The Jackal of Nar (59 page)

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Richius barked. “You could have saved him!” He knew the Triin could not understand him, but he hoped his anger would translate well enough. The man merely grunted.

“Doula un dieata,” said the man in his meaningless tongue. He put his hand behind his back and pulled out his jiiktar, holding the dual-bladed staff in two fists and straddling his legs in challenge. Richius shook his head in disbelief.

“You
are
mad,” he said disgustedly. The crowd was drawing nearer now, fascinated by the face-off. “I won’t fight you.”

The lion master stepped forward, his great, docile cat behind him, and struck Richius across the face. Richius tumbled backward, his lip gushing blood. Instantly he took up his sword.

“You little bitch-son!” he snarled. “You want a fight, eh? Well, you’ve got one!”

“No!”

Richius whirled around to see Lucyler streaking toward him. The Triin’s face was panicked, and he jumped between the duelists, pushing Richius away.

“Don’t fight him, Richius,” warned Lucyler. He turned to face the lion rider. The big man’s grin widened as he pushed at Lucyler with his jiiktar. Lucyler swiped it away angrily, and some words Richius couldn’t decipher spewed from both their lips. After a moment the lion rider lowered his jiiktar. Lucyler took a careful step backward.

“What happened?” he asked Richius over his shoulder.

“Why are you asking me?” Richius snapped. He gestured quickly to the dying man in the street. “All I wanted to do was help that poor bastard. That’s when this filthy tramp showed up. Why don’t you ask him what happened?”

“I did,” said Lucyler impatiently. He was still unwilling to take his eyes off the lion rider. “He says that you attacked his lion. Is that true?”

“It’s true,” answered Richius. “What else could I do? His beast was tearing that man apart!”

Lucyler talked to the other Triin, his voice remarkably courteous.
Again the lion rider answered, and as the two spoke Richius listened intently, gleaning what little he could from the obscure words. The lion rider was calmer now, and Richius felt a faint relief as he watched him return his jiiktar to the sheath on his back.

“What’s he saying?” asked Richius. Lucyler raised a silencing hand as the stranger continued. At last Lucyler turned again to Richius.

“We should go now,” he said simply.

“Go? Just like that? Why? What did he say to you?”

Lucyler took Richius by the arm and led him away, moving quickly through the thickening crowd. When they were far enough from the lion rider not to be seen, Richius wrenched his arm away.

“Stop,” he ordered angrily. “Tell me what he said.”

“That was a lion rider from Chandakkar,” said the Triin. “Do you know what that means?”

“Should I?”

“You were in great danger, Richius. Lorris and Pris, what were you thinking? I told you to wait for me near the houses!”

“That lion of his was killing someone, Lucyler! What was I supposed to do?”

“Those lions never attack anyone without reason, Richius. That is what he explained to me. That man may have been trying to harm the lion, or even steal it.”

“Is that what he told you?” asked Richius, half laughing. “And you believed him?”

“You know nothing about the lion riders. What he told me was the truth. And just what did you expect to do against that animal?”

“I only wanted to save the man, that’s all. He started the fight.”

“Because you were a stranger and a threat. He thought that you and that other man were trying to harm his lion.” Lucyler looked away, exasperated. “You could have been killed.”

“I could have taken him,” Richius snorted angrily. But Lucyler only laughed at his bravado.

“Impossible. Even if you did best him, that lion would have shredded you alive. They are protective that way. The bond between the lions and their masters is legendary.”

“All right,” said Richius. “I didn’t know what I was doing. But even if that man was trying to steal or hurt the lion, is that
how he should have been dealt with? No one even tried to help him, Lucyler. I just couldn’t stand by and watch.”

Lucyler’s hard features softened. He put his hand to Richius’ shoulder. “You are right,” he said calmly. “I was wrong to be angry with you. But we are in danger now. They have discovered what you are.”

“Let’s go to the house, then,” said Richius. “Did you find it?”

Lucyler nodded. “Yes, but we cannot stay there now. We’ll have to go back into the hills for the night. Tomorrow I will return and get the supplies we need.”

Richius sighed wearily. “I’m sorry, Lucyler. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have walked off. But that damn lion …”

“It is all right,” said Lucyler. “We will just have to wait until tomorrow to go on to Falindar. Come, we will get the horses.”

