The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  Lucyler sat back, stunned at the admission. ‘And you agreed?’

  ‘I did. For one thing I don’t share your cheerful opinion of Tharn. To me he is a butcher, and I would still be pleased to skin him alive. Remember, Lucyler, my friends and father are dead because of him. I even thought he’d killed you. And it also was a chance to go back and find Dyana. That’s the real reason I agreed.’

  Lucyler paled. ‘What do you mean, your father?’ he asked. ‘Has your father died?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ said Richius hotly. ‘He was killed, murdered by a Drol assassin before I got back home.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Lucyler. ‘Impossible.’

  ‘What’s impossible? He’s dead, Lucyler!’

  ‘I do not doubt that your father is dead, maybe even murdered. But there’s no way it was a Drol who killed him. I absolutely do not believe it.’

  ‘I believe it,’ said Richius. ‘I’ve been king of Aramoor ever since. Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘Richius, we hear almost nothing from the Empire in Lucel-Lor. This agent from Liss was the first outsider to reach Triin soil since the last of the Empire’s soldiers left. But I tell you again – your father was not killed by a Drol.’

  ‘Believe that if you want,’ said Richius. ‘I don’t really care. But I still don’t understand what Tharn wants from me. Influence, you say? To do what?’

  ‘To end the war. Tharn hopes you will go back to Nar and convince the emperor not to invade. And you are king now. Even better. Maybe he will listen to you.’

  The idea was so preposterous Richius laughed. ‘Are you serious? Why under heaven would I want to do anything for Tharn?’

  ‘Because it is the right thing to do. Lucel-Lor is at peace now. We want no more war. And I do not think you do, either.’

  Richius stopped laughing at once. ‘You’re right about that. But influence? Ridiculous. My father didn’t have any, you know that. I probably have even less.’

  ‘But you must try,’ urged Lucyler. ‘Tell the emperor he cannot win. Tell him about what Tharn can do to his soldiers. . .’

  ‘I’ve told him all that already, Lucyler. He won’t listen to me. Besides, I wouldn’t do it if I could. Maybe Tharn’s cast some spell over you, maybe you think he’s some great man now, but there was a time when you hated him as much as I do. I wouldn’t do a thing to help him or his regime.’

  ‘You would let more of your countrymen die, then? You would fight another war for your emperor?’

  ‘Against Tharn? Yes, I would. I welcomed the challenge to destroy him, just as I welcomed the chance to get Dyana back. He knows about us, doesn’t he? That’s why he sent you here to talk to me. He knows I would listen if it meant saving Dyana.’

  ‘He knows,’ admitted Lucyler. ‘But he also thought you would listen to me. Why will you not believe me, Richius?’

  ‘If he wanted my help he should have sent Dyana with you,’ said Richius. ‘That would have done a lot to convince me.’

  Lucyler looked down thoughtfully at the ground. ‘It is a long trip, and he thought I could convince you myself. Perhaps it is better this way, though.’ He turned back to Richius. ‘Will you not let yourself be convinced, my friend? If you saw Lucel-Lor now, I am sure you would believe me. If I could show you that it is not worth another war, would you speak to your emperor then?’

  ‘Will Tharn release Dyana if I go back to Falindar with you, Lucyler? The truth now. Will she be free to return with me?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ said Lucyler sullenly. ‘She is his wife. I don’t know how fond he is of her or what his true intentions are. But I can say this – you will be convinced when you meet him that Tharn is a good man. You will see the peace he has brought to Lucel-Lor, and you will believe.’

  ‘I want Dyana, that’s all. If he gives me her, I will speak to Arkus for him. But let me be honest with you now, Lucyler. Tharn is wrong to think me so influential. There’s no way I can stop Arkus from launching his invasion. Even if he thinks me uncommitted, he will come, with or without me.’

  ‘But Tharn’s power –’

  ‘Tharn’s power is what Arkus is after,’ said Richius. ‘He’s heard all about it, and he’s convinced now that all of Lucel-Lor has magic like that. That’s what the war was all about. It’s what he always wanted from Lucel-Lor. He’s dying, and he thinks Triin magic can save him. And he doesn’t care how many other people have to die to get it. So you’d best prepare for war, Lucyler, because it’s coming just as soon as Liss falls.’

