The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  Dinadin smiled weakly. "Just a learned man's ramblings, huh? Maybe you should be back in Aramoor, Richius, writing war croons for us on the line. If you say there's nothing I should know in that book, I believe you."

  Relieved, Richius set the journal back in his lap. "So? Tell me. I know something's bothering you. What is it?" He watched Dinadin closely, his eyes narrowing into slivers. "Do you think the king has forsaken us?"

  "Maybe," answered Dinadin. "It's been a long time, and you've asked for troops before and not gotten them. Why should this request be so different?"

  "Because we've never been so close to losing," said Richius. "My father has too much faith in me, I fear. He probably thinks we can take this valley with the trickle of men he sends us. But now that I've made it plain to him..."

  He stopped suddenly, seeing Dinadin glance sideways at Lucyler.

  "What?" asked Richius.

  "Let us change this talk," said Lucyler, fidgeting with the game pieces he had gathered from the board. "You are right, Richius. We should be enjoying the peace, not arguing."

  "No," Richius insisted. "You're sharing some secret. What is it?"

  "Richius," said Lucyler calmly. "It is no secret your father sent you here against his will. And why should it be? No one thinks poorly of him for wanting to keep Aramoor out of our war."

  "Oh, come now," said Richius. "I know my father wasn't eager to send us here, but he listens to the emperor. He's sent hundreds of men into Lucel-Lor."

  "True," agreed Dinadin grudgingly. "But he hasn't been so forthcoming with the men and supplies lately."

  "If your father has heard how badly the war is going he may think it lost," Lucyler added. "The news from the north is not good, and if we have heard that here in the valley, then surely your father has also."

  Dinadin agreed. "I've heard Tharn has Kronin's warriors on the run. Even some of our own kinsmen are talking about retreating."

  Richius laughed. "Oh, sure. Where did you hear that, Dinadin? From Gayle's men?"

  "Yes," said Dinadin sheepishly.

  "And you believed them? Think about that for a moment. If any Aramoorians were retreating, I'm sure I would have heard of it myself. It may be true that Tharn and his Drol are doing well, but winning? I doubt it. And Kronin's land is big, bigger even than Voris'. We can't expect him to keep it all free of Drol."

  Dinadin shook his head. "Tharn is gaining, Richius. If Tatterak falls we'll be stuck in this valley with Tharn above us and Voris all around us. We'll be trapped. We have to do something. You have to do something!"

  "Kronin's men can hold off Tharn," insisted Richius. "Don't you think, Lucyler?"

  Lucyler shrugged. "Kronin has many warriors," he admitted. "But so does Tharn. Voris is not the only warlord to pledge himself to Tharn, you know. There is Nang and Shohar and Gavros...." He hesitated, wrinkling his brow and counting on his fingers. "All the warlords of the east, I think. Since Falindar fell there has been little of the east that Tharn has not taken."

  "He doesn't have the Dring Valley yet," boasted Richius. "And he won't as long as we hold on, whether Voris the Wolf has pledged himself to Tharn or not."

  "You know what I think?" said Dinadin. "I think Tharn is planning a final assault on us, all the Naren troops and loyalists. Now that we're weak he can finish us." Dinadin's voice became hushed. "Now he can use his magic."

  "Magic," Lucyler scoffed. "Do you know how foolish you sound, Dinadin?"

  "Why foolish?" Dinadin fired back. "I know the stories, Lucyler. They say Tharn's a sorcerer. Hell, he's a Drol. He's just been waiting for his chance to crush us."

  "Tharn is no sorcerer," said Lucyler. "He is a Drol holy man. You Narens should stop believing everything you hear. To you, all the Drol are sorcerers."

  "They worship evil gods," said Dinadin. "I know these things, Lucyler. I'm not as stupid as you think. They believe their gods grant them powers."

  "Yes, and they are as stupid as you for believing that." Lucyler shook his head in disbelief. "Do you know why the Drol believe they are touched by heaven? Because they are fools. They believe in myths. They are devoted to an ancient religion of nonsense."

  "That's not what I've heard," countered Dinadin.

