The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  Amidst the laughter, the farmer said, "If that were the case, then this land would have no more troubles, if the rumors are true and the governor is playing host to the Chara. That would be a nice trap for the Chara to find himself in."

  Brendon drained his ale and added, "John would say, I suppose, that the Jackal should talk to the Chara, rather than kill him."

  "That is the method I would recommend to the god," responded John, coming forward to refill Brendon's mug. "But from what I hear, the Chara is just as stubborn in his beliefs as the Jackal is supposed to be. Such a conversation might bear no fruit."

  "But would be worth trying?" said Brendon, looking up at John.

  "Would definitely be worth trying. However, the Jackal would first have to find a way to lure the Chara to his lair, and that in itself would be difficult."

  This long discussion of the Jackal caused my mind to wander. Any one of these men, I thought, could be one of the Jackal's thieves, and if so, the words I spoke this day might be reported to the man who claimed to be the thief god. I had never known as a child whether my prayers reached the god, and now I preferred to think that the god had not heard them, rather than that he had ignored them. Slowly I began to think of matters I had long ago hidden dark inside me, rather than allow them to pain me.

  I became aware of my surroundings again and realized that many of John's friends had already left. The only men still remaining in the room were John, Brendon, the farmer, and the one man who had not spoken since my arrival nor even looked my way. He was seated in the far corner of the room, close to the window, and John was now kneeling at his side, murmuring something, while the farmer continued to speak to Brendon about the Chara.

  Suddenly the silent man turned his head to look at me, and my throat tightened.

  The left side of the man's face, which I had not seen hitherto, was black and broken and sunken, scorched by fire as the earth is scorched by the sun. The man – his name and occupation had long since fled from my mind – stared at me with deep hatred through the one eye he still retained, but he remained silent, as though waiting for me to make the first approach.

  I said, "You wanted to say something?"

  The mutilated man remained speechless a minute longer, his eye fixed on mine. Finally he said with soft anger, "If I were the Jackal, and I had the Chara in my power, I would not talk to him but show him. I would show him the piles of ashes that still dust the streets after all these years, and the bones that lie in the gutters unclaimed. I would show him the beggars on the streets who still have nowhere to go because they never regained what they lost. I would ask the Chara – I would ask all Emorians – how in the name of all mercy they can claim to bring peace to this land and yet allow such a thing to happen."

  I stared down at my pewter mug, which I had set in the path of the sunlight falling from the window. A bit of the fiery light was trapped in the metal. I reached forward to touch it, but pulled my hand away quickly as the heat seared my finger. Instead, I picked the mug up by its bone handle and drained it. As I lowered my mug, I saw that John was watching me, waiting.

  I said, "I live at the Chara's palace, so I have heard him answer the question you ask. I will not tell you what he said, because I received no satisfaction from his answer, and I doubt that you would either. But I will say that, if you were to show the images you mention to the Chara, I would also want you to show them to the Jackal."

  "The Jackal does not need to be shown," said the man, his voice angrier than before. "He was in the city when the fire broke out, as everyone has heard."

  "That is exactly my point." I looked at the men in front of me. Brendon and the farmer were waiting to see what I meant. John's hand hovered over that of the mutilated man, perhaps in an effort to keep his friend from drawing a dagger against me. The man had opened his mouth to speak again, but he looked over at John and subsided.

  I continued, "I say these words, not as the Emorian I am today, but as the Koretian I once was. I have told you that the Jackal was my god, and because I served him and loved him, the one thing I was certain of on the day that this city was destroyed was that the god would not allow such a thing to happen. It is easy enough for me to understand why a fallible man like the Chara would do something that was wrong, but I have never been able to understand why the all-wise Jackal allowed the Emorians to destroy this city. Either the Jackal is not all-wise or he is not all-powerful – in either case, that is why I found it possible in the end to leave the service of the Jackal and place myself under the care of the Chara. At least the Chara is sometimes willing to admit that he is wrong when he has caused great suffering."

  Brendon and the farmer were looking at each other, and the mutilated man gazed at John. Only John continued to look at me, his black eyes as calm as the night sky. He said quietly, "If the Jackal were here, he might remind you that, since he was in the city that day, he presumably suffered along with the Koretians. But since you no longer serve the god and have not asked for his peace, I will not speculate on what he might say. All I can tell you is the answer I found for myself in the days after the fire, when I too wondered at the mystery of the Jackal's actions."

  He reached down and picked up the wine pitcher, which was carved with the symbol of the tavern. "This tavern is called the Flower and Flame because, like the rest of the city, it grew up out of the ashes of the old city. We can say that it would have been better if the old city had continued to live, and perhaps that is true. But we cannot deny that a new city has bloomed out of the flames, just as a forest regrows after a fire. The fire brought death, but it also brought new life."

  "Then you are saying that the Jackal wanted there to be a fire?"

  I had kept my voice at its usual even level, but I saw something flicker in John's eyes and knew that he had seen beyond my mask to the anger I had long nurtured toward the god.