  Lucyler grimaced. ‘Then we have a great problem. Tharn will not use his powers against the Empire. If your troops come, we will have to fight them without his help.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Richius. ‘Are his powers gone?’

  ‘No. But he will never use them again. He has vowed it.’

  ‘But why?’

  Lucyler gave him a furtive look. ‘It is best not to speak of it now. You will understand when you meet him.’ The Triin rose and stretched his long, lithe body. ‘In the morning we will leave for Falindar. I have already told Tharn you could not help us, but he thinks he can convince you. You will see Dyana when we arrive.’

  ‘I don’t want to just see her,’ warned Richius. ‘I’m taking her back with me. If he wants me to talk peace with Arkus, he’ll have to release her. He understands that, doesn’t he?’

  Lucyler turned away, staring out into the blackness. ‘Tharn is very wise,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt he expects your demand.’

  Twenty-four

  Count Renato Biagio stared serenely out the small window at the perfect spring day lighting the courtyard of Aramoor Castle. It had always been a passion of his to come up north when it was seasonable; these lands were such a pretty part of the Empire. There were species of trees here that grew nowhere else in Nar, and lovely flowers and animals, too. In the springtime, Aramoor was sublime. He would have to come here more often, he decided, and stop spending so much time in Talistan. But the Gayles were gracious to him, and allowed him to keep a close eye on Aramoor, closer than he ever could across the continent in the capital. Aramoor was very important to Arkus. Biagio hoped Jojustin’s summons didn’t mean a problem.

  Popping another grape into his mouth, the count leaned back in his chair and watched the nervous serving girl fiddle with a plate of neatly arranged canapés. She was attractive. He liked the way she arranged her auburn hair, wearing it long in a braided tail. Women in Crote did the same, and whenever he saw a northerner’s hair like that it always made his lips twitch.

  Because he was Crotan, he appreciated art and the form of a perfect human body. Jenna was not perfect, not like the sculptures in his villa back home, but she was neat and attractive and had the quiet qualities the count appreciated in his lovers, whether man or woman. She trembled a little under his gaze.

  ‘Jenna?’ he asked casually, propping his booted feet on the table. ‘Could you get me some more wine, please? I don’t seem to be able to reach the bottle.’

  He watched with amusement as the girl hurriedly took the bottle from the table and poured him another glass, quaking under the glare of the pair of bodyguards behind him. The glass had nearly overflowed before he had to put up his hand.

  ‘Oops! Take it easy now,’ he warned. ‘This is an expensive cape. You wouldn’t want to weave me a new one, would you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ stammered the girl. He loved the way her eyes shifted to the doorway, waiting for someone, anyone, to save her. Unfortunately, she had been the one unlucky enough to greet him in the courtyard, and at his request had stayed with him while Jojustin readied himself. It was an inconvenience he found particularly appealing. Waiting wasn’t something he was good at, but it was bearable when he had an attractive woman attending him. And this was an unusual visit for him. He wasn’t accustomed to being summoned to anyone’s home, and the novelty of the invitation intrigued him. Jojustin’s letter had reached him in Talistan only yesterday, but it sounded urgent enough for him to c
ome at once. Matters of grave importance, the note had said. The count pushed a grape seed through his teeth and spat it into his palm. They had better be.

  ‘Will I be seeing Richius?’ he asked the girl. He hadn’t seen the young Vantran since Nar, nor had he received any word from him. The boyish king was supposed to be waiting here, readying Aramoor for the coming invasion. He had thought Richius remarkably patient – until today. ‘I didn’t see him on my way through the castle. Has he been told I am here?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord,’ replied Jenna weakly.

  What a terrible liar you are, thought Biagio. Still, he would get his answer from the old man. No doubt Jojustin’s dire note had something to do with the king’s conspicuous absence. Biagio sucked the juice from another grape. Behind him his entourage of Shadow Angels stood like black statues, dutifully watching the window and the doorway for any misguided assassin. They watched Jenna, too, with the hungry eyes of lonely men. Biagio made a mental note that it had been a long time since his bodyguards had been with women. He would have to remedy that soon. Perhaps a Talistanian brothel would be a necessary stop before making the trip home.

