The Jackal of Nar (30 page)

“You don’t understand. This
is
serious. You weren’t there, you didn’t see her. She was …” He sighed. “Incredible. More beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Patwin looked at him curiously. “Are you in love with her?”

“Perhaps. I think about her all the time, when I’m alone in my chamber or in the garden. She’s impossible to forget. I’ve tried, God knows, but her memory is always there with me.” He glanced over at Patwin. “Would you call such a fate love, Patwin?”

“Love or some other disease,” Patwin gibed. “But where is she now? Why didn’t you bring her back with you if you care so much for her?”

Richius started to answer, then abruptly stopped. Except for himself, only Dinadin and his journal knew the ugly story of how he had lost Dyana. Now, though part of him yearned to talk about it, he wasn’t sure he could.

“Well?” Patwin pressed. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” said Richius gloomily. “That’s the worst of it. She was carried off by the storm, the one that killed Edgard. I tried to save her but I couldn’t.” He glanced away. “We ran from it, tried to make it into the mountains, but it was too strong …”

He paused, unable to continue. The sky above seemed suddenly darker. The horses had slowed to a snail’s pace, as if they themselves were listening to his confession.

“Richius,” said Patwin sternly. “Don’t start thinking such
nonsense. Dinadin told me about that storm, and from what he described no one could have lived through it.”

Richius smiled grimly. “I did.”

“A miracle,” said Patwin.

“Oh, yes,” snapped Richius. “I always have that kind of luck, don’t I? It was never me that was attacked by a wolf, it was always someone else. I failed her, Patwin, just like I failed Lucyler.”

“You did not,” insisted his friend. “You did the best you could, I’m sure. So don’t berate yourself. It’s a horrible thing to live with, but you have to learn to move on. She’s dead and that’s the end of it.”

“If only I could know that for sure. She was running from Tharn. That’s why she went to Ackle-Nye, to escape him. But somehow he found her. That storm was his doing, Patwin. She told me it was him, looking for her.”

Patwin sat back in his saddle. “Richius, think about what you’re saying. It’s preposterous.”

“I know if sounds absurd. I don’t expect you to believe me. I didn’t believe Edgard myself when he told me about it, but it’s the truth. Somehow Tharn made that storm happen, and somehow he knew Dyana was in Ackle-Nye.”

“And you think she’s still alive? Not likely. If as you say the storm carried her off, then surely it must have killed her. I’m sorry, Richius, but she is certainly dead.”

Richius closed his eyes. “Please, God, let it be so,” he murmured, meaning every word. The alternative was unthinkable. He remembered Dyana’s small hand slipping out of his. Slipping, slipping, slipping, and all the while trying to hold on, his grip so strong he could feel her bones cracking. But it wasn’t enough. She slipped away from him, maybe to her death, maybe into the hands of Tharn. Silently he cursed himself. He truly had failed her, and nothing Patwin could say would convince him otherwise.

At last he opened his eyes. “Patwin, did Dinadin tell you anything about Dyana?”

“No,” answered Patwin. “Nothing. He just said that you two left the city in time to escape the storm. He didn’t say anything about the girl.” Patwin shrugged, clearly confused. “I don’t
know why. I guess he just didn’t want to. You know how private he can be sometimes.”

Richius chuckled. He knew indeed how tight-lipped Dinadin could be about such things, but he also felt a surprising pang of respect for his friend. He had expected Dinadin to tell the world how Dyana had been stolen from him, but to Richius’ surprise that was still their own, shameful secret.

“I took her from him, Patwin,” said Richius. “We were in a tavern and he wanted her. I told him not to, because she was a Triin. You know how I feel about that.”

Patwin said nothing, waiting for Richius to continue.

“Well, he listened to me. He wasn’t happy about it but he didn’t argue with me, either, just went upstairs to find another wench. But I couldn’t do the same. She was too beautiful, and I was drunk and lonely. Before I knew what was happening I had paid the innkeeper for her and we were in bed together.”

“And Dinadin found out about it?”

“I told him about it the next morning. God, I was so stupid. He was already mad at me for not letting us leave the valley, but when I explained to him about Dyana, do you know what he did?”

“Broke your nose?” quipped Patwin.

“No. He gave me his brother’s silver dagger so I could buy another night with her.”

