The Jackal of Nar (75 page)

“Stop telling me to calm down!” Richius flared. He turned back to Tharn. “Tharn, I’m going back to the citadel. Tell this madman he can stop arguing with you, because I agree with him. He doesn’t want my help and I don’t want to help him. Fine.” Richius started away but Tharn grabbed hold of his arm.

“Stay!” hissed the cunning-man. Another angry order quieted Voris. Tharn released Richius’ arm and spat at his feet. “Both of you are sickening!” he raged. His voice resonated with remarkable vigor. “See these others here? They watch you and they think you are fools. You are like children. But I care not of your pride, either of you! You must do this thing. Must!”

As Lucyler translated the Drol’s tirade, Voris shrank back with shame. He bowed his head to the ground, avoiding Tharn’s eyes. But Richius roiled at the insults. He pushed past Voris and stuck his finger into Tharn’s face, punctuating each word with it as he snarled.

“You have used me for the last time, Tharn. I agreed to help you and this is what I get for it? You know how I feel about Voris. How could I not hate him?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Everyone thinks you’re so wise, but this is one of the stupidest plans I’ve ever heard.”

Tharn’s eyes smoldered. “Come with me,” he rumbled, then turned his back on the astonished trio and slowly shuffled away from the war council. All the warlords watched him depart but said nothing, and the silence made Richius at once self-conscious. He glanced at Lucyler.

“Just me?” he asked.

“I think so,” answered his friend. Voris was already walking away from them, returning to his place at the council table.

Richius stiffened. “If he thinks he’s going to change my mind …”

“Go with him and find out,” urged Lucyler. “I will stay here with the others.”

“But your hand …”

Lucyler shooed him away. “Forget about it. Go.”

Reluctantly Richius agreed, going off along the dark slopes after Tharn. The cunning-man had made very little progress, and Richius overtook him easily. Tharn was breathing hard, as much from ire as exertion, and was mumbling to himself distractedly as Richius came up behind him.

“What do you want from me, Tharn?” Richius asked acidly. “I’ve already given you my answer. You’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“Silence for once,” Tharn snapped. “Follow me.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“Where we can talk without other ears. Now come.”

Richius followed, letting Tharn guide him wordlessly back to the citadel and through the place’s tall doors. The trip was arduously long, made more unbearable by Tharn’s stony silence. Each time the cunning-man faltered, Richius reached out for him, and each time Tharn pulled angrily away, not even opening his mouth for an insult. They were alone as they entered the citadel, but Tharn kept going, past the indoor court and past the dingy rooms where crippled men talked and busy women settled children down for sleep. Finally, when they reached the main stairs, Richius stopped.

“Tell me where we’re going,” he said as politely as he could manage.

Tharn did not turn around but instead put his foot on the first riser of the stairs. “Up.”

“You can’t get up those stairs without help. Don’t even try.”

A second later Tharn’s foot slid off the riser. He tumbled backward into Richius’ arms.

“I told you, you fool,” said Richius. Tharn struggled to right himself and Richius let him go. “Now, if you want to go upstairs, you’ll either let me help you or we’ll talk down here. It’s your choice.”

“Upstairs,” Tharn conceded breathlessly. “Please.”

“All right,” said Richius, taking the man’s arm and securing it around his shoulders. He put his own arm around Tharn’s waist, fighting a wrench of nausea at the sensation of loose skin beneath the saffron robes. Tharn gasped with pain, and Richius quickly eased his embrace. “Better?”

Tharn nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” said Richius, guiding Tharn up the stairs. “Careful now. We’ll go slowly.”

“Yes, slowly.”

Inch by agonizing inch they made their way up the spiral staircase, bypassing any who came down the narrow passage. Some offered help, others politely ignored them, and Tharn greeted each of them with an impatient wave. Richius gritted his teeth against the sickening stench of rotting skin. He had never been so near Tharn before, and wondered how the cunning-man himself endured the odor. It struck him suddenly that Tharn was barely five years his senior, and yet he was helping him up the stairs as if he were ancient.

“Much further?” asked Richius. His back already ached from the awkward gait.

“To Dyana’s chamber,” Tharn replied.

“Dyana? What are we seeing her for?”

