by John Marco
"To hell with you, Arkus!" he cried again, lifting his voice higher and laughing. Maybe he would go back to Nar and spit on the old man's grave. But no, Arkus would never die. Others died for him. That's how it was for royalty. Cassis knew he would never be royal himself, but that was all right. He would become a farmer, or maybe a blacksmith. And he would leave Talistan and go to live in Criisia or Gorkney, somewhere far away. Somewhere that his face would never be recognized. He would hide his sword, too, or maybe sell it. Cassis was tired of killing. He had given his last order and murdered a man whom he once considered a friend--if legionnaires had friends. They probably didn't, he supposed, and that made him hate his old life even more.
He rode on, imagining the new life he would make. His horse was first to hear the sound. A scraping, up in the mountains. The horse twitched. So did Cassis. His eyes shifted to the place where the sound had come from. Or was it over there? Cassis mumbled a curse. There were animals in these mountains. He had seen a bear once. He put his hand to his sword pommel and listened.
An arrow came down, then another. Cassis swore. His horse gave a rattling whinny and collapsed, two shafts sticking from its neck. Cassis tumbled from the creature's back, spilling onto the hard ground. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Panicked, he made to scramble to his feet as something big and white dropped down out of the mountains before him. Cassis looked up. It was a man and it was not a man. Naked and tattooed, its white head was bald but for a snake of hair pulled back in a tail. Cassis scrambled backward, falling over his dying horse and rolling onto his back. The man-thing stalked him. Others like it fell out of the canyon, surrounding him. Cassis reached for his sword but the big one brought down a foot, stopping his hand. Cassis lay very still.
"All right," he said unsteadily. "Take it easy. Easy. Triin, right? You're Triin?"
The tattooed man smiled, baring teeth filed down to fangs. He hovered over Cassis curiously, inspecting him with his animal eyes. Cassis let him trace a finger over his face, studying his lines. The man laughed savagely, then pointed to himself, poking a finger at his own bare chest.
"Nang!" he barked. "Nang!"
Cassis fought to still his fear. "Just take it easy," he tried, hoping his tone would relax them. "I'm no one. I'm just on my way home. All right? Retreating."
The creature bent over him and studied his features. He ran his hands over Cassis' skull, feeling its shape and studying it with astute eyes.
"Mmmm, Shohar," he commented. "Shohar min taka."
Cassis watched in horror as the fanged Triin took a knife from his belt. He tried to fight his way to his feet, but hands were all over him, holding him down. He screamed and kicked but they ignored him, and the one with the knife inched closer, put the blade to his throat, and carefully began carving off the general's head.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
It took over a week for Richius to make his decision, but in the end it seemed the most natural of choices. He wanted to fight Nar, and Tharn wouldn't let him. But there was a place he could go where Tharn had little sway, and where they might just welcome a man with his outlaw reputation. The Dring Valley was no place for him and he knew it. Besides, since Tharn had returned he was seeing Dyana only at mealtimes. She was back to her sad, respectable self, and Richius thought better than to try and change her. Her husband was alive again, maybe even immortal. It was time to give up.
When the day of his decision finally came, he awoke with a grim smile. There were tasks at hand, preparations to be made. He would have to tell Tharn to make Jarra warlord. Worse, he would have to say farewell to Dyana and Shani. He breakfasted alone that morning, rehearsing his good-bye speech in his chamber while he ate, wondering if they were missing him in the dining chamber. He supposed so. It was the only time Dyana could really speak to him, if only to give him a surreptitious wink while Tharn's back was turned. She would certainly be disappointed in his choice, maybe even beg him to come with them to Falindar. But Falindar was no home for him. There was only one home for a Vantran, and that was Aramoor.
He finished his breakfast and left the plate on the bed, then dressed himself in a clean shirt and a pair of breeches made for him by the women of the keep, who had been treating him with unfamiliar deference since his confounded ascension to lordship. He decided he would see Tharn before speaking to Dyana, asking the cunning-man's permission for a private talk with his wife. The baby would be with her, he hoped, and he could say a proper, if unintelligible, farewell to her. But before Tharn there was one other person he wanted to see, someone he had almost forgotten about since Tharn's return.
