The Jackal of Nar (32 page)

Richius took the glass and waved Patwin forward. “This is Patwin, Count. A friend.”

Biagio beamed as Patwin bowed to him. “A soldier?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Patwin. “An Aramoor Guardsman.”

Biagio sighed knowingly. “Ah, one of the heroes of Lucel-Lor. The emperor wanted me to express his gratitude for all you did there. He’s very proud of each of you.”

“He is?” asked Patwin.

“Certainly. You all fought gallantly. The emperor knows that.” Biagio leveled his alien eyes on Richius. “He knows you did your very best for him.”

“Indeed they did,” said Jojustin. “It’s good to hear the emperor honors their sacrifice.”

“Oh, he does,” said Biagio. “And he has a special reward for you, Prince Richius. Sit and I will tell you.”

Richius glanced at Jojustin. The old man was still wearing an “I told you so” grin. Biagio went to the table and held out a chair for him, and as he took his seat Richius realized Jojustin had been correct. Impossible, but true. Soon there would be a new king in Aramoor. When they were all finally seated, Biagio took his own chair across the table from Richius. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands.

“I have something very special for you, Prince Richius. A priceless gift from the emperor himself.”

“Oh?” said Richius casually. “What is it?”

Biagio reached beneath his cape and pulled out a thin yellow parchment. “This.”

Richius took the parchment carefully, breaking the wax seal with a fingernail. It was good, heavy paper, the kind treaties were written on. He unfolded it and began to read.

It was signed very simply
Arkus.

Richius sat staring at the summons. It wasn’t what he had expected, particularly the complimentary way it spoke of his father. The emperor and his father had been bitter enemies, had argued about every small matter of Aramoor’s governing. Though the king had always lost those arguments, that had never stopped him from having them. It puzzled Richius that the emperor should now be so magnanimous as to call his father “great.” There was also the queer matter of the signature. Arkus had signed his name, nothing more. It was almost friendly.

Too friendly
, thought Richius suspiciously.
Like Biagio.
He passed the letter on to Patwin, who accepted it eagerly.

“Well, my boy?” asked Jojustin. “What do you think of that?”

“I’m honored,” lied Richius. Some quick figuring told him that the thirtieth day of winter was only two months away. Time enough to reach the Black City.

“It’s a pity that it had to happen under such sad circumstances,” said Biagio. “Your father was a great king. All in Nar feel his death keenly, I assure you. The emperor is particularly heartsick about it.”

Richius flinched. Biagio was obscenely comfortable with lying. “You must thank the emperor for his kind offer, Count,” he said. “It was unexpected.”

“Oh?” asked Biagio coyly. “Why is that? Surely you must have thought yourself in line for the throne, Prince Richius.”

“No doubt Richius is just surprised by the suddenness of everything,” Jojustin inserted. “After all, such news would surprise anyone.” Jojustin gave Richius a furtive glance. “Isn’t that right, Richius?”

“Yes, surprised,” agreed Richius quickly. “And as I said, you must express my gratitude to the emperor for his generous offer.”

“You may tell him yourself when you see him. The emperor is greatly looking forward to meeting you. There is much he
would like to discuss. But please, do not say that this is an offer. The emperor prefers to call it a gift.” For one brief moment Biagio’s eyes flashed. “One that I’m afraid you have no choice but to accept.”

There was a sudden silence in the chamber. At last Richius said, looking straight into the count’s intense gaze, “Why would I do otherwise, Count? As I said, it is an honor for me to take my father’s place.”

“I am pleased to hear you say so, Prince Richius. There are men who are shy about following the ways of Nar. Such men do not do well in the Empire. It takes courage to be a good king.”

“Richius has courage enough,” piped up Patwin. “You wouldn’t wonder about it if you had served with him in Lucel-Lor, my lord. All of us are sure he’ll make a fine king.”

Biagio raised his eyebrows at Patwin. “My, such loyalty. It does you well to have such complimentary subjects, Prince Richius. But truly, I do not question your mettle. We have all heard the tales from Lucel-Lor, how brutal it was for you there.” Biagio’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “It was quite brutal, wasn’t it, Prince Richius?”

“Yes,” said Richius, his voice toneless. “Brutal.”

