The Jackal of Nar (74 page)

“Kronin’s,” explained Lucyler in a whisper.

Tharn bid Voris to sit, and lit the candle for Tatterak.

“We unite to still the hand of evil.” He placed the largest candle back in the center of the wreath. “May the spirits of the world guide us, and make our council wise.”

“Death to Nar,” the warlords shouted in chorus.

“May the might of Lorris make the weakness of our flesh as iron. May the love of his sister Pris inspire us for the battle.”

“Death to Nar.”

Tharn turned his face toward the sky again and mumbled some inaudible words. His saffron garments glowed with the mystical aura of the candled wreath. Tendrils of hair fell around his shoulders like white snakes, and he raised his palsied hand into the air. He finished his prayer with a rasping cry then lowered his hand and faced the gathering.

Richius gasped. Tharn looked almost vibrant. His face still wore the same poxlike lesions, but his eyes were vital and clear, no longer shot through with webs of bloody veins. He breathed deeply and forced a smile past his crooked jaw, then sat himself down between Voris and Shohar of Jhool. It was a glimmer of Tharn’s power Richius never expected. He looked inquisitively at Lucyler, but his friend hushed him with a slight shake of his head.

“Richius,” said Tharn in Naren. “It is good you are here. Lucyler, you will tell him everything we say, yes?”

“Yes,” replied Lucyler.

Tharn gazed out over the group. As he spoke Lucyler whispered in Richius’ ear.

“Great ones of Lucel-Lor, you honor me by coming here. I thank you.”

Each warlord gave a stone-faced nod.

“The dragon of the west has awakened. Did I not tell you that it would? Did you not all know in your hearts that one day the many-headed beast would come to devour all of us? But this is not a time for blame. We are united now. We are strong. Lorris and Pris watch over us. They have given us their power and wisdom. They have made the blind to see.”

Tharn’s eyes flicked momentarily toward Richius. Again the warlords nodded.

“Does he mean
me
?” asked Richius incredulously.

“Ackle-Nye is in the hands of our enemies,” Tharn continued. “You all know this. You have heard of the rape of our poor brothers. The city of beggars is ash now, and outside its rubble Naren soldiers set up camp. Already they are starting to spread through the countryside.”

He summoned Voris to speak.

“This is true,” said the warlord. “Scouts from my land have seen the approaching flags of the Narens. They are coming for my valley in great numbers. Soon there will be war again in Dring.”

“As there is war nearby, here on the very shores of Tatterak,” added Tharn. “There has been a landing of Nar’s Black Fleet, east of here near Harada. As we speak brave men are fighting and dying.” He gestured to the solemn candle, the one he had lit for Tatterak. “You have noticed the missing lord of this land. Kronin
is not here for this council, for at this moment he and his warriors are defending us. I know not how the battle goes for them, but they are trying to keep the Narens from reaching Falindar. Nar cannot land their ships any closer to the citadel, for the shores are too rough here. So they must fight through Tatterak to take us. We will see that they do not.

“But we must also protect ourselves from their fleet, and so I have asked the help of the hundred islands. Liss has already sent an emissary, requesting our aid in their struggle against the Empire. It is my belief now that this war has ended, that Nar has decided to use all its strength against us. But the Lissens continue to fight. I have sent back the Lissen emissary in a new ship with orders to tell his king that we are with him. Together Liss and Lucel-Lor will slay the dragon of Nar. If they can protect our shores, Nar will only be able to come at us through the Saccenne Run. And that will be our salvation.”

Richius listened intently. This Tharn was brilliant.

“You must all pray mightily for the Lissen to make it home again. Even Nar fears the schooners of the hundred islands. From what the emissary has told me, their navy has not suffered greatly under the blockade of their homeland. He claimed that they have long reserved more than fifty ships for the day when they could break free and attack the shores of Nar itself. So you see, my great allies, we are more than strong. The emperor thinks we are weak but we are not. We will send him this message in blood!”

A rousing chorus broke from the warlords and they banged their jiiktars on the table, spilling wine and food. Tharn’s face erupted in a triumphant smile.

“Oh, my friends,” he cried. “This is our greatest task, to be men in the face of demons. Because we are united we are powerful, but this must never wane. Only doom will profit from our quarrels. Nar alone cannot defeat us, not with all their mighty sciences. Only we can defeat ourselves. This war council must be as one. And we will speak with one voice.” He paused and looked at them seriously. “My voice.”

