The Jackal of Nar (42 page)

Arkus of Nar had been emperor longer than most men had been alive. He was Arkus the Venerable, Arkus the Old. He was the only emperor Richius had ever known.

Richius cleared his throat and stepped past Biagio. He fell to one knee, bowing his head the way he had rehearsed, hoping it was the proper way to greet an emperor.

“Lord Emperor,” he said, looking at the floor.

“Rise, King of Aramoor,” said Arkus. His voice was strong, incredibly so for such a frail-looking man. There was a
honey-sweetness to it, like Biagio’s voice, and an almost androgynous lilt. Slowly Richius lifted himself to his feet. Arkus was smiling at him.

“Welcome to Nar,” Arkus continued. “I’m very pleased to be meeting you at last.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Are you settling in well?” asked Arkus, walking over to a little cabinet Richius hadn’t noticed. Inside the cabinet was a collection of dusty wine decanters and goblets. The emperor withdrew two of the goblets and offered one to Richius.

“Yes, very well,” answered Richius, taking the goblet. “The count has seen to all my needs.”

“And your men? They are comfortable?”

“Yes, Your Grace, very comfortable.”

“Good,” said Arkus. “Then they can enjoy the coronation.” Next he removed a particularly small bottle from the cabinet and handed it to Biagio. He held out his goblet as the count poured. “I’ve spared no expense for you, King Richius. I want this coronation to be memorable. Brandy?”

“Thank you,” said Richius politely. Biagio poured. The brandy was a warm amber tone and smelled of proper aging.

“Shall I stay, Great One?” asked Biagio, replacing the decanter in the cabinet. “Or would you like to be alone with the prince?”

“Leave us, Renato,” said Arkus. “I think we should talk alone for a while.”

Biagio smiled agreeably, leaving the chamber and closing the door quietly behind him. A rush of trepidation raced through Richius. He was alone with the emperor, something his father had never accomplished nor even sought to achieve. Instantly he thought of Jojustin, of how proud the old steward would be of him now. He was, after all, doing this for Aramoor.

Arkus raised his goblet. “To us, King Richius,” he toasted. “And to a friendship as well as an alliance.”

Richius touched his goblet to the emperor’s. “To us, Your Grace,” he said, then lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. They watched each other as they drank.

“It’s excellent,” Richius said. “I’ve never tasted anything so fine.”

“It’s from Goss. They make the finest brandy in the Empire. I have an agreement with King Panos there. He sends me some from time to time. If you like, I can have him send you some in Aramoor.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Richius, remembering Jojustin’s fondness for brandy. There had been very little good wine in the castle lately. “I’m sure my people back home would appreciate that.”

“I’ll have it arranged. But you’re not planning on leaving Nar quickly, are you? You should stay awhile. A month at least.”

“We’d planned to stay a few weeks. The count said it would be all right, and I admit I’m not eager to make the long journey home again soon.”

“Good,” said Arkus. “I want you and your men to remain as long as you wish. The palace and anything you see within it is yours. We have fine horses for riding, and I’m sure Renato can find you a guide. The hills around the city are marvelous. I used to ride there myself when I was younger.”

“Yes, I’ve seen them. We rode through Locwala on our way here. It was lovely.”

Arkus grinned. “You’ll find many lovely things in Nar, King Richius. And as I said, they are yours. Don’t worry about gold. If you see something in the streets you like, simply tell the merchant who you are. No one will question you. I’ve made it known that you are to be welcomed by everyone in the city.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” said Richius. “I couldn’t do that. I have enough gold with me. If I want something, I can purchase it myself.”

“Absolutely not,” said Arkus. “You’re not to spend a penny while here, understand? I’ll take it as an insult if you do.”

He put down his goblet and walked toward a giant leather chair. As he sat down he waved Richius closer, steering him into a smaller chair beside his own. Richius sat, close enough to the enormous fire to feel its scalding heat. He took another sip from his own goblet before resting it on a stack of books. Arkus leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“You are so young,” said the emperor. “Don’t waste these days with righteous nonsense. Take what I can give you. Enjoy your youth and your kingship. Because, believe me, it all goes by too quickly.”

