The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  "I don't want to wait until we get to the castle," said Richius sternly, pulling the door closed behind him. "We must talk."

  "Why?"

  "Dyana, I don't understand this. What's the matter with you? You haven't spoken to me since we left Falindar. Why are you avoiding me?"

  Dyana turned away from him. She began fussing with the baby, adjusting her swaddling and rocking her to silence. Richius reached out for her, lightly tracing the skin of her hand. She flinched at his touch.

  "Dyana, what is it? Tell me, please. You're frightening me."

  "How can you not know?" asked Dyana. "It should be plain to you. We are together now, Richius. Without Tharn."

  Richius shrugged. "We'll be all right without him."

  "No. Do you not see? Look what he has done to us. He has left you alone with me. You are free from him now."

  "Is that why you're afraid?" asked Richius, instantly offended. "Lord, Dyana, how could you think such a thing? Don't you know I would never harm you?"

  Dyana looked at him pleadingly. "You misunderstand me."

  And then suddenly he did understand. He could hardly speak or even breathe. He reached out for her again, and this time she did not shrink away.

  "I am thinking of the baby," she said. "Voris will kill you if he thinks you have dishonored me."

  Richius chuckled. "He will not, Dyana. He's Tharn's friend, and Tharn told him to work with me."

  "No, you do not understand. Voris came to me, Richius. On the night of the council. He warned me not to disgrace Tharn. He said he would kill you if I let you touch me."

  "When were you going to tell me this, Dyana? I should have known sooner."

  "I was trying to avoid you," she said with annoyance. "But you are so stubborn. He must not suspect anything from us. He will kill you. And maybe me. He thinks I am bad for Tharn. He will take the baby from me--"

  "No harm will come to Shani," said Richius. "Or to us."

  "Tharn loves me so much, Richius. He is sick for me. Voris knows that. And..." Dyana's eyes filled with confession. "I spent the night with Tharn."

  "You did?" Richius said, not hiding his astonishment. "How?"

  "He came to me, the night before he left. He was so sad, and he wanted me, wanted to be cared for. He shared my bed. And I felt nothing for him but pity."

  "Tharn is miles away, Dyana. He cannot harm us."

  Dyana shook her head. "No. Voris will tell him. He must never see us together, Richius. Never. Please..."

  "Easy," crooned Richius. "Don't be afraid. I will not come to you again on the ride. But when we reach the castle--"

  "No, not even there. Nowhere, Richius."

  Richius sighed. "Tharn told you to teach me," he said. "So teach me. That way we can be together without making Voris suspicious."

  "Can we?"

  "I can be strong. We can still talk and see each other. You can teach me your language. Let Voris be suspicious. He won't have any proof. We won't give him any."

  Dyana bit her lip. "The baby..."

  "Shani will be safe. We won't betray Tharn. I promise you that. But I cannot be away from you."

  "Nor I you."

  Richius beamed. He kissed his finger, then put it to her lips.

  "Until the castle, then," he said, and didn't wait for her reply before silently opening the coach's door and springing out. He waved at her and she nodded, then closed the door.

  Richius skirted around the coach and surveyed the campsite. The first thing he noticed was the silence. Voris' incessant snoring had stopped. He peered through the darkness to where the warlord slept, but he could not see the man's face clearly, only the steady rise and fall of his chest. Richius eased past him, never once taking his eyes from the man. When he was barely ten feet away he noticed the flashing of eye whites. Voris was staring at him. Richius froze.

  Unsure what to do, Richius did nothing. The warlord's face contorted into a disapproving grimace. And then, remarkably, Voris shut his eyes and rolled over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The Black City, as Nar had long been called, earned its name from the constant clouds of ash and smoke that drifted eternally above the city. It was an apt name, and particularly suited the place on warm spring days, when the wind was impotent against the heavy pollution choked up by the incinerators. On such days the sunlight struggled to reach the earth, and the shadows of the labyrinthine skyscrapers were rich and dark. There was a mood to the city on these days, a colorless depression shared by all in the ancient capital. It struck both the beggars in the streets and the royal fops in their posh apartments, for it was an ailment of the mind and crushing to the human spirit. Those with means escaped the city on these days, taking horse or carriage or boat to a place where the air was more natural. There were many places in the Empire a man could go to find clean skies. Count Renato Biagio had seen almost all of them. But he always considered himself lucky when he came home again, back to the bizarre city he adored. Nar was his truest love, more so even than Crote, and every time he saw its jagged silhouette he swooned.

