by John Marco
‘My God, what’s happened?’ asked Richius as he rushed through the throng. He knelt down beside Dyana. ‘Dyana, what is it? Are you ill?’
Dyana shivered. Finally she opened her eyes. ‘Tharn,’ she whispered. ‘He is coming.’
Richius looked at Najjir but the old woman shrugged. The crowd began murmuring among themselves. Richius turned to glower at them.
‘Get away, all of you.’ He gestured to the Dumaka. ‘Jarra, get them out of here.’
Jarra began shooing away the curious crowd. Richius bent over Dyana. Her skin was hot, misted with perspiration. A wild panic fevered her eyes.
‘Dyana,’ he said gently. ‘I’m here. I want you to tell me what’s wrong. What about Tharn? Is he talking to you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And no. I see him, but I do not understand. He is in my head, Richius. It hurts, it hurts . . .’
‘What hurts?’
‘He is coming,’ said Dyana. ‘Very near. Others are with him. Beasts. He is talking to me, shouting . . .’
‘Easy,’ crooned Richius. ‘Don’t speak. We’ll get you inside.’ He tucked his hands beneath her legs and shoulders and lifted her gently from the ground. Listlessly she wrapped her hands around his neck.
‘He cannot talk,’ she moaned. ‘He tries, but he cannot. He is ill, I feel it.’
‘I’ll take you inside. You’ll feel better. Quiet now, quiet...’
‘Very near,’ she said again. ‘I must wait for him.’
‘Wait for him in bed,’ said Richius, and carried her out of the yard through the castle gates. Jarra and the confused Najjir followed, shadowing him through the hall until they reached the bedchamber Dyana shared with Voris’ wife. The Dumaka waited at the threshold while the others stepped inside, and Richius placed Dyana lightly on her bed. He pulled off her long boots, drew the covers over her, and watched her shut her eyes.
‘Tharn looks for me,’ she gasped. ‘But he cannot find me.’
‘If he’s coming he will be here soon enough,’ said Richius. ‘Try to rest. It will pass. I’ll wait here with you. Nothing will happen, I promise.’
‘My mind, he is inside it. He does not know . . .’
‘Dyana, please. Try to be still.’ He took her hand and patted it. ‘Close your mind to it. I’m not going to leave you.’
He glanced over at Najjir, who was watching their exchange with a sorrowful expression. She looked away as their eyes met. Carefully Richius slipped his hand out of Dyana’s.
‘I’m right here,’ he assured her, but slid off the bed and went over to Najjir. He had hardly noticed her garb, the same shift she had worn to his room the previous evening. Now she looked lost, more like a girl than a woman. Deep lines of fatigue and worry scratched her face. Richius stood before her and opened his arms.
‘I am sorry about your husband,’ he said.
Najjir took a flustered breath and said something he did not understand.
‘She asks that you forgive her,’ Dyana explained.
Richius shook his head. ‘No. There is nothing to forgive.’
Najjir’s expression softened. She bent her head in a bow, then went over to Dyana’s bedside. The two women spoke for a moment, and Najjir leaned forward and lightly kissed Dyana’s forehead. Dyana gave a little laugh as Najjir rose and left the room. Richius watched her disappear through the door before going back to Dyana’s bedside.
‘What did she say?’ asked Richius.
‘She told me I was right about you,’ she answered. Her gray eyes opened again and she regarded him. ‘I know you did not touch her, Richius. I know what happened last night.’
Richius brushed a strand of hair from Dyana’s face. ‘And you? How are you now?’
‘Better, I think. Tharn is gone. I cannot see him. But he was calling to me, Richius, looking for me. Something is wrong. He is ill; he is weak. His mind would not focus on me. I could feel his pain, his fear. Oh, Richius, what is it?’
‘I don’t know, Dyana,’ said Richius. ‘But if he is near we will find out soon. Now close your eyes and try to sleep.’
She closed her eyes and tilted her head into the pillow. Before long she had slipped into a shallow sleep. Richius remained at the bedside, watching quietly. Tharn was near. He had used the same magic he had taught Lucyler to enter Dyana’s mind, but somehow the jolt had been unfocused, overwhelming. Perhaps it was as Dyana guessed. Perhaps he was ill and crying for help. And what were the beasts chasing him? Lions? Or had they already raked their claws over the cunning-man’s body, and his last scream was echoing in Dyana’s brain?