No one challenged him. The beating of jiiktars grew louder and Nang let out a blood-chilling war-whoop. Voris got to his feet and held his weapon high above his head, letting his ruined robes hang open and his bloodied flesh shine in the moonlight.

“We are one with Tharn!” he bellowed proudly. “Drol and not Drol, we are brothers!” Slyly he looked over at Richius. “Even our enemies are delivered to us,” he proclaimed.

Richius shifted uncomfortably, thinking to rise then dismissing it. He heard Lucyler’s faint order to stay calm. Every baleful eye turned toward him. Tharn smiled at him encouragingly.

“Yes,” agreed the cunning-man. He looked questioningly about the gathering. “Do you know who sits with us at this council? Do any of you but Voris recognize this great enemy?”

Richius cringed. “What’s he doing?”

“Easy,” whispered Lucyler. “Trust him.”

Tharn struggled to his feet. “This is Kalak,” he cried. “You know the name, yes? Kalak of Aramoor. If you do not know him then ask the warlord Voris. Kalak alone kept the Drol of Dring from slaughtering the weak Narens he protected. As you have seen they still hate each other.” He glared at Voris and then at Richius. “This too shall end. All of you will respect Kalak. For this is a king who has lost his kingdom to aid us. And I have plans for him, just as I have for each of you.”

“What?” Richius blurted. “What plans, Lucyler? What’s he talking about?”

Lucyler shrugged. “I do not know.”

“I’m just here to answer some questions. He’d better know that.”

“I told him,” said Lucyler with some annoyance.

“You have all done well by coming here,” Tharn continued. He was placid again, and had his hand on Voris’ shoulder. “But we are not complete yet. There is no one here from Chandakkar.”

A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. Tharn silenced them with a scowl.

“Quiet now. You may hate who you wish, but this is a battle for all Triin. They should be here with us.”

Voris shook his bald head. “The lion people are not to be trusted,” he said firmly. It was the first time any of them had interrupted Tharn. Surprisingly, the cunning-man seemed pleased by the challenge.

“I could lecture you on brotherhood, my friend,” said Tharn with deference, “but you most of all know about loyalty, so I will not question your instincts. I do not know if the nomads can be trusted. But we must be willing to find out. We need them.”

“We are enough without them,” argued Voris. “You may beg them to come, but they will ignore you, just as they did last time.”

Another of the warlords spoke up, Shohar from Jhool. He nodded his agreement. “The lion people are notorious,” he said in his brittle voice. “They know nothing of sacrifice, and they worship none of our gods. I would rather fight without them than beg their help.”

“We do not beg,” countered Tharn. “We ask. When they understand the threat they will listen.”

Voris chuckled. “You are always too good, Tharn. Is there nothing you cannot forgive? At least these others here had the courage to fight against you. But Chandakkar turned you away, and turned away the Daegog. They are without honor.”

“Words,” said Tharn. “None of us knows enough about them to make such a claim. You argue with Kronin over a tract of land and you say that he too is without honor, yet he may be dying for our cause as we speak. If you and he can ally together, why not we with Chandakkar?”

Voris glanced away. “Kronin and I hate each other no less.”

Tharn moved closer to him. “There was a time when you would never have breathed the air of Tatterak. Now here you are, sitting down with those you once called evil. Think on that, my friend.”

“No, Voris is right,” came Shohar’s shrill voice again. “I myself have over one thousand warriors. Most of these others have at least that many. We do not need Chandakkar’s help.”

“No?” said Tharn. “How many is that, Shohar? I have looked at the numbers myself. It is a goodly amount, to be sure. But it is not enough to stop Nar. Even if Liss does keep them off our shores, they are already pouring through the Run. We need to stop them there. The lions could do that well.”

Shohar thought for a moment, then asked, “Is that your plan? To stop the Narens at the Run?”

“There is no other way. If we are ever to stop them we must take control of the Run. But it cannot be done quickly. The Narens already have the region secured. And it cannot be done with jiiktars and horses. We need to surprise them in the mountains. For that we need the lions.”