  Yet today, as he raced through the corridors of the black palace, he hardly noticed the splendor of his home. He had been called back to Nar unexpectedly, and the shock of it had jarred him. Biagio was afraid. For the first time he could remember, something valuable to him was at mortal risk, something more dear to him than Nar itself.

  "I came as quickly as I could," he told Bovadin as they darted up the stairway. The little scientist had greeted his coach at the palace gates. Biagio hadn't waited for an explanation. They talked while they ran, Bovadin trailing in Biagio's wake as he attempted to answer the count's endless questions. When did it happen? Is he strong enough to speak? How long has he been asking for me? Biagio only half heard the answers. His thoughts were on fire, as they had been for all the three long weeks since he received Bovadin's urgent plea to return. He had still been in Talistan when the letter came. From there, he had arranged transport aboard one of Nicabar's warships. The ship was called the Swift, but the journey had still seemed agonizingly slow.

  "He will be glad to see you," said Bovadin, already winded from the climb. "It will cheer him."

  "What is it?" asked Biagio over his shoulder. "The drug?"

  "Just age," replied the scientist. It was the answer Biagio dreaded.

  They stopped when they came to the corridor outside the emperor's bedchamber. It was unbearably warm. There was a blazing fire in the hearth at the hall's far end, spitting flames up the chimney. Biagio's perpetually cold flesh drank in the warmth like a flower.

  "We've been keeping him as warm as possible," explained Bovadin. "It doesn't seem to be doing much good. His skin is like ice."

  Biagio tossed off his cape and handed it to Bovadin as he hurried to the door. The scientist grabbed his arm. "Wait," he urged. "I want to prepare you."

  "Is it that bad?"

  "He can't walk, and he can't see. He can talk reasonably well, but hearing is difficult for him. You'll have to speak loudly."

  Suddenly Biagio couldn't move. It was all too much, and his voice constricted in his throat. "My God," he whispered. "Can't you do anything for him?"

  Bovadin crinkled his insect-like nose. "I'm not a wizard. The drug can only do so much."

  "Well, make it stronger," said Biagio. "Double it: anything."

  "I've tried all that. Nothing works. I'm sorry, but he's grown immune to it. It'll probably happen to us all eventually."

  "I don't care about eventually," snapped Biagio. "You have to do something now. Find a different drug. Make up some new potion. Kill a hundred virgins, I don't care. Just do something!"

  Bovadin stiffened. "I'm trying. But it's not that simple. And he's not expecting me to save him, my friend. It's your turn."

  Biagio didn't reply. All his life he had known this moment would come, and now that he faced it he was like a child, fearful of the monsters in the closet. He hesitated outside the bedchamber, hovering just out of range of the knob. Ark
us was more like a father to him than any man had ever been. The thought of life without the cruel genius was unbearable.

  "Does he know I'm here?"

  Bovadin made the most serene face. "No. He knows I sent for you, that's all. Nicabar is in with him now."

  "Danar? What's he doing here?"

  "Arranging troop transports to Lucel-Lor," sniffed the scientist. "Your orders, I believe."

  Biagio nodded. "Good. While he's here we can discuss things."

  "Not too much," warned Bovadin. "Don't get Arkus excited. I've already heard how things are going in Lucel-Lor. You haven't found anything yet. The emperor doesn't know that. He's been asking Nicabar about the war, but so far we've been able to keep things from him. He's going to ask you, so be careful what you say."

  "I will," said Biagio. There was really little choice. Bad news could ruin Arkus now. He would have to be optimistic.

  He reached for the ornate doorknob and twisted, pulling the door silently open. Immediately the scent of burning wood assailed him. In the corner of the lavish chamber was another hearth, rumbling with the same monstrous fire as in the hall. Biagio could hear its insistent crackling over the muted conversation. Against the wall was a massive iron bed, thick with lavender pillows and silky, cream-colored sheets. A golden harp stood unused by the bedside, a little stool resting vacant beside it. And reclining on the bed--so lightly that he hardly made an impression in the mattress--was the reedy, emaciated body of Arkus. His bony hand rested in the meaty grip of Admiral Danar Nicabar. The admiral did not see Biagio standing in the doorway.