The minutes ticked by and soon became an hour. Dyana barely stirred. Strands of silver hair dangled around her face, and her breathing was deep and serene. Richius stayed with her, moving off the bed to an uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner of the room, waiting for her to awaken but wanting her to sleep. It had no doubt been an exhausting night for her. It had been for him, too, and evidently Najjir as well. Two hours into Dyana’s slumber Najjir poked her head into the room, checking on her friend’s condition. She smiled lightly when she saw Dyana asleep, gave Richius a courteous bow, then left. She was the only visitor until Dumaka Jarra came.
The old war master knocked once on the door, but didn’t wait for Richius to call him in before entering. He went over to Richius, saw that Dyana was still asleep, and whispered into his new master’s ear.
‘Tharn.’
Dyana stirred a bit at the sound of the name. Richius stared at Jarra in disbelief. ‘Tharn? He is coming?’
Jarra nodded and pointed upward. ‘Uasit toa.’
‘The watchtower?’ asked Richius.
‘Yes,’ said Dyana groggily. She opened her eyes. ‘They can see him from the watchtower. He is coming.’
Jarra went on talking, half to Richius and half to Dyana, motioning excitedly with his hands as he spoke. Dyana sat up in bed, astonished by the tale. It was all too fast for Richius to follow.
‘What’s he saying?’ he asked impatiently.
‘He comes with lions,’ replied Dyana. ‘Dozens of them. They are in the forest now and will be here soon.’
‘How does he know it’s Tharn? Dyana, can you feel anything?’
‘No. He has stopped trying to speak to me. But they show the banner of Falindar, Richius. It is Tharn.’
Richius got to his feet. ‘Then I must go to meet him. I must tell him what’s happened to Voris. Jarra, you should come with me. Dyana, tell him I want him with me.’
‘I will go, too,’ said Dyana. She tossed off the covers and flung her feet over the bedside. ‘He will be expecting to see me.’
‘No, Dyana. You need rest, and we don’t know what kind of condition he’s in. If he wants to see you I’ll bring him here.’
‘I will go,’ said Dyana adamantly. ‘I am his wife and I must greet him.’
She left the bed and retrieved her boots from the corner of the chamber, pulling them on and talking to Jarra. The Dumaka nodded his understanding and eagerly straightened out his garments, wetting his lips as he prepared to meet the supreme Drol. Richius took hold of Dyana’s hand and led her from the chamber, and the three of them stepped out into the sunny yard. Another crowd had gathered there, including Najjir and her three daughters. The castle’s few remaining warriors had arranged themselves in a neat line, their jiiktars slung over their backs, their chests puffed out in homage to the approaching master of Falindar. But there was someone very special missing, Richius knew, and he dreaded telling Tharn of it.
As long moments drifted by, the crowd became anxious. Richius looked at Jarra. ‘How near are they?’ he asked. He formed the question in Triin. The Dumaka shrugged and gave an incomprehensible answer.
‘The watchman in the tower said they approach,’ Dyana explained. ‘The Dumaka was told they are close, that is all.’
They all had their eyes fixed on the path leading from the forest to the yard. The warriors were as silent as stones, while the modestly garbed women of the keep ban
tered lightly among themselves. Dyana shifted distractedly beside Richius, her thin face twitching nervously. Richius leaned closer.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing is going to happen. He doesn’t know anything.’
A rumble carried through the forest and the tops of the trees began to quiver. The sound and movement seized the crowd. The archway of branches stood empty and dark. A bizarre chorus issued from the woods. And then a head appeared, a monstrous thing with yellow eyes and a cavelike mouth rimmed with oversized teeth. Attached to the head was a giant body of tawny fur and a whipping tail barbed with ribboned spikes, and around the body were bands of leather riding tack supporting a stout saddle. In the saddle was a bronze-skinned man with hair the color of faded gold, and behind that man was Tharn.
