The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  Voris removed his own jiiktar and in a single blinding movement flicked its long blade at Lucyler, catching him in the wrist. Lucyler cursed and fumbled his weapon. Blood gushed from the wound. Voris barreled past him, knocking him down with a shoulder. Richius readied himself, cocking back the decanter for another blow.

  Voris stopped his charge. He held out his jiiktar then dropped it in front of him.

  ‘Jara min, Kalak,’ he said through a taunting grin. Slowly he stepped over his weapon.

  ‘You want me?’ railed Richius. He threw the decanter at the warlord, who batted it away effortlessly. ‘Come get me!’

  ‘Richius, stop,’ called Lucyler. He was crawling to his feet, nursing his bloodied hand. Voris only had to glance at him. The wolf turned from Richius to Lucyler, stopping the Triin with an angry growl.

  ‘Eesay Voris,’ yelled Lucyler. ‘Hara akka Tharn!’

  Voris laughed. ‘Tharn bena naka tor. Tassa Kalak!’

  ‘Richius, he means to kill you,’ warned Lucyler. ‘Defend yourself.’

  It was stupid advice. Richius was already preparing himself for the tangle. He glanced past Voris to the two jiiktars laying uselessly on the ground. If he could reach one . . .

  But no, they were too far. A torch then. He ran to the nearest one, yanking it free and holding it before him. Voris only seemed amused. He put out a jeering finger, gesturing for Richius to come closer.

  ‘Jara min, Kalak.’

  Richius seethed. His side burned with pain from Voris’ kick, and he slumped slightly as he took a step closer. The torch was heavy, too unwieldy to be of any real use. He dropped it and charged forward. Voris danced aside. The warlord’s amused laughter echoed but Richius ignored it, rolling past and snatching up his discarded jiiktar. He jumped to his feet, holding up the weapon triumphantly. A cheer went up from the crowd.

  ‘Now, you big bastard,’ he hissed. ‘I’m ready.’

  The jiiktar flashed, raking across Voris’ chest. The warlord fell back. His robe split open in a thin, red rent, exposing his bloodied chest. He cried out and his wolf turned in alarm, just long enough for Lucyler to employ his own weapon. One blade caught a leg, shearing it off. The other finished the beast with a slash to the throat. Voris bellowed with fury. He tried to reach his slain pet, but Richius held him back with the jiiktar.

  ‘Don’t you goddamn move!’

  Voris glared at him. He brought up his fist and shook it at Richius, then spit a wad of saliva into his face. Lucyler came up alongside Richius, his own jiiktar held ready.

  ‘Go,’ he ordered. ‘Get back to the citadel. Find Tharn.’

  ‘Like hell I will,’ said Richius. He raised the jiiktar, determined to slice at Voris’ throat.

  ‘Stop,’ begged his friend, grabbing his sleeve.

  Richius halted. ‘Damn it, Lucyler, why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Leave,’ ordered Lucyler. ‘Now.’

  ‘No. I can’t, Lucyler. I won’t.’

  ‘You will,’ came a scratchy voice behind him. Richius turned to see Tharn standing barely five feet away. He stepped between the two combatants, his broken body trembling with barely contained anger, and put up a hand to Voris. He spoke to the warlord in a slow, measured voice. Voris shook his head briskly.

  ‘Ahda!’ he protested. He pointed at Richius, threatening him with a waving finger. ‘Pogoa isa Kalak.’

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked Richius.

  ‘Back away now, Richius,’ said Lucyler. He placed his own weapon on the ground then held out his open hands for Voris to see. Richius stood fast. ‘Do it,’ demanded Lucyler. ‘Quickly!’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Richius. ‘Not until you tell me what he said.’

  Tharn turned to regard him. ‘He said that you are filth,’ he replied blithely. ‘And that your presence here is a disgrace. Now move away.’

  ‘He attacked me, cunning-man,’ said Richius. ‘Let him back away first.’

  ‘You have already drawn blood,’ said Tharn. ‘Be content with that. He cannot yield before these others.’

  ‘It is over, Richius,’ Lucyler pressed. ‘Please . . .’

  Richius stared hatefully at the bloodied warlord, seeing every bit of his ire mirrored in Voris’ eyes.

