The Jackal of Nar (103 page)

“Tharn!” cried Richius. Tharn’s gaze shifted from Dyana to Richius and a weak smile bubbled onto his face.

“Richius,” said the Drol weakly. “Come and help me, please.”

Richius and Jarra hurried up to Tharn, holding out their arms
and easing him off the lion’s back. As usual, the cunning-man was feather-light. He collapsed into Richius’ arms.

“Tharn, what happened?” asked Richius. “What’s wrong with you?”

Tharn was breathing so heavily he could hardly respond.

“You were right,” he said. “The journey was too much for me.”

He gestured to the silent man atop the lion. “This,” he said reverently, “is Karlaz.”

Karlaz of the lions took his place on the floor by the round table and, without waiting for the others, began devouring the food and drink Najjir had brought for them. He was, as Richius quickly discovered, a man who did not trifle with words, but instead preferred to grunt and nod and to use every other part of his body rather than tire his tongue. That he saved for eating.

“Are you feeling better now?” asked Richius.

The cunning-man nodded. It had taken him more than an hour to catch his breath, and in that time Richius had arranged for them all to meet. Now he, Tharn, Jarra, and Karlaz sat around the table in Voris’ former meeting chamber, sipping at strong spirits and watching Karlaz tear into joints of fowl with his teeth. Only Dyana sat apart from them, kneeling behind Tharn in the customary manner of a Drol wife. The look on her face betrayed her disgust. Tharn had requested that she attend the meeting, and like the good wife she was forced again to be, she reluctantly complied. Richius did his best to keep his eyes off her.

“Can you tell us now what’s happened?” he asked.

“As I said,” Tharn began, “Lucyler told me of Voris’ death. We met up with him not far from the valley. He gave us the banner to hang on the lion.”

“No,” said Richius. “What happened to
you
? You weren’t this bad when you left for Chandakkar.”

“I was ill enough,” said Tharn. “But I had an encounter that worsened me.” He pointed to his face, and the fresh scars lining his left side. “This is from one of the lions. I was attacked in Chandakkar. That was when Karlaz and his people found me. But I was asleep for days, unconscious. My cunning-men explained to him why I was there, but he would not speak to them, only to me. They cared for me and I rested.” He glanced over at
Karlaz who, at the mention of his name, was grinning through a mouthful of food. “He saved me. He was in the same valley I was attacked in. His people had fled there.” Tharn looked sad and serious. “The Narens attacked them, Richius.”

“What happened?”

“They attacked before we arrived. As I said, Karlaz and his people fled into the lion valley, but there was much destruction. Many died. It was a Naren fleet. They slaughtered dozens before Karlaz could return with the lions to fight them.”

Tharn turned and smiled at Karlaz. “This is a great man, Richius. He would have refused my request, but he saw what the Narens did. They convinced him of their own evil.”

“But what happened to the Narens?” asked Richius.

Tharn smiled. “Did Lucyler tell you about Liss?”

“He told me they were helping to keep the Black Fleet off the coast.”

“And so they have been. Karlaz returned to the village to fight them, but they were already gone. Liss had attacked their ships and beaten them back. The captain of the Lissen fleet spoke to Karlaz. The lion master claimed it was Prakna.”

“Prakna? Who the hell is that?”

“Fleet Commander Prakna is the supreme commander of the Lissen navy. He was there in the village. He told Karlaz he would sink the Naren ships.” Tharn beamed. “We have an ally, Richius.”

“But what happened to you? Why were you gone so long?”

“The lion. I am not so hearty, you know. It did me damage. When I was able to travel again, we set out for Dring. I was still weary. I did not know then that Voris had been killed, and I wanted to know what was happening here. On the way we met Lucyler. He explained the rest to me.” Tharn’s face grew grim. “Did he die well, Richius?”

Richius frowned. Just what had Lucyler told him?

“He died with honor, defending his valley.”

Tharn nodded. “Good. He deserved that, at least.” He glanced about secretively then whispered, “I know of your lordship here. We will speak of it later.”

“Can you get me out of this, Tharn?”

“Later. Now we must talk of more important things. I will finish my tale. You know already that I was ill. It took me a long
while to recover, but when I did we left Chandakkar. I was not wholly well, and I am still not, as you can see. Most of my strength had gone.” He turned and regarded Dyana. “That is why I harmed you, my wife. Forgive me, it was not meant. I wanted only to speak to you, to see if you were here and well. But my strength, it failed me. I thought I was close enough but my mind would not reach you. The fetch can be dangerous if not done well. Perhaps it was foolish of me to try.”

