The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  On his fourth morning in Falindar, Richius awoke to the usual breakfast of bread and honey, a welcome treat that Lucyler always placed silently near his bedside while he slept. Each morning he devoured the food hungrily, hoping that soon he would be eating Jenna’s fine cooking again and smoking a pipe at the hearthside with Jojustin. Bread was frighteningly scarce in Falindar, and what little there was was rationed. But Richius was a guest here, Lucyler had explained, and since he found everything else unpalatable he was given as much as he wanted, a privilege Richius tried not to abuse. When the night finally came he was always starving again, and his sleep was punctuated by thoughts of breakfast.

  This day he wrote while he ate. Carefulto makehis bread last, he tore off tiny bits from the round loaves, dipping them liberally in the small crock of honey just as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. Fresh morning light poured into the dull chamber as he lay on his soft bed, his breakfast tray poised neatly on a chair beside him. Since coming to Falindar he had written more than in all the few weeks prior. Time had been sparse for writing when they were traveling through Lucel-Lor, and what little notes he had jotted in his journal had been written by moonlight just as weariness was overtaking him. Now he had all the time needed, and made use of it by describing the changes he had seen in Lucel-Lor.

  Today’s entry began with a bleak confession.

  Lucyler was right, he penned at the top of the page. There is peace in Lucel-Lor, a kind I would never have imagined. They follow their madman with love.

  He paused. Was Tharn a madman? Richius still wasn’t sure. Tharn was a murderer, certainly, but his sanity remained in question. Perhaps when they spoke he would learn the truth . . .

  There was an unexpected knock on the door. Richius raised his head curiously, startled by the intrusion. Only Lucyler had visited him since coming here, and Lucyler never knocked. Richius lowered the quill and set his journal aside, going to the door and pulling it open carefully. On the other side was Kronin, looking wholly unfamiliar withouthisusualface paint. He wore no jewelry, either, and his shirt was sorely wrinkled. The warlord’s eyes were dull from lack of sleep. He bowed to Richius as the door opened.

  ‘Tharn,’ he stated simply. He pointed to Richius, then down the empty corridor.

  ‘He wants me now?’ asked Richius. Kronin looked at him with puzzlement. ‘Yes, of course.’ Dashing back into the chamber, he sat down on the bed and pulled on his long boots, then tore off a great chunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth as he did up the laces. Kronin watched him indifferently, shaking his head when Richius offered a loaf for sharing. Before they left the room Richius tucked his journal neatly in his bag, hiding it beneath the dress he had purchased for Dyana. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, patting down his cowlick as he followed Kronin from the chamber.

  All was quiet as they moved through the empty hall. At just past dawn, very few of the citadel’s inhabitants were awake, and Richius walked as soundlessly as possible, careful not to disturb those still asleep. He trailed Kronin down the endless staircase until they came to another passage halfway down. Narrow and gloomy, the passage led them to yet another flight of spiral stairs, which they began to ascend.

  The south tower, Richius guessed. It was where Lucyler had told him Tharn was quartered. Most likely he would find Dyana here. A schoolboy excitement rippled through him. He could almost feel her presence as he neared her, and the faint memory of her sweet-smelling hair ignited in his mind. At last, he told himself silently. At last.

  But he would have to speak to Tharn first. He steeled himself as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Like the hall that led to his own chambers, this one was furnished in the new style of Falindar, its bare walls decorated only by an occasional lamp or candle. It had as many doors as its sister tower, too, all presumably leading to poorly appointed apartments. He listened intently for a familiar voice as they strode down the hall, cocking his head slightly at each passing door. Only an occasional snore reached him.

  Up one more small flight of stairs, they came at last to a partially open door. Dusty sunlight and the sound of labored breathing leaked from the bottom of the portal. Kronin knocked once, then pushed the door open and stepped aside for Richius. The room was larger than the other chambers, though no more spacious, for it was cluttered from floor to ceiling with shelves and stacks of books and papers. Across the room, near one of its three windows, was an ancient desk, also covered with papers. As Richius stepped into the room the man seated at the desk looked up.