As always, he found her reading a book, this time in the garden. She smiled as she saw him coming toward her.
"Kalak!" called the spritely Pris, leaping off the cracked fountain rim she used as a seat. She closed the book and waved at him, bidding him to hurry. Richius smiled at her from across the garden and quickened his pace. He adored Pris. She was the kind of child he hoped Shani would become. The girl's white head bobbed excitedly as he approached.
"You were not at breakfast," she scolded. "Why?"
"Am I to explain everything to you now?" he laughed. "Were you so insolent with your father?"
Pris frowned, and Richius realized she was slowly deciphering his words. "Insolent," he said. "It means rude."
"Father never let me question him," she admitted. "But you are not like Father."
"True," said Richius. He sat down on the edge of the fountain gently, testing its sturdiness. "I was busy this morning, Pris. I have something to tell you, and I don't know what you're going to think of it."
Pris hopped back onto the fountain and looked up at him. "Bad?" she asked.
"Not really," he assured her. "I'm going away. I'm not going to be warlord here anymore."
Pris' eyes widened. "Away? Where away?"
"Have you ever heard of Liss?"
"Yes," said Pris. "Father told me once. They are far away, on an island. Is that where you are leaving for?"
Richius nodded. "Sort of. They have ships around Lucel-Lor, helping us. They fight against Nar. I'm going to help them now."
"No, no," said Pris. "You cannot go. Father made you warlord. Chose you, Kalak. He liked you."
"And I liked him," said Richius sadly. "But it was an accident, Pris. I was the only one around when your father died, and he wanted to make sure someone would look after you and your family. I know he would have chosen Dumaka Jarra if he could have, but there wasn't time. So now I'm just doing what he would have done himself. Tharn's back and he will make it all right. He will make Jarra warlord."
"Will he take care of us?" asked Pris.
"You know he will," said Richius. "He's a good man, and your father trusted him. He will take the best of care of you, I'm sure. And I'm sure it's what your mother would want. I'm not Triin, after all. You should have a leader that's of your own people."
Pris dropped her head. "I am afraid for you," she said. "Bhapo told me you would be safe now, no more fighting for you. If you go to fight you may be killed. Like Father."
"Pris," said Richius gently. He slipped his arm around her tiny shoulders. "This is something I have to do. Your father died defending his home. That's what I'm going to do. If I'm killed doing it then at least my death will have some meaning. But my life won't have meaning if I stay. I have to try. Can you understand that?"
"No." She raised her head and focused her sad eyes on him. "I do not. I do not understand why Father died. Or the others. All the women cry now. Mother cries. Why, Kalak?"
Richius was silent for a long moment. At last he sighed and said, "Because they miss people they love, that's why. But I like to think the dead see us crying, wherever they are, and know we miss them."
Pris looked dazzled by his answer. "I miss Father," she said. "And I will miss you."
"Oh, Pris," said Richius. "I'll miss you, too." He bent forward and placed a delicate kiss on her head. "I'm not leaving for another day or so. I'll see you be
fore I go. Tell your mother for me what's happening. Tell her I'm sorry about everything. She'll know what you mean."
"I will tell her."
"Good," said Richius, rising from his seat. "I'll see you later, when we sup."
Pris said nothing more and he left her, steeling himself as he walked back toward the castle. Next was Tharn. He supposed he would find the cunning-man in the quarters he had selected for himself, habitually huddled over papers and maps. Since Karlaz and his lion riders had left, there had been almost nothing for Tharn to do but rest and occupy his mind with the few books he could wrestle away from Pris. They were so much alike, thought Richius. She was more Tharn's daughter than Voris'. But Pris had taken the news of his departure surprisingly well; he expected Tharn to put up more of a struggle. Not that it mattered.
Tharn could easily stop him from fighting in Lucel-Lor, but the seas and the Lissens were under no one's dominion. Richius had made up his mind to be as stubborn as Tharn.
He entered the castle quietly, passing under the iron gate. That's when he heard the scream, like the braying of a lamb. But then it took on volume and definition, and he knew at once it was Pris.