Richius nodded, and the two walked quickly back to the merchant with whom they had left their mounts. The merchant shook his oily head at Lucyler, unwilling to refund the coins he had been given. But they were in a hurry, and Lucyler was in no mood to argue. They led their horses away from the market and mounted at the outskirts of the town, heading north toward the hills that would be their shelter for the night. Richius protested, telling his friend that he saw no threat from the Triin of Dandazar, but Lucyler was convinced they should leave the place, especially after the incident with the lion rider.

“They might look benign,” said Lucyler as they rode out of the town, “but they do not trust Narens, believe me. That fellow Cavool would never sell a room to you.”

“And the lion rider? What about him? I thought those people were outcasts. Do they trust him more than they do me?”

“He is a Triin. Even this far away from Chandakkar, he is more welcome than a Naren.”

Richius shrugged, still awed by the thought of the giant cat. “I never thought I’d see one,” he said. “And this far north! Why would he travel so far from Chandakkar?”

Lucyler looked mischievously at his comrade, a slight smile twisting his thin lips. “I told you, my friend, it is the peace. This is not the Lucel-Lor you remember.”

“I’m starting to think you are right about that,” said Richius. “And incidentally, since you’re coming back tomorrow, there’s a dress I saw in the market.…”

D
inadin Lotts squeezed his big body past the throngs of people and stared in mute horror at the poster tacked to the market wall. He had ridden hard and fast for Aramoor’s square, for news of a commotion had reached him, and an unbelievable tale was being told. Now, out of breath and surrounded by shouting hundreds, he read the artless scribblings on the posted paper. It said simply that Richius Vantran was a wanted man. Count Renato Biagio’s signature rambled in runny ink along the bottom. Dinadin stumbled backward into the crowd. Around him rang the astounded accusations of farmers and the bitter wails of women, and the word
traitor
was on the lips of children too young to know its meaning.

“Traitor,” whispered Dinadin. It was being said that Richius had left Aramoor, that he had gone to Lucel-Lor to bargain with the devil Tharn. Dinadin’s brothers had heard it first on the road back from Innswick. And though Dinadin could scarcely believe it, here he was, staring at a poster that declared his friend and king a criminal. “My God,” he moaned. “What have you done, Richius?”

“He has betrayed us!” answered an old woman beside him. She poked at him with her cane, angry tears streaking her face. “He bargains us away to the Triin, that’s what he does.”

“No!” roared Dinadin, batting the cane away from his ribs. “This is wrong. A trick!”

“A trick? Are you one of his foolish men, then? We are betrayed, boy! It’s the truth.”

Dinadin shook his head. “I don’t believe it. I cannot!” He shifted his gaze through the crowd, hoping to spot a familiar face. Amazingly, he found one. Gilliam was wearing the uniform of the Aramoorian Guard, bold and black against the dreary backdrop of farm garb. Though Dinadin hadn’t seen his fellow soldier since returning home, he raced toward him like an old friend, shouting his name. “Gilliam!” he cried, pushing his way through the crowded square. “Over here!”

Gilliam’s face turned toward him, dawning with recognition. “Dinadin!” he called back. The two locked hands. “Thank God you’re here. Have you heard?”

“Not everything,” said Dinadin. “Why are you wearing your uniform? What’s going on?”

Gilliam grabbed the lapel of Dinadin’s jacket, tugging it with a disgusted snap. “What do you mean, why? What’s this you’re wearing? Why don’t you have your own uniform on?”

“Why should I?” asked Dinadin angrily. “What the hell is happening?”

Gilliam stared at him for a long, silent moment. “You haven’t heard, have you?”

“Heard what? God damn it, Gilliam, tell me!”

“The emperor has declared Blackwood Gayle governor of Aramoor. His troops are already at the castle.”

“My God!” exclaimed Dinadin. “It’s true about Richius, then?”

Gilliam nodded. “Yes, but it’s not the whole of it. The Talistanians are saying he betrayed us, but if he went to Lucel-Lor he had good reason, I know it.”

“We have to get to the castle,” said Dinadin hurriedly. “Help Patwin and Jojustin.”

“It’s too late,” said Gilliam darkly. “They’re already dead. Patwin was killed defending the Lady Sabrina. And Jojustin …” The soldier’s voice choked off, and he shut his eyes to compose himself. “I heard he was executed by Biagio. I don’t know what happened to the lady.”