  John walked toward me from the window, saying, "I doubt that the god created the fire, any more than he creates the blades that men use to kill one another. But since the fire was created, it may be that the god made it his own fire and used it to bring both vengeance and mercy. The fire brought pain and death, and if it had been only men's fire, that is all that it would have brought. But in ways that men will never fully know, the god's fire brought peace as well."

  I stared down at the mug in order to avoid looking up at John, who was now standing beside me, pitcher in hand. I said, "If the Jackal is all-powerful, then I fail to see why he could not simply have given us the peace without making men undergo the pain."

  "I do not worship the Jackal but the Unknowable God, whose thoughts will be forever cloaked to man, so I am unable to understand why the fire has to bring pain as well as peace. What I do know is that the gods give us what we pray for. If your wish is to have peace without pain, then the Jackal will find a way to give it to you. But if you wish to live your life without pain, you must give up everything that might bring you pain. Is that what you want?"

  The room was very still, as though John and I were the only men there. I stared at the sunburst on the mug, and images came to me of the most painful moments of my life: Myself, standing amidst the carnage of the flame-filled square, on the point of being captured. Lord Carle, smiling at me as he prepared to make me his maimed slave. Lord Carle, smiling again as he told me what my punishment would be for running away from him. Myself, staring at the Koretian mountains in the moments before I broke my blood vow to the Jackal and became an Emorian. Lord Carle, staring at the dagger as I placed it against his heart. And finally, an image as terrible as the first one, Peter wearing his pendant and judging me with the cold face of the Chara.

  And it came to me then, with a shock, that if any one of these sufferings had not occurred to me, Peter would not have become my friend.

  I touched the sunburst again, and this time I did not flinch away from the pain it caused. John's voice drifted down to me: "Which type of peace do you want the god to give you?"

  "His fire," I
said in a low voice. "I want the god to give me his fire."

  "Then he will give it to you," said John, and leaned over to refill my mug.

  I think Brendon said something thereafter that broke the tension and allowed the conversation to continue. But I did not speak again while I was there. My eyes were fixed on the blood-red liquid that John had given me, and I felt, without knowing why, as though I had just placed myself under the high doom.

  Blood Vow 5

  THE EYES OF THE JACKAL

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "The only way in which to bring peace," said the governor, "is to find this Koretian rebel-leader and kill him."

  We had finished dinner that night in the presentation chamber of the governor's palace. Lord Alan was now occupied with passing around Daxion nuts to the Chara, Lord Dean, Lord Carle, and myself. Upon our first meeting – or so it seemed to Lord Alan – the governor had treated me with the distant dismissal with which he treated the other servants. But throughout the afternoon I had noticed him watching the Chara as he spoke to me, and when Peter, without comment, included me in the governor's dinner party, Lord Alan showed no surprise. He had me placed on the reclining couch that stood next to the Chara's – Lord Alan followed the older custom among Emorian noblemen of reclined dining. From that point on, the governor had treated me with great courtesy.

  Lord Alan poured out a glass of Emorian wine and offered it to me. He had dismissed the slaves from the room earlier, explaining that he could not be sure which of his servants were in the pay of the Jackal. I shook my head, declining the gift. Lord Alan gave the glass instead to Lord Carle, who said, "Whether it brings peace or not, this fellow must be executed. It is an affront to Emorian dignity that he has been able to defy the Chara's commands for so many years. He ought to have been captured long ago."

  "So I thought, when I first became governor," said Lord Alan. "But the Jackal inspires a fanatical loyalty among his thieves. It has proved difficult to send spies to his lair, and those I have sent are killed by the Jackal. Or else – this is far more discouraging – they are converted to his cause." He paused to crunch delicately on a nut. "The Jackal has been making trouble in this land since before the Chara Nicholas even arrived here, yet after all these years, his true identity remains unknown. He is never seen by any but his closest followers without his mask. As for his voice . . . Well, nobody seems to be able to agree on the nature of that."

  Lord Dean peered over his wine glass. "Yet you say that he has become bolder in recent weeks."

  "Yes, and that may be his undoing," said Lord Alan. "Andrew, if you do not care for wall-vine wine, may I offer you some wild-berry wine? I received several casks of it as a gift from some Koretian noblemen who support me, and I am told that it is quite good."

  "Thank you, no," I murmured. "I have no taste for it any more."

  Lord Alan smiled. "A true Emorian. I had no intention of suggesting otherwise; it is just that old customs are hard to abandon. I find myself longing sometimes for all of the ceremonial trappings of Emorian life, though I have been here for fifteen years now. It is hard to adjust to the sloppy manner in which these Koretians carry out their civil ceremonies."

  "I understand that their priestly rites are more impressive," said Peter. He had been scanning the narrow-windowed room with his eye, his gaze stopping now and then on vases, paintings, and gold-tasseled cushions.

