by John Marco
"Yes?" he answered. "Who is it?"
The door crept open slowly, revealing a striking young woman. In her hand was a tray of food and steaming tea. Biagio rose from the bedside.
"Lady Breena," he said. He gave her his best smile. "This is a surprise."
Breena stepped quietly into the room. Biagio guessed she wanted no one to see her, and her furtiveness intrigued him.
"You've been resting quite a while," she said. "I thought you might be getting hungry. If I'm interrupting you--"
"Not at all," said Biagio. He took the tray and looked over its contents. "Ah, it's splendid. You've read my mind, Lady Breena. I am famished."
"You look it," she remarked.
Biagio went to the bedside and set the tray on his lap. He didn't ask who had baked the fresh bread, or why Breena had brought the food herself. Instead he merely tore off a great hunk. A crock of butter had been included. Biagio used a knife to smear it over the bread.
"Thank you for thinking of me," he said. He stole a glance at Breena and saw that she was smiling. She had a beautiful smile; faint and girlish.
"You are Emperor," she said simply. "We must show you hospitality. Redburn has ordered it."
Biagio's mood soured. "How nice of him."
Breena drifted toward the bed. "You judge my brother too harshly, Lord Emperor. He cannot help you with your mission."
"My mission? What do you know of my mission?"
"Redburn and I are closer than you might think. He keeps no secrets from me."
"No? It certainly seemed like he didn't want you to hear about it."
"He tries to protect me," said Breena, "but he always confesses eventually. I know why you're here, Emperor Biagio. But you do not know the Highlands very well. And you know my brother least of all."
Biagio cut into the meat on his plate. It was rare, and the cut released blood. "Your brother strikes me as a great fool," he said. "If he would consider my words instead of being so stubborn, he would see the truth of things. Your Highlands are in great danger, Lady Breena." He put a chunk of meat into his mouth and watched Breena as he chewed. She was staring at him, hardly listening to his argument. Oddly, he didn't mind her attention.
"You're very strange looking," she said.
"And you're very bold."
Breena smiled. "You are not what I expected, that's all." She inspected him more closely. "Why are your eyes green? I'd heard they were blue, like all the Naren lords."
"Like sapphires?"
"That's what my father said."
Biagio laughed. "I seem to have been your father's favorite subject. Well, let me tell you something--all is not what it seems. Forget the things you have heard about me. Really, you could do me no greater favor."
Breena drew even closer, practically sitting down beside him. Biagio looked at her curiously, surprised by her boldness.
"I wish you wouldn't stare at me so, my lady. At the moment, I'm not proud of my appearance."
"You have very long hair," said Breena. She reached out and twirled a lock around her finger. "Soft."
Biagio froze. "Yes, well . . . thank you."
"Am I making you nervous?"
"Nervous? My lady, I am the Emperor of Nar. I fear nothing, least of all women."
"That's good, because there are a lot of women in the castle, my lord. They saw you arrive, and now they're curious about you. I'm wondering what I should tell them."
"Tell them whatever you want. They will have their fill of me before I am done with your brother. I will not leave until I've convinced him to help me."
Suddenly Breena became serious again. "Lord Emperor, you will not convince him. My brother is a man of peace. He wants no quarrel with Talistan."
"He's got one whether he wants it or not."
"But he's been doing his best to avoid them, don't you see? Talistan has been harassing him. They are trying to lure him into a fight."
"Yes. I wasted an hour explaining that to him."
"I know," said Breena. "Redburn understands now. But it doesn't matter." She fell to one knee before him, her eyes pleading. "He is afraid."
Afraid. Biagio knew the word too well. He had lied to Breena when he'd said he feared nothing. These days, his fears were enormous.
"It will only get worse for your brother," he said. "I know he wants peace with Talistan, but that is impossible. Gayle will keep pushing him, and unless he strikes, Talistan will strike first. Then we will lose our chance at surprise."
"But Gayle will be expecting us. You said yourself, he's pushing us."
