The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  "Terms?" suggested Marlyle hopefully.

  Cassis frowned. He had never heard of a warlord offering terms. And even if they did, he could never accept them. More Naren nonsense. The general tried hard to look confident.

  "Colonel, carry out my orders. Get that cannon operational. And arrange the horsemen in the city center. Meet me there."

  "How many, sir? A dozen?"

  "Fifty," said Cassis.

  "Fifty? Sir, if I recall that many men to--"

  "Do it!" flared Cassis. "Go. And get my own horse ready."

  Marlyle obliged, leaving Cassis alone on the balcony. The general looked back over the approaching warriors. The one in front seemed to be smiling. Even at such a distance, Cassis made out the flash of teeth. The message would be for him, he knew, so he straightened his uniform, mouthed a little prayer, then followed Marlyle out of the chamber.

  Shohar the Skull-Taker rode purposefully toward the city of beggars. Behind him, his four-hundred-strong force of warriors kept pace, their faces frozen. The warlord was a small man and tried very hard to sit tall in his saddle. His immaculate golden robes of silk fell daintily around his chest and thighs, and his long hair flowed neatly around his shoulders, kept in place with azure ribbons. Neither strong nor muscular, he had a reputation for skill and cleverness that made him proud. Being so slight of build, some said he looked like a woman. These were dead men, mostly.

  Shohar thought very carefully, reining up his horse so that it ambled at a snail's pace. Ackle-Nye loomed large in front of him. He could see soldiers milling in the streets, so many black dots. He caught a glare out of one of the towers and knew the reflection was a cannon. Long-range, the kind that could pick him off from here. If he listened very closely he could hear voices echoing through the streets, the anxious sound of shouted orders.

  Shohar had always liked Lucyler of Falindar. And he had always honored Tharn. But neither of them were warlords. They simply couldn't understand. It was different for him and Praxtin-Tar. They were men of war, born and bred. To ask them to change was like asking a river to shift directions.

  The Skull-Taker brought his warhorse to a halt, turning it so that it faced his troops. They stopped with their master. On the hillside Shohar could see Lucyler looking down on him. Praxtin-Tar was there, too, and all the warriors who were waiting to see the outcome of his mission. A delicious tremor went through him. Shohar reached into his robes and took out the note Lucyler had given him. He couldn't read Naren but he knew what it said, and the words nauseated him. Smiling like a mad man, he held it up and showed it to his warriors. Then, making sure Lucyler saw clearly, he closed his fist and crumpled the letter, letting it fall to the ground.

  "Take skulls!" he shrieked. "Today we are avenged!"

  Lucyler watched the goings-on at the bottom of the hill in a moment of frozen incredulity. Shohar was saying something. Lucyler didn't have to read his lips. The warlord had dropped the note to the ground. Even now it tumbled away in the breeze. His warriors were shouting, cheering, making ready to charge. Lucyler groaned. Next to him, Praxtin-Tar was chortling. Lucyler shook a fist at him.

  "You!" he flared. "You planned this!"

  "I did not," laughed Praxtin-Tar. "By Tharn, I swear it!"

  "What is he doing, Praxtin-Tar? Tell me!"

  "I do not know," answered the warlord. "Again, I swear."

  Lucyler didn't know what to believe. Already a ripple of uncertainty was passing through the men on the hill. They looked to him for guidance. Even Praxtin-Tar stared at him questioningly. Down below, Shohar was screaming and charging toward the city, his oversized jiiktar slicing the air. A clarion sounded inside of Ackle-Nye. Two towers glowed menacingly. Shohar's troops had broken formation and now followed their leader, horses thundering, footmen running their hearts out. "Damn you, Shohar," hissed Lucyler. "Damn you!"

  "Your orders," demanded Praxtin-Tar. "We join them?" A beam of fire tore from a tower, exploding among the charging warriors and setting the earth aflame. Seconds later another cannon detonated. Three horsemen behind Shohar fell, the ground ripped away beneath them. Shohar continued as if nothing in the world would stop him.

  "Lucyler?" shouted Praxtin-Tar. "We must join them. Now!"

  Lucyler shut his eyes, trying to subdue the worst of his ire. "I hear you, Praxtin-Tar. I hear you." He wanted to let them die, he wanted to let Shohar's own skull be taken, but there was still an objective to be won, and so he gave the order.