Dyana tossed off the apology. “I am well again, husband. Do not be concerned.”

Tharn smiled. “I am glad you are well. It was only my eagerness to see you that made me try and speak to you. I have missed you.”

Dyana did not reply.

Richius felt suddenly awkward. “You say you met up with Lucyler. When was this?”

“Five days ago,” replied Tharn.

“He told you about Kronin?”

“Yes,” said Tharn sadly. “Another giant loss. I grieve for him. We had become almost as brothers.” He sighed. “But I waste time, and I have news for you, Richius. These lion riders have come to attack the Saccenne Run. They will ride for the Run in a day or so, after they have rested. All is in place now. The war is almost over.”

“What do you mean, all is in place? There are still hundreds of Naren troops in Ackle-Nye, and more will be coming. I agree the lions are a help, but—”

“Before I left Chandakkar,” said Tharn, “I sent messengers to all the warlords of Lucel-Lor. Some were the cunning-men that went with me to Chandakkar, others were sent by Karlaz. But they all bore a letter telling them to ride for Ackle-Nye with all the warriors they could. I did not know then what had happened here in Dring, but Liss was already ending the battles on the coasts and I knew Kronin’s men would be able to deal with the Narens that had already landed in Tatterak. That was almost three weeks ago, Richius.”

Richius was stunned. “So they’re all riding for Ackle-Nye as we speak?”

“If they can, yes. There will be thousands of warriors at the outskirts of the city by the time Karlaz and his lions reach the
mountains. They will attack the Run and ruin the Naren escape. The other warriors will take Ackle-Nye.” Tharn’s eyes flashed. “It is over for them, Richius. They have no chance.”

Richius leaned back on his heels.
Tharn the avenger,
he thought suddenly. He had heard the Drol called that once, a very long lifetime ago. He was the dark angel of Lucel-Lor again, the sorcerer who counted Naren lives as cheaply as grains of sand. Again he had outwitted the masterminds of Nar, again he was arranging a holocaust. And Richius had joined him in the black crusade, and the thought of murdering so many men barely ruffled his scruples. A little part of his soul grieved for his dead conscience.

“When do we leave?” he asked. “There aren’t many of Voris’ warriors left, but we can be in Ackle-Nye in two days.”

Tharn shook his head. “You will not be going, Richius. Nor will I. I am too sick to make the journey, and I know from speaking with Dyana that you yourself have been badly wounded. You will stay here with us. So will Jarra and the others.”

“Stay here? But why? I’m fit enough to fight. And Jarra—”

“Jarra is old and deserves the chance for some peace. So do the other warriors who fought here. So do you. You say you are fit, but you are not. I knew when I saw you. You look barely able to stand.”

“Tharn …”

“No more. I have made my decision.”

“It’s not your decision to make. I don’t need your permission to ride for Ackle-Nye.”

Tharn shrugged. “You could do that. But I think you would probably collapse on the way. And even if you did not, no one would listen to you. When I sent my letters to the warlords, I told them Kronin would be in command. I also told them that if you were there, they were not to let you fight. They would capture you, Richius, and bring you back here. With Kronin dead, Lucyler will be in command. I have already told him so, and have sent him back to Tatterak. I also told him not to let you fight.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Richius asked. “I’ve been nothing but loyal. I’ve given all I can to—”

“Enough,” ordered Tharn. “Karlaz will leave with his men the day after tomorrow. They will ride for the Run and they will
take it, and the other warlords will take Ackle-Nye. You and I will have no part in this, Richius.”

Tharn turned to Jarra and began gibbering in Triin, obviously explaining it all to the old war master. Jarra took the news poorly, but did not question. When Tharn was finished, Jarra turned to Richius and spoke.

“He wants to know if he may leave now,” explained Tharn. “I have told him everything and said we are done here. He awaits your dismissal.”

“Yes,” said Richius in Triin, waving at the Dumaka. “You can go now, Jarra.”

Jarra stood, bowed deeply to Richius and Tharn, and left the room. Then Tharn turned to Karlaz and, very cordially, dismissed him, too. The lion man seemed unperturbed by the request, taking his food with him before going. Lastly Tharn spoke to Dyana.