Tharn, unmistakable in his red rags and soiled bandages, who crooked one arm around the lion rider’s waist and let the other dangle uselessly at his side. His diseased skin shone like curdled milk. The giant beast carried the two men into the yard and a parade of lions followed, each bearing another long-haired, leathered rider. Falindar’s banner hung from the muscled flank of Tharn’s cat, and the cunning-man lifted his malformed head as he saw the gathering in the yard. His eyes flicked from face to face, then came to rest on Dyana.
Yet there was something wrong in the way the eyes moved and the way the head tilted and the body swayed, almost uncontrollably, in the saddle. Tharn’s shoulders slumped with weariness, and there were scars on his face that Richius had never seen before. The bronzed rider drew the cat to a halt.
‘Tharn!’ cried Richius. Tharn’s gaze shifted from Dyana to Richius and a weak smile bubbled onto his face.
‘Richius,’ said the Drol weakly. ‘Come and help me, please.’
Richius and Jarra hurried up to Tharn, holding out their arms and easing him off the lion’s back. As usual, the cunning-man was feather-light. He collapsed into Richius’ arms.
‘Tharn, what happened?’ asked Richius. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Tharn was breathing so heavily he could hardly respond. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘The journey was too much for me.’ He gestured to the silent man atop the lion. ‘This,’ he said reverently, ‘is Karlaz.’
Karlaz of the lions took his place on the floor by the round table and, without waiting for the others, began devouring the food and drink Najjir had brought for them. He was, as Richius quickly discovered, a man who did not trifle with words, but instead preferred to grunt and nod and to use every other part of his body rather than tire his tongue. That he saved for eating.
‘Are you feeling better now?’ asked Richius.
The cunning-man nodded. It had taken him more than an hour to catch his breath, and in that time Richius had arranged for them all to meet. Now he, Tharn, Jarra, and Karlaz sat around the table in Voris’ former meeting chamber, sipping at strong spirits and watching Karlaz tear into joints of fowl with his teeth. Only Dyana sat apart from them, kneeling behind Tharn in the customary manner of a Drol wife. The look on her face betrayed her disgust. Tharn had requested that she attend the meeting, and like the good wife she was forced again to be, she reluctantly complied. Richius did his best to keep his eyes off her.
‘Can you tell us now what’s happened?’ he asked.
‘As I said,’ Tharn began, ‘Lucyler told me of Voris’ death. We met up with him not far from the valley. He gave us the banner to hang on the lion.’
‘No,’ said Richius. ‘What happened to you? You weren’t this bad when you left for Chandakkar.’
‘I was ill enough,’ said Tharn. ‘But I had an encounter that worsened me.’ He pointed to his face, and the fresh scars lining his left side. ‘This is from one of the lions. I was attacked in Chandakkar. That was when Karlaz and his people found me. But I was asleep for days, unconscious. My cunning-men explained to him why I was there, but he would not speak to them, only to me. They cared for me and I rested.’ He glanced over at Karlaz who, at the mention of his name, was grinning through a mouthful of food. ‘He saved me. He was in the same valley I was attacked in. His people had fled there.’ Tharn looked sad and serious. ‘The Narens attacked them, Richius.’
‘What happened?’
‘They attacked before we arrived. As I said, Karlaz and his people fled into the lion valley, but there was much destruction. Many died. It was a Naren fleet. They slaughtered dozens before Karlaz could return with the lions to fight them.’
Tharn turned and smiled at Karlaz. ‘This is a great man, Richius. He would have refused my request, but he saw what the Narens did. They convinced him of their own evil.’
‘But what happened to the Narens?’ asked Richius.
Tharn smiled. ‘Did Lucyler tell you about Liss?’
‘He told me they were helping to keep the Black Fleet off the coast.’
‘And so they have been. Karlaz returned to the village to fight them, but they were already gone. Liss had attacked their ships and beaten them back. The captain of the Lissen fleet spoke to Karlaz. The lion master claimed it was Prakna.’
‘Prakna? Who the hell is that?’
‘Fleet Commander Prakna is the supreme commander of the Lissen navy. He was there in the village. He told Karlaz he would sink the Naren ships.’ Tharn beamed. ‘We have an ally, Richius.’
‘But what happened to you? Why were you gone so long?’
‘The lion. I am not so hearty, you know. It did me damage. When I was able to travel again, we set out for Dring. I was still weary. I did not know then that Voris had been killed, and I wanted to know what was happening here. On the way we met Lucyler. He explained the rest to me.’ Tharn’s face grew grim. ‘Did he die well, Richius?’
