The Grand Design (93 page)

“What is this?” he asked. “I want to see Biagio.”

Leraio shook his head, smiling implacably. “I’m sorry, Holiness. Count Biagio isn’t on Crote any longer. He left last night, while you were sleeping.”

The words were so strange Herrith hardly heard them. “Left? What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry to say, Count Biagio is gone,” Leraio explained. “With Admiral Nicabar. As I said, they left last night. I’m sorry, Holiness. I really don’t know any more than that. That is my message. Perhaps the letter will explain it better.”

“What are you talking about?” Herrith barked. “Biagio’s gone?”

Leraio blanched. “Yes, Holiness,” he replied meekly. “I’m very sorry.”

“Gone?” Herrith roared. “Gone where?”

“To the Black City, Holiness. He wanted me to tell you when he was gone, and to give you that letter, with his respects.”

Herrith was stunned. “Is he coming back?”

“I don’t think so,” said Leraio. “I’m very sorry, Holiness.”

“Sorry doesn’t help me, you fool!” Herrith spat. He fumbled with the envelope, trying to get it open. Leraio offered to help but Herrith angrily turned him away, tearing open the paper housing and unfolding the note. Again he saw Biagio’s distinctive, mocking handwriting.

“My God,” Herrith gasped. “What is the meaning of this?” He shook the letter in Leraio’s face. “He’s left us! Why?”

Leraio didn’t bother to answer.

“He’s abandoned us!” Herrith roared, tossing the letter to the floor. “What wicked plan is this?”

Outside the window, something flickered again past Herrith’s vision. “What is that?” he growled, pressing his nose up to the glass. Dawn was slowly creeping awake, barely lighting the world. Herrith caught a glimpse of four ships on the horizon. For a moment he was heartened.

“Is this a joke? Look, the dreadnoughts are still—”

But they weren’t dreadnoughts. They weren’t of Naren design at all. Herrith backed away from the window.

“Oh, merciful Heaven,” he moaned. “Liss …”

Simon worked with the speed of a leopard, darting through Biagio’s yard and locating the two roving sentries. The first one was by a flower bed, urinating, when Simon slipped his dagger into his spine. The man went to the ground silently, paralyzed, and didn’t know what had happened until he saw Simon staring down at him. A slice to the throat finished him. The second sentry had been harder to find, but Simon had kept to the shadows, waiting for him to come in search of his comrade. He remembered that the two used a circular pattern to walk the grounds, one coming clockwise, the other counterclockwise, around the perimeter. It took them about ten minutes to complete one circuit. Eight minutes after he’d killed the first one, Simon homed in on the second. It was still very dark but the man was by a window in the west wing, looking up stupidly at the stars. He saw Simon leap out of the trees—barely. The Roshann agent was on him in a second. Simon plunged his dagger into the sentry’s windpipe and covered his screaming mouth in one perfect movement. The sentry dropped dead to the ground. Simon hurriedly dragged the body away from the window, hiding him in a small batch of fruit trees. The rush was on him now and he looked around wildly, his eyes wide, his muscles tingling with energy.

Two down
, he thought quickly.
Four more.

Richius had led his troops to the mansion in the cover of darkness, but dawn was breaking fast on the horizon.
He needed to work quickly. Griff and the others had gone off to the north gate to deal with the two sentries there. Richius led Shii and the twins, Akal and Wyle. They were quickly creeping up to the south entrance, where Simon had promised they would find two more sentries. Richius and his team were on their bellies when they sighted their quarry. They had slithered through a group of topiaries trimmed to look like birds and were almost near the entrance. As Simon had warned, there was no cover for the next fifteen yards. Without speaking, Richius signaled his team to hold up, then pointed toward the gate. Shii nodded. Akal handed each of them a crossbow, already loaded with a bolt. Richius and Shii would take the first shots. If they missed, the second missiles from Akal and Wyle would have to silence the sentries. Richius waited until he was ready. The two sentries in their brilliant blue outfits were talking casually, oblivious to the assassins hunting them. Richius wished he could hear what they were saying.

I’m sorry
, he thought.
You’re innocent, I know.

He rested his elbows into the dirt, putting the crossbow to his chin. Then again, no one on Crote was innocent. Not if they served Biagio.

I was trained as a horseman
, he told himself.
Not a killer. Not like Simon.