“Take me to her.”

Thankfully Dyana’s chamber was not as high up as the others in the citadel. When they reached the hallway leading to it Tharn spilled out of Richius’ arms. He started off down the hall without a word, at once regaining his recent iciness.

“You’re welcome,” muttered Richius loudly. Tharn ignored him.

“Come,” he ordered.

The hallway was dim and quiet. Dyana’s chamber was near the end of the corridor. Tharn traversed the distance with remarkable speed and rapped insistently on the door. A long pause went by with no answer. Richius guessed that Dyana had already retired for the night. But before Tharn could knock again the door pulled cautiously open and Dyana peered out. Bewildered, she looked at Tharn and then to Richius, then finally back to Tharn.

“Husband?”

Tharn pushed the door open with his cane. Dyana stumbled backward. She was dressed in a simple gown that told Richius she was indeed readying herself for sleep. She blinked at her husband in alarm.

“What is it?” she asked. Tharn did not step inside the chamber.

“King Richius is going to the Dring Valley,” he said tersely.
“He will be leaving in two days. He will need an interpreter. You will go with him.”

Dyana stared at him as if she hadn’t heard. “Husband?”

“What?” erupted Richius.

“Teach him our language so he can learn,” Tharn continued. “It is important, Dyana. Do your very best.”

“I don’t understand,” Dyana stammered. “Why must we go to the Dring Valley?”

“Richius is needed there,” said Tharn. “And you are the only one who can teach him.”

“But Shani—”

“Take the infant with you. Voris will look after you both.”

Dyana’s look was baleful. “Husband—”

“Do not argue with me!” snapped Tharn. “Now sleep. You will need to be rested.” He hooked his hand around the door handle and pulled it closed, shutting Dyana away. Richius could hear her astonished curse behind the door.

“Are you insane?” he asked. “You want her to go with me? Why?”

“You need an interpreter,” said Tharn. He went to another door and knocked. This time it opened quickly. The nurse Richius had seen in Dyana’s chambers days ago appeared. Tharn tossed off some quick demands and she stepped out into the hall, wrapping her arms around him just as Richius had. Slowly they made their way back to the stairway.

“Don’t ignore me,” said Richius, keeping pace with them. “I want to know what this is all about. Why should she go with me?”

Tharn would not look at him. “You do not speak the language and Lucyler is needed elsewhere.”

“Rubbish. What’s the real reason?”

“That is it.”

Richius grabbed hold of the nurse’s arm and yanked her away. She shrieked and shrank backward, sending Tharn to his knees. The cunning-man cursed and glared up at Richius.

“Leave me be!” he hissed, fumbling to rise. Richius did not offer a hand.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I have told the truth! You are needed in Dring. We cannot lose the valley.”

“Not that,” Richius barked. He held back the nurse with a
warning hand. “Tell me the truth about Dyana. Why must she go with me?”

“Because she isn’t safe here!”

Richius faltered back a step, stunned. He watched Tharn struggle to his feet. The cunning-man’s expression was terrible.

“Tharn,” began Richius weakly. “I don’t understand. Explain yourself.”

Tharn rubbed at his forehead pensively. “She is not safe here,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “I must send her to Dring with you. I have no choice.”

“You’re worried about her? But she’d be safer here, surely.”

Tharn pulled himself up with his walking stick. “No,” he said. “There are many here in Falindar who know about you and Dyana.” He looked at Richius curiously. “Does that surprise you? Yes, I can see that it does. I am not so blind myself, you know. She has not been the same since you arrived. Little things distract her.” Tharn’s face was sour. “It seems carrying your child has affected her.”

Embarrassed, Richius could only shrug. “But why isn’t she safe here? You’re her husband now.”

“There are many who think she is tainted from being with you. The child, too. They would kill her if they could.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would,” Tharn insisted. “Not all Drol are as I am. They see how she is, like a Naren woman. And they know the child is yours.”

“But no one would harm her with you around,” said Richius. “You can protect her better than I can.”

“I will not be here to protect her much longer. I must go to Chandakkar. I must make Karlaz listen. If I do not return Dyana and the baby will be in danger. So they must go with you to Dring. She will be safe there. Voris will protect her. He is sworn to me.”