  ‘If he agrees not to attack me again, I’ll lower the weapon,’ he said. ‘But I want to hear it first.’

  Tharn translated Richius’ terms. Voris answered with a sardonic smile and some obviously insincere words.

  ‘Not good enough,’ said Lucyler. ‘Richius, he says he will not harm you while Tharn is here. Tharn, make him say he will not harm Richius at all. Make him swear it.’

  Tharn and Voris exchanged more heated words. Finally the warlord nodded and took a step back.

  ‘He did not swear it,’ said Lucyler.

  ‘Nor will he,’ wheezed Tharn, turning on Lucyler with disgust. ‘You forget yourself. He is a warlord of Lucel-Lor. Remember that. Richius, give him back the jiiktar. Now, please.’

  There was an irresistible quality to Tharn’s voice that made Richius relent. But he would not hand the weapon back to Voris. Instead he opened his hand and let the warlord’s jiiktar fall contemptuously to the dirt.

  ‘Let him get it himself,’ he said, then turned and walked away. Lucyler’s loyal footsteps were close behind.

  The table they had been sitting at was ruined now, so they found a more conspicuous place closer to the main table and sat down. The closest warlord was the feral Nang, who gave what Richius thought was an approving smile when he looked at them. Lucyler wiped the perspiration from his face, then reached for one of the decanters of wine, pouring himself a liberal glass of the stuff and drinking it down in a series of unending gulps. He set the cup down with a sigh.

  ‘Lorris and Pris, you are not to be left alone, my friend. Wherever you go someone tries to kill you!’

  ‘Arrogant bastard,’ said Richius. Several warriors were already clearing away the mess of the dead wolf. ‘I should have done it,’ he mused. ‘I should have finished him when I had the chance.’

  ‘You had no chance,’ said Lucyler easily. ‘Voris would have killed you.’

  ‘What? I had the weapon, Lucyler. He had nothing.’

  ‘He would have gotten it away from you, Richius, just as he did from me.’ Lucyler raised his bloodied hand and showed it to Richius. ‘He is big, but he is quick.’

  ‘Oh, Lucyler!’ exclaimed Richius. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot.’

  Carefully he took his comrade’s wrist and examined the wound running across the open palm. The gash bubbled each time Lucyler’s fingers flexed.

  ‘You have to take care of this,’ said Richius. ‘Get a bandage on it.’

  ‘Not now. You need me here.’

  ‘Lucyler, you’re bleeding. Go back to the citadel and get a dressing. Come back when you can.’

  ‘If I leave you will not understand a thing they say,’ said Lucyler. ‘And I do not trust Voris.’ He offered Richius his sleeve. ‘Here. Use my jiiktar and cut off this sleeve. It will do well enough for now.’

  Richius took the scythelike weapon and began the clumsy work of removing the sleeve, careful not to slip or move too quickly. The sleeve tore easily under the sharp blade, leaving Richius with a long tube of fabric. He shredded it into strips and gingerly dressed Lucyler’s hand, dabbing at the blood as he worked. When he was done Lucyler tested the bandage with a fist.

  ‘Good. Thank you.’

  ‘It won’t do for long,’ Richius warned. ‘That cut’s pretty deep. You’ll need to get stitched up.’

  ‘After the council,’ said Lucyler.

  ‘Lucyler?’ ventured Richius.

  ‘Umm?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Lucyler nodded quickly. ‘It is what friends do, Richius. Now settle down. Tharn is coming.’

  The crippled holy man lurched across the sloping ground toward the main table. As he moved, the congregation hushed. Voris walked slowly alongside Tharn, carefully keeping pace with him. The w
arlord seemed unaware of his own wound, which had soaked his scarlet robes. Electric anticipation charged the air. The incensed breeze was sweet. Ocean surf sounded in the far distance. Tharn made it to the table and raised his clubbed hand to heaven. When he spoke his voice was like jagged lightning. Lucyler leaned close to Richius and translated.

  ‘Lorris and Pris and the powers of earth and sky. Cast down your strength on us, the defenders of your faith. Grant us the might to cleanse your blessed kingdom, so that we may slay those without virtue who defile you.’

  Tharn reached for the center candle, pulling it free and igniting its wick with a nearby torch. Orange light danced on his skin. He said a few more words then passed the candle to Voris, who used it to light another of the wreath’s candles and mouthed a solemn oath.