  "Danar?" called Biagio softly. He forced himself to step into the chamber.

  Nicabar turned to glare at him, then his hard features softened with recognition. He waved Biagio forward.

  "Who is it?" asked Arkus, lifting his head to stare blindly at the door. Gone was the golden voice, replaced by a hoarse croaking. "Danar, is someone here?"

  Danar patted the emperor's hand as Biagio approached. "Yes, my lord," he said cheerfully. "Guess who?"

  "Do not play with me, Danar. Is it he?"

  "It is I, Great One," declared Biagio. He looked down at the man in the bed, almost weeping at the sight of him. "I have come as you've asked."

  "Oh, Renato," breathed Arkus unsteadily. His voice quivered. "Renato. I knew you would come; I knew it."

  "Of course I came," said Biagio. "I came as soon as I could."

  He motioned for Nicabar to remove himself from the bed and quickly took his place, picking up the emperor's brittle hand. Biagio studied his sickly features, gazing into his dim eyes. The shimmering, preternatural blue was gone, replaced by a murky glaze of cataracts. A network of veins striped his face, and he seemed not to notice the viscous stream of spittle dripping down the desiccated skin of his jaw. Biagio swallowed and mustered up his strength.

  "My lord, how are you feeling?"

  "I am in hell itself," replied Arkus. "But I am better now that you are here, Renato. Oh, so much better."

  "Bovadin told me you fell ill. I was in Talistan when I heard the news. Forgive me, my lord. I made the journey as quickly as I could."

  Arkus attempted a smile. "You are here. That is what matters. You can stay with me now."

  "Yes, Great One. Whatever you wish. You know I will do it."

  Arkus tried to clasp his hand more firmly, but the muscles of his fingers only quivered. He let out an irate groan. Biagio stroked his hair to quiet him.

  "Do not try to move," he said. "You are very weak. Bovadin says you must rest. Lie still. I am with you."

  "Danar?" called Arkus weakly. "Are you still here?"

  "I am, my lord," said Nicabar, coming to the bed.

  "Danar, tell Renato what we've been talking about. It will interest him. Listen, Renato."

  Biagio looked up at Nicabar and the admiral shook his head. He understood at once.

  "Great One, this is not the time for such talk. You must rest. Danar and I will speak later."

  "I am not an infant," said Arkus roughly. "And I am still emperor. Do not treat me as if I were already dead. Danar, tell him."

  The admiral cleared his throat and said, "It may be nothing, really. You already know we've broken off our siege of Liss."

  "Yes," said Biagio. "So?"

  "Well, I think we're not through with them yet. I've had some interesting reports while you were traveling, Renato. It seems the schooners of Liss are on the move."

  "What?" Biagio sputtered. "That's impossible! You told me the schooners were destroyed."

  "Not all of them, apparently. My dreadnoughts have sighted them. They were heading for Lucel-Lor."

  Biagio felt a desperate tightness in his chest. He glanced at Arkus, who was nodding dumbly. Nicabar shrugged, unable to explain the odd phenomenon.

  "You hear, Renato?" asked Arkus. "Even as I die those Lissen pirates torment me!"

  "But Lucel-Lor?" said Biagio, looking to Nicabar. "Why? It doesn't make sense."

  "Obviously the Triin have found allies," said Arkus. "Common cause against us, you might say. What matters now is not why, Renato, but what we shall do about it. Danar claims there are at least a dozen of the schooners."

  "Probably more," added Nicabar. "A dozen is all we've seen so far."

  "And they're faster than our dreadnoughts," Arkus continued. "They could keep us from landing more troops on the Triin shores."

  "They mustn't," said Biagio. "Danar, you have to stop them."

  "We will try," said Nicabar. "But it won't be easy. Our lord is right. They are much faster than our own ships. Catching them will be difficult."

  Biagio wanted to argue, but he held his tongue for his emperor's sake. If Liss was allowed to aid the Triin, the conquest of Lucel-Lor could become a slow, protracted stalemate. And that meant no cure for Arkus.

