The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  "Easy," said Richius. "I'll explain it to you, if I can." He took a deep breath. If she didn't know about the coming war, it would surely be a shock. "There's going to be another war," he said. "Arkus is planning to invade Lucel-Lor, and he wants my country to help him. Tharn heard about his plans, and now he wants my help to stop the emperor. He thinks that if I speak to Arkus he will listen to me."

  "Because you are king now."

  "You know about that?"

  "It is what Lucyler told me."

  "What else did he tell you?"

  "That you have a wife." Dyana watched Richius' face and added quickly, "I know all of this, Richius. It is all right."

  "It's not," said Richius. "I'm sorry, Dyana. I'm so very sorry. I didn't want to marry. I couldn't forget you but--"

  She leaned forward and put a finger to his lips. "Stop," she ordered. "I am not angry."

  "Good, because now I intend to keep my promise. I'll get you out of here, one way or another. I've given Tharn till tomorrow to make a decision. He knows that keeping you here would mean an end to peace between us."

  Dyana closed her eyes. "Oh, Richius. I wish you had never come."

  "Why do you say that?" cried Richius. "Dyana, you're going to be free. I'm going to take you back to Aramoor, like I promised."

  "I cannot," she said. "I cannot go with you."

  "God damn it, don't be afraid of him! That's what he wants, the evil bastard. But I won't let him take you away from me this time. I have all of Nar behind me now and he knows it. He has to listen."

  But the more insistent he was the more she shook her head, until finally she put up her hands to stop him. "No!" she cried. "No, it is impossible. I cannot leave."

  Richius drew back, exasperated and terrified by her words. What magic had Tharn worked over her to bend her will so completely? She was hardly the Dyana he knew anymore, the girl willing to sell herself before wedding the devil of Lucel-Lor. He got up from the bed and looked down at her beautiful, mysterious face, trying to glean some insight from her eyes. But they were mute, as incomprehensible as her words.

  "Explain this to me," he insisted. "Why can't you leave him? Do you love him?"

  "I do not."

  "What, then? Has he threatened you? Because if he has--"

  "He is gentle with me, Richius. He would never do that to me."

  Richius moved closer to the bed. "Then what is it? I've come a long way for you, Dyana. I won't be turned away without reason."

  Dyana stiffened. "Another war," she muttered. "This must not happen."

  "Why can't you leave?" asked Richius ruthlessly. All the tenderness was gone from his voice. He lifted her chin with his hand, feeling the bone beneath the taut skin. "Answer me," he demanded. "Is it your sickness? Are you afraid? What?"

  "Come with me," Dyana said, getting up from the bed with visible effort.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Follow."

  He watched her move unsteadily to the door, then sprang forward and opened it for her. "You can hardly walk," he said, putting out his arm for her. "Here, let me help you."

  "No, please," she said, pulling away. "Others might see."

  "Dyana..."

  "I am fine. Come."

  He followed her out of the chamber and into the hall, then down the staircase, which she negotiated with difficulty, at last accepting his help when she was sure no one was around. The citadel was quiet, and he eased her soundlessly down the stairs until they reached the place where the hall that led to the other tower began.

  "Are we going to your room?"

  Dyana nodded but said nothing.

  "What about Tharn? Won't he see us?"

  "My rooms are not near his."

  Her rooms were in the south tower, a good distance from Tharn's. There were more windows in this hall, all letting in the warm spring sunlight, and a plush carpet blanketed the floor. The carpet gave thickly underfoot, letting Richius feel its obvious quality even through his boots. Several fixtures of tarnished gold were fastened to the wall, along with a handful of ivory and jade inlays. It was truly a royal residence here, like all of the citadel had once been. Scattered conversations echoed through the hall, the polite voices of women behind the nearest doors. Richius paused, fearful they would be seen.

  "Who's here?" he asked softly.

  "Servants. Women who attend to me."

  The answer made Richius' eyebrows shoot up. It seemed that Tharn spared no expense when it came to Dyana. While the rest of the citadel lived in relative squalor, she was Tharn's pampered queen. A little pang of jealousy coursed through him.

