” he said, examining the ruined hall. “Hurry now, Kye. We don’t have much time.”

“General, sir?” came a voice from across the hall. “Look at this!”

Vorto looked up, blinking the blood from his eyes. He saw a man at the end of the hall, one of his soldiers, with another figure next to him. Vorto blinked again, unsure what he was seeing. A woman?

“What the hell …?”

The soldier dragged the woman forward, shoving
her toward Vorto. She was hissing like a snake. The general got unsteadily to his feet and studied her. Kye did the same, and soon all the men in the hall had their eyes on the woman.

“Who are you?” Vorto demanded.

“Be damned!” the woman spat.

Vorto’s hand shot out and slapped her across the face, sending her tumbling backward. Vorto stalked after her, taking her jaw in his hand and squeezing until she screamed.

“I am in no mood for games, wench. Tell me who you are, or I will throw you out a window for those birds to eat.”

“Nina,” she choked. “My name’s Nina. I’m—”

“Enli’s daughter!” Vorto released her at once. “What are you doing here, girl? Are you alone?”

She grit her teeth in defiance, but a threatening, raised hand from Vorto loosened her tongue. “Yes,” she said. “I’m alone. I came here looking for something and got trapped here.”

Vorto stepped back with a malicious grin, his mind racing with an idea. “Kye, I think we have a weapon here.”

Duke Enli and his band of mercenaries had chased the Narens into Gray Tower, a contingency that now had the duke frantic. Just outside the courtyard, his men began to circle the tower, milling around on its eastern face where the gates were and where the ravens now rested, full of blood and waiting for their prey to re-emerge. Enli fretted as he galloped through the group, unsure what to do. Gray Tower was locked up tight, and though Vorto’s ranks had been decimated, they suddenly had the advantage of the fortress. They also had the formula, a secret weapon the duke had not told his men about. But he was too desperate to call retreat now. Especially if Nina was inside.

Through the storm, he could see Nicabar’s dreadnoughts floating threateningly on the horizon. He wondered if Vorto had noticed them yet. He wondered also if he needed to signal the admiral, or if Nicabar would simply open fire. Enli cursed, wringing his frostbitten hands. His mercenaries wanted to fall back, to let the
Fearless
and her sisters finish what they’d started. There was a murmur of dissent from the men as they milled about the courtyard. Duke Enli ignored it, trying to focus on saving his daughter. If she was alive, then Vorto had probably discovered her by now. The general would have terms, surely.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Enli, watching the tower’s windows for a sign. “What are you waiting for, Vorto?”

Faren, slick with snow and mud, rode up to his master and gave him a disapproving scowl. “We must go, Duke Enli,” he insisted. “If the ships open fire, we’re done for!”

“We stay,” growled the duke. “I won’t leave Nina.”

“You don’t even know if she’s alive,” said Faren. “Please, listen to me. Let the ravens guard the tower. Vorto won’t dare try to escape. And we can’t do anything to signal Nicabar. We have to go!”

“No!” roared Enli, turning fiercely on his man. “We stay until I know she’s not in there! I won’t—”

“Enli, you hellspawn!”

The duke looked skyward, amazed to hear his name. Up on one of the balconies a door had opened, revealing a fist-shaking figure.

Vorto.

The general’s head was pitted with cuts and bleeding badly, and he had a woman in his arms. Enli gasped when he saw her.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Nina …”