The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  ‘I’m sure you have. You and your father have both accomplished things. But that’s the past, and I’m speaking of the future.’

  Richius nodded. ‘Count Biagio has already told me you want a better relationship with Aramoor.’

  ‘I want more than that,’ said Arkus. ‘I want us to accomplish things together.’ The light in his eyes grew brighter as he spoke. ‘Look around this room,’ he said, making a little sweeping gesture. ‘What do all these things look like to you?’

  Richius inspected the chamber, unsure how to answer. Despite the unkempt appearance of the place, each of its items seemed somehow loved. True, the paintings were dusty and the weapons hadn’t seen a sharpening stone for decades, but there was a quality to the articles that spoke of quiet value. Richius sat back in his chair and gave Arkus the answer he knew the old man wanted.

  ‘They look like they are precious to you,’ he said.

  Arkus smiled appreciatively. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Precious is a good way to describe them. I’ve been told by some that these things look like nothing more than trash, but that’s because they don’t know the stories behind them. Every piece here has a special meaning. They’re my achievements, my triumphs. My life is in this room.’ He sighed, surveying his odd collection. ‘These things aren’t valuable enough to be displayed in the palace, but to me they have a worth beyond gold.’

  ‘I think I understand that,’ said Richius. He gave each strange item in the chamber another glance, trying to see the jewel hidden beneath the dust. When he was a child, his father used to present bronze rings to soldiers who had distinguished themselves. They hadn’t been very valuable, but the trinkets were cherished by the men who received them.

  ‘I’ve lived a long time,’ said Arkus darkly. He was still brooding over the objects in the room. ‘I’ve accomplished much on my own. But now I need your help, King Richius.’

  ‘My help? How?’

  Arkus’ eyes shifted to the skull mounted over the hearth. ‘I saw you looking at that when you came in,’ he said. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Not really,’ Richius admitted. He got to his feet and reached out for the skull, running his fingers over its bleached forehead and fanged jaw. There were cougars in the hills of Aramoor with such skulls, though not as incredibly large. ‘It looks like some sort of cat. But I don’t know of any cats this big.’

  ‘It is the skull of a Triin war lion.’

  ‘Really?’ said Richius, inspecting the skull more closely. ‘I heard of them when I was in Lucel-Lor, but I never saw one.’

  ‘Only the Triin of Chandakkar ride the lions,’ said Arkus. ‘It’s said that no other Triin can manage the beasts, that only the nomads of Chandakkar have the means to control them.’

  ‘Chandakkar wasn’t part of the war,’ said Richius. ‘It was too far away. I’m not even sure if the people there have even heard of Tharn. Still . . .’ He patted the thick skull ruefully. ‘I wish those nomads had been on our side.’

  ‘I’m sure everyone in Lucel-Lor has heard of Tharn by now,’ said Arkus.

  Richius nodded. ‘Probably. But where did you get such a thing? If these lions are only found in Chandakkar, how did it get here?’

  Arkus smiled. ‘Sit down. I want to tell you something.’ Richius complied, settling back into his chair by the fire. The smoky light played eerily on Arkus’ blanched face, and his eyes shone an otherworldly blue. Richius reached again for his goblet of brandy. Remarkably, he was growing comfortable. Arkus stretched out his thin hand for his own glass, took a sip from it, then said, ‘Did you know that I’ve been to Lucel-Lor, Richius? I may call you Richius, yes?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, this isn’t a very well known story, but when I was a young man I sailed to Lucel-Lor. I don’t think I was much older than sixteen, and my father, who was emperor then, wanted to make a man of me. He sent me there to bring back the head of one of these lions. For you see, no one really knew if they existed, and my father was eager to find out.’

  ‘He sent you there alone?’ asked Richius.

  ‘No,’ said Arkus. ‘Not quite. I sailed to Lucel-Lor’s southern coast aboard one of my father’s vessels. But I did go ashore alone, yes. I was quite an accomplished hunter, even at that age, and as I said my father wanted to test me. I was to have no help from the others aboard the ship, and if I didn’t return, well . . .’ Arkus’ voice trailed away thoughtfully.

  ‘But you did return,’ said Richius. ‘And with the lion head.’

  ‘Yes, I did. The ship had orders to wait for me for as long as it took, since none of us knew how long it would take me to find one of the beasts. But I did find them, a whole valley of them.’