  "Here," she said, coming to an open door. Richius peered into the chamber. It was sunny and bright and remarkably clean. A woman not much older than Dyana stood in the far corner of the room, fussing over a waist-high piece of furniture. The chamber was large and she couldn't hear them until they were close behind her. She gave a startled cry when she noticed Richius, then reached out for Dyana. Dyana struggled to calm the woman, putting up her hands and talking rapidly, obviously explaining that nothing was wrong. The woman stared wide-eyed at Richius, unconvinced until Dyana practically pushed her out the door, shutting it behind her. When the argument was done Dyana nearly collapsed. She put her hand to her forehead and leaned against the closed door, breathing far too heavily. Richius went to her, catching her up in his arms. She didn't protest, but let him support her. Again Richius felt the sickly frailty of her body and knew there was something terribly amiss.

  "Oh, Dyana. What's the matter with you?"

  She gestured to a chair near the corner where the woman had been. "There, please. Let me sit."

  The tall, trough-shaped piece of furniture was by the chair, covered with lace and ribbons of white linen. Four sturdy legs held it upright, and a canopy of fabric stretched half-open across its top. Richius guided Dyana to the chair, curious about the odd item. It looked like a blanket case. He could see swatches of downy fabric creeping out over its sides where the canopy was pulled away. When Dyana was seated he peered inside. Something pink stared back at him.

  "Oh, my God," he whispered, backing away. His eyes flicked to Dyana. She didn't look at him. "That's a baby," he stammered, and the reality of the moment struck him like a bracing wind. "A baby!" he said again. "Dyana..."

  "My daughter," said Dyana softly. She glanced up at Richius apologetically.

  Richius was stupefied. He tried to collect himself, chancing another peek into the cradle. The tiniest infant he had ever seen writhed beneath a swaddling of lily-soft cloth, her eyes fixing on him with unfocused interest. Ruddy cheeks blew out minute puffs of air as she breathed, and when she saw him she whimpered unhappily.

  "She's beautiful," Richius whispered sadly. Lucyler had lied to him, and he could hardly veil his bitterness. "I suppose I was wrong about Tharn. Lucyler told me he couldn't have you."

  Dyana reached out and touched his hand. "Look more closely," she urged.

  Confused, Richius did as she asked, gently pulling back the canopy and studying the babe. Newborn, he deduced. He had seen newborn babies back at home, and they always had the same red complexion and pinched appearance. This one was no more than a few days old. She was nearly bald, too, with only the barest threads of fawn hair curling up from her scalp. The fingers of her right hand snatched feebly at the air, balling into a walnut-sized fist. Cautiously he reached into the crib, slow enough for her to see him coming. Her eyes tried to follow his hand, and when he touched her head she blew a bubble from her mouth. Richius laughed.

  "What's her name?" he asked, too fascinated to address Dyana directly.

  "Shani," replied Dyana. There was a hint of pride in her tired voice. "I named her after a cousin--someone I loved."

  Richius looked up at her. "Someone that died?"

  "Yes," said Dyana sadly. "When she was very young. I told you about her once. Do you remember?"

  Richius did, and the memory was torture. "In the valley," he whispered. "She was trampled
by a horse."

  "And I blamed you for killing her. I don't know if I ever apologized to you for that."

  "There's no need," said Richius. He looked again at the child. "Hello, Shani," he cooed, stroking the baby's neck the way one would a puppy. "Hello." He spared a glance at Dyana. "She's beautiful," he said again. "Just like her mother."

  "And her father," said Dyana. "You are not seeing her, Richius. Look."

  "Why?" asked Richius, suddenly alarmed. "Is she sick? Oh, does she have Tharn's disease?" He studied her closely, looking for some telling sign of illness. Other than the normal blemishes of a difficult birth, he saw nothing extraordinary about her.

  Except for her eyes. They were unusually dark and oddly shaped. Not deformed, as one might expect of Tharn's offspring, just different. More round than the usual narrow eyes of Triin. But Richius had never seen a Triin infant before. Perhaps it was normal. Perhaps they all had eyes like...

  He jumped back from the crib, as if an adder had suddenly appeared in the baby's place. "God in heaven," he exclaimed. "Is she mine?"