  At last the door opened again and Jojustin stepped inside. Jenna loosed an audible sigh. Biagio noticed the old man’s sickly pallor and the nervous way his temples throbbed. He was typically well dressed. His gold-button vest clung to his thin waist and his impeccably polished shoes glimmered. But still there was that look about him, that deliciously frightened aura that convicts have before the trapdoor swings open. Biagio pushed his wineglass away and rose from his chair as Jenna scampered from the chamber. Jojustin closed the door behind her.

  ‘Count Biagio,’ he began unsteadily. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly.’

  Biagio inclined his head. ‘Your letter sounded urgent, Sir Jojustin. I thought it best that matters be attended to.’ He watched Jojustin’s eyes flick to the Shadow Angels.

  ‘Please, sit,’ said Jojustin. ‘Your men, would they care for anything?’

  ‘Not necessary,’ answered Biagio as he sat back down. ‘Your girl Jenna has already reminded me of their needs.’

  Jojustin seemed puzzled by the statement but said nothing, taking his own seat across from the count and pouring himself a liberal glass of the wine. He took three unbroken gulps before continuing.

  ‘How was your trip from Talistan, Count? No problems, I trust.’

  Biagio smiled. ‘No problems. Sir Jojustin, I’m wondering where young King Richius is. I expected to see him here.’

  Jojustin’s expression tightened. ‘I’m afraid Richius is . . . unavailable today, Count. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, my. He’s not ill, is he?’

  Jojustin took a long time to answer, and when he did he looked away from Biagio, staring blankly into his glass. ‘To be honest with you, I’m not certain. It may be an illness that has taken control of him. I’m sorry, Count, I have something quite terrible to tell you.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Biagio. The old steward shifted uncomfortably under his regard and the silent stare of the Shadow Angels.

  ‘Richius is . . .’ Jojustin groped for a word.

  ‘Gone.’ ‘Gone? What does “gone” mean, sir? Where is he?’

  Jojustin swallowed hard. ‘Lucel-Lor.’

  ‘Eyes of God!’ Biagio exclaimed. ‘What’s he doing there?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Count,’ said Jojustin wearily.

  ‘I have time, sir. Tell me!’

  ‘Please,’ begged the steward. ‘Be calm. I will explain it to you the best I can.’ He sat back in his chair, pulling at his beard as if sorting through a great drawer full of thoughts. ‘Four days ago a friend of Richius’ appeared to him, a Triin he had fought with in the war. This fellow told Richius he needed to speak to him, that he had important news to tell him. He wouldn’t say what.’ Jojustin looked at Biagio, gauging his reaction so far.

  ‘Continue, please,’ drawled Biagio. ‘I’m fascinated.’

  ‘Well, this Triin did have some news. Richius fell in love with a woman while he was in Lucel-Lor, a Triin named Dyana. But he lost her. She was taken away by the storm that destroyed Ackle-Nye, the one you think Tharn created. This Triin that appeared to Richius told him that he knows where she is. From what I’ve pieced together from Richius’ friend Patwin and the Lady Sabrina, Tharn supposedly has this woman Dyana. I think Richius went to rescue her.’

  ‘You mean he went to see Tharn?’

  ‘He went to see his Triin friend,’ answered Jojustin. Then he added, ‘But he might be going to talk to Tharn, yes. If this Triin tells Richius that Tharn has the woman . . .’ The old man’s voice trailed off with a shrug.

  ‘When was this?’ asked Biagio.

  ‘He left three days ago, right after the Triin appeared to him.’

  ‘Make sense, man. You keep saying “appeared.” What does that mean?’

  ‘I mean appeared,’ replied Jojustin coolly. ‘Like some sort of ghost. At least that’s what Richius claimed. Triin magic, by my guess.’

  Magic. The word hit Biagio like a hammer. That was what this was all about; the invasion, Arkus, everything. And now to hear that a Triin magically appeared to Richius Vantran . . . Stupefied, Biagio picked up his glass again and took a small sip of wine, hardly noticing its flavor. He would have to inform Arkus at once, but he was many weeks away from Nar. Certainly Vantran would reach the Drol sorcerer long before then. And there was no telling what they might say to each other. If Vantran told the sorcerer of the invasion . . .