  Richius listened, stupefied, as Arkus went on to tell how he had finally tracked one of the lions to a giant valley, how he had seen a hundred of the beasts there, and how he had finally tracked one out of the valley again, trapping it and killing it with a spear. The young Arkus had nearly died in the venture. But in the end he had taken out his knife and methodically cut the lion’s head from its torso, dragging the bloody trophy back across the wastes and finally to the shore. Upon his return he presented it to his father as a birthday gift, and never again did his father question the mettle of the heir to his throne.

  ‘So you see, Richius,’ said Arkus. ‘My father also sent me into Lucel-Lor to fight alone.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richius softly, entranced by the tale. ‘And you resented him for it?’

  ‘Not at all. I loved him for it. It made me learn. Seeing Lucel-Lor gave me the fire in my belly to be the greatest leader Nar had ever known. It made me want to be emperor. Now you must do the same. You must put away the past and be the king of Aramoor your father never could be, because he never had the will to join my vision.’

  Arkus’ eyes were glowing now with mad desire. Richius knew Arkus was leading him somewhere. Without flinching he asked the inevitable question.

  ‘Tell me, Your Grace. Why am I here? I know you want something, but I can’t guess what it is.’

  Arkus leaned back in his chair, rolling his goblet between his palms. ‘I already have told you,’ he said softly. ‘When I was in Lucel-Lor I saw things I couldn’t believe. Not just the lions, but the people, too. I saw them do magic, like light fires with their minds and appear to each other in dreams. I lived among them for a time, tried to learn from them. But I couldn’t. And when I returned to Nar I told my father what I’d seen, and he didn’t believe me. I vowed then that one day I would conquer Lucel-Lor, something my father could never hope to accomplish, and I would gain all of their riches and abilities for the Empire. My Empire.’

  ‘But it never happened,’ said Richius. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I made my vows when I was young and stupid. I didn’t know how vast Lucel-Lor was, and there were lands on this continent to conquer first. But I waited, and when the Daegog of Lucel-Lor opened the border, I sent as many Narens in as were willing to go. They built Ackle-Nye, and they kept an eye on the Triin for me.’

  Richius chanced another question. ‘Your Grace, I must ask you this. You wanted something from the Triin, didn’t you? I mean, you didn’t just want to conquer them. There was something else. Tell me, please. Why did you send us there?’

  Arkus chuckled, reaching out for Richius and grazing his cheek with a fingernail. ‘You are a sweet boy, but impatient. Let an old man tell a story, will you? Yes, it’s true I wanted more than to conquer Lucel-Lor. It would have been a jewel to add to Nar’s crown, surely, but there was more.’

  Arkus seemed to be relishing the tale, drawing it out. It occurred to Richius how lonely this man must be.

  ‘By this time I was already old,’ Arkus continued. ‘I had learned some patience, and was content to wait for the Daegog to slowly open up relations. As I said, Lucel-Lor is vast, and to take it by force alone would have been ruinously expensive. So I waited. I waited too damn long. Do you know why?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richius
gravely. ‘The Drol.’

  ‘Bright boy,’ remarked Arkus. ‘The Drol indeed. I had heard of them and their leader Tharn, but I was as shocked as anyone when their damn civil war broke out. I thought it would ruin everything for me, all my chances for gaining ground in Lucel-Lor and getting what I wanted from the Triin. Those hideous Drol rose to power at the worst of times.’

  Richius listened, amazed at Arkus’ candor and wondering still what it meant for him.

  ‘Is that why you ordered Aramoor into Lucel-Lor?’

  Arkus nodded. ‘I never thought the Drol would be a real threat to the Daegog. But by then Aramoor and Talistan were all that were left for us. All our ships were struggling with Liss’ navy, and the loyalists in the Eastern Highlands were rebelling, too. Yet I couldn’t refuse the Daegog. It was the chance I’d waited for all my life. I knew that if the Drol revolution succeeded, I might never have another opportunity to conquer Lucel-Lor.’