  The floor seemed to move beneath him. Quickly he took a breath, then another. Dyana was watching him anxiously. She reached for him, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him closer, but he snapped it back with an angry scowl.

  "She's mine!" he roared, bringing his hands to his head to contain the imminent explosion. "Damn it all, she's mine!" His eyes closed and his jaws clenched and his fists shook against his ears.

  "Richius," Dyana managed. "I--"

  "You didn't tell me! You gave me back this damned ring and didn't tell me you were carrying my child! Lucyler, too, damn him to hell!"

  "I hoped you wouldn't come," she said angrily. "I asked Lucyler not to tell you. I never wanted you to know."

  "You're as mad as he is," he railed. "She's my baby. I should have been told!"

  "Why? There is nothing you can do. Do you not see that?"

  "Like hell," spat Richius. "I'll take you both back. Shani can live in Aramoor, too. I'll look after both of you. My wife already knows about you, Dyana. She knows...."

  Dyana was shaking her head. "It cannot be."

  "Of course it can," Richius insisted. "I'm king of Aramoor now. I can protect you and the baby. Nothing will happen to her there."

  She looked up at him, the skin beneath her eyes red and sagging. "He lured you here," she said. "He knew you would come for me. It is his way, to manipulate."

  "And it worked," admitted Richius. "But I'm here now, and he knows he has no choice if he wants peace with Nar."

  "He will not let me leave," said Dyana. "He loves me, Richius. He has always loved me, I told you that once before. When we were children, he was always doing things for me, bringing me flowers and gifts. And he would try to be a man for me, to impress me by riding horses or climbing trees." Dyana laughed. "He was different then, and I liked the attention. But I have never been able to understand his love. It has always been too much, too heavy."

  "Does he know how you feel about him?"

  "It does not matter. He is Drol. He is wedded to me and that is the end of it. He would never let another man take his wife away. It would be the highest disgrace. Now do you see why I cannot leave? He would have to kill us both before letting you take me. His honor would demand it."

  "Then we'll go without his permission. We'll sneak away at night if we must."

  "He would find us, like he did last time. And then we would all be in danger. I cannot take such a chance with Shani. I will not."

  There was an awful logic to it. She was right and Richius knew it. Tharn would find them if he meant to, and the risk to the infant was unquestionable. Dyana had survived her abduction by Tharn because she was young and strong, but Shani would be like a mote of dust in one of Tharn's storms, blown into oblivion. A sour curse sprang from his lips and he dropped to the floor, rocking with his chin burrowed into his chest and his arms about his knees. He needed to think, but nothing was coming to him. They were trapped, without allies or escape. Tharn had beaten him.

  "Damn you, Tharn," he hissed. He couldn't even return to Aramoor and plot his vengeance on the cunning-man. Dyana and Shani were here, hostages against any military retribution. "Dyana," he groaned. "Help me. I don't know what to do."

  "You must go back. You must leave us here, Richius."

  "How can I leave you with this madman?" he asked. "God, she's my daughter!"

  "Tharn is not mad," she said mildly. "He looks after me, and he has promised to care for Shani, too. He knows that she is your child."

  "Are you certain about this? Is there any chance she is his?"

  "None," said Dyana. "You have seen how ill he is. He is not able to be with me, Richius. That is why my rooms are not near his." She smiled, trying to cheer him. "Please believe me. I have learned much about him. His illness has changed him. He is kind and gentle, like you. And I am not afraid of him."

  "But you don't love him."

  Dyana shrugged. "No. But I know he loves me. Shani's birth was hard. I was close to death, I think. But he stayed with me through it all. He did not care for himself, but watched me and slept by me."

  "Casadah," said Richius. "That was when the birth started, wasn't it?"

  "Yes," said Dyana with a shudder. He could tell she was still weak from the ordeal and that the memory of it was painfully fresh. "Shani was born the morning after. I do not remember much, really. There was so much blood, and Tharn was talking to my women, telling them to help me. He thought I would die. I thought so, too. But he stayed with me. He was there when she was born."

