The Jackal of Nar (53 page)

Minutes later he sighted the plateau: a giant shelf of weathered limestone overhanging the narrow path three hundred feet below. He slowed Lightning to a cautious crawl. From here he could see no one atop the plateau, and the trail ahead was empty. Below him the ground was featureless, the only tracks those of Lightning. Lucyler would have come from the east, he knew, but even that seemed increasingly unlikely. Today was the third day. He realized suddenly that he had expected Lucyler to rush out and greet him, the way he would if he were expecting a friend. Hurriedly he urged his mount onward, lifting the crossbow out
of his elbow and letting it dangle in his hand. Above him the plateau stretched out darkly. There was no path up, he already knew that. If Lucyler was waiting for him there, he would have to climb, and that meant leaving Lightning below. Furious, he dismounted and craned his neck skyward, fighting the foolish urge to call Lucyler’s name. Not even a pebble fell from the loft.

“Damn it,” he hissed. “Where the hell are you, Lucyler?”

He rubbed Lightning’s neck as he considered what to do. If he could make it onto the plateau, he would have an unobstructed view of the Run and much of Lucel-Lor. There was a way up there, he remembered. He and Okyle had made the climb four years ago. But the plateau had never been meant for horses. It was merely to be a gathering place, a beacon for defeated soldiers to find their way home. Lightning was loyal enough to wait for him, but he had no idea who or what might be waiting for Lightning. The horse might very well wind up like Thunder had before him, helpless in the jaws of hungry wolves. But at last Richius decided it was a risk worth taking. If there were Drol waiting, there would be little one man and horse could do to stop them.

Richius led Lightning to the side of the path, then placed the ends of the reins beneath a stone. The stone would be heavy enough to keep the mild-mannered horse around if all was calm, yet leave him able to escape should anything attack him.

“Don’t run off without me,” said Richius good-naturedly, tethering his crossbow to Lightning’s back. “I’ll be back soon.”

Three hundred feet of crumbling rock greeted Richius as he approached the mountainside. He could see the plateau towering above him, shadowed in the ebbing light of day. Behind him the sun was beginning its daily descent, lending an unhealthy pallor to the rock as he stepped up and dug his hands into it, pulling himself skyward. About thirty feet up he would find a ledge, and from there he could hike the rest of the way to the plateau. Grunting and sweating, he ascended the sheer wall, each inch gained with burning effort. When at last he reached the ledge he flung his body upward onto the hard rock and looked down at Lightning, giving the horse a triumphant wave.

With the hardest part of the climb completed, Richius set off for the plateau, traversing the winding ledge that would lead him part of the way there. When the ledge ended he climbed again,
scuffing his polished boots and driving his fingertips into the tiny crevices and imperfections in the rock. At the end of an hour he finally reached the plateau. Exhausted, he stepped onto the long protrusion of stone and gazed out over the open expanse of sky and earth. To the east he could see the Saccenne Run, winding its formidable way through the mountains. To the west was Lucel-Lor, where the twisted city of Ackle-Nye was an indifferent pinprick on the horizon. Over the city the roof of the world glowed pink while threads of gold gushed from the sinking sun. He breathed a deep, regretful sigh. Somewhere in all that vastness was Dyana.

And Lucyler, he recalled with sudden anger.

Richius turned about, searching for the Triin, but he was utterly alone. Down the pipe of the Run he could see no one, nor did any riders show themselves out of Lucel-Lor. He stepped to the end of the plateau, looking down at the impressive drop, but saw only Lightning, patiently awaiting his return. Richius stifled a curse. The third day was drawing rapidly to a close. He had kept his word, and felt like a buffoon for doing so. Angrily he massaged the aching muscles in his arms and thighs. A bitter, chalky taste caked his tongue and he spat off the lofty perch.

“Damn you, Lucyler.”

There was nothing left to do but wait. He’d come too far to retreat, and from here he could easily see both Lightning and any riders that might be approaching. Besides, night was arriving, and it would be impossible to climb down in the dark. Tonight he would spend the evening here, without a fire or Lightning’s quiet companionship. And in the morning he would start the long trip home, where he would listen to Jojustin’s triumphant laughter and plot some impossible vengeance against Lucyler.