  Karlaz of the lions waited atop his giant battle-cat, his bronze skin and the beast's tawny fur camouflaging him among the rocks. He was high up in the Iron Mountains with the meandering Saccenne Run far below, and the sun was hot against his flesh. With him were fifty other lion riders, all atop their own mounts, all belted and ready for war. Across the divide of the passage were fifty more such warriors, but they were as well concealed as Karlaz, and the warlord had trouble spotting them among the rocks. To his east, farther down in the Run, waited the warlord Nang, a creature who reminded Karlaz more of a monster than a man. Like himself, Nang had been given the job of taking and holding the Run--a mission that seemed particularly well suited to the hearty, naked men of the Fire Steppes. Karlaz and his lions had borne Nang's warriors over the worst parts of the mountains, but no doubt they had made the rest of the way themselves, barefooted.

  From his rocky perch Karlaz watched the city. It was an ugly place, gutted with fire and unbalanced by strange architecture. Karlaz had never seen structures so tall. He had heard of Falindar but he had never seen it, and he wondered if the palace of the Daegog looked as atrocious as this thing from Nar. Anaka, his lion, let out a low growl. The beast could sense the coming battle and the anticipation of blood made it restless. Karlaz leaned forward and pushed his fingers roughly through Anaka's mane, calming him. Anaka was a male, more powerful than most riding lions, but despite his size, the beast responded better to an easy touch. The lion ceased his rumbling and settled down, lowering his head a bit. He too watched the city.

  Then his ears perked up as he heard a sound. Along the mountainside, every lion and rider raised their heads in turn. Karlaz listened closely. Voices. Shouts. He set his jaw, sorry to see Lucyler's plan had failed. An orange bolt sliced across the [zon], followed by another and a far-off concussion. The lions roared, grateful for the noise. Karlaz stiffened, holding Anaka firmer. It was the signal he had dreaded. He ordered Anaka from behind the rocks so that all his comrades could see then reluctantly shouted the order to attack.

  General Cassis found his horse in the center of the city. As ordered, his aide Marlyle had assembled fifty horsemen to precede him. From here he could watch and conduct the battle safely, at least for a time, and he would be in plain view of the men asked to die for him. Up in the towers the long-range cannon had opened fire, but there were only two of them. Cassis looked around for Marlyle. He spotted the colonel on a street near the front of the city, desperately shouting orders to a platoon of infantry guarding the road. They had only two handheld cannons and Marlyle was apparently telling them how to use the weapons. Cassis could almost read his mind. Short blasts, he will be telling them. Conserve fuel and set up a diagonal crossfire. He saw the two cannoneers take their positions on opposite sides of the streets. Cassis trotted his horse toward the colonel.

  "Marlyle! I told you to stay close. Get over here now!"

  His aide hurried over, pushing through the crowds of legonaires hurrying toward the city entrance. His face was flustered and his eyes jumped fearfully.

  "Report," Cassis ordered.

  "The first wave is at the city entrance," gasped Marlyle. "I sent a platoon of cavalry out after them. The--"

  A rushing blast tore from the nearest cannon tower, making Marlyle duck. Cassis looked at him impatiently.

  "And?"

  "The cannons have already taken out some of the first wave."

  "What about the third cannon?"

  "It's still down. I've got some engineers working on it, trying
to cannibalize a fuel line from some of the broken handhelds might take time."

  "We don't have time!" roared Cassis. "Get some archers to the tower instead. Do it now. And place a battery of archers on the western street. Make sure they block it off. I want it barricaded so the gogs don't overrun it. If they do it'll be bloody hand-to-hand. Go!"

  Marlyle grunted and rode off. Cassis steered his horse over to the group Marlyle had been working with. He looked down the street and could see the armies clashing as the gogs pushed their way into Ackle-Nye. Behind the first wave the rest of the warriors were pouring down the mountainside. Another blast from the flame cannons detonated in their ranks. The charging horses split into two directions as they came for the city. Archers along the western barricades pumped arrows into the battlefield. Triin bowmen returned fire, their whistling shafts raining down into the city. Soon the streets would glow with fire as the hand cannoneers opened up. Cassis trotted toward the relative safety of the city center, into the protective folds of his guardians.

