The Jackal of Nar (68 page)

“Of course not,” said Richius. “I would rather speak to the devil himself.”

“Then you do understand.” Lucyler lowered the fruit and stared at Richius pleadingly. “How else could I have gotten you here if not for Dyana? I told you Tharn was good, I told you there was peace here now, but you would not listen. It was only Dyana that made you come here.”

“That’s right,” said Richius hotly. He lifted his head and glared at Lucyler. “Do you want to know the truth, Lucyler? The truth is I don’t give a damn about any of you anymore. If I could I’d go back to Nar City and tell them everything I know about you, where you are and what weaknesses you have—everything. I would destroy Falindar if I could, and everyone in it, because you all bloody deserve it. But I can’t do that now because of Dyana and the baby. I can’t have the revenge I deserve.”

Lucyler felt a hopeful spark flare up within him. “So you are going back to help us?”

“That’s all you want, isn’t it?” Richius asked sourly. “Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“I have,” snapped Lucyler. “But you have not been listening
to
me.
Look around, Richius. The war is over. Lucel-Lor has peace. Dyana’s safe, whether you want to admit it or not, and your baby will be well cared for. Things are not perfect, but Tharn is trying. He cares about his people, more than the Daegog ever did. I know because I knew them both. Life will be better here because of Tharn, because he is strong and the warlords will follow him. Whether or not this lasts is up to you.”

“Up to me?” Richius flared. “You’re as bad as Tharn. I don’t have that kind of influence with Arkus and you know it.”

“But you can try.”

There was an awkward silence as Richius sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He looked crazed, like an animal chewing off its own foot to escape a trap, and for a moment Lucyler was afraid. Not for himself, for he knew that Richius would never harm him, no matter how enraged or bitter he was. He feared for Richius, and for the sanity that seemed to be slipping away from him.

“Richius,” he said gently. “I was wrong to do this to you. I used you, and for that I am sorry. Do not forgive me, but do not let this stop you from making a good decision. Think of all those here who have deceived you. They will suffer if this war happens. And think of Aramoor.…”

“Stop,” said Richius. “You and Tharn think you know me so well, don’t you? You know just what to say to make me do your bidding.”

“Richius, I—”

“No, Lucyler. I’m right. But the awful thing is you’re right, too. I don’t have a choice. I know I don’t. You and Tharn have seen to that. You’ve learned well from him, my friend. You’ve learned how to manipulate people. He’s quite a master at that, isn’t he?”

“There was simply no other way,” said Lucyler again. “Right or wrong, I had to get you here. I had to make you see what was at risk.”

“I see,” said Richius. “I see.” He glanced down at the fruit on the rocky ground between them, picking it up and inspecting it. “Is this from that tree?”

Lucyler nodded. “It is called a heart fruit. They only ripen a few days a year. But when they do …” He raised an eyebrow. “Try it.”

Richius sniffed at the half-eaten fruit. “Smells nice,” he commented, and took a bite. His eyes lit up as he mumbled, “Good.”

“I thought you would like it,” said Lucyler. “I can get you some if you like.”

“No,” said Richius. “Save them for the others. We have fruit enough in Aramoor.” He handed the heart fruit back to Lucyler. “Here, you finish it.”

Lucyler took it and set it back down. “Richius,” he asked carefully, “will you tell me what you have decided?”

Richius looked away distractedly. “He’s not going to change his mind, is he?”

“No,” answered Lucyler. “I am sorry.”

“Why not, Lucyler? He knows I love her. He knows she doesn’t love him. Why is he keeping her from me?”

“It is not like that exactly,” Lucyler explained. “It is not that he wants to keep you apart. He wants to keep her with him. He loves her also.”

“Do you know that for certain?”

“She is very beautiful, Richius. And he is … well, less than beautiful. It is like that for men here. A beautiful woman is important for men like Tharn. Others follow him. They strive to be like him. And yes, I think he does love her.”

“Then he will take care of her? And the baby?”

“I have no doubt. You should see him with her, Richius. He glows when she is around. He is more obsessed with her than you are, I think.”

“Dyana’s told me,” Richius admitted. “She said that he has always loved her, even before they were betrothed. I guess I was hoping she was wrong.”