“Will you leave us, too, my wife? I wish to speak to Richius alone.”

Dyana chanced a sideways glance at Richius, sighed, then vacated the chamber. Richius leaned back and scowled at Tharn.

“I want an explanation,” he said. “Why are you keeping me out of this? I have just as much right to fight as anyone. More even.”

“And you deserve to know my reasons,” said Tharn. “I am not going because I am sick. You are not going because you are not sick.”

“Oh, Lord. Is it back to your riddles already? Please, Tharn, a straight answer for once. Why won’t you let me go?”

“Because you are not Triin, and because you still have your life ahead of you. Richius, understand me. I asked you to defend the Dring Valley. You have done that for me. Your task is finished here. There is no reason for you to fight for us anymore, and I will not let you die needlessly. I can save you now, and I will. You will stay here, and you will live.”

The way the cunning-man was trying to save him infuriated Richius. But then he realized how similar it sounded. Once, he himself had tried to save Dyana.

“Tharn, don’t try to save me. I want to defend Lucel-Lor. Is that so different from what Lucyler and the others are doing?”

“They are Triin and you are not. They must die if the gods call them to defend this land. But the gods do not call you, Richius. Perhaps they have used you, brought you to us for your help, but they are done with you now, and you are still alive. I will make sure you remain so.”

“But I have nothing! Why should I live?”

Tharn gave a sympathetic smile. “I have met Narens like you before. Always they speak of having nothing. But your heart still beats, yes? You still have breath? You have life, Richius. If you were infirm and cursed like me, I would grant your request. But you are healthy and young. I cannot let you risk that anymore. I needed you once, but no longer.”

“Then I am needed nowhere,” said Richius bitterly. “Aramoor is gone, and Dring doesn’t need me. My lordship here is a farce.”

“It is not a farce,” said Tharn sternly. “It is the way things have always been done. Voris passed his family on to you.
They
have need of you.” Then his expression softened and he added, “But if you do not wish to remain here as lord, you do not have to. I have the authority to change it. You may pass the lordship to Jarra if that is what you want.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” said Richius. “As quickly as possible.”

Tharn nodded. “It shall be done. But you should think on it first, Richius. This castle could be a new home for you, a new life. If you leave here, you will be a stranger wherever you go. You can, of course, come back to Falindar with us. You may live there as long as you wish, and will not be held to our laws. I ask only that you do not question the way we live our lives as Drol.”

Richius bit his lip. His life was slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Tharn was alive. He had lost Dyana forever.

“You are right,” he said. “I will have to think about it. Don’t mention anything to Jarra or Najjir until I give you my decision. I’ll need some time to think.”

“Take time,” said Tharn. “Consider everything, and know that to us in Tatterak you are a hero.”

Richius uncrossed his legs and rose. “Wonderful,” he said bleakly. “But if you ask the people in Aramoor I’m sure they’ll tell you differently.”

“Richius,” said Tharn. “There is something else.” The cunning-man’s gaze hit the floor evasively. “This is difficult for me. But you and Dyana …” Tharn sighed. “She has been true to her vow to me. I can tell. I should thank you.”

“Tharn, don’t,” implored Richius. “I can’t speak of it. You’re back now. I’ve lost her. I know that.”

Tharn smiled. “I did not trust you when I left for Chandakkar. I am glad you are better than my fears.”

O
n a balcony overlooking Nar City, on a morning brisk with a northern breeze, Count Renato Biagio sat alone among the flowers, his eyes swollen red from a night of tears and prayers. The sun was new and yellow, and he could see it burning defiantly past the nebulous smoke of the war labs. Beside him was a holy book, an heirloom from his father, its pages dog-eared from generations of devotion. He had spent the entire night out here, fasting and praying with the book to his forehead, staining it with frustrated tears as his emperor lay dying.

Biagio had never been a religious man. Though Arkus had bid all of the Iron Circle to submit to the one God—the God of Bishop Herrith—Biagio had never really had the faith. He was a defiant man, like the sun he was watching, determined to burn away the darkness with the power of his own intellect. But when he was desperate, when he felt small, he sometimes turned to heaven. This night he had prayed mightily, and somehow he knew his pleas had failed. Bovadin hadn’t come out to tell him of any miracles, and Biagio knew in his tortured heart that his most beloved was perishing.