  Lucyler hurried his horse into the melee. He was chasing Shohar, but the wild warlord was already into the city streets, hacking off armored heads even as flames erupted around him. In the mere minutes since attacking, Shohar's zealots had made stunning progress, pushing back the first line of defenders and crushing the small cavalry brigade sent out to stop them. The warriors of Tatterak and Reen had joined the battle and fought side by side with Shohar's own, an irresistible horde sweeping over the city outskirts. Lucyler had ordered a line of bowmen to concentrate fire on the barricades, to try and soften them and make the advance easier, but the guns in the towers had trained fire on the bowmen and were decimating their ranks. This wouldn't be a battlefield war, Lucyler realized. This would be like fighting in a stone jungle.

  Hakan and the other warriors of Tatterak had taken positions near the western barricades and were fighting their way into the city. Lucyler had broken away to chase down Shohar. He spotted the warlord galloping down a narrow street. Two handheld cannons were spitting flames toward him. Shohar ignored the fire as if it were rain. He had twenty horsemen with him, their bloody jiiktars ready to chop down the defenders.

  "Skulls!" the warlord screamed. "Skulls for Lucel-Lor!"

  Blinded with rage, Lucyler hurried after him. The street erupted with an orange glow. Shohar's big horse jumped to the side, avoiding the blast even as it took down three of his own men. The soldiers at the other end of the street braced themselves. They raised their swords and pulled their triggers. Again they missed Shohar, who galloped into the middle of the street, raised his jiiktar high, and watched in glee as his men engaged the legionnaires. The cannoneers fell in an instant, hacked to pieces by the blades of the warriors. Kerosene leaked from severed hoses as the weapons dropped to the stone roadway. Shohar laughed as if someone were tickling him.

  "Shohar!" Lucyler cried. "Damn you!"

  He brought his horse up to the warlord and grabbed hold of his golden robes, tearing him from his saddle. Shohar fell to the ground, stunned, and looked up at Lucyler with his maniacal eyes. "How dare you!" Lucyler spat down at him.

  Shohar casually retrieved his jiiktar, seemingly oblivious to the battle around him. He bowed deeply.

  "It is the way it is, Lucyler of Falindar," he said. "The way it must be."

  "I did not want this!" Lucyler roared. "Neither did Tharn! How dare you disobey me?"

  Shohar smiled. "You may have my head when this day is over. But not before I take these skulls." The warlord got back on his horse. "You will thank me for this someday, you and Tharn both."

  And then he was gone, driving his horse deeper into the city, leaving Lucyler alone in the carnage. Lucyler watched him go. Overhead the air thundered with the hot might of cannons. An arrow flew by him, followed by a hundred more. Lucyler ignored it all. Today they would avenge Ackle-Nye, and he was powerless to stop the slaughter. Soon Karlaz and his lions would join the battle, and there would be no stopping the unleashed beasts of Chandakkar. They would feast until their bellies were full. And if any Narens tried to escape, to flee into the Run, they would face the animal warlord Nang.

  Lucyler felt oddly alone. Slowly, he turned his horse around and rode back toward his men.

  "They've taken the western barricades!" Marlyle was out of breath and panicked. "The gogs are overwhelming the perimeters, and streets four and five. One and two are holding, but they won't for long. We have to fall back, sir!"

  General Cassis quelled his terror. He had already fallen back as far as he could. Much farther and they would be in the Run. Barely half a mile in front of them, the defenders of the city were fighting the Triin who had flooded into the city. It was bedlam now. Fire had taken over the outskirts and huge pyres of rubble sent oily plumes of smoke into the sky. The cavalry Cassis had sent against the gogs had been nearly wiped out, and riderless horses galloped wildly through the streets, frenzied by the flames and butchery. Marlyle put their numbers at well under three hundred now. In less than an hour they had lost half their men.

  "We have to take cover in the buildings," said Marlyle. "We can't be out in the open."

  Cassis shook his head. "Take half my guard and seal off this street. We'll make our stand here. If we must, we can still escape into the Run from here. Call the cannoneers back here, too. We'll need them to defend our position."

  "Sir, if we recall the cannons the gogs will just gain ground. The handhelds are the only thing stopping them."