For an hour and more he watched the horizon, hoping for the glimmer of a rider. The sun went down and disappeared with a final, holocaustic flare. Alone in the darkness, Richius made his way to a patch of bushes he had found near the edge of the plateau. It was a hearty collection of evergreen shrubs. Blindly he slid his body beneath it, guarding his face as best he could from the stinging rakes of branches. He would be safe here, hidden from any predators that might come looking for him—animal and Drol alike. When he had settled himself in he carefully drew his giant sword from its scabbard and set it beside
him, then made a pillow of his forearm and closed his eyes. Sleep took him quickly.

He awoke from time to time, his back aching from the hardness of the ground and the chill that moved through the mountains this high up. Each time he awoke he shifted his body to make the best of his rough bed and dozed back into slumber …

… until a sound awoke him.

His eyes popped open. Through the canopy of branches he saw the far-off twinkling of stars and the pale light of a slivered moon. And there was movement, a faint scuffing of boots against the ground. He held his breath and gripped Jessicane. Slowly he rolled onto his side, trying to see down the length of the plateau, but he could see almost nothing past the mesh of sticks.

Triin
, he told himself nervously. No one else could manage the climb in the dark. But was it Lucyler? A silhouette stepped into a moonbeam. White skin glistened. The unique shape of a jiiktar gleamed on its back. A man. About the size of Lucyler, Richius reckoned. And coming toward him. His grip tightened around Jessicane’s hilt as he lay soundlessly in the cover of the bushes. He saw the head swing toward him, the faint dots of eyes spotting him. He made ready to spring.

“Richius?”

Richius closed his eyes, his breath coming out in an explosive gasp. Lucyler’s voice was as clear and recognizable as his own.

“Richius, come out. It is me, Lucyler.”

“I’m coming,” answered Richius, pulling himself out of the bushes. He held his sword ready. Lucyler came closer, a magnificent smile on his face, his hair falling loosely around his shoulders, one blade of his jiiktar popping out from behind his back. A loose-fitting jacket of saffron yellow was tied across his waist with a golden braid, its wide, hanging sleeves fluttering in the breeze. No longer did he wear the uniform of the deposed Daegog. These were traditional Triin clothes, the kind favored by the Drol. Lucyler opened his arms in greeting.

“You made it,” he exclaimed gleefully. “How are you? Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” answered Richius. “Where is she, Lucyler?”

Lucyler dropped his hands, but the smile didn’t wane. “I know you are angry with me, Richius. I will explain things to you, I promise.”

“How did you find me?” asked Richius. Lucyler pointed a thumb over his back.

“I saw your horse down below. I knew you would come up here to try and find me. You were right about finding the plateau. It was not difficult.”

Richius bit back an insult. His friend was very late.

“It is good to see you,” Lucyler continued. He moved closer, until he and Richius were face to face. “I was not sure you would come.”

“I’m here. And you have a lot of explaining to do. So start talking.”

Lucyler nodded. “There is much to explain, but we should have a fire first.”

“I don’t have any kindling,” said Richius impatiently. He put away his weapon. Lucyler took a round, red stone from his robe. A fire rock.

“I brought this up with me,” he said, and proceeded to the bushes where Richius had slept. Soon a blaze was crackling and tossing out its needed warmth. Richius stretched his palms out over the flames as Lucyler settled down beside him.

“I’m ready,” said Richius. “Talk.”

Lucyler turned to him, his gray eyes serious. “First, she is safe. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Does Tharn have her?”

“She is with him in his citadel in Falindar,” said Lucyler gently. “He took her there when the war was lost.” He paused, choosing his words. “They are wedded now, Richius.”

Richius closed his eyes. “Oh, God. What the hell happened, Lucyler? Are you one of his men now?”

“Listen to me carefully, Richius. Nothing is as you remember it. Nothing.”

“You’re wearing Drol clothes,” Richius pressed. “Have you gone Drol?”

Lucyler gave an exasperated sigh. “Will you listen to me? I will explain it all to you, but you have to hear. I know you have a lot of questions. Let me do my best to answer them, all right?”

Richius said nothing.

“I am sorry to have brought you here. You may not think so, but I am. Yet when you hear what I have to tell you, you will understand. You thought I was dead, did you not?”

“Yes,” replied Richius. “Gilliam told me you were taken away by Voris while I was off in Ackle-Nye. We all thought they had executed you.”

