The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  "I have to find the house of a man named Cavool," said Lucyler. "The merchant told me he would be around here, and that he might be willing to rent a room to us for the right price. I will tell him that you are sick, but that you have nothing dangerous to others. Then I will give him this."

  He pulled out another coin from his robes, this one shiny and gold and many times larger than the ones he had given the merchant in the market. Enough to rent a healthy man a room for a month, thought Richius. Perhaps it was enough to buy a leper one night of privacy. Lucyler scanned the small houses, looking for some definitive features. A slight frown appeared on his face.

  "I will have to ask around for this Cavool," he said finally. "Wait here for me. It will be quicker if I go myself."

  Richius shook his head vigorously.

  "I will not be long," said Lucyler. "I am sure his house is nearby. Do not talk to anyone."

  "God damn it, Lucyler," Richius hissed, but his friend was already gone, leaving him leaning against one of the dozens of houses lining the street. Richius felt a desperate loneliness wash over him, and he shambled into the shadows, hoping no one would see him, or worse, attempt a conversation. But the other folk in the street ignored him, going on about their business as if he were one of them. He could hear the mild chatter of Triin through the open windows above him, could smell the exotic cooking of midday meals. Women called to their children, and old men laughed about unknown things as they drank and played dice games in little groups on the sidewalks. And as the moments passed, Richius began to feel a certain foolishness about his fears. Not only did these people not notice him, he realized suddenly, they seemed like no threat at all. There were no Drol warriors among them brandishing jiiktars, no hordes of Tharn's holy men calling out prayers. There was only the peace that Lucyler had described, orderly and regular, as if war had never touched this place.

  Richius stepped out of the shadows and into the street. He had never really been here, he realized. He had once come to this place, camping on the outskirts with Okyle's brigade, but he had never known life in Dandazar or even thought to fathom its inhabitants. Now, with the milling of all this life around him, he was intrigued, and the sudden realization that Lucyler hadn't lied to him struck him like a welcome wind.

  Soon he was chancing a walk into the street, still averting his eyes but refusing to cower, gradually making his way past stalls and tables filled with the wares of a culture he hardly knew. He was careful not to wander far, but the pull of the market drew him forward. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder to where Lucyler would be waiting for him, and each time he didn't see his friend he took another step deeper into the crowd, until he was surrounded by the city's population and their odd, throaty tongue. For the first time since leaving Aramoor, he was happy, and he glided along as if invisible, hardly bothering to stoop or limp or make any pretense to illness. The charade seemed suddenly foolish now. No one knew who he was, and all were too busy with their own doings to pay him any attention. But he was careful to keep his hands off the things for sale, for no matter how much they intrigued him he knew the hue of his skin would reveal him. So he merely observed, enchanted with the variety of things being bought and sold. At a table near the end of the street a merchant had set out a fabulous collection of silks and fabrics, a rainbow procession of colors and textures spun into robes and other garments. Richius strode over to the crowded table, eyeing the beautiful wares, and gasped at what he saw there.

  Hanging from a board behind the Triin merchant was a dress of silver and scarlet so perfectly made as to be breathtaking. The smile on Richius' face broadened. Falindar was only a week away, and this would likely be their last stop before reaching the citadel. Until this moment it hadn't even occurred to him to have a gift for Dyana, but seeing the dress reminded him of her instantly. It would be a wonderful present for her. He glanced over at the merchant, who was just finishing up with a customer. Richius looked away, struggling to think. He would have to come back with Lucyler. Surely there was enough money for the dress...

  An ear-splitting scream shattered Richius' musings. He turned to look behind him and all at once the street erupted into panic. The tide of people swarming in the square parted, and at their center Richius saw an unimaginable thing. He fell back, dumbfounded at the sight, almost stumbling into the merchant's table. What looked to him like a giant cougar was mauling a man in the center of the street. Twice the size of a warhorse, the creature towered above its screaming prey, its knife-like fangs bared, its short, brown mane frizzled with rage. Yellow eyes shone from its massive head, and its cropped tail whipped from side to side in fast, determined movements as it pinned the man beneath its paws. Like something out of Naren mythology, the beast bristled and hissed at the horrified crowd. The man wailed in shock and pain, fighting against the impossible mass of the creature and beating his fists against its legs, his clothes thick with bloody rents.