  ‘Come,’ croaked Tharn listlessly. He looked tired, his skin all the more hideous in the sunlight. Kronin walked away without dismissing himself and Richius stepped into the room. There was an empty chair beside the desk, the only furniture not burdened by a load of manuscripts. Tharn bid Richius to sit.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Richius uneasily, taking to the chair. Tharn no longer wore his cowl, but instead let his scalp shine in the morning light. Scars of red and yellow boiled up from his skull where the hair had died away, and what hair there was grew in spotty patches, long and unmanageable and lacking the customary Triin sheen. Richius studied him. He had seen victims of such awful diseases before. Leprosy was common in the Empire, and among the Naren beggars who once filled Ackle-Nye. His own troops had battled terrible, flesh-rotting foot ailments in the moist Dring Valley. But Tharn’s case was shockingly severe, and Richius could only imagine the unendurable pain of it. He recalled with morbid irony his audience with Arkus, and how the emperor and his fiendish circle had all taken drugs for years to sustain themselves. How laughable that they thought this broken man owned the secret to eternal life. Tharn was in far more need of their narcotics than they were of his useless magics.

  Tharn shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying to straighten his back as he faced Richius. ‘I have not thanked you for coming here,’ he said thickly. ‘You have done me a service.’

  ‘I have good reason for coming,’ answered Richius. ‘You know why I’m here.’

  Tharn nodded. ‘My wife.’

  ‘Dyana,’ Richius corrected. ‘Lucyler tells me she is well.’

  ‘She is well.’

  ‘May I see her?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘You mean as soon as she is able, don’t you?’ ventured Richius. ‘Is she ill?’

  Tharn seemed surprised by the deduction. He considered his answer for a moment before saying, ‘She is almost well now.’

  ‘I would like to see her,’ pressed Richius. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Not anymore. She rests now.’

  Richius was becoming agitated, and he knew it showed. ‘I’ve come a long way to see her.’

  ‘Why?’ probed Tharn curiously.

  ‘She’s the reason I’m here,’ Richius said simply. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Perhaps I can convince you of other reasons. We have much to discuss.’

  ‘Not without seeing Dyana,’ said Richius. He didn’t like fencing with the man. He didn’t even like looking at him. ‘I’m afraid I must insist.’

  Tharn leaned back in his chair, rubbing his good hand with his bad one. ‘Forgive me, King Vantran. I have wasted time. But it was necessary. Can I have more of your patience? My wife is soon to recover. You can see her then.’

  ‘I mean to take her back with me,’ said Richius ruthlessly. ‘Do you understand that?’

  ‘It is what I expected.’

  ‘Will you let me?’

  Tharn was silent.

  ‘Master Tharn,’ said Richius calmly. ‘I know what you want from me, and you know what I want from you. We can make this work if you let Dyana go.’

  ‘I have spent some time in Nar, King Vantran. It is not a beautiful place. Why are you sure she would go with you there? She is Triin. She belongs here.’

  ‘My country is a better place than most in Nar.’

  ‘And you have a life for her there? Lucyler has told me you are already married. What will Dyana do in Aramoor?’

>   Richius frowned, unable to think of a retort. ‘Let me talk to her. I am willing to let her decide.’

  ‘You know little of our ways,’ said Tharn. ‘Women do not decide such things. But you may speak to her, in time.’

  ‘I don’t have time, Master Tharn. I must leave for Aramoor soon, by the morrow if possible. There is business waiting for me. And you know of what I speak.’

  ‘I do. It is why I have asked you here. Lucyler tells me you have no influence in your Empire. Is this so?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ Richius lied. He knew it was the only chance he had.

  ‘Are you willing to use it for us?’

  ‘I’ve named my price. Release Dyana, and I will speak to Arkus for you. More than that I can’t promise.’

  Tharn leaned closer, his expression earnest. ‘You must do your best, King Vantran. Tell him there is nothing here for him. Tell him it would be dangerous. Say what you must.’

  Richius nodded agreeably, all the while remembering he had told his emperor all this and more. There was nothing anyone could say to Arkus to turn his mind from invasion. One could speak to the emperor of lives, but that would be meaningless to a man who thought of death as a worthy end for his enemies.

  ‘It will be difficult,’ said Richius. ‘Arkus thinks you have magic. And after all, you do.’