  No, it was unthinkable. A roiling anger swelled up within him. Like fools they had trusted this pup, had let him remain on the throne of his treacherous father, and all in the name of internal peace. Now their selfless gesture was threatening to ruin every chance they had of taking Lucel-Lor. Slowly, Biagio slid his hand down along his thigh, to the place where he kept his dagger sheathed. The strap snapped open with a prick of his finger.

  ‘You were right to tell me this, Sir Jojustin,’ said Biagio, forcing out another smile. ‘I only wish it hadn’t taken you so long.’

  ‘It was a difficult decision, Count,’ replied Jojustin. ‘I love that boy. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t hear me. I knew you’d find out about it eventually.’ He paused, leaning forward for effect. ‘I do this for the good of Aramoor, nothing more.’

  Biagio nodded. ‘Perfectly reasonable.’

  ‘Now understand me, Count, please. What Richius did wasn’t treasonous, just stupid. But Aramoor has to be brought into modern times, and that means accepting the rule of Nar.’

  ‘And you are loyal to Nar, aren’t you, sir?’ asked Biagio rhetorically. He watched the old man’s face relax.

  ‘I am. I must be. For some reason, Darius Vantran never could be, and now neither can his son. Darius could never realize the damage he was causing his land. I don’t want the same thing to happen again.’ Jojustin lowered his eyes. ‘There are no more Vantrans. After Richius, a new leader will have to be chosen.’

  ‘So much like his father,’ said Biagio with a regretful sigh. ‘We are lucky to have you here, aren’t we? After all, if it weren’t for you, we’d still have Darius Vantran to deal with.’

  Jojustin raised his face and their eyes met with unexpected comprehension. Biagio smiled grimly.

  ‘Yes, you understand me, don’t you?’

  Jojustin’s eyes flicked to the waiting Shadow Angels.

  ‘Don’t worry about them,’ said Biagio. ‘They won’t do anything unless I order it, and why should I do that? You rid Nar of a traitor, something we were loath to do. Why do you look so troubled, sir? Surely you know the Roshann is everywhere. And we never thought it was a Triin who did the killing. Didn’t you think you’ve been a suspect all along?’

  The old man didn’t reply.

  ‘Well, now you’ve proven yourself,’ continued Biagio. ‘Feel better, it’s finally off your conscience.’

  Jojustin swiveled his ear toward the door and, confident no one was outside, said
in a desperate whisper, ‘Do you think it was easy? I’m not a murderer. Not the way you might think.’

  ‘And no one’s accusing you,’ replied Biagio. ‘Rather, you are a hero.’

  Jojustin scoffed. ‘I did what I had to, nothing more. Darius was ruining Aramoor. He was bringing the wrath of Nar down on us, and he didn’t even care. I tried to make him listen, but he was full of righteous nonsense like his son. Someone had to stop him.’

  ‘No excuses, please, sir,’ Biagio interrupted. ‘As I said, you did us a favor. And you got away with it, isn’t that extraordinary? I doubt anyone in the castle ever suspected you, not even Richius. The king must really love you not to have seen it.’

  Jojustin’s face collapsed. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘To you? Nothing,’ said Biagio sunnily.

  ‘Not me,’ growled the old man. ‘What about Aramoor?’

  ‘Oh, well, that is a tough one. Even if young Richius returns we can’t leave him as king. No, we’ll need someone else. I’ve given this some thought, you know. None of us in Nar were completely convinced of Richius’ loyalty, after all. We need someone trustworthy, someone that understands Nar.’

  Biagio rose and went to the arm of Jojustin’s chair, going down to one knee beside it. He put his lips to the steward’s ear. ‘I have just the person in mind,’ he whispered seductively. ‘And Arkus has already given me the authority to do it should the need ever arise. It looks like that time has come, doesn’t it?’

  Jojustin shook his head. ‘I didn’t do this to become king,’ he insisted. ‘I did it for the good of Aramoor.’

  ‘King?’ hissed Biagio. He drew his dagger silently from his side. ‘I think you have me wrong, sir.’

  With one invisible movement Biagio grabbed Jojustin’s silver hair and pulled back his head, drawing the blade quickly across his throat. The skin opened in a red, gushing line. Jojustin’s eyes widened in astonished horror. His hands went to his throat and he rose from his chair, stumbling and trying to plug the wound with his fingers. He gurgled something, reaching for Biagio with a bloodied hand. Biagio batted it away.