A flash of pain momentarily crossed the old man’s face. He smiled apologetically at Richius, shifted in his chair, then continued. “You must learn what it means to be a king of Nar, young Richius. What it means to be privileged.”

“But I am privileged,” said Richius. “I have a land that I love with people that care about me. What else could a king ask for?”

“Wealth, for one thing. Aramoor’s not nearly as rich as it could be. And what about power? I don’t merely mean the power to control people, you already have that. But do you have the power to create things? Can you change things with your power?”

“I don’t know,” answered Richius honestly. He thought of his father, and how so many men had willingly died for his causes. And he thought of his own men in the Dring Valley, of Dinadin and Lucyler and how they had followed him and would have died for him. Wasn’t that power enough? Or was this simply why Arkus was emperor, because nothing was ever enough for him?

“I’ve always thought I’ve had power,” said Richius at last. “I like to think I’ve done some good with it.”

“I’m sure you have. You and your father have both accomplished things. But that’s the past, and I’m speaking of the future.”

Richius nodded. “Count Biagio has already told me you want a better relationship with Aramoor.”

“I want more than that,” said Arkus. “I want us to accomplish things together.” The light in his eyes grew brighter as he spoke. “Look around this room,” he said, making a little sweeping gesture. “What do all these things look like to you?”

Richius inspected the chamber, unsure how to answer. Despite the unkempt appearance of the place, each of its items seemed somehow loved. True, the paintings were dusty and the weapons hadn’t seen a sharpening stone for decades, but there was a quality to the articles that spoke of quiet value. Richius sat back in his chair and gave Arkus the answer he knew the old man wanted.

“They look like they are precious to you,” he said.

Arkus smiled appreciatively. “Yes,” he agreed. “Precious is a good way to describe them. I’ve been told by some that these things look like nothing more than trash, but that’s because they don’t know the stories behind them. Every piece here has a special meaning. They’re my achievements, my triumphs. My life is in this room.” He sighed, surveying his odd collection. “These
things aren’t valuable enough to be displayed in the palace, but to me they have a worth beyond gold.”

“I think I understand that,” said Richius. He gave each strange item in the chamber another glance, trying to see the jewel hidden beneath the dust. When he was a child, his father used to present bronze rings to soldiers who had distinguished themselves. They hadn’t been very valuable, but the trinkets were cherished by the men who received them.

“I’ve lived a long time,” said Arkus darkly. He was still brooding over the objects in the room. “I’ve accomplished much on my own. But now I need your help, King Richius.”

“My help? How?”

Arkus’ eyes shifted to the skull mounted over the hearth. “I saw you looking at that when you came in,” he said. “Do you know what it is?”

“Not really,” Richius admitted. He got to his feet and reached out for the skull, running his fingers over its bleached forehead and fanged jaw. There were cougars in the hills of Aramoor with such skulls, though not as incredibly large. “It looks like some sort of cat. But I don’t know of any cats this big.”

“It is the skull of a Triin war lion.”

“Really?” said Richius, inspecting the skull more closely. “I heard of them when I was in Lucel-Lor, but I never saw one.”

“Only the Triin of Chandakkar ride the lions,” said Arkus. “It’s said that no other Triin can manage the beasts, that only the nomads of Chandakkar have the means to control them.”

“Chandakkar wasn’t part of the war,” said Richius. “It was too far away. I’m not even sure if the people there have even heard of Tharn. Still …” He patted the thick skull ruefully. “I wish those nomads had been on our side.”

“I’m sure everyone in Lucel-Lor has heard of Tharn by now,” said Arkus.

Richius nodded. “Probably. But where did you get such a thing? If these lions are only found in Chandakkar, how did it get here?”

Arkus smiled. “Sit down. I want to tell you something.”

Richius complied, settling back into his chair by the fire. The smoky light played eerily on Arkus’ blanched face, and his eyes shone an otherworldly blue. Richius reached again for his goblet
of brandy. Remarkably, he was growing comfortable. Arkus stretched out his thin hand for his own glass, took a sip from it, then said, “Did you know that I’ve been to Lucel-Lor, Richius? I may call you Richius, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, this isn’t a very well known story, but when I was a young man I sailed to Lucel-Lor. I don’t think I was much older than sixteen, and my father, who was emperor then, wanted to make a man of me. He sent me there to bring back the head of one of these lions. For you see, no one really knew if they existed, and my father was eager to find out.”