"Gayle will be expecting your brother, and perhaps another clan or two. He will not be expecting my dreadnought on the coast. And he certainly will not be expecting the Triin and their lions." Biagio set aside his tray, then took Breena's hand. "You must help me," he said. "You must convince your brother to join my crusade."
Breena shook her head. "Lord Emperor, I can't do that."
"You must! I cannot let Redburn spoil everything; not now, when I am so close."
There was a struggle in the woman; Biagio could see it clearly. He kept hold of her hand, willing her to see the truth. "You are his sister. He trusts you. He will listen."
"No," said Breena. "Not about this, he won't." She pulled her hand back regretfully. "I'm sorry, my lord. I can't help you."
Biagio released her. "Very well. Go, then."
Frowning, Breena went to the door and opened it. But before stepping out, she gave Biagio one last look. "Will I see you again before you leave?"
"Leave? My lady, you will be seeing plenty of me. I have until the first day of summer to change your brother's mind. Until I do that, I'm not going anywhere."
THIRTY
Jahl Rob crested a hill and caught a glimpse of the village far below. Nestled between two mountains and circled by a field of rugged farmland, it seemed like an oasis. "Alazrian," he called, "there it is."
Alazrian hurried up the hill, the reins of his horse in one hand, the map Falger had drawn crumpled in the other. When he saw the village, he grinned. It had been three days since the last village, and they were both exhausted from riding. Their horses, too, were weary, and required ever more frequent rest periods.
According to the map, this was the last village they would reach before Falindar. Jahl looked out over the hills hoping to see the ocean, but it was still too far away, and the northern horizon was blocked by mountains. "It's small," observed Alazrian. "I hope they have room for us."
"Me too," said Jahl wearily, but he wasn't worried. Most of the villages they had come across had been small, and only a few had turned them away. So far, Jahl had found the folk of Tatterak generous with their meager possessions. Though almost none of them spoke the tongue of Nar, they had nevertheless been fascinated with their imperial visitors.
"We're getting very close now," said Alazrian. He studied the map. "It may be different here so close to Falindar."
"So close, and we still can't see the damn thing." Frustrated, Jahl shook his head. "Let's get down there. I don't care if they have only a bed of nails to sleep on--I'll take it."
Alazrian folded the map, stuffed it into his pocket, then took hold of Flier and led him toward the edge of the hill. Jahl, who had also dismounted, looked around for a suitable place to descend, at last finding a smooth grade flat enough for them to go down. He took the lead and started down the slope, carefully guiding his skittish horse along. His mount looked terrible, and the torturous ride showed in his coat and brown eyes. Jahl doubted that either beast could make the trip back to Aramoor, and the thought of being stranded in Lucel-Lor frightened him.
Gradually his horse found its footing, going down the hill carefully. Flier did the same, and soon both beasts and men were safely at the foot of the hill. They could see people on the outskirts of the village tending the fields and animals. So far, no one had noticed them. Jahl wasted no time going forward. Alazrian kept pace, studying the village with his usual eagerness. He was a good boy, and da
ys of travelling had helped to allay Jahl's fears of Alazrian's magic. He had even given the boy some lessons with the bow. Alazrian was a hopeless archer, but his enthusiasm was real. It was a pity that he'd been raised by Elrad Leth.
As they drew nearer the village, Jahl said, "Let me do the talking, Alazrian, all right?"
"You always do."
"And we've done pretty well so far, don't you think?"
Alazrian was diplomatically silent. He let Jahl lead them toward the village, and when the first of the Triin saw them, the priest gave a careful wave.
"N'nakk," he called out, a Triin word Falger had taught them meaning "friend." So far, that little bit of language had gone a long way to making them welcome. The villagers dropped their hoes, shocked by the approaching Narens. It was the same thing every time, and Jahl was used to it now. "N'nakk," he repeated. "Friends. Don't be afraid."
The Triin called out to each other, warning the village about the strangers. A small crowd began to gather. Jahl glanced at Alazrian and saw that the boy was smiling.
"You like this, don't you?" he whispered.
Alazrian shrugged. "A little."