  Richius searched frantically for a solution. The cat was surely enough to best a score of men, yet he could hardly bear the screams of the Triin pinned beneath the monster. He slipped his hands under his garments, feeling quickly for Jessicane's pommel. The giant sword felt insignificant in his grip. Only then did he notice that the creature was harnessed and saddled. He stared at the enraged beast, stupefied at the idea that someone was capable of riding it. He recalled the giant skull that hung in Arkus' chamber, that bleached skeleton the emperor had called the remains of a Triin war lion. He had only heard of these creatures in tales, and here one was, about to tear a man's chest open. Desperately he glanced around, hoping to find the cat's master, but all he saw were the wide-eyed faces of onlookers like himself. There was no one else to save the man, and in less than a minute he would be dead.

  It was all the convincing Richius needed.

  Jessicane leapt out from under the robes in a silver flash. Richius dashed forward, the sword high above his head, a cry tearing from his throat. At once the cat sighted him. It lowered its head and fixed its angry eyes on him, emitting a violent roar. Richius stopped five feet before the snarling lion, waving Jessicane before him.

  "Back, beast!" he cried. "Back!"

  The lion snapped out a giant paw, swiping at Richius and missing by inches. Richius took a small step forward and swiped back, nicking the monster's tawny breast. Enraged, the lion stretched out farther with its limb and batted the sword away, but Richius stood firm, calling out every insult he could think of to drive the creature off its dying prey. A gasp went up from the astounded crowd. Richius pressed forward, his heart beating furiously. Where was the damn thing's rider? If it did attack him, he would never be able to outrun it, and fighting it was unthinkable. This was no dog-sized war wolf. The thing was a behemoth. Yet still he jeered at it, poking with his sword, trying to drive it off the crumpled man. The man, too, tried to aid in his rescue, screaming and kicking and clawing. But still the cat remained there, unwilling to lift its massive paw. Finally Richius was desperate enough to attack the beast. He reared Jessicane backward in both fists. If he could harm it enough...

  "Kajiea!"

  Richius halted. A Triin man raced up to him, tugging at his cloak and dragging him off his feet. Richius stared up at the man, dumbstruck at the assault. He was unlike any Triin Richius had seen before. Long, weather-beaten garments hung loosely from his grimy body, and his skin was bronzed an unusual umber over his natural whiteness. He was tall, too, with a pair of fierce and dangerous eyes that shone like two burning rubies. His face was lean and hard, and he glared at Richius for a long moment before turning his attention to the lion. Richius could see the jiiktar poised on his back.

  The beast calmed at the sight of the man. It lowered its head and retracted its claws, its eyes dawning with primitive recognition. The man walked fearlessly up to the cat and ran his hands through its dark mane, speaking to it in a low, comforting voice. He seemed not to notice the man trapped beneath it. The man's pleas had died to a dull murmur, and blood seeped from his clo
thes and stained the street under him. Richius struggled to his feet to face the lion rider, pointing at the dying man.

  "Are you mad?" he bellowed. "Can't you see that man is dying? Let him go!"

  The Triin reared back at the verbal barrage, fixing his hot eyes on Richius again, then glanced down at the twisting figure and spat. At last he cooed to the giant cat, and the beast raised its paw from the man's chest. Richius seized the opportunity, racing up to the man and dragging him away from the lion. The lion rider glared at Richius. The wounded man was barely breathing.

  "You've done it, you know," he hissed. "He's dying."

  Others were coming closer now. Triin women swarmed over the broken figure, pulling at his clothes and gasping at the deep rents in his flesh. Richius rose to face the lion master. The giant cat's expression had calmed to a blank stare, but his rider's face was still fixed with rage. He squared his shoulders as Richius approached, folding his tanned arms over his chest.

  "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--"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dinadin 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 o
n 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."