  Tharn looked away, hiding his face. ‘My gift is no use to your emperor.’

  ‘It’s more than just your gift, if that’s what you wish to call it. He thinks there is magic in Lucel-Lor to heal him, to keep him alive. He’s obsessed with it, and he’ll do whatever he can to take it.’ Richius folded his arms, studying Tharn. ‘I’m willing to try for Dyana’s sake, but you should be making ready, Master Tharn. Arkus may simply come without me.’

  ‘No, no, he must not,’ croaked Tharn. ‘Lucel-Lor has peace now. You have seen it.’

  ‘That means nothing to the emperor. You would be wise to consider the proposition from Liss. If you can join with them, you should.’

  Tharn was shaking. ‘No. No more war! I will not fight again.’ He clutched at Richius with his twisted hand, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘You must do your best. You have a duty.’

  Richius snatched back his hand. ‘Duty? You presume a great deal. This isn’t my war; I didn’t start it.’

  ‘Your duty is to Aramoor,’ pressed Tharn. ‘I know you want to stop this war.’

  ‘All I want is Dyana!’ roared Richius, springing to his feet. ‘She’s the only reason I’m here. I don’t care about your ideals or your country anymore, and I don’t owe you a damned thing. Nor will I feel guilty if Nar crushes you, Drol.’ He spat out the word like a curse. ‘If I do this thing it will be for my own sake. So what’s your answer? Will you let Dyana leave with me? Because if you don’t, I promise you ruin. I’ll do everything I can to see that Nar destroys you!’

  Tharn reared back, amazed at the outburst. ‘Such rage,’ he whispered. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ sneered Richius. ‘You have murdered almost everyone dear to me. I would rather see you in hell before helping you, but I want Dyana freed.’

  ‘I am no murderer,’ said Tharn defensively. ‘And I know about your father. You are wrong about this.’

  Richius gritted his teeth. It was the same infuriating lie Lucyler had claimed. ‘No one else could have done it. My father was loved in Aramoor.’

  ‘Beloved kings are assassinated more often than tyrants,’ said Tharn. ‘And I know in Nar it is not so uncommon. Why can you not believe your emperor capable of this crime?’

  ‘No,’ retorted Richius. ‘I might have thought that, too, but my steward saw the killer. He was Triin.’

  Tharn shrugged, obviously unconvinced. ‘Sit,’ he requested gently. ‘We argue for nothing.’

  ‘Not nothing,’ said Richius, taking his seat again. ‘Everyone says you’re a man of peace now, but I’m not convinced. It was you who started all the bloodshed. I might be the only one left who remembers that, but I know it’s true. My friends died because of you. How do you have the courage to ask anything of me?’

  ‘I am shameless,’ said Tharn. ‘Everything I do is for my people and my gods.’

  ‘Pretty words,’ said Richius. ‘But they don’t change the past. This is your mess. You let the spirit out of the bottle. You used your magic and the whole world saw. Now Arkus wants what you have, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it.’

  ‘Do not speak to me of magic,’ growled Tharn. ‘When I was in Nar, everyone thought I was a sorcerer because I was Triin! Your people are ignorant. They see magic in everything they cannot understand.’

  ‘But are they wrong? I saw Lucyler do magic. He said you taught him how.’

  ‘A simple thing,’ scoffed Tharn. ‘If your mind was open, you could learn it, too. But no one can learn the trick of my evil power.’ He looked away distractedly, turning his ravaged face to the floor. ‘It is the touch of heaven, and it is for me alone. I cannot give or teach it to your emperor.’

  There was honesty in his voice. Though it was all nonsense to Richius, it was clear that Tharn believed it for his own misguided reasons, and there was a certain tragedy to the tale. Tharn was a devout Drol, a leader of his people, and yet he truly thought his gods had deformed him for using their gift to deliver his land.

  ‘I will tell Arkus what you have told me,’ said Richius, ‘if you let Dyana go.’

  ‘Would you risk a war for a woman, King Vantran?’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Aramoor could be as hurt by a war as Lucel-Lor. Are you ready for that? And what of the things you have seen here? Lucyler has told me much about you. He says you were saddened by what you and your Empire did here.’