  ‘Death to Nar.’

  One by one the candle was passed to the warlords, and each arose in turn to light another flame and speak the same dire oath. When each had taken their turn, only one candle was left unlit.

  ‘Kronin’s,’ explained Lucyler in a whisper.

  Tharn bid Voris to sit, and lit the candle for Tatterak.

  ‘We unite to still the hand of evil.’ He placed the largest candle back in the center of the wreath.

  ‘May the spirits of the world guide us, and make our council wise.’

  ‘Death to Nar,’ the warlords shouted in chorus.

  ‘May the might of Lorris make the weakness of our flesh as iron. May the love of his sister Pris inspire us for the battle.’

  ‘Death to Nar.’

  Tharn turned his face toward the sky again and mumbled some inaudible words. His saffron garments glowed with the mystical aura of the candled wreath. Tendrils of hair fell around his shoulders like white snakes, and he raised his palsied hand into the air. He finished his prayer with a rasping cry then lowered his hand and faced the gathering.

  Richius gasped. Tharn looked almost vibrant. His face still wore the same poxlike lesions, but his eyes were vital and clear, no longer shot through with webs of bloody veins. He breathed deeply and forced a smile past his crooked jaw, then sat himself down between Voris and Shohar of Jhool. It was a glimmer of Tharn’s power Richius never expected. He looked inquisitively at Lucyler, but his friend hushed him with a slight shake of his head.

  ‘Richius,’ said Tharn in Naren. ‘It is good you are here. Lucyler, you will tell him everything we say, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Lucyler.

  Tharn gazed out over the group. As he spoke Lucyler whispered in Richius’ ear.

  ‘Great ones of Lucel-Lor, you honor me by coming here. I thank you.’

  Each warlord gave a stone-faced nod.

  ‘The dragon of the west has awakened. Did I not tell you that it would? Did you not all know in your hearts that one day the many-headed beast would come to devour all of us? But this is not a time for blame. We are united now. We are strong. Lorris and Pris watch over us. They have given us their power and wisdom. They have made the blind to see.’

  Tharn’s eyes flicked momentarily toward Richius. Again the warlords nodded.

  ‘Does he mean me?’ asked Richius incredulously.

  ‘Ackle-Nye is in the hands of our enemies,’ Tharn continued. ‘You all know this. You have heard of the rape of our poor brothers. The city of beggars is ash now, and outside its rubble Naren soldiers set up camp. Already they are starting to spread through the countryside.’

  He summoned Voris to speak.

  ‘This is true,’ said the warlord. ‘Scouts from my land have seen the approaching flags of the Narens. They are coming for my valley in great numbers. Soon there will be war again in Dring.’

  ‘As there is war nearby, here on the very shores of Tatterak,’ added Tharn. ‘There has been a landing of Nar’s Black Fleet, east of here near Harada. As we speak brave men are fighting and dying.’ He gestured to the solemn candle, the one he had lit for Tatterak. ‘You have noticed the missing lord of this land. Kronin is not here for this council, for at this moment he and his warriors are defending us. I know not how the battle goes for them, but they are trying to keep the Narens from reaching Falindar. Nar cannot land their ships any closer to the citadel, for the shores are too rough here. So they must fight through Tatterak to take us. We will see that they do not.

  ‘But we must also protect ourselves from their fleet, and so I have asked the help of the hundred islands. Liss has already sent an emissary, requesting our aid in their struggle against the Empire. It is my belief now that this war has ended, that Nar has decided to use all its strength against us. But the Lissens continue to fight. I have sent back the Lissen emissary in a new ship with orders to tell his king that we are with him. Together Liss and Lucel-Lor will slay the dragon of Nar. If they can protect our shores, Nar will only be able to come at us through the Saccenne Run. And that will be our salvation.’

  Richius listened intently. This Tharn was brilliant.

  ‘You must all pray mightily for the Lissen to make it home again. Even Nar fears the schooners of the hundred islands. From what the emissary has told me, their navy has not suffered greatly under the blockade of their homeland. He claimed that they have long reserved more than fifty ships for the day when they could break free and attack the shores of Nar itself. So you see, my great allies, we are more than strong. The emperor thinks we are weak but we are not. We will send him this message in blood!’