“And that fire that swept through Ackle-Nye. Tell me of that.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Some say it was a magical storm. Do you think it was magic, Prince Richius?”

Richius couldn’t answer. He was convinced that it was indeed a magical storm that had destroyed Edgard and his troops and stolen away Dyana, but what should he tell Biagio? He wasn’t even sure why the count was probing.

“Lucel-Lor is full of strange things, my lord. Even their weather is unlike ours in the Empire. Perhaps it was only a thunderstorm I saw.”

Biagio shrugged, unconvinced. “It wasn’t only you that saw it, Prince Richius. There are some from Talistan who told of great, unusual storms, storms unlike anything ever seen before.” He leaned back in his chair and watched Richius carefully. “Unnatural, ungodly storms. What do you think could have created such powerful things?”

“I have no idea,” replied Richius coolly.

“Did you serve with any Triin?” asked Biagio.

“Only one.”

“Did you ever see him use sorcery?”

“Never,” Richius said adamantly. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s not unreasonable for the emperor to wonder why the war was lost,” said Biagio. “If, as you say, the Drol used no sorcery …” Biagio let his voice trail away, all the while keeping his unearthly stare on Richius. Again Richius’ stomach churned. He had thought to avoid this, but he had blundered into it the way a rabbit does a snare. It was becoming very clear to him why Arkus had sent this man to him. An errand boy could have delivered a letter, but only Biagio could deliver this kind of message.

“My mission was to take the Dring Valley, Count,” said Richius, returning Biagio’s dubious gaze. “I saw no sorcery there. It may be that there was magic used in Tatterak, I cannot say. The Talistanians were charged with securing that land. Perhaps you should ask them your questions.”

“Most of them died at Mount Godon, defending the Daegog,” said Biagio. “And those that did survive swear to me that sorcery was used. Even your own war duke died in this strange storm. Was he not also part of the Tatterak campaign?”

“He was.”

“And you saw him die, did you not?”

Richius nodded.

“Well, then,” said Biagio, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “I can’t explain it. Can you?”

“No.”

Biagio smiled, and in that instant Richius felt the count’s invisible fingers running over his mind.
Jojustin’s right
, he thought.
They know about Father.
It all came rushing over him like a waterfall, the anger, the betrayal, the abandonment, and for a single, shameful moment Richius hated his father for making him sit here and face this madman. But he couldn’t stop it now, for there it was on the table between them, plain and naked for everyone to see. The truth. He dropped his hand to his arm and gave it a slight, surreptitious massage. The wolf bite was throbbing furiously now.

“We did our best,” he said at last. “Aramoor is only a small nation. It was almost impossible to fight with so few troops, even with the help of Talistan. Perhaps if we had gotten more support from the Black City we could have kept the Drol from taking
Lucel-Lor.” He spoke slowly, measuring every word carefully. “Still, I’m sure the Empire would have sent us troops if they could have. The war with Liss must be quite a strain on even Nar’s resources.”

The mere mention of Liss erased Biagio’s arrogant grin. Jojustin seized the opportunity.

“How does the war with Liss go, Count?” he asked. His voice had the perfect politeness of a diplomat. “Tell us, please. We hear so little of it in Aramoor. What is happening?”

Biagio smiled again. “Liss is being dealt with.”

“They’re a pack of devils, to be sure,” Jojustin went on. “None of us ever thought it would go on this long. Is it true that their fleets have begun to raid the south coast? I had heard that from a traveling merchant.”

“A lie,” said Biagio emphatically. “Our navies have complete control over those waters. I myself would never allow such a thing.”

Richius sighed knowingly. “Crote
would
be in danger if that were true. I’ve heard that Liss’ ships are even finer than the imperial dreadnoughts. And there are more of them, too.”

“More nonsense. Really, Prince Richius, where does your news come from? The emperor thinks Liss will crumble within the year. Then we shall see whose ships are finer.”

Richius was silent for a moment, considering that valiant collection of islands called Liss. It was certain Liss would fall to Nar’s might eventually, for despite their courage and superior navy, there was no way that Liss could hold out forever against the weapons Arkus had arrayed against them. Amazingly, they had withstood the siege for nearly a decade, drowning the warships of the Empire in the thousand mazelike waterways that only they could travel. They had resisted flame cannons and blockades, had survived being isolated from their trading partners in the Empire; they had even had the beautiful audacity to proclaim themselves “the world’s last free nation.” Richius didn’t know how they were thought about in Talistan, but in Aramoor the folk of Liss were revered. When the dark day of their defeat came, he knew Aramoor would mourn for them.