He ran back toward the courtyard, dashing through the hall and passing under the gate. There in the yard was Pris, held aloft in a massive, gauntleted fist. The fist connected to a broad shouldered body hung with a black cape and capped with a maniacal, masked face.
Blackwood Gayle, grinning like a madman, lifted Pris by the hair and held her up like a prize turkey. Behind him rode a brigade of skull-faced soldiers, sitting like statues upon their giant warhorses. The baron's one eye twinkled as he saw Richius skid into the courtyard.
"Good morning, Vantran," came the devilish voice. "Did you miss me?"
Richius stood stupefied, staring slack-jawed at his nemesis.
"Why so shocked?" asked Blackwood Gayle. "You should have known I'd come back for you. Or did you think I was dead?"
Richius chanced a small step toward Gayle. There were only a few yards separating them. Behind Gayle the Shadow Angel sat in mute abeyance, awaiting word from their master. Richius' eyes darted up to the watchtower.
"Your man up there is dead," said Gayle, reading Richius mind. "You forget what a Shadow Angel can do. You should have been better prepared for us." Gayle hefted Pris and laughed. "Or was this the best you could do?"
"Let her go," commanded Richius. "Now."
"These gogs always meant so much to you," chuckled Gayle "I will let her go. If you agree to my terms."
"You're a coward, Gayle. Hiding behind a child. A coward, like your father."
Gayle's face did a horrible contortion. The gauntlet opened and Pris dropped to the ground. She scrambled toward Richius.
"I am not a coward," Gayle growled. He folded his arms and watched as Pris wrapped herself around Richius' legs. "One of yours?" he taunted.
Richius pried Pris' arms away. He took her hands and knelt down to face her.
"Go inside," he ordered, "quickly," and shooed her toward the castle. Pris disappeared, crying wildly for help. Richius could hear a commotion brewing inside the castle.
Don't come out here, Tharn, he thought. Please.
"Now we talk," said Gayle. He hoisted a thumb toward the soldiers over his shoulder. "Recognize them?"
Richius nodded. "Shadow Angels."
"Compliments of our friend Biagio," said Gayle with a smirk. "You know what they can do. And I know you don't have the means to stop them. So listen to me very carefully. I have a proposition for you."
"I'm listening," said Richius. With only a handful of warriors left in the castle, the Shadow Angels would have no trouble reaching Dyana and Shani. It would be a massacre. "What's your proposition?"
Gayle grinned. "I'll bet there are people in there you care about, eh? People you wouldn't want to see harmed?"
Richius wouldn't reply.
"Where's Voris? I expected to see him here, protecting you."
"He's dead," said Richius. "Like your horsemen. What's your proposition?"
The insult erased Gayle's smile. "Simple. You and me. Here and now."
Richius laughed. "Oh, yes. That's a wonderful idea. Very generous of you, Baron. I'm sure your friends behind you won't help you at all."
Blackwood Gayle began to answer, then saw a small group of warriors rushing out of the castle. "Ah, here come your own friends. Pretty meager, I'd say."
The warriors swarmed into the courtyard with their jiiktars raised. Richius put up a hand to halt them and they obeyed, stopping just short of Blackwood Gayle.
"Call them off," ordered Gayle. He made no move to reach for his own weapon. "You'll be sorry if you don't."
"They don't understand a word I say," said Richius wickedly. "They may cut your throat by accident."
Gayle's face was stone. "If they do, then every one of these Shadow Angels will ride down on your little castle. Those are the orders I've given. Kill me, and all of you die." He laughed "These Angels are such fanatics, you know."
Richius ordered the warriors back. Dyana came racing out of the castle.
"Richius," she cried, running up to him. She glared at Blackwood Gayle. "What is happening? Who is this?"
I'm glad you don't remember, thought Richius as he pulled her arm away. Gayle leered at her menacingly.
"I am Blackwood Gayle, baron of Talistan. And who are you woman? The whore Vantran came to save?"
Richius scowled.
"Oh, yes," crooned the baron. "I've heard that story. Biagio told me himself. And guess who told him? Who do you think betrayed you, Vantran?"