  A rousing chorus broke from the warlords and they banged their jiiktars on the table, spilling wine and food. Tharn’s face erupted in a triumphant smile.

  ‘Oh, my friends,’ he cried. ‘This is our greatest task, to be men in the face of demons. Because we are united we are powerful, but this must never wane. Only doom will profit from our quarrels. Nar alone cannot defeat us, not with all their mighty sciences. Only we can defeat ourselves. This war council must be as one. And we will speak with one voice.’ He paused and looked at them seriously. ‘My voice.’

  No one challenged him. The beating of jiiktars grew louder and Nang let out a blood-chilling war-whoop. Voris got to his feet and held his weapon high above his head, letting his ruined robes hang open and his bloodied flesh shine in the moonlight.

  ‘We are one with Tharn!’ he bellowed proudly. ‘Drol and not Drol, we are brothers!’ Slyly he looked over at Richius. ‘Even our enemies are delivered to us,’ he proclaimed.

  Richius shifted uncomfortably, thinking to rise then dismissing it. He heard Lucyler’s faint order to stay calm. Every baleful eye turned toward him. Tharn smiled at him encouragingly.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the cunning-man. He looked questioningly about the gathering. ‘Do you know who sits with us at this council? Do any of you but Voris recognize this great enemy?’

  Richius cringed. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Easy,’ whispered Lucyler. ‘Trust him.’

  Tharn struggled to his feet. ‘This is Kalak,’ he cried. ‘You know the name, yes? Kalak of Aramoor. If you do not know him then ask the warlord Voris. Kalak alone kept the Drol of Dring from slaughtering the weak Narens he protected. As you have seen they still hate each other.’ He glared at Voris and then at Richius. ‘This too shall end. All of you will respect Kalak. For this is a king who has lost his kingdom to aid us. And I have plans for him, just as I have for each of you.’

  ‘What?’ Richius blurted. ‘What plans, Lucyler? What’s he talking about?’

  Lucyler shrugged. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘I’m just here to answer some questions. He’d better know that.’

  ‘I told him,’ said Lucyler with some annoyance.

  ‘You have all done well by coming here,’ Tharn continued. He was placid again, and had his hand on Voris’ shoulder. ‘But we are not complete yet. There is no one here from Chandakkar.’

  A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. Tharn silenced them with a scowl.

  ‘Quiet now. You may hate who you wish, but this is a battle for all Triin. They should be here with us.’

  Vori
s shook his bald head. ‘The lion people are not to be trusted,’ he said firmly. It was the first time any of them had interrupted Tharn. Surprisingly, the cunning-man seemed pleased by the challenge.

  ‘I could lecture you on brotherhood, my friend,’ said Tharn with deference, ‘but you most of all know about loyalty, so I will not question your instincts. I do not know if the nomads can be trusted. But we must be willing to find out. We need them.’

  ‘We are enough without them,’ argued Voris. ‘You may beg them to come, but they will ignore you, just as they did last time.’

  Another of the warlords spoke up, Shohar from Jhool. He nodded his agreement. ‘The lion people are notorious,’ he said in his brittle voice. ‘They know nothing of sacrifice, and they worship none of our gods. I would rather fight without them than beg their help.’

  ‘We do not beg,’ countered Tharn. ‘We ask. When they understand the threat they will listen.’

  Voris chuckled. ‘You are always too good, Tharn. Is there nothing you cannot forgive? At least these others here had the courage to fight against you. But Chandakkar turned you away, and turned away the Daegog. They are without honor.’

  ‘Words,’ said Tharn. ‘None of us knows enough about them to make such a claim. You argue with Kronin over a tract of land and you say that he too is without honor, yet he may be dying for our cause as we speak. If you and he can ally together, why not we with Chandakkar?’

  Voris glanced away. ‘Kronin and I hate each other no less.’

  Tharn moved closer to him. ‘There was a time when you would never have breathed the air of Tatterak. Now here you are, sitting down with those you once called evil. Think on that, my friend.’

  ‘No, Voris is right,’ came Shohar’s shrill voice again. ‘I myself have over one thousand warriors. Most of these others have at least that many. We do not need Chandakkar’s help.’