  "You may be right, Chara, but I confess that I avoid the god-worship here as much as possible. It is hard for me to comprehend why the Koretians spend all of their time worrying about what the gods want rather than simply obeying the laws."

  "Perhaps that is because they had no laws before we came," suggested Lord Carle, reaching to take another nut from the cut crystal bowl.

  Lord Alan laughed. "Much as it pains me to agree with you, Lord Carle, I think you have wisely hit upon an important point about the Koretians. The Koretians certainly have some noble qualities – that is why it has given me pleasure to govern them for so long – but they have no history of ceremony or law. The result, as one might guess, is that they can be unrestrained in cruelty. This recent incident in Valouse is an example of what I mean."

  A pause hovered, and Peter looked at me as though bidding me to speak. So I said, "From what the High Lord was telling me this afternoon, Lord Alan, I thought that you had not yet determined how the riots began."

  "Quite true, Andrew; thank you for mentioning that. I ought to have said, the incident that caused the town to be in a riotous spirit to begin with. This event happened a fortnight ago, while your party was still on its journey. The incident gives us much insight into the nature of the Jackal and how we may be able to capture him in the end."

  "The nature of the Jackal interests me very much," said Peter, wiping his fingers on the embroidered cloth he had been given. "Any leader who has been able to inspire his followers for so long must be an extraordinary man."

  "The Chara is no doubt right," said Lord Alan, "but I confess that this story makes me wonder instead how the Jackal manages to persuade any Koretian to follow him. Cruel as the Koretians can be, the Jackal seems to exceed them all. What happened in Valouse two weeks ago was that the Jackal murdered a man. This happens regularly, of course. In this particular case, though, the man was no spy of mine, but simply an unlucky Koretian who stumbled upon the rebel-leader's lair."

  "You now know where the Jackal's hideout is?" Frowning, Lord Carle leaned forward quickly.

  "We know only where his hideout was two weeks ago, alas," said the governor. "The Jackal changes his lair regularly. In the past, however, he has usually met with his thieves in isolated locations far from any villages. If he is beginning to set his lair in large towns such as Valouse, it is possible that he will meet with his thieves here in this city. If that happens, I doubt that we will fail to find him. My soldiers are thick on the ground here, and they will be able to detect unusual activity."

  "How did it come about that the murdered man happened upon the Jackal?" asked Peter. He was busy trying to mop up a wine drop that had fallen onto the precious fabric covering his couch.

  "For the most part, we know little about such killings, but in this case we were fortunate," replied Lord Alan. "I have recently sent out a new spy, and while he has not yet become one of the elite who sees the Jackal without his mask, he was able to locate the Jackal's lair one night, and thus was witness to the murder of this poor fellow. It seems that the Jackal had chosen the empty home of a man who was out of town on business, and a neighbor became suspicious at the midnight activity. This neighbor would have done best, of course, to alert the soldiers, but he was certainly brave, creeping up to the house with not even a dagger to protect himself."

  Lord Carle reached out and poured himself more wine from the black marble pitcher. "And did he remain brave once the thieves had captured him?"

  "Surprisingly so, yes, and that is what makes this such a tragic story. The Jackal – who was, alas, masked on that night – at first tried to persuade the man to turn a blind eye to the presence of him and his thieves, at least until the Jackal could move his lair. Now, this man was a Koretian, but unlike many Koretians, he had a great love for lawful order, and he did not hold with rebels who creep around at night stirring up trouble. So he boldly told the thieves that he planned to report them to the soldiers. He said this despite the fact that he was in a room full of brutal and beweaponed men."

  Lord Carle grunted. "I have known brave Koretians, but few that would defend the law of the Chara. It is a pity that this man died."

  "The pity is in the manner of his dying. But I am getting ahead of my story. According to my spy, the Jackal then forced the man into another room and interviewed the man alone for several hours – threatening him or torturing him or whatever the Jackal's methods are."

  "Or perhaps trying to persuade him to join the thieves, as some of your spies were persuaded," suggested Lord Dean, his expression carefully innocent of all malicious intent.

&n
bsp; "As you say, Lord Dean," responded Lord Alan with an amiable nod. "At any rate, the Jackal failed to destroy this man's loyalty – and here is the part of the tale that turns my stomach. Rather than simply kill the man quickly, as any decent Emorian would have done, the thieves turned this into a lengthy, protracted affair, parading the man around the room and making various speeches about why they were killing him and so on. They even went to the length of binding his hands, though, as I have mentioned, they were murdering an unarmed man."

  "And the method of execution?" asked Peter. His finger was running over his dagger sheath, but his eyes were now firmly fixed on the governor.

  "The Jackal stabbed him through the heart, which is at least a humane death, but there is apparently a reason for that as well. My clerk has turned up information about a superstitious legend connected with the Jackal God – something to do with goats, I believe, but I couldn't quite follow what he was saying. At any rate, it seems that this man who calls himself the Jackal has adopted the method of murder preferred by the Koretian god. Otherwise, I am sure, he would have found a far more painful way of killing his victims."