  ‘I’m still confused,’ said Richius. ‘I don’t understand why you wanted to go into Lucel-Lor in the first place. You said you knew how vast it was, how dangerous it could be. Why take the risk?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Arkus incredulously. ‘Because of their power! I told you what I saw when I was there. Can’t you imagine how strong that magic could make me? Could make us? If I had the magic of Lucel-Lor, there would be no more Liss, no rebellions in the Eastern Highlands. I would be the emperor of the world.’ He looked at Richius sharply. ‘And you would be one of my kings.’

  Richius very deliberately lowered his goblet onto the stack of books.

  ‘But we lost,’ he said. He watched the emperor’s face for some hint of recognition. Arkus’ expression remained still as stone.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ said Arkus calmly. ‘Because you were poorly equipped and because the Drol had a weapon none of us could have imagined.’ He leaned forward suddenly, and said in a twisted whisper, ‘Magic!’

  Richius was stricken. Magic. That was what this was all about. He had tried to believe better of this man, but now the chorus of his father’s curses rang in his ears so that all he could feel was shame and the self-loathing that comes from having trusted a thief. He remembered his strange talk with Biagio in Aramoor, how the count had interrogated him about what he had seen in Ackle-Nye, and he recalled with growing dread the countless, idle chats he had had with his men around campfires in the Dring Valley, wondering what single thing Arkus wanted from the Triin.

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Richius.

  Arkus watched him implacably. ‘I can see you are judging me, young Richius. Wait. I haven’t finished my story yet. For you see, not only did I want something from the Daegog, but he wanted something from us as well. He wanted weapons. He wanted to be like a Daegog of old. Powerful. Strong enough to put down not only the Drol, but all the other warlords, too.’

  Richius shrugged, hardly surprised at the news. From what Lucyler had told him of the Daegog, he was little better than Arkus himself. ‘So you made a deal with him?’

  ‘A very poor deal,’ replied Arkus. ‘The Daegog knew by now that I wanted magic from his people. He told Count Biagio he could teach it to me, but only if I crushed the Drol for him, and then helped him ruin the other warlords.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but you agreed to this? Didn’t you know what a snake the Daegog was?’

  Arkus looked at Richius harshly. ‘I should be insulted by that question, but I’m not. You deserve an honest answer. Yes, I agreed. And yes, I knew he was a snake and not to be trusted. But I had already seen Triin magic. No one else believed me, not even Biagio, but I knew it existed. The Daegog told me he possessed it, and I believed him. Maybe because I wished to, I don’t really know.’

  ‘But why would you believe him? If he had magic, wouldn’t he have used it against the Drol?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t have. I knew something about Triin folkways, and I knew how they felt about using magic to kill. The Drol call it the touch of heaven. But all Triin agree that any gift of the gods is for good, not harm. This is what the Daegog explained to the count. I had no choice but to trust him. For you see, the Drol would never have dealt with me if the Daegog fell.’

  ‘But the Daegog has fallen,’ Richius reminded the emperor. ‘I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you were fooled.’

  ‘Was I?’ asked Arkus. ‘By the Daegog, perhaps, but I was correct about the magic. And now that I know that, I won’t be stopped again. I want Lucel-Lor, young Richius. And I intend to have it.’

  ‘No,’ said Richius. What he was hearing was ludicrous, and he meant to say so. ‘You can’t mean it.’

  ‘I do. And I need your help to get it.’

  ‘No!’ repeated Richius, rising abruptly from the chair. ‘I won’t. Lord Emperor, you must listen to me. What you’re suggesting is madness. There’s no way to win against the Drol. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Biagio told me you saw this weapon, Richius. You claimed it was a storm, but you know better, don’t you? The truth now, tell me. You saw magic there. You saw this weapon at work.’

  Richius nodded dumbly, unsure what he was agreeing to. Whether the storm he saw devour Edgard was indeed a weapon, a conjuring of Tharn’s ungodly magic, or whether it was some violent, freakish trick of nature he simply couldn’t say. But he had seen it, whatever it was, and he knew that nothing in Arkus’ vast arsenal could stand against it.

  ‘I saw it,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was magic. Maybe not. But whatever I saw, I know it can’t be beaten with horses and swords. This thing can burn us all alive. We can’t win.’

  ‘We must take them,’ Arkus mumbled, still not looking at Richius. ‘We must.’

  ‘But why?’ Richius implored. He fell to his knees beside the old man. ‘I don’t understand. What do you want from them?’