  "When I was in Aramoor I used to dream about you," Richius said softly. "I didn't know if you were alive or dead, but you were all I could think about. I was so angry with myself for leaving you, for letting you down. And then when Arkus said he was sending me back to Lucel-Lor, I told myself that maybe you would still be here, and I could find you and take you back home." He laughed. It all seemed so pathetic now. "My God. What a fool I am."

  "No," said Dyana. "You did more than anyone could have. Somehow I knew when I met you that you would find a way back here. But it is over now, Richius. We have separate lives. I am Triin and you are Naren, and we are both wedded."

  "Yes," Richius admitted. "Wedded." He thought of his bride back in Aramoor. She would be waiting for him, worrying. He knew he didn't deserve Sabrina any more than she deserved the curse of a neglectful husband. But Arkus had cast both their fates for them, just as Dyana's father had written her future when she was a mere girl. They were all game pieces being moved whimsically across a board, unable to still the hands of their masters. He stared listlessly at the floor, searching for an answer that never came. "What shall I do?" he said softly.

  "Leave us," said Dyana firmly. "We will be well here, I promise. Tharn is good. And he cares for me. You must go home to Aramoor. You must do as Tharn asks. Can you do that? Can you stop this war?"

  "No," said Richius. "The emperor won't listen to me."

  Dyana looked at him oddly. "I do not understand. You told Tharn you could help him."

  "Tharn thinks that because I'm a Naren king, Arkus will care what I say. He's wrong. Getting Arkus to change his mind is impossible."

  "But you will try, yes?"

  Richius was silent. He was very quickly becoming Tharn's whore, and the thought of helping the freakish holy man made his insides clench. But now there was Dyana and his daughter to consider. Things were different, just as Tharn knew they would be.

  "Richius," ventured Dyana carefully. "Tharn is very wise. He would not ask this of you if it were not important. He has brought peace to Lucel-Lor. He is--"

  "Please," said Richius, cupping his hands over his ears. "Not you, too. I can't bear it. Everyone is convinced he's some great man. Forgive me, but I don't see it."

  "Not a great man," Dyana corrected. "A good man. You do not know him, Richius. He has changed, I swear it. He is like he used to be, when we were young. He cares about his people. We are everything t
o him."

  "Lucyler tells me he thinks his gods deformed him. I think he's just diseased. What do you believe?"

  "I think he is touched by heaven," replied Dyana. "I think the gods have made him special. And I think he knows this, and it has humbled him."

  Richius shook his head in disbelief. It was as if they all suffered from some mind-dulling dementia. Did the past mean nothing to them? Slowly he rose from the floor and peered once more into Shani's cradle. The infant fidgeted.

  "My daughter," he said sadly. "How can I leave her? You ask the impossible of me, Dyana."

  "It is how it must be," Dyana answered. "I wish there was another way, but..." Her voice trailed off with a shrug.

  "I know," said Richius. He reached down and lightly felt Shani's tiny head, marveling at the sensation of her downy hair on his finger. In that moment she was more magnificent to him than the towers of Nar or the ancient forests of Aramoor or Falindar's bright citadel. He would slay an army of Tharns for her, but he had no weapons for the fight. Silently he closed the cradle's canopy.

  "I want to see her again before I leave," he said over his shoulder.

  Dyana walked up behind him. "You are going, then?"

  He nodded.

  "Will you speak to your emperor?"

  "I'll leave in a few days," Richius replied dully. "I want to give Tharn time to think about what I told him."

  "Will you, Richius? Will you talk to him?"

  Richius turned and stalked away. But when he made it to the door he hovered there, unable to cross the threshold. Dyana was staring at him curiously.

  "Richius?"

  "For months I have thought about you, Dyana," said Richius softly. "I'm like Tharn, obsessed with you, and I can't find the strength to forget you."

  "You must."

  "I don't want to. I'm in love."

  Dyana colored.

  "It's a foolish thing, I know," said Richius. "But I had always hoped that maybe when I saw you again, you might tell me that you have thought of me these past months, too." He tried to smile at her. "Have you ever? Maybe just a little?"

  Dyana turned away. "It is not a thing to speak of," she said icily. "I am married to Tharn."