Richius closed one eye and focused on his target, the sentry on the left. Shii had already fixed her aim.

I have him
, she signaled.

Richius signaled back, cuing the attack.

They both pulled the triggers and sent their silent missiles racing forward. Shii’s caught its quarry through the eye, dropping him instantly. But Richius didn’t match the amazing shot. His bolt hammered into the wall, inches away from the sentry’s head. Richius grit his teeth, biting back a curse. Akal and Wyle fired. Akal missed. Wyle didn’t. The sentry cried out as the bolt entered his skull. He let out a wailing scream.

“Damn it!” Richius hissed, leaping from his position and drawing his dagger. Amazingly, the sentry saw him coming and put up a defense. Richius barreled into him, driving his knee into the man’s face and shattering his teeth. The dagger flashed and ripped through flesh, severing the man’s throat. A hot stream of blood gushed out, catching Richius on the cheek. The man slumped against the wall. Shii raced forward and helped Richius drag the dying man aside. Richius felt the dizzying rush of fear. He looked around, trying to spot his troops on the hill in the distance, but couldn’t see anything. They were still perfectly invisible. And more were coming. Soon Tomr and Delf would have their troops in position. Richius wondered if Simon had found the other sentries. Then, as if magically summoned, Simon appeared like a wraith out of the darkness.

“Fall back,” he whispered. “I got them.”

Richius signaled Shii and the others. “Fall back,” he ordered. “That’s it.”

Now he had to get everyone into position. The noose was forming.

The eleven Naren lords had come quickly to Herrith’s call, gathering in the west wing with their bodyguards. The mood was generally a panicked bedlam. Baron Ricter was still in his sleeping clothes. The master of the Tower of Truth held a gigantic mace in his meaty hands and was screaming incessantly at his red-caped servants, ordering them to protect him. The baron’s booming voice rocked the hallway. The noblemen had gathered into a tight little circle, unsure what to do and gawking at Herrith for guidance. Kivis Gago was at Herrith’s side, frantically trying to piece together what had happened. All that they knew for certain was that Biagio had abandoned them and that Lissen soldiers were swarming around the mansion. There was
no way out, except through a bloody fight. Herrith quickly counted heads. Eleven lords, most capable of combat. Each had about a dozen bodyguards with them. That meant they had over a hundred men. Not a bad number, Herrith supposed. But he wasn’t a military man. That’s why he leaned so heavily on Gago.

“I don’t know,” said Gago desperately, shaking his head. “I don’t know how many Lissens there are!”

“We will fight them,” spat Oridian. The Naren Minister of the Treasury was as accomplished with a sword as he was with an abacus, and he held his serrated blade out before him, grinning like a madman. “Lissen pigs! We’ll slaughter them all!”

“We don’t know how many there are, you idiot,” Claudi Vos reminded him harshly. Unlike Oridian, Vos was only an architect, and didn’t seem to own a weapon. He stood wringing his womanly hands in the outskirts of the circle, sticking close to his bodyguards. “We should talk to them.”

“They’re not here to talk, fool,” snapped Oridian.

“Biagio brought them here,” Tepas Talshiir chimed in. “That devil has trapped us.”

That much was obvious. Herrith rubbed his forehead nervously. They
were
trapped, maybe without escape. And he knew Biagio wouldn’t have brought them here if he’d thought they’d make it out alive. The bishop forced the clutter from his mind, blocking out the arguing voices. Somehow, he needed to get control. He needed to find out what the Lissens wanted, if anything. Maybe they were looking for Biagio. If they found out the count wasn’t here …

No
, Herrith scolded himself. There were enough Narens in this hall to satisfy Lissen vengeance for a year. Biagio wasn’t the only one Liss hated. Still, the only option that came to Herrith was talk. If they were to have any chance of surviving, they would have to try and reason with the invaders.

“Claudi Vos is right,” he said finally. “We have to talk to them. Find out what they want.”

“They want to kill us!” Oridian shrieked. “What do you think they want?”

“They haven’t attacked yet,” argued Gago. “Maybe they’ll listen.”

Baron Ricter, who had overheard the conversation, stopped yelling at his men and came forward. “I won’t bargain with those animals,” he boomed. “They’re untrustworthy snakes, like Triin. You can’t believe a word they say. We should fight them.” He gestured around the room. “We have the strength.”