“So much talk of war,” said Jojustin. “This is a happy occasion. We should be celebrating.”

“Yes,” agreed Patwin, slapping Richius on the shoulder
warmly. “It’s a great day for Aramoor. And for you, Richius. It will be my highest honor to call you my king.”

“And mine,” added Jojustin. “I will try to serve you as well as I served your father, lad.”

“And you will serve the emperor well,” said Biagio soberly. “I am sure of it.”

“I will do my best,” said Richius.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Richius, relieved at the interruption, rose at once to answer it. He opened the door and found Jenna standing in the hallway, a nervous look on her face. She dared one small step into the chamber.

“I’m sorry, my lords,” she said softly, her head bowed to the floor. “I thought you might be getting hungry. It’s past mealtime, and I know the count has had a long journey.” There was a slight quaver in her voice. “I could bring you something, perhaps?”

“Yes, Count,” said Jojustin. “Why don’t you dine with us this evening? We’ll have chambers prepared for you and your man. You can stay the night.”

Biagio raised his jeweled hands. “No, thank you. Your offer is most kind, but I really must be on my way.”

“What?” said Jojustin amiably. “You shouldn’t be traveling on a night like this. I won’t hear of it. The emperor would think us the poorest hosts in the Empire. Really, you must stay, at least for the night.”

Biagio rose from his chair. “Forgive me, but I cannot. I have business elsewhere, and I have already made arrangements for the evening. The Gayles of Talistan are expecting me back soon. They will be worried if I do not return.”

“Why need they worry?” pressed Jojustin. He hadn’t yet risen as the count had. “Just send those two horsemen back to tell them you’re staying the night. It’s a long ride back to Talistan, Count. And this weather …”

“Really, no,” said Biagio. “I would feel more comfortable in Talistan.”

Jojustin’s face hardened. “I see,” he said icily, getting to his feet. “Very well. Perhaps we will see you in Nar, then.”

“Most certainly. The emperor intends this to be an event. He’s inviting all the kings of the Empire to attend.”

“Really?” asked Richius, also rising. “Why so many people? I thought it would be a private ceremony, just close comrades.”

“Oh, no, Prince Richius. Perhaps you do not understand what an honor this is for you. You will be the first new king in Nar in almost six years. The emperor wants this to be an occasion for the whole Empire. There will be royalty from all over Nar in attendance. There will be foods and wines fit for your king-making, and music the likes of which you’ve never heard. It will be glorious, and it will all be for you.”

“It sounds like a great deal of trouble,” said Richius. “Perhaps the emperor is being too generous. Such extravagance—”

“No, no,” interrupted Biagio. “It is what the emperor wants for you.”

Richius held back a frown. “I am honored,” he said simply. “I shall be in Nar on the appointed day.”

“Excellent. The emperor will be very pleased. I will dispatch a messenger to him at once informing him of your coming. Remember, Prince Richius, the thirtieth day of winter.”

“I will be there,” said Richius, showing Biagio to the door. “May I bring some attendants with me? It’s a long journey, and I will need advisement.”

“Of course,” said Biagio. “It’s to be a celebration! Bring as many as you wish. The palace has room enough for all of you. And I can arrange transport for you, if you like. Talistan has a port. I can call for a ship of the Black Fleet.”

Richius considered the offer. A ship would certainly be the fastest way, but he rather liked the idea of riding and seeing the rest of the Empire. More, he had no wish to set foot in Talistan.

“Thank you, no, Count,” he replied. “I think we can ride it. We’ll take our time, get to know some of the Empire.” He turned to Patwin. “What do you say, Patwin? You up for it?”

Patwin smiled. “If you’ll have me.”

“Wonderful,” beamed Biagio. He looked over at Jojustin. “I expect you will be there, Sir Jojustin?”

Jojustin was indifferent. “It is difficult to get away, Count. The castle does not run itself and, as Richius said, it is a long trip. I will come if I can.”