Lucyler shook his head. “She is not wrong. His love for her is a strange thing. It is something fierce. And his sickness makes him love her even more. She is very beautiful. I think he feels less monstrous around her. But he is good to her. And that is all you should worry about.”

Richius seemed satisfied. He nodded to himself, as if in deep thought, saying, “All right then. I will leave in the morning for Aramoor.”

“Will you speak to Arkus for us, Richius?”

“You know I will. I have no choice. I can’t let this war happen if Dyana and Shani are here in Falindar. But don’t
deceive yourself, Lucyler. Just being here is treason. When Arkus learns of it, he won’t be in a mood to talk. I’ll be lucky if I get out of the Black City alive.”

“I know. That is why I am going with you.”

“What?”

“I cannot ask you to do this without taking the risk myself. And I have already told Tharn I am going. It is done.”

“Then undo it. You’ll have a lot less chance of surviving this than me, Lucyler. What do you think goes on in Nar? Arkus will have you locked up in one of his war labs before you know what’s happening. He’d just love to get his hands on a Triin.”

“I am prepared for the worst,” replied Lucyler calmly. “We will face this together.”

“Then you might as well say your farewells now, Lucyler. You won’t be coming back.”

Lucyler merely shrugged. He had expected Richius’ argument, and had already reached all the same conclusions. It changed nothing. He would either die in Nar trying for peace, or he would die in Lucel-Lor fighting a war. Death came to everyone. What really mattered was how it came.

“I’ve told Tharn not to expect too much from us,” he said. “But I doubt he was listening. He has faith in us, I fear.”

“Faith,” spat Richius. “Then he is a fool. He should put his faith in Liss. He should fight with them like they’ve asked. With their help Lucel-Lor might stand a chance. Unless of course he uses his power.”

“You do not understand,” said Lucyler. He was tiring of this argument, of trying to explain the subtleties of Drol life to Richius. Not everyone could grasp it, he knew, particularly non-Triin, but he had hoped Richius was smarter than that.

“You’re right,” said Richius. “I don’t understand. I wish I could see him as you do. This would all be easier for me.”

“You will see the truth of him in time, Richius. Just like I did.”

Clearly, Richius disagreed. He rubbed thoughtfully at his beard, his eyes darting with the passing seabirds. They sat there together a long moment, their legs perched over the sea wall, and a gust of ocean air blew back their hair. White-capped waves shimmered in the distance, tossing up tasty trophies for the hovering gulls. The song of the sea was crisp on the mountain and
they lost themselves in it, swaying slightly to its constant, iambic rhythm.

Tomorrow
, thought Lucyler sadly. It was too soon. He had missed Falindar terribly during his long excursion to Aramoor. He wasn’t eager to say farewell again—and this time it might be for good. He flicked the rind of the heart fruit off the cliff edge, mindful that it would likely be his last. The fruit plummeted downward and disappeared.

“Will you see him again before we go?” asked Lucyler.

Richius shrugged indifferently. “Why should I? He’s made his decision and I’ve made mine.”

“What about Dyana and the little one?”

“Tonight I’ll say good-bye to them both,” said Richius. “If Tharn lets me, that is.”

“Of course he will,” said Lucyler. “You need only ask. I’ll tell him myself if you like.”

“No,” said Richius. “I’ll do it.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Am I a fool, Lucyler?”

“What?”

“Am I a fool?” asked Richius again. “I feel like one. I should never have come back. I don’t know what I expected to find here.”

“I think you know,” said Lucyler gently. “You expected to find Dyana willing. You imagined she would be waiting for you, did you not?”

Richius opened his eyes and stared at his friend. “God, I’m stupid, aren’t I? She hardly even knows me. And I hardly know her. Yet I love her, Lucyler. I can’t explain it, but I do. I’ve loved her since I saw her. She was enough to make me leave Aramoor. And I never thought anything could drag me back here.”

“Love is a mystery, my friend,” offered Lucyler. “Sometimes it takes years to grow. Other times an instant is enough.”

“And sometimes it never grows at all,” Richius concluded.

Lucyler started to speak but abruptly broke off, cocking his head toward the citadel. Someone was calling his name, barely audible over the rushing breeze. He stood up at once and scanned the distance. A man was coming toward them, a warrior of Kronin’s, racing down the sloping hillside.