Richius frowned. Just what had Lucyler told him?
‘He died with honor, defending his valley.’
Tharn nodded. ‘Good. He deserved that, at least.’ He glanced about secretively then whispered, ‘I know of your lordship here. We will speak of it later.’
‘Can you get me out of this, Tharn?’
‘Later. Now we must talk of more important things. I will finish my tale. You know already that I was ill. It took me a long while to recover, but when I did we left Chandakkar. I was not wholly well, and I am still not as you can see. Most of my strength had gone.’ He turned and regarded Dyana. ‘That is why I harmed you, my wife. Forgive me, it was not meant. I wanted only to speak to you, to see if you were here and well. But my strength, it failed me. I thought I was close enough but my mind would not reach you. The fetch can be dangerous if not done well. Perhaps it was foolish of me to try.’
Dyana tossed off the apology. ‘I am well again, husband. Do not be concerned.’
Tharn smiled. ‘I am glad you are well. It was only my eagerness to see you that made me try and speak to you. I have missed you.’
Dyana did not reply.
Richius felt suddenly awkward. ‘You say you met up with Lucyler. When was this?’
‘Five days ago,’ replied Tharn.
‘He told you about Kronin?’
‘Yes,’ said Tharn sadly. ‘Another giant loss. I grieve for him. We had become almost as brothers.’ He sighed. ‘But I waste time, and I have news for you, Richius. These lion riders have come to attack the Saccenne Run. They will ride for the Run in a day or so, after they have rested. All is in place now. The war is almost over.’
‘What do you mean, all is in place? There are still hundreds of Naren troops in Ackle-Nye, and more will be coming. I agree the lions are a help, but –’
‘Before I left Chandakkar,’ said Tharn, ‘I sent messengers to all the warlords of Lucel-Lor. Some were the cunning-men that went with me to Chandakkar, others were sent by Karlaz. But they all bore a letter telling them to ride for Ackle-Nye with all the warriors they could. I did not know then what had happened here in Dring, but Liss was already ending the battles on the coasts and I knew Kronin’s men would be able to deal with the Narens that had already landed in Tatterak. That was almost three weeks ag
o, Richius.’
Richius was stunned. ‘So they’re all riding for Ackle-Nye as we speak?’
‘If they can, yes. There will be thousands of warriors at the outskirts of the city by the time Karlaz and his lions reach the mountains. They will attack the Run and ruin the Naren escape. The other warriors will take Ackle-Nye.’ Tharn’s eyes flashed. ‘It is over for them, Richius. They have no chance.’
Richius leaned back on his heels. Tharn the Avenger, he thought suddenly. He had heard the Drol called that once, a very long lifetime ago. He was the dark angel of Lucel-Lor again, the sorcerer who counted Naren lives as cheaply as grains of sand. Again he had outwitted the masterminds of Nar, again he was arranging a holocaust. And Richius had joined him in the black crusade, and the thought of murdering so many men barely ruffled his scruples. A little part of his soul grieved for his dead conscience.
‘When do we leave?’ he asked. ‘There aren’t many of Voris’ warriors left, but we can be in Ackle-Nye in two days.’
Tharn shook his head. ‘You will not be going, Richius. Nor will I. I am too sick to make the journey, and I know from speaking with Dyana that you yourself have been badly wounded. You will stay here with us. So will Jarra and the others.’
‘Stay here? But why? I’m fit enough to fight. And Jarra –’
‘Jarra is old and deserves the chance for some peace. So do the other warriors who fought here. So do you. You say you are fit, but you are not. I knew when I saw you. You look barely able to stand.’
‘Tharn...’
‘No more. I have made my decision.’
‘It’s not your decision to make. I don’t need your permission to ride for Ackle-Nye.’
Tharn shrugged. ‘You could do that. But I think you would probably collapse on the way. And even if you did not, no one would listen to you. When I sent my letters to the warlords, I told them Kronin would be in command. I also told them that if you were there, they were not to let you fight. They would capture you, Richius, and bring you back here. With Kronin dead, Lucyler will be in command. I have already told him so, and have sent him back to Tatterak. I also told him not to let you fight.’