They walked toward the outskirts of the village, which quickly filled with curious faces. They were like all the others Jahl and Alazrian had encountered so far--bone-white and inquisitive. In fact, the children were the worst offenders, always grabbing at their clothes and demanding attention. As if on cue, a group of boys surged forward, surrounding Jahl.
"All right, easy there," said Jahl, trying to smile. "You can shout all you want, but unless one of you speaks Naren, we're out of luck." He hurried toward the adults, spreading out his hands in friendship. "N'nakk," he told them. "Friends. You understand, yes?"
An old Triin with a wrinkled face stepped forward, examining Jahl intently. "Naren," he whispered. "Vin shaka too Naren."
"Yes, Naren," said Jahl. "N'nakk. We're travellers." With his fingers he pantomimed walking. "Travellers. Going to Falindar."
"Falindar?" The old man reared back, looking at his fellow farmers. He spoke to them rapidly, and when he had finished he turned back to Jahl and frowned. "Kalak? H'jau voo Kalak?"
"He's asking about Kalak," said Alazrian. "Vantran."
The man nodded quickly. "Vantran!"
"Yes," said Jahl. "We're looking for Kalak. Kalak's in Falindar. But we need rest first. Can you help us?"
Again the man conferred with his peers, leaving Jahl to the inquisitive children, who started going through his saddlebags. Jahl shooed them away.
"Little beggars," he grumbled. "Alazrian, maybe you should study Triin instead of archery. Then you can teach these whelps some manners."
"They're just children, Jahl." Alazrian himself had no trouble with the children, who seemed less interested in him than they did the priest. Jahl continued listening to the Triin, wondering what they were saying. Finally, the old man went to him again.
"Nagrah," he said. He took a step toward the village, then waved at Jahl to follow. "Nagrah."
"Nagrah?" Jahl glanced at Alazrian. "What's that?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's their word for rest."
"Lord, let's hope so."
They followed the old man into the heart of the village where even more people came out to gape. All around them rose buildings of hide and timbers, beautifully built and maintained. Like all the Triin villages they had seen, this one was immaculate, perfectly ordered and without vermin of any kind. Jahl was impressed by its simplicity. Everything in Lucel-Lor was pointedly different from Nar.
The old man came to a halt in the center of town. Another Triin was hurrying toward them, this one young and wearing a stunned expression. He had obviously been roused from other business, because he continued to dress as he approached, pulling on a saffron robe. The crowd noticed him and began to murmur "Nagrah."
"Ah, that's Nagrah," said Jahl, understanding. "Some sort of leader maybe, like Falger?"
"He looks like a priest," Alazrian observed. Then he started laughing. "Looks like you've found a friend here after all, Jahl."
As the man came forward the other Triin parted to let him approach. He was very young, not much older than Alazrian, and his golden-grey eyes probed the strangers carefully. Jahl mustered a smile.
"Nagrah. Is that your name?"
The man hesitated, his gaze narrowing. Then he replied, "I am Nagrah."
"You speak Naren?"
"Naren. Yes." Nagrah looked them up and down. "You are Naren. Who are you?"
"I am Jahl Rob, of Aramoor. This is Alazrian Leth, from Talistan. We're both from Nar. The Empire. You understand me, yes?"
"I understand. You are travellers?"
"Yes," said Alazrian. "We're friends. We just need a place to rest a while. Please. We'll even pay. We have some gold if--"
"You cannot stay here," said Nagrah gruffly. "Go quickly. You are not welcome here."
Without thinking, Jahl retorted, "We're not turning back. We can't. Please, you heard the boy. All we want is a place to stay, just for the night. Tomorrow we'll be on our way."
"Yes, to Falindar," spat Nagrah. "Are you a fool? Do you not know what is in Falindar?"
"Richius Vantran," answered Alazrian. "That's why we're going; we have to find him."
The Triin regarded Alazrian strangely. "You have need of Kalak? Why?"
"It's a long story," said Jahl. He looked around at all the staring faces. "And this really isn't the place to talk about it."
Nagrah's face grew cold. "Falindar is dangerous. You are foolish to go there. You will not reach Kalak. There is war in Falindar."
"We already know about the warlord," said Jahl. "It doesn't matter. We have to go."