“He sent you there alone?” asked Richius.

“No,” said Arkus. “Not quite. I sailed to Lucel-Lor’s southern coast aboard one of my father’s vessels. But I did go ashore alone, yes. I was quite an accomplished hunter, even at that age, and as I said my father wanted to test me. I was to have no help from the others aboard the ship, and if I didn’t return, well …” Arkus’ voice trailed away thoughtfully.

“But you did return,” said Richius. “And with the lion head.”

“Yes, I did. The ship had orders to wait for me for as long as it took, since none of us knew how long it would take me to find one of the beasts. But I did find them, a whole valley of them.”

Richius listened, stupefied, as Arkus went on to tell how he had finally tracked one of the lions to a giant valley, how he had seen a hundred of the beasts there, and how he had finally tracked one out of the valley again, trapping it and killing it with a spear. The young Arkus had nearly died in the venture. But in the end he had taken out his knife and methodically cut the lion’s head from its torso, dragging the bloody trophy back across the wastes and finally to the shore. Upon his return he presented it to his father as a birthday gift, and never again did his father question the mettle of the heir to his throne.

“So you see, Richius,” said Arkus. “My father also sent me into Lucel-Lor to fight alone.”

“Yes,” said Richius softly, entranced by the tale. “And you resented him for it?”

“Not at all. I loved him for it. It made me learn. Seeing Lucel-Lor gave me the fire in my belly to be the greatest leader Nar had ever known. It made me want to be emperor. Now you must do
the same. You must put away the past and be the king of Aramoor your father never could be, because he never had the will to join my vision.”

Arkus’ eyes were glowing now with mad desire. Richius knew Arkus was leading him somewhere. Without flinching he asked the inevitable question.

“Tell me, Your Grace. Why am I here? I know you want something, but I can’t guess what it is.”

Arkus leaned back in his chair, rolling his goblet between his palms. “I already have told you,” he said softly. “When I was in Lucel-Lor I saw things I couldn’t believe. Not just the lions, but the people, too. I saw them do magic, like light fires with their minds and appear to each other in dreams. I lived among them for a time, tried to learn from them. But I couldn’t. And when I returned to Nar I told my father what I’d seen, and he didn’t believe me. I vowed then that one day I would conquer Lucel-Lor, something my father could never hope to accomplish, and I would gain all of their riches and abilities for the Empire.
My
Empire.”

“But it never happened,” said Richius. “Why not?”

“Because I made my vows when I was young and stupid. I didn’t know how vast Lucel-Lor was, and there were lands on this continent to conquer first. But I waited, and when the Daegog of Lucel-Lor opened the border, I sent as many Narens in as were willing to go. They built Ackle-Nye, and they kept an eye on the Triin for me.”

Richius chanced another question. “Your Grace, I must ask you this. You wanted something from the Triin, didn’t you? I mean, you didn’t just want to conquer them. There was something else. Tell me, please. Why did you send us there?”

Arkus chuckled, reaching out for Richius and grazing his cheek with a fingernail. “You are a sweet boy, but impatient. Let an old man tell a story, will you? Yes, it’s true I wanted more than to conquer Lucel-Lor. It would have been a jewel to add to Nar’s crown, surely, but there was more.”

Arkus seemed to be relishing the tale, drawing it out. It occurred to Richius how lonely this man must be.

“By this time I was already old,” Arkus continued. “I had learned some patience, and was content to wait for the Daegog
to slowly open up relations. As I said, Lucel-Lor is vast, and to take it by force alone would have been ruinously expensive. So I waited. I waited too damn long. Do you know why?”

“Yes,” said Richius gravely. “The Drol.”

“Bright boy,” remarked Arkus. “The Drol indeed. I had heard of them and their leader Tharn, but I was as shocked as anyone when their damn civil war broke out. I thought it would ruin everything for me, all my chances for gaining ground in Lucel-Lor and getting what I wanted from the Triin. Those hideous Drol rose to power at the worst of times.”

Richius listened, amazed at Arkus’ candor and wondering still what it meant for him.

“Is that why you ordered Aramoor into Lucel-Lor?”