  Arkus broke from his trance and smiled at Richius. Slowly he raised a hand and brushed his brittle fingers across Richius’ face. The touch was cold, almost dead.

  ‘You’re so young,’ said Arkus. ‘So beautiful.’

  ‘Please, Your Grace, listen to me . . .’

  ‘I have heard you,’ said Arkus. ‘Now you must listen to me. I know you are a man of honor. Because of that I will tell you the truth.’ He reached out again and took Richius’ hand, clasping it firmly so that his icy fingers rested in the warmth of Richius’ palm. ‘Do you feel that?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t be polite. Tell me what you feel.’

  Richius cradled the decrepit fingers. They were frigid, like two fleshy icicles. He had held the hands of dead men with more warmth than this. Even Biagio’s hands, cold as they were, had been more lifelike.

  ‘Cold,’ answered Richius finally. Very gently he placed the hand on Arkus’ lap.

  ‘Yes. That’s the cold of age, Richius. Age and death.’

  ‘No,’ said Richius. ‘That’s not right. I’ve known old men before. I’ve never felt hands as cold as yours. And the count, what about him? Why are his hands also so cold? And why do his eyes shine like yours?’ He leaned forward, confronting Arkus squarely. ‘What are you doing to yourselves?’

  Arkus gave a little, mirthless laugh. ‘Trying to survive.’

  ‘How?’ Richius demanded. ‘Some sort of magic of your own?’

  ‘Not magic. Science. The war labs give us potions to keep us all alive. But don’t look at me and judge this all. I’m not what I want to be. Look at Biagio and the others. You’ve seen how alike we are, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I still don’t understand. What is this potion?’

  ‘Bovadin discovered it years ago. I don’t really know what it is. I don’t even think Bovadin knows. But whatever it is, it has the power to keep us all alive, to keep us from aging. Only it doesn’t actually do that. It only slows the process.’

  ‘Slows it? How?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Arkus again. He was growing agitated. ‘I only know that it’s kept me alive when I should have been
dead years ago. Look at me, Richius. I am over a hundred years old! Have you ever known a man to live so long?’

  ‘Never,’ Richius admitted. ‘But what has all this to do with Lucel-Lor? This drug, does it come from there?’

  ‘No,’ said Arkus. ‘It comes from the war labs. But you’re not understanding me. I’m saying the potions aren’t working for me anymore. It was discovered too late. I was too old when I started taking it, and now . . .’ He paused, examining his hands, then held them out for Richius to inspect. ‘I am dying, Richius.’

  Slowly Richius rose from his knees and sat back in his chair. It was all becoming clear.

  ‘And you think the Triin have magic to stop it? Lord Emperor, you are wrong. If I may say so, this is folly. I spent three years in Lucel-Lor. I slept almost nightly beside a Triin who was my friend, and I can tell you truthfully that I never saw magic until that last day.’ He sighed, almost pitying the broken old man before him. ‘I’m sorry for you, really. But there’s no cure waiting for you in Lucel-Lor. And to be honest, there may not be any magic at all.’

  ‘Of course there is,’ said Arkus. ‘What else could have caused that storm to destroy so many men? You haven’t an answer for that, have you? But I do. It was magic. I know it was. It was the sign I’ve waited for all my life. It proved to me I was right about the Triin, that they really do have magic. We must go back, Richius. We will go back.’

  ‘And how will we beat them? If you’re right, if this is some sort of magical Drol weapon, how can we defeat it? We barely escaped with our lives the last time. Even the survivors from Talistan will tell you that.’

  ‘Ah, but this time you will have all of Nar behind you! No more waiting for your father to send troops that never come. No more fighting without enough fuel to keep the cannons alive. I promise you, Richius, you will have all the forces you need to conquer these Drol. My own legions will be under your command. And you won’t have the Gayles of Talistan meddling with you. They won’t be part of this at all.’

  Richius shook his head, exasperated. Clearly he wasn’t convincing Arkus of the senselessness of his plan. Even if they went in with a thousand of Nar’s best troops, how much good could they really do against the Drol? All of Lucel-Lor was certainly under their control by now, and that meant a brutal, bloody campaign just to gain a foothold. He remembered Edgard, and how the old war duke had warned him of Tharn’s magic. Yet Richius hadn’t believed him. Even now he was unsure of it. No man could control the skies. It was impossible.