  "Tales to frighten you, Dinadin. It is the same thing the Drol want the Daegog's followers to believe. But even if Tharn does have some great magic, which he does not, he would never use it to kill."

  "Oh?" Richius asked indignantly. He was unaccustomed to his men defending his enemies, and it irritated him. "Why not? What makes you think that mad devil wouldn't use sorcery if he could?"

  "Because no Drol would," said Lucyler flatly. "They believe their magic is divine. Magic or sorcery--or whatever you call the touch of heaven--the Drol say all these things must be used to heal, not harm. The Drol may be zealots, but they hold the old ways of our people sacred. They, above all Triin, know the price of misusing the favors of their gods. Whatever his cause, Tharn would be damned if he used his blessing to destroy."

  "But he took Falindar," said Richius.

  "True. But by blade, not by sorcery. Understand me, Richius. Tharn is a demon. I saw his butchery at Falindar. But he is also a Drol. No Drol, no matter how evil, would use the touch of heaven to kill. If he is pushing troops back to Ackle-Nye; he is doing it with men and jiiktars only."

  "That doesn't sound so bad," said Dinadin. "I wouldn't mind retreating to Ackle-Nye, would you, Richius?"

  "Maybe not," said Richius. "But I'd rather not fight Tharn to get there." He looked to Lucyler.

  Lucyler glanced away. He had been there the night the revolution had begun, the night Drol rebels attacked Falindar to free their enigmatic leader. Like his father and grandfather before him, Lucyler was in the service of the Daegog, a warrior of the royal caste sworn to protect the Triin lord. Tharn was only a prisoner then, rotting in the catacombs beneath the Daegog's palace. Until that bloody night.

  Drol warriors, mostly Voris' red-robed fanatics, attacked the palace on a moonless evening. They were merciless, as the Drol always were, and they spared no one in their efforts to rescue Tharn. But Lucyler had been lucky that night, lucky enough to steal away from the palace without being seen, and had smuggled his Daegog to safety. Falindar fell to Tharn, and the Daegog was in exile. And for his great loyalty and courage, Lucyler was given the unenviable assignment of helping secure the Dring Valley, and of keeping an eye on Richius.

  Together they had shared many horrors since the fall of Falindar, but of the trio only Lucyler had faced the Drol leader in battle. Even Voris, pledged as he was to do the bidding of his master, could not lay claim to Tharn's dreadfulness. The warlord of the valley had jiiktars and war wolves and warriors sworn to die for him, but these were things comprehensible and natural. The bloodlust Tharn could conjure in his men was legendary. It was, in a sense, magical.

  Dinadin reclined on the grass, for once ignoring an opportunity to pester Lucyler as he gazed into the cloudless sky. "Perhaps Patwin will have news of the war in Tatterak when he returns. No doubt he will stop in Ackle-Nye on his way back."

  "No doubt," agreed Richius with a grin. "Patwin likes the ladies as much as you do."

  "You know," said Dinadin, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin on his fists, "Ackle-Nye is only two days' ride from here."

  "Forget it," said Richius.

  "But why? Why not now, when there's a break in the fighting?"

  Richius groaned, regretting the promise he had made to Dinadin that they would ride to Ackle-Nye when and if there was a good lull in the fighting. Now, it seemed, that lull had come. "We can't go, Dinadin. Voris could attack at any time."

  "After the routing Gayle gave him?" said Dinadin. "Not likely."

  "No?" asked Richius. "I'm sure Voris knows by now that Gayle and his horsemen are gone."

  "So? He still can't have his men ready for another attack so soon. Right, Lucyler?"

  "Who can say?" replied Lucyler dully. "The Wolf thinks like no other warlor
d. He is unpredictable."

  "And strong," added Richius. "The Dring Valley's big, Dinadin, and Voris still has scores of warriors. It wouldn't be wise to think him so damaged by the last fight."

  Dinadin frowned and looked away. "All right," he conceded, getting to his feet and wiping the grass from his backside. "But you should at least think about it. The way Tharn and the Drol are gaining ground, this chance might not come again."

  "Sorry," said