“These others are sworn to you, too,” countered Richius. “Aren’t they?”

“Not like Voris. He is a friend of many years. He is a brother to me. He will protect Dyana.” Tharn’s face darkened. “And you will, too, I know. I have seen how you glow when you look at her. I am not as blind as you think.”

“Tharn …”

“Do not deny it. I do not fault you. And I do not blame Dyana, either. She has a monster for a husband. Of course she would find
you
compelling.”

Richius couldn’t answer, so stunned was he by the man’s honesty. More, he was intrigued. Had Dyana really changed since he’d come here? Was she enamored with him, too? The notion made his heart race.

“Tharn, I can’t go to Dring. You don’t know how Voris and I feel about each other.”

Tharn laughed. “Oh, yes, I do.”

“Then you know you ask the impossible. Voris will never work with me.”

“He will because I have ordered it,” said Tharn. “He will do as I say. Believe me, he is better than you think of him. And he needs you. The Dring Valley is too important. If it is lost, then the war is lost. You must help us, Richius, you must. We all must stand together.”

“Easy,” urged Richius, taking the man’s arm. He waved the nurse over. Hesitantly she took hold of Tharn. “Go back to the council. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

“No. I want your answer first. Dyana thinks you are a man of strength. Will you show us some strength now? Go to Dring. Defend it. Have your revenge on your emperor that way.”

“It won’t work.…”

“It will,” Tharn said. “But you must put aside your feelings, as I have. Do you think I wish to send Dyana with you? I do not. But you have need of her, and I cannot leave her here. I do not trust you, but I have no choice. So you see? Even I am tangled in my plans. But know this. I am a Drol. I will not let you disgrace me. And Voris will be watching you.”

“That sounds like a threat,” remarked Richius sharply. “You shouldn’t threaten someone from whom you need a favor.”

“You will defend Dring because it is right to do, not because I ask it. As for Dyana, I do not believe she would risk being with you. She knows I love her. Call it an obsession if you wish, but I cannot stop it. I have never been able to, and I have tried. It is like that for you, too, is it not?”

Richius nodded sadly. “Yes.”

Tharn smiled at him. “I do not hate you, Richius Vantran. I
think my wife is right about you. But do not rival me for Dyana. Where she is concerned, I cannot stop myself.”

It was a grim warning, and Richius accepted it grudgingly. He had already seen the lengths the cunning-man would go to for possession of Dyana, and he had no wish to repeat such violence. Especially not with Shani involved.

“Go back to the others, Tharn,” he said. “Let me at least have the night to think.”

Tharn inclined his head slightly, then let the nurse guide him away down the winding staircase.

For a long moment Richius stood alone in the hall. His side still ached where Voris had kicked him, but it was a distant ache, hardly noticeable. He thought of going to Dyana while Tharn was occupied, but the idea seemed somehow dishonorable. Tharn loved her. That was as evident as the moonlight. Richius stared down the hall toward Dyana’s closed door, knowing that she was as troubled and confused as he was. Someone should explain it all to her, he thought.

He would do it. Just not tonight.

Dyana awoke the next morning determined to speak to Tharn. Now that his war council was over, he would have time for her, she reasoned, and even if he didn’t she would make him see her. It was just past dawn and she was fussing with Shani, feeding the baby and cleaning her, and waiting for her nurse so that she might leave her daughter in search of Tharn.

She was incensed. Not only for being ordered around like a dog, but for being given the impossible task of teaching Richius their language. Worse still, she dreaded the thought of returning to the austere Dring Valley. Almost a year had passed since she had fled that awful place, stealing away with Falger and the other refugees, and she had promised herself that she would never return, certainly not while the Drol held sway. Now her husband was ordering her back there, and Dyana didn’t know which she hated more—her impotence at being commanded or the thought of living with Voris.

“Damn him,” she muttered as she put Shani into her crib. Tharn could be such an enigma. Just when she thought him kind,
he turned back into an adder. And this time he had bitten her hard. This time, she knew, she would not be able to dissuade him. There had been a wildness in his eyes last night, a frightening singleness of mind. For whatever inscrutable reasons, he had made his decision. She would have to go to Dring. But not without a protest.