Patwin’s face collapsed. “Oh, Richius …”

“I know. Believe me, I’m not proud of what I did. But she was so special, Patwin. And Dinadin didn’t really know her at all. He just wanted to have his way with her.”

“Oh?” asked Patwin scornfully. “And you didn’t? How do you know Dinadin didn’t think she was special, too?”

“Patwin, he only saw her for a moment.”

“Sometimes a moment is all it takes to fall in love. Especially in a war. You said she was beautiful. Maybe Dinadin was as taken with her as you were.”

“Maybe,” said Richius sadly. Until now it hadn’t occurred to him that Dinadin had felt anything but lust for Dyana. Somehow, he had forgotten he wasn’t the only one lonely and afraid that night.

“I feel like I’ve betrayed him,” Richius concluded. “First my
father, now me. But I don’t want this to go on. We can keep arguing about Lucyler’s death, about the things I did wrong, but what good will it do? I—”

Richius broke off, startled by a movement in the road up ahead. Five doglike figures waited there, their tongues lolling lazily out of their mouths as they spied the approaching horsemen. The horses stopped at once. Richius felt Thunder bristle. Dragonfly gave an angry snort. All five of the beasts bore the common markings of their breed, recognizable to both men and horses alike.

Mountain wolves.

“Richius …”

“I see them,” Richius whispered. “Don’t move. And don’t let Dragonfly run.”

Patwin pulled back on the reins. The big warhorse obeyed, remaining perfectly still as it stared into the eyes of its foes. The beasts had a lean and hungry look about them, a wildness that made Richius shudder. He recalled with growing dread what Patwin had said that morning.
The first snow makes them crazy.

Not war wolves
, he told himself.
Don’t be afraid.

But he was. His stomach pitched the same way it always did before a battle. He had faced wolves before, creatures far larger and more malevolent than these, but that was in Lucel-Lor, a place where he expected wolves to hunt him. He found himself wishing for a flame cannon.

“What should we do?” Patwin asked.

“Be still,” said Richius. They had been riding for almost an hour, and Terril’s home on the north acres was too far to hope for. If they bolted and the wolves gave chase, they would be overrun before they even came close to reaching it. He glanced over his shoulder. The road behind them was empty. He listened for a voice or the squeak of a wagon wheel, but heard only the snowy silence. They were alone. Slowly he pulled the big blade off his back. It was time to see what Jessicane could do.

“We’re going to turn around,” he said softly. “Slowly.”

Patwin nodded, almost casually placing his hand on the hilt of his own sword. With his other hand he gingerly tugged at the reins, ordering Dragonfly around. There was a brief hesitation before the steed obeyed. Richius did the same, turning Thunder
about. As they began trotting slowly away, he glanced behind them. The wolves were following.

“Damn,” he hissed, sure now that the wolves meant to attack. He had heard that wolves could smell fear, and knew they must reek of it. He pulled Jessicane from its scabbard. The huge battle blade felt heavy in his grip, a good weapon for what he needed to do. Patwin pulled out his sword, too. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Ready?” Richius asked.

Patwin nodded weakly.

“All right then.”

With a cry Richius kicked his heels into Thunder’s side. As if the old horse had been waiting for the order he bolted forward, digging his hooves into the snow-slick road and tearing out clods of frozen earth. Amazingly, Dragonfly was already ahead of them. Richius felt the gray wake strike his face like a shower of knives. He lowered himself in the saddle, tucked his head against Thunder’s neck, and glanced behind them. The wolves were running after them, gaining quickly.

“They’re coming!” Richius shouted over the crash of hooves.

“Faster!” cried Patwin.

“I can’t,” Richius called back. Patwin cursed and twitched his wrist, slowing Dragonfly to a less enviable gallop. Thunder was soon running alongside the bigger horse, his old legs pumping furiously to keep up.

“No!” yelled Richius. “Get going, Patwin! Don’t wait for me.”

“We can’t outrun them. We have to fight!”

Dragonfly slowed a little more. There was a snapping of jaws close behind, then a hollow crack and a yelping as the warhorse’s iron hooves connected with a skull. The blow sent the wolf reeling backward. Yet still its brothers came ahead, driven on by the maddening hunger for meat. In a moment the four remaining wolves were alongside them, two flanking Thunder and two Dragonfly. Richius could hear them closing in around Thunder’s legs, the quick, insistent patter of their paws, the clashing of their jaws. He raised Jessicane.

Just a little more, you bastards.