“What is it?” asked Richius, getting to his feet. He followed Lucyler’s gaze until he himself sighted the running man. The
warrior moved with purpose along the rocky ground, his arms and legs pumping furiously. Lucyler felt his insides ice.

“Trouble,” he whispered blackly.

“Loocylr!” came the echoing cry, rolling down the mountain like an avalanche. The man was waving now, frantically waving a hand above him as he ran. Lucyler waved back, then motioned to Richius.

“Follow me,” he called over his shoulder, dashing madly to meet the warrior. Richius was close on his heels.

Together they thundered up the slope to where the warrior in blue and gold had halted, his face flushed with exertion and dripping perspiration. He spoke in a flustered croak, his words disjointed. Lucyler listened, piecing together what he could as the man rambled and pointed, first to Richius and then to the towering citadel over his shoulder.

“What’s he saying?” asked Richius.

Lucyler said shakily, “There is someone for you in the citadel. Tharn wants you to come at once.”

“Someone for me? Who?”

“He does not know,” Lucyler explained. The man was still talking. “He only knows Tharn wants to see you, in the banquet room. Something important.”

They began the long, winding journey back to the citadel, leaving the bewildered warrior behind. Richius easily kept pace with Lucyler, digging into the rocky earth with his hard boots and sending shards of gravel into the air. Panic energized them, propelling them up the hill and into the relatively flat yards around the castle. The grounds were empty. They looked at one another cautiously.

“No trouble,” said Richius. “What is this?”

Lucyler shrugged, then started off again into the covered court of the citadel. They didn’t run now but rather walked briskly, taking notice of the people they passed and seeing nothing unusual. The banquet room, the warrior had said. Lucyler peered down the hall. All was quiet. Whatever was happening apparently wasn’t common knowledge. Several people passed them on their way, hardly sparing them a glance. Lucyler tossed Richius a confused look, then started off down the great hall that led to the banquet room, with Richius on his heels. Their boots
echoed ominously through the cavernous hall as they walked. Richius was breathing heavily. A nervous sweat had erupted on his forehead and he licked his lips impatiently as his eyes scanned for trouble. They paused as they neared the closed doors of the banquet room. Lucyler put his ear to the ornate portals and held his breath. Inside he could hear an occasional, unrecognizable voice, but it was too muffled to be distinguishable.

“Someone is inside,” he whispered. “I do not know who.”

“Open it,” Richius directed.

Lucyler rapped twice on one of the doors, then pulled it slowly open. At once he saw Tharn. The cunning-man’s face was dreadful. He nodded slightly as he recognized Lucyler. Other heads turned toward the door; Kronin and two of his warriors, all standing with their jiiktars held loosely at waist level. And then Lucyler saw another man as he pulled the door wider, an unknown figure in shining black leather with a gilded cape and a helmet of silver. He was tall and lean, and when he turned to the doorway his masked face displayed a horrible death’s-head, the perfect likeness of a human skull rendered in metal. A long, thin sword dangled from his belt. Lucyler faltered. Richius pushed past him. His friend recoiled when he noticed the soldier.

“My God,” whispered Richius. He stopped in the doorway. Lucyler came up alongside him. Both men’s eyes fixed on the malevolent figure.

“Who is he, Richius? Do you know?”

“Come,” ordered Tharn. His voice resonated with angry power in the hollow chamber. His expression was tight, even bitter, and his blistered lips twisted in the semblance of a snarl. He was watching the odd man closely, doing nothing to hide his contempt. Kronin and his warriors watched the soldier, too, their jiiktars poised. It was then that Lucyler noticed the box at the soldier’s feet.

It was the size of a small chest, forged from battered irons and barely large enough for a modest collection of books. A stout lock dangled from a web of chains wrapped around its lid and casing. The soldier, seeing Lucyler regarding the chest, stepped aside so he and Richius could view it clearly. He inclined his gruesome head to one side, and the silver skull seemed to smile.

“Who is he?” Lucyler whispered.

Richius was too stunned to answer.

“Come in,” said Tharn again. His gnarled walking stick shook in his feeble grip.

“Is this King Vantran?” asked the golden voice from behind the silver mask.

Tharn looked at the soldier contemptuously before saying, “Richius, this
thing
is here to speak with you. Do you know who he is?”