  Cassis wasn't listening. "Order the towers to concentrate fire in front of streets one and two. They won't be able to reach us if they can't make it down those roads." Cassis spun his horse around and ordered twenty of his guard into the front. The horsemen obeyed without question, galloping out of sight around a corner. Marlyle didn't move.

  "Colonel, don't go deaf on me. Carry out my orders."

  "Sir, we'll die if we don't take cover. Haven't you heard what I said? The gogs are heading this way. What good are..."

  Marlyle's words trailed off. His eyes widened and fixed on something in the distance. Cassis turned to see what had silenced his aide, and was no less horrified for it. There, climbing over the rubble of the city's western wall, was an army of the strangest monsters Cassis had ever seen. As big as greegans but a hundred times faster, they looked like prehistoric mountain lions, their ears pressed back against their heads, their mouths hissing as they sighted the soldiers.

  "Oh, my God..." whispered Cassis. "What are those?"

  "Chandakkar," gasped Marlyle. "The lions..."

  Now Cassis panicked. In front of him were a thousand screaming Triin, ready to pull his heart from his chest. He had thought he could retreat to the Run, but now that option had vainished. He was surrounded, and the thought made him tremble.

  "Marlyle," he said. "Engage them."

  "What?"

  "Engage them!" barked Cassis. He drew his sword and pointed toward the coming cats. "Attack. Now!"

  "General, no," sputtered Marlyle. "How? We can't fight them!

  General Cassis moved in closer to his aide. His eyes burned with all the hatred he had ever felt, all his lifelong regrets. "So die, I'm not ordering you to fight," he said. "I'm ordering you to die."

  Lucyler had retreated to the hill, alone, to sit and brood over the battle of Ackle-Nye. He sat on the grass as a spectator might, watching the city burn for a second time and listening to the hoarse shouts of dying men. Some of them were Kronin's men, he supposed, but the supposition didn't bother him. Like Shohar and Praxtin-Tar, Kronin's men had wanted this. They were warriors of a different ilk than himself. Lucyler had spent his life defending the Daegog, but he had hoped to erase some of thos mistakes today. It would have made his remaining years so much easier.

  "Oh, Richius," he sighed. "I am glad you are not here, my friend."

  Richius would have been appalled. For all his blustery talk of revenge, Richius had a conscience. It was what made him special in Lucyler's eyes, and in the eyes of Tharn. A moral Na
ren, a novelty. Lucyler laughed and leaned back on his elbow. It was cool up here on the hill and he was comfortable. The battle would last through the night perhaps, but by morning they would all be on their way home. Shohar would have a hundred more skulls to add to his collection, and Praxtin-Tar could brag over another massacre. Karlaz would satisfy himself knowing that he had avenged his village. And Nang? Lucyler shrugged. The monster would be sorry he'd missed it.

  The only thing that gave Lucyler comfort was the thought of Blackwood Gayle, burning. Even he wouldn't escape the blade this time. He hoped Shohar would be the one to find him. The Skull-Taker could cut his head off, then present the gilded remains to Richius as a gift. Tharn would probably praise him for it. Lucyler lay down on the earth, picked a blade of grass and wedged it between his teeth, then stared like a child into the sky, imagining shapes in the clouds.

  Finally, it was quiet. All the world seemed to have dropped away behind him.

  Cassis chanced a look over his shoulder. The city of beggars was gone, swallowed up by the mountains rising on either side of him. He could still see the trails of smoke reaching skyward, but the smell was gone, and the sound of screaming had stopped echoing off the canyon walls. He dared to slow his horse. The beast was lathered and exhausted from galloping. Cassis put his hand to his mouth and found it was trembling.

  He'd done it. By God, he had really done it. Marlyle had seen him, but Marlyle was dead now, souring the stomach of one of those cats. Cassis had slipped out of the city while Marlyle and the guards charged the lions. If anyone else had seen his treachery, surely they were dead now, too. General Cassis was dead. He would ride to Talistan, bribe some peasant with the gold in his pockets, and General Barlo Cassis would be gone forever. He would be one of the heroes of Ackle-Nye, gone and soon forgotten. Like the rest of his garrison.

  "To hell with you, Arkus," he spat. The curse reverberated up the canyon walls. Here it was very narrow and the rocks amplified every sound. Cassis heard his breathing and the echoing of his horse's hooves, but he heard nothing else and the silence was magnificent. He thrilled at it. He was alive!