“That is what I thought would happen, too. Voris did take me prisoner. He took me back to Falindar, to await Tharn’s return. He knew the war would be ending, and that Tharn was using his powers to crush the last of the Naren troops in Lucel-Lor. It was only a matter of days before it was over.”

“I know,” said Richius. “I saw what happened in Ackle-Nye. That’s when he took Dyana away.”

“It seems impossible, I know. I did not believe it myself until I met him.” Lucyler’s face darkened. “I spent a week down in the catacombs beneath Falindar, waiting for Tharn to return so they would kill me. They treated me well enough, I suppose, but I was alone. Then finally Tharn came to see me. He wanted you, Richius. Tharn told me he had gathered all his enemies in Falindar for something very special. I did not know what he meant, but he took me to the throne room. All of the warlords of Lucel-Lor were there. The loyalists like Kronin had been captured and were in chains. Voris and the Drol warlords were all there, too. I swear, I thought it was the end of me.”

“What happened?”

“Tharn brought the Daegog in. He had captured him when Kronin’s castle at Mount Godon fell, and had him tied up like a pig. He paraded him before us all, accused him of being a traitor to the people of Lucel-Lor. And then …” Lucyler’s voice trailed off, and his face glazed over.

“What?” pressed Richius. “What happened?”

“Tharn killed him,” replied Lucyler. “I do not know what he did, but he waved his hand over the Daegog, and then he died.”

Richius’ jaw dropped open. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. He was alive, and then he wasn’t. I remember being frightened, and all the warlords started to mumble to themselves, because they all thought we were about to die the same way.”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

“When the Daegog fell dead at Tharn’s feet, Tharn stepped onto the throne. He told us that his only enemy was dead, and that he no longer had a quarrel with us. He said he wanted peace, and that he was touched by heaven to unite us all.” Lucyler’s face
glowed with enlightenment. “I tell you, Richius, he is not what you think he is. He is truly blessed by the gods. He has unified us. For the first time in our history all the warlords are following one man.”

Richius sat back, astounded. “You
are
a Drol, aren’t you?”

“Not a Drol,” countered Lucyler patiently. “But I do follow Tharn now. That is why I am here. There is something we must speak about.”

“Oh, indeed there is,” said Richius. “Like what happens now. I came here to get Dyana back, Lucyler, that’s all.”

“Let me explain—”

“There is nothing to explain. You’ve already told me you’re a traitor. All right, I accept that. Now how do I get Dyana away from Tharn?”

“I am no traitor,” hissed Lucyler, his jaw tightening. “The Daegog was wrong to let your emperor in Lucel-Lor and you know it. He was weak and he was cruel. He only wanted Nar’s weapons so he could destroy the warlords and rule all of Lucel-Lor like a Daegog of the past. I was wrong to ever obey him, and I am not ashamed of my loyalty to Tharn now.”

“Well, you should be,” said Richius mercilessly. “Tharn’s a beast, and you know it. I always assumed the Daegog had been killed, but I didn’t know for sure until now. And you stood by and watched him be murdered.”

“You are wrong, Richius. I tried to help him. I begged Tharn to stop. But you have to understand what Tharn went through. The Daegog tortured him, broke his knees for the sport of it. Whipped him—”

“Yes, yes,” Richius interrupted. “I know the story. That doesn’t excuse anything. Maybe the Daegog deserved what he got, but that doesn’t make Tharn innocent.”

“Richius, please, listen. Tharn has ended all the fighting. He has brought peace to our nation. He let us all live as a gesture of his goodness. There is no more war anywhere in Lucel-Lor. For the first time in decades.”

“So he spared your life,” said Richius with a dismissive wave. “But those powers of his destroyed almost all our people. Don’t you have a problem living with that? I do.”

“So do I. But it was war and people die in war. I killed Triin.
My own people. That’s what
I
have to live with. So do not accuse me of crimes, because you do not understand.”

Richius fell silent, contemplating the pain on his old friend’s face. He suddenly wanted to end this bitter divide. “Tell me more,” he said. “You told me Dyana is safe. Is she well? How does he treat her?”

“He is kind to her,” answered Lucyler with a small smile. “He treats her like a princess. She wants for nothing, believe me.”