At his right a wolf was closing in, readying to make its leap. Richius knew that Thunder was tiring, that exhaustion would overtake the old horse at any moment. When that moment came
the wolf would jump. He pulled back on the reins with a practiced smoothness. Thunder slowed and the wolf leapt—and Richius lowered the sword. Jessicane’s heavy edge buried itself in the wolf’s snout, cutting through its muzzle and sending teeth crashing backward down its throat. At once Richius turned to face the other wolf. The beast was already in the air. It caught Richius’ forearm in its jaws, tearing through the thick wool of his riding coat and piercing the flesh beneath it as it yanked him from the saddle. He tumbled from Thunder’s back, pulling the horse down with him. Both he and Thunder collapsed into the roadway. The horse gave an agonized whinny as one front leg snapped.

Richius still had Jessicane. He lifted his face out of the mud, struggling to see past the blood and filth covering his eyes. He heard Patwin gallop past him, crying out his name, heard too the inhuman rattle of Thunder’s wail. He whirled, expecting to find the wolf behind him, ready to pounce. But the wolf had no interest in him. Its teeth were already in the neck of the fallen horse. Thunder’s insane cry grew as he tried to rise to his broken legs, but each time the wolf dragged him down again. The horse’s neck erupted in a fountain of blood.

“Patwin!” Richius cried, slogging through the snow toward his fallen horse. He tossed himself onto the wolf, pulling the thrashing beast from Thunder and driving his heavy boot into its ribs. Before the wolf could leap again, Richius swung the sword, catching the beast in the side of its head, slicing past its ear and eye. The wolf fell back, howling, its broken face twisting in pain. Again Jessicane came down, silencing it.

Richius turned back to Thunder. Already the two remaining wolves had broken off their chase and had begun feeding on the still-living horse. Patwin galloped up to Richius, stretching down a hand.

“Come on!” he barked.

“No!”

Richius dashed to the closest wolf. He brought the giant sword down, breaking the wolf’s back in an instant. There was only one more left. It lifted its nose out of Thunder’s neck and stared at Richius, a low growl rumbling from its throat. Slowly it drew closer, its head low, its eyes black and furious. Richius was still, his own rage blinding him to fear.

“This is my land, wolf!” he hissed. The wolf seemed not to hear him. It growled again and tensed, its haunches poised to leap.

“I have killed your brothers!” said Richius, gripping Jessicane’s hilt with his fists. “Now try and kill me!” He was shouting, his voice clear and powerful. Patwin rode up close on Dragonfly, the giant warhorse whinnying and snorting.

“Back, wolf!” yelled Patwin, shaking his sword and drawing Dragonfly up on its hind legs. “Back to the mountains!”

Still the wolf did not withdraw. It was between the men and the dying horse now, jealously guarding the meal it had worked so hard for. Thunder’s hellish rattle went on. Richius screamed and rushed toward the wolf, his sword stretched out above his head. Dragonfly was on his heels in an instant. The wolf reared back, hesitating, then leapt for Richius. It was in the air when Jessicane came swinging down, swift and heavy and alive with vengeance. Metal and flesh collided, and for a moment Richius saw only a gray wall of fur pressing toward him. But he felt Jessicane dig deep, the blade biting into the wolf’s lean breast. Staggering backward, he heard the clap of jaws near his face and he fell to the ground, kicking and cursing and driving the sword deeper through the beast’s rib cage. At last the wolf yelped, falling lifeless upon Richius as the sword pierced its heart.

Richius twisted out from under the beast. His body ached and blood pulsed from his bitten forearm, yet his concern was only for Thunder. The horse was still barely alive, its broken legs trembling as its life ebbed. Richius stumbled through the snow and dropped onto the horse’s belly.

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” he moaned. He didn’t bother to look more closely at the horse’s wounds. They would kill Thunder for sure. He only rested his head on the horse’s belly, feeling the rise and fall of the gelding’s last breaths. “My sweet friend.”

“Richius,” said Patwin lightly. He had dismounted and was standing over Richius. “You’re hurt. We have to get you help.”

“Listen to him,” said Richius. The horse’s cries went on. Richius turned to Patwin. “Do it for me, Patwin,” he said softly. “I cannot.”

Patwin was ashen. “He’ll die soon, Richius. I—”

“Please,” Richius begged. He handed Patwin Jessicane. “Do it with this.”