An agreeing cheer went up from about half the noblemen. Herrith held up his hands, begging for silence. “We don’t know how many Lissens are out there,” he reminded them. “We might fight them only to get cut to pieces.”

“We’ll take our chances,” said Oridian. The treasurer grit his teeth. “I say bring them on. Who’s with me?”

“I am,” said Tepas Talshiir. The merchant folded his arms over his chest, emboldened by his contingent of bodyguards, the most numerous of the group. “I pledge all my men to fight them. Claudi Vos, are you with us?”

The Lord Architect grimaced, contemplating their situation. He looked apologetically at Herrith. “What choice have we, Bishop?” he said at last. “We are many, after all.”

“But perhaps not enough,” replied Herrith. “Please. We came here to talk peace with Biagio. Can’t we now talk peace with these Lissens?”

Oridian sighed. “You don’t know them, Herrith. They’re dogs. If we let down our defenses they’ll cut us to shreds. We can’t show them any weakness. Gago knows this.” He turned to the minister. “Don’t you, Gago?”

Kivis Gago looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t
know,” he said gravely. “We are many. Enough perhaps.” He glanced at Herrith. “Bishop, I just don’t know.…”

“Fine,” growled Herrith, his patience snapping. “Fight them, then. Win if you can. Die if you must. I want no part of this.”

Herrith turned and walked away. They called out after him, but he ignored them all, even Kivis Gago, who hurried up to Herrith and tried to pull him back into the protective folds of the guards. Herrith shook off the nobleman’s grip, practically shoving Gago aside. The minister, who had never been a friend to Herrith, looked shocked.

“Herrith,” he cried desperately. “Come back!”

“I will not,” Herrith replied. He was almost out of the hall.

“Where are you going?”

Herrith didn’t answer. He headed out of the west wing and through the maze of corridors, doing his best to remember where the mansion’s gates lay. Something told him none of Biagio’s sentries would be around to stop him.

Richius waited on the south side of the mansion, at the head of his gathering troops. Shii was beside him, looking paler by the minute. The sun was rising, lighting the gardens and burning away their cover. Messages were coming in quickly. Tomr’s forces were almost in place on the north side of the mansion, and Loria and Delf were close behind, walling in the west and east sides. Richius’ own troops were already fully assembled. His army of orphans lurked in the bushes and bramble of the south side. Richius had his weapon drawn and was quietly giving orders to his troops, relaying them through Shii, who also kept a wary eye on the mansion. Things were eerily quiet. They had expected more of Biagio’s sentries to
come in search of their murdered brothers. Richius spied the rising sun nervously. They had been sighted by now, surely. So why the quiet?

“Simon, what’s going on?” he asked. “Why hasn’t Biagio made a move?”

Simon shook his head almost imperceptibly. He did not turn to look at Richius or take his eyes off the mansion. There was no movement in the windows.

“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. “It’s early. Maybe no one’s seen us.”

“We shouldn’t hide anymore,” said Shii. “Let them see us. We’re too many to hide.”

“True enough,” agreed Richius. They were many and quickly growing more numerous. Once the sun came up, there would be nowhere to hide their numbers. Richius stopped crouching and stood, urging his followers to do the same. One by one their heads popped out of hiding, until there was a sea of young Lissens visible in the yard. To the east, Delf’s group did the same, materializing out of the haze. Richius turned to Shii.

“Send someone to Loria and Tomr. I want Biagio to see us. Let’s make some noise.”

Shii fired the order to another young woman, sending her scampering off to the west, where Loria and Tomr were getting their troops organized. Richius gripped his sword, readying for Biagio’s response. He hoped the count might surrender, but he expected a fight.

“There are nine hundred of us,” he reasoned aloud. “He must see that.”

“Don’t underestimate him, Richius,” cautioned Simon. The Naren had sheathed his dagger and now favored a long, Lissen scimitar. The weapon gleamed in the burgeoning light, looking dangerous in Simon’s skillful hands. It was no mistake that he was an assassin. With the glint in his eyes and the sharpness of his stance, he looked every bit the part. “When he sees
us, he’ll send word,” Simon guessed. “He’ll try to talk. That’s the most dangerous time. Don’t trust him, Richius.”