  ‘What happened to Lucel-Lor didn’t happen because of Narens alone,’ said Richius. ‘You were the one who burned the grain fields. You were the one who ordered the massacre at Falindar. This is your war as much as it is my emperor’s.’

  ‘I admit that,’ said Tharn solemnly. ‘I am not a perfect man. I have made mistakes.’

  ‘Oh, indeed!’ said Richius. ‘And you’re about to make another one, aren’t you? You have no intention of freeing Dyana, do you?’

  ‘You speak as though she were a slave, King. She is not. She is my wife.’

  ‘It’s the same thing to her, I’m sure.’

  ‘I will not talk of this,’ said Tharn defensively. ‘She is a woman. Her feelings in this matter are meaningless. We have peace, King Vantran. That is all you need to know. And you cannot deny it, can you? You have seen it.’

  ‘That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?’ asked Richius angrily. ‘Because you thought I would see the land at peace and be convinced to do as you ask.’ He rose again, the fury swelling inside him. ‘You never intended to let Dyana go with me . . .’

  ‘She is my wife, King Vantran.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be with you! That’s why I was taking her to Aramoor, to get her away from you.’

  ‘We were betrothed,’ said Tharn unflinchingly. He watched Richius with his emotionless eyes, as if what he was hearing was utterly meaningless. ‘She intended to break her father’s vow.’

  ‘I know the story. She was too young to know what was happening to her.’

  ‘It is the way of things here, King Vantran.’

  ‘No,’ said Richius bitterly. ‘I was there when you stole her away, or have you forgotten? I saw what you did to her. That’s not the way things are here. You may be a hero to these others, but I know what you really are. You’re a coward. In Nar they call you the devil. I think they may be right.’

  ‘In Liss they call Arkus the devil.’

  ‘Then I am surrounded by devils, for you enslave Dyana like Arkus enslaves nations.’

  ‘Are you certain?’ asked Tharn. ‘You have not spoken to her. She might be unwilling to go with you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ admitted Richius. ‘But I want her to tell me that, not you. Let me see her. Let her speak for herself.’

  ‘In t
ime you will see her,’ said Tharn. ‘But I must have your answer, King Vantran. Will you do this thing for us? Remember, it is the peace of Aramoor we speak of also. Many lives . . .’

  ‘You’ve made your case, Tharn. My answer depends on Dyana. If she wishes to remain here, I will consider it. But if she wishes to go and you don’t let her, there will be no peace between us. And I warn you, if I find you have threatened her in any way . . .’

  ‘There will be no threats,’ replied Tharn coldly. It seemed to Richius that he had finally said something to offend him. Tharn twisted away from Richius, taking up his pen and returning his attention to his books. ‘When she is ready I will send for you,’ he said. ‘Think on what we have talked about.’

  ‘And you do the same,’ said Richius, going to the door. ‘There’s not much time. If the emissary from Liss is right, Arkus is finally wearing them down. When he does he’ll come for Lucel-Lor.’

  Tharn waved him away in awkward frustration. ‘Good day, King Vantran.’

  Richius strode out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him. He paused outside the chamber. Tharn’s breath wheezed from behind the door, followed by a trio of hacking coughs. Somehow the monarch had managed to keep himself together long enough to speak with Richius, and now the exertion of the conversation was plaguing him.

  Good, thought Richius pettily. His brain was on fire as he began walking through the hall, tempted to kick in every door until he found Dyana. How dare that monster bring him all the way here only to rebuke him! Even Lucyler had tricked him. He cursed himself, hating his own love-blindness. It should have been obvious. Tharn had conjured a storm to take Dyana from him. Why would he give her back now when he knew Richius wanted peace as much as any of them? Angrily he thundered down the stairs of the south tower, his boots echoing like cannon fire on the stonework. Today he was a great fool, and every bone in him rattled with disgust.

  Near the end of the hall linking the citadel’s two towers he found the stairway that led to his chamber. His thoughts remained dark throughout the steep ascent. It would be difficult to get Dyana out of here. Kronin’s warriors were everywhere, and Lucyler couldn’t be counted on anymore. Both the warlord and his friend had been turned by the charismatic freak, made forgetful of their bloody pasts by talk of peace. He was alone now, and would have to depend on his own wits to spirit Dyana away.