The Triin shook his head. "You are just like Kalak. All Narens know everything. So smart, they cannot see danger." Then he sighed, saying, "Very well. Come with me. There is a place we can talk."
"You know Vantran?" asked Alazrian hopefully.
Nagrah stalked off without answering. In clipped tones he gave orders to the other Triin, who quickly took the horses and herded the travellers after him. Jahl and Alazrian followed without question, letting the young man take them to a modest house in the center of the village near a well and a laundry line burdened with wet clothing. Here the crowd hung back.
"My home," Nagrah said, gesturing to the cottage. "We will talk here." Then he broke into Triin again, dispersing the crowd and apparently telling the old man to look after the horses. The man nodded to Nagrah, walking away with the beasts in tow.
"Where's he going?" Jahl asked.
"You have been cruel to your horses," said Nagrah. "They look about to die. They will be watered and given feed. They need rest. So do you, it seems."
"We would be most grateful for it," Jahl acknowledged. "If we can spend the night here, we'll be on our way in the morning."
"On your way to Falindar," he said.
"That's right."
"Then we have things to talk about," said the man. "Come in."
He led them into a remarkably small but comfortable-looking home, with white paper walls and delicate woodwork and a shelf in the corner bearing a collection of clay statuettes. Sunlight and fresh air poured in from an unshuttered window, festooned with flowering vines. A crimson carpet lay on the floor, threadbare but warm, along with some pillows and two hard-backed chairs. There was also a mattress tucked out of the way. It, too, lay on the floor. When Jahl saw the spartan appointments, he thought again about what Alazrian said--this really did look like a priest's home.
Alazrian seemed intrigued by the place. He drifted through the main chamber, reaching out to touch everything and stopping just shy. Nagrah watched him as he explored, leaving Jahl to wonder if the man had sensed the boy's Triin blood.
"I can use something to drink," said Jahl. "Water or anything. We've been on the road some time."
"First talk, then drink," said Nagrah firmly. He gestured to the floor and pillows. "Sit."
Jahl hesitated. Alazrian drop
ped to the floor and sat back on one of the pillows. Nagrah did the same, and the two looked up at Jahl, waiting for him. The pagan household made Jahl uneasy, but he sat down anyway, looking at Nagrah.
"My friend here thinks you might be a priest," he said, trying to break the ice. "Are you?"
"I am a cunning-man," replied Nagrah. "A Drol holy man. But the Naren word for it is priest, yes."
"Drol," echoed Alazrian, nodding. "Yes, I read about you. When I was in the Black City there was a book--"
"Alazrian," interrupted Jahl, "not now." He smiled at Nagrah. "You speak our tongue very well. I'm curious to know how you learned. Were you ever in the Empire?"
"No," said Nagrah. "But my former master was in Nar. He learned the tongue of Nar, and I learned it from him. He was a great teacher."
"What happened to him?" asked Alazrian.
"Dead. Some time ago now." Nagrah thought for a moment. "Two years, maybe more."
"Two years?" said Alazrian. "Was Tharn your master?"
"You know Tharn?"
"Oh yes! Everyone in Nar has heard about Tharn. He's one of the reasons I came here, to find out about him!"
"Alazrian . . ."
"Tharn is dead," said Nagrah. Then he touched his chest and smiled. "But he lives on, in here."
"Will you tell me about him? Please? I really want to know. Anything you can--"
"Alazrian, stop," ordered Jahl. "Just hold on for a moment, all right? There's a lot we want to know, but this isn't the time for a history lesson." He turned back to the Triin, saying, "Nagrah, you wanted to speak to us privately. Why?"
"Because you say you know Kalak," said the priest. "How do you know him?"
"I'm from Aramoor," explained Jahl. "Richius Vantran was my king."
"He is no king, not anymore."
"No," agreed Jahl. "But we must see him. It's very urgent."
Nagrah gave a mocking grin. "How have you come this far and not learned the danger you are in? Falindar is at war. The warlord Praxtin-Tar lays siege to the citadel. You cannot reach Kalak."
"But he is there in Falindar, right?" asked Alazrian.