  "Danar, you must do your best," directed the count calmly. Then he laughed and said, "These Lissens are a distraction we don't need!"

  "You spare me," said Arkus darkly. "They are more than a distraction. They could ruin us. You must not let them, either of you. Do everything you have to, but stop them, do you hear?"

  "We won't fail you, my lord," came Nicabar's reply. He seemed eager to leave, licking his dry lips as he spoke. "If there are only a dozen of them, they should pose little threat."

  "A dozen ships," said Biagio, tossing off the notion as if it were nothing. "And how many dreadnoughts do you have, Danar? At least that many, yes? And the old war barges, too? These Lissens will be nothing to you. Really, Great One, you worry needlessly. We are already on the ground in Lucel-Lor. Let the Triin look to Liss for help. They will be but a petty annoyance."

  Arkus smiled, appreciating his count's elaborate lie. "Renato, I will hold you to that," he said. "And you, too, Admiral."

  Nicabar blanched. "I should leave you now, my lord," he said, backing away. "You and the count should talk. I will come to you again this evening. If you need anything--"

  "I will send for you," said Arkus. "Thank you.'''

  Nicabar bowed to the blind emperor, shot Biagio an insulted look, then turned and left the chamber. Arkus waited until the admiral closed the door before he moved again. He took hold of Biagio's hand with a grip as weak as water and closed his blind eyes.

  "Oh, Renato," he sighed, breathing the name like a prayer. "I am so happy you are with me. I get nothing but lies from the others. The truth now, my friend. What news from Lucel-Lor?"

  It was the question Biagio had been dreading. He forced up a sunny voice and lied. "Good news, Great One. We have the Triin on the run."

  Arkus waited a moment for the count to continue, frowning with impatience. "And?"

  "Well, Gayle has been doing a fine job," answered Biagio evasively. "I'm sure you've heard about Ackle-Nye. It was a complete success, and Gayle's men are on their way to the valley." He patted the emperor's hand. "Your legions are with him, and Nicabar's navy has started to land men on the coasts. By summer--"

  "Renato!" demanded the emp
eror. "What news?"

  Biagio faltered. "I'm sorry, Great One," he stammered."We've found nothing yet."

  Arkus' hand stilled, then the lips curled around the awful word, and it came out of his throat in a small, terrified whisper. "Nothing." His hand started to tremble, and he looked toward Biagio. "Nothing?"

  "No, Great One. Not yet. But we've only just begun our search. Surely in the Dring Valley, or in Chandakkar--"

  "It's there, Renato. Look for it!"

  "We are looking, Great One. We're doing everything we can. Gayle is tearing Lucel-Lor apart for you. If there is a cure, he'll find it."

  "He must hurry. There is no time to waste." Arkus shut his eyes and a tiny tear squeezed out from under a lid. "Lord in heaven, save me. I cannot walk, Renato. I am blind. My heart is next, I know it."

  "No, Great One," soothed Biagio. "You will walk again. It is probably nothing more than some rheumatism. Your eyes, too. Bovadin will have another potion for you. Soon we will be walking in the garden together."

  "I love your optimism," said Arkus. "But I am dying. And I swear to God I cannot stand the terror of it." The tears were dripping onto the perfumed pillows. "Help me, Renato. I am afraid."

  "Do not be," said Biagio firmly. "I won't let you die, Great One, I swear it. If there is a magic in Lucel-Lor to save you, I'll find it. I will rip it out of Tharn myself."

  "Yes, find it," begged the emperor. "Quickly now. God, that bastard boy has ruined me. Don't let him get away with it, Renato."

  Biagio's eyes narrowed. "No. That I promise you, no matter what happens. I will bring you back his skull."

  "Why, Renato? Why did he betray me like this? I gave him everything, a wife, a kingdom, his whole damn inheritance. I could have taken his worthless life, but I didn't. Why has he done this to me?"

  "It is in his blood, my lord. Some sort of gross disease. Don't blame yourself. He duped us both. It is true what the Triin say of him. He is a jackal."

  "I want him," said Arkus. "Before I die I want him brought to me."

  "We will have a greegan suck out his eyeballs for the blindness he has caused you, Great One. But do not talk of death. You are Arkus of Nar. You cannot die."