“Patwin’s dead?” asked Dinadin, his own resolve crumbling. It hadn’t been so very long ago that he had spoken with his gentle comrade.

“He wouldn’t renounce his vow to Richius,” said Gilliam. “That’s what Gayle and his dogs are demanding. Anyone staying loyal to the Vantran House is to be killed.” He drew his sword and kissed its silver blade. “By God, they’ll have a lot of killing to do today!”

“They’re on their way here?” asked Dinadin.

“That’s the word. And it looks like we’re the only ones to stand against them.”

Dinadin felt his face flush. “Don’t be mad, Gilliam. We
have to leave now, while we have the chance to get our men together.…”

“There are no other men, Dinadin. Most were killed at the castle. Everyone else is looking after their homes. It’s up to us to fight for these folks here. We’re still Guardsmen of Aramoor. We have a duty.”

Dinadin nodded but said nothing. Duty or no, they were only two, and clearly no match for whatever troops Blackwood Gayle was rolling in. If the Talistanians were on their way, they would notice the brashly dressed Gilliam in an instant, and that meant a fight. Dinadin suppressed a moan. Everything was happening so quickly. Richius was gone, that much he accepted, but the rule of Talistan was no less astonishing. The House of Vantran had governed Aramoor since its founding, and there were many who would gladly die to defend its continuance. Like Patwin and Gilliam, men followed the Vantrans to their graves. It was an inexplicable fact of life in Aramoor, one that Dinadin had found increasingly unbelievable lately. His expression soured. There would be blood let today, buckets of it. He grabbed an apple from a cart beside him and took a bite, chewing it ponderously as he thought. The grocer seemed not to notice the pinching, or if he did he simply didn’t care. Matters of greater weight preoccupied them all, and the commerce in the square had ground to a halt. Gilliam was talking to somebody, a young fellow with blondish hair who greedily clutched a loaf of bread to his breast. The teen seemed enthralled by the soldier and all his bold words. A crowd had gathered around Gilliam, all asking desperate questions—questions which Gilliam was hard put to answer. But despite the cacophony of voices the questions were uniformly similar—what will happen to us now?

What indeed?
Dinadin asked himself. He would be told to renounce his loyalty to Richius, and his father and brothers would also. The House of Lotts would not be spared today. Dinadin’s clan had a long and bellicose history with Talistan, and were as well known to the Gayles as the Vantrans were. It would take some fancy thinking to maneuver out of this one. Dinadin nibbled the apple to its core and tossed its remains over his shoulder. Gilliam was still at work fielding questions and trying to rally the group, but he was getting almost nowhere. There
was real hostility among the crowd, the kind of bitterness that always grows from betrayal. These were mostly farmers, not soldiers, and it seemed that Gilliam’s explanations were falling on deaf ears.

“He has not abandoned us,” cried Gilliam. “He will be back. I swear it.”

Some believed him. Others didn’t. And while they argued Dinadin backed away. Without the might of Vantran leadership, Aramoor was little more than this ragged group of workingmen. Their army was all but gone, destroyed in Lucel-Lor, and what soldiers did remain would surely be questioning their loyalties by now. Like Darius Vantran before him, Richius had cut them loose, and the realization flooded Dinadin with rage.

“Why, Richius?” whispered Dinadin to himself. It was just one more of his friend’s inexplicable actions. Just then, the familiar thunder of hooves entered the square. Ten or more horsemen, all in the green and gold of Talistan and sporting the masks of demons, brought their beasts to a snorting halt before the rowdy assemblage. Dinadin’s hand dropped to his sword. A handful of the soldiers dismounted as their commander spoke. He was a lean man who wore no helmet but instead adorned himself with a peculiar, wide-brimmed hat that sprouted a taillike feather.

“Folk of Aramoor,” boomed the commander’s slick voice. “I am Ardoz Trosk, colonel of the green brigade. By now you have heard of the treachery of your king. It is the order of Nar that your land has become forfeit. From this moment on, Aramoor is no more. You are a province of Talistan now, and are subject to the laws and decrees of your new governor, Baron Blackwood Gayle!”

There was the expected murmur of shock before the colonel continued. “Be cooperative, obey us, and you will not be harmed.” A wave of his hand brought his entourage’s swords rising from their scabbards. “Defy us, and you will be punished.”