"Baron..."
Gayle laughed. "You don't know, do you? It was the old man. Your dear Jojustin. Pity, don't you think? You can't trust anyone these days."
It was the news Richius had dreaded, and it ate at him. But it was also part of Gayle's tactics. "Get inside, Dyana," he said.
"No," said Dyana. "I will not leave you!"
"Go!" shouted Richius, grabbing her arm and pushing her roughly toward the gate. "And tell your husband not to come out here."
"Have her bring you a weapon," thundered Gayle. "We have a score to settle, you and I."
Dyana hovered by the gate, waiting for Richius' order. He held up a hand to stop her as he faced Gayle.
"A duel?" he asked. "Why would I fight you?"
"I'm getting impatient," rumbled Gayle. "Your time is running out. Tick tock, tick tock..."
"Dyana, bring my sword," Richius called. "And tell everyone to stay inside. Everyone, do you hear?"
She didn't answer but sped into the castle. The warriors kept their eyes trained on Gayle.
"Now," said Richius, "answer my question. Why should I fight you?"
"I'm giving you a choice, Vantran. Fight me, or everyone in this castle dies, including that lovely thing that just left." Gayle licked his lips. "Lovely. Just like your wife."
Richius leapt forward, balling his fingers into a fist and driving it into Gayle's astounded face. Gayle stumbled backward too slow to avoid the attack, and the fist collided with his mask, driving it into his flesh. The mask buckled and Gayle howled felled by the blow. The Shadow Angels began to move, but Gayle ordered them back.
"No!" he cried. He put his hand to his bloodied face and rose to his feet, hissing. "No one will have you but me, Jackal. You're mine!"
"Then come and get me, you murdering bastard. I'm ready for you!"
Gayle laughed and took off his mask, flinging it over his shoulder to reveal his hideous visage. Blood dripped down his forehead into his blind eye. "Not yet," he said. "I want to do this right. Man to man, Aramoorian to Talistanian, once and for all!"
"And what assurance do you give me, monster? I'm fighting for the lives in this castle. How do I know you won't deceive me?"
Gayle raised a hand to the soldiers behind him. "Lieutenant," he called. A single Shadow Angel trotted out of the lineup. "This pup and I are going to duel. If I am killed, you will turn around and ride back to the
Empire without harming anyone inside this castle. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Baron," answered the soldier.
"Repeat it for me."
"If you are killed we will ride back to the Empire. We will harm no one inside this castle."
"They're Shadow Angels, Vantran," said Gayle. "They follow orders to the letter. You know that."
Richius was stupefied. "Why?" he asked. "What's the point of all this, Gayle? You have the men to take the castle. Why not just do it? You're a bloody bastard, I'm sure you'd enjoy it."
"Indeed I would. But then I might not get the chance to fight you myself, and I do so want that. It's part of my sad tale, you see. My men are all dead. You killed them. And now the Narens are calling me a coward. They think you've beaten me, Vantran. But you never could beat me. I was always your better. Now I'm going to prove it."
"That's a big boast. And if I lose?"
"Fight well," advised Gayle. "Your friends are depending on you. If you lose they will die, quite horribly I assure you. Particularly that pretty one."
Richius swallowed his ire. "I'll fight you. But only if you leave this castle alone, even if I lose."
"No chance," said Gayle. "I want your best, Vantran. You need something more than your own wretched life to fight for. The lives in the castle for your best duel, those are my terms. Consider your situation. I think my offer is quite generous."
Dyana came through the gate then, bearing Jessicane. She had taken it out of its scabbard so that the old blade glimmered in the sunlight. She handed it to Richius.
"What will you do?" she asked.
"I will fight him," said Richius softly.
"No," she gasped, clutching his hand. "Richius, you are still weak. He is too big. He will kill you."
"He will kill us all if I don't fight him," said Richius. Gayle was waiting impatiently, tapping a foot on the grass. Richius ignored him and walked Dyana toward the door. "Get inside," he said. "Order the warriors inside, too. Close the gate and get ready for a fight. And whatever you do, don't let Gayle see Tharn."