“They are coming for my valley,” said Voris impatiently. “
My
valley. I will not depend on the nomads to defend us.”

“You will defend yourself,” said Tharn. He looked around the gathering. “All of you will. My only plan for the nomads is to use them against the Narens in the Run. Once we close off the passage Nar will be unable to send more troops in. Then we will deal with those left on our soil.”

“First the nomads must be convinced to help,” said Shohar. “That will not be easy.”

“Perhaps they do not know what happened to Ackle-Nye,” suggested Tharn.

“Or perhaps they do not care,” said Shohar.

Tharn’s face soured. “When they see that their own lives are threatened, they will join us.”

“Until then we must make plans,” said Voris anxiously. “We cannot wait for them.”

“Nor will we,” said Tharn. “As I have said, I have plans for each of you. Lucyler?”

“Rayamo, Tharn?” said Lucyler.

“In Naren,” Tharn ordered. “I want Richius to understand us.”

Richius straightened at the mention of his name. The sudden sound of his own language was oddly strange.

“Lucyler, you know Kronin well. You know Tatterak, too. You must help Kronin. Nar is too close. We must defend ourselves, keep them from Falindar. I want you to do this.”

“Willingly,” answered Lucyler. There was a glint in his eyes, the kind of foolish zealousness Richius had seen far too often.

“Gather the warriors still in the citadel. Take them and go where you are needed. Fight with Kronin or without him, I care not which.”

“I understand,” said Lucyler. “But what of Richius? Is he to come with me?”

“No. I need other things from him.”

Richius could take no more. He cleared his throat and stood up alongside his companion. “Tharn,” he began haltingly. “You know why I’m here. I’ve agreed to help you with information. If you have other plans for me I wish you’d tell me now.”

“Wait,” warned Tharn. “It would be better.”

“No. Tell me now. I’ll probably refuse anyway, and you will have your answer all the quicker.”

“Very well,” said Tharn. He turned to the gathered warlords, telling them all to eat and drink while he attended to Richius. The
warlords wasted no time in reaching for the wine decanters. Only Voris refrained. Tharn asked him to rise, and the two made their way alongside the table to Richius and Lucyler. Richius bristled as the warlord of the Dring Valley approached, quietly wondering what Tharn had in mind for him.

“We will speak in Naren,” Tharn said. “Lucyler, explain what I say to Voris, please.”

“I will tell him,” answered Lucyler warily. Tharn stared hard at Richius.

“Voris knows nothing of what I am to tell you, King Richius. Do not be surprised by anything he does now.”

Voris frowned as the translation became clear. He prodded Tharn to continue.

“He doesn’t looked pleased and neither am I,” said Richius. The sense of impending dread was agonizing. “What is it you have planned, Tharn? If it’s to work with this maniac …”

Tharn lifted a hand. “Lucyler …”

“I will not repeat that,” Lucyler assured him.

Tharn smiled. “Yes. Be careful what you tell Voris.”

“My God!” cried Richius. “That is what you want, isn’t it? You expect me to work with Voris!”

Voris became incensed. He glared at Tharn, angrily demanding some explanation!

“Tell us everything, Tharn,” implored Lucyler. “Please.”

“King Richius, you heard what I said about the Empire’s troops, yes? They spread through the countryside. They will strike Dring soon. If they take it, they can divide us. You know this.”

Richius nodded. He knew very well the strategic value of taking the Dring Valley. He had spent nearly two years of his life trying to do the very same thing. With no luck.

“Dring is where you are needed. I meant what I said to the others. You may not think so, but your surviving Dring was like a miracle. I know because Voris has told me so. You are clever. This is needed in Dring. With you and Voris both there—”

“Voris is enough for anyone,” said Richius. “Trust me. He can handle his valley without my advice.”

“It will be more than advice,” said Tharn. “I want you to command there.”

“Kalak?” thundered Voris. His face purpled and a stream of
protests rolled off his tongue. Tharn sighed heavily, letting the warlord exhaust himself before replying. Voris was wrathful and loud, Tharn as peaceful as a lake. Richius threw up his hands in disgust.

“This is ridiculous. Lucyler, tell him to forget it. Maybe he’ll listen to you. He doesn’t seem to hear a damn thing
I
tell him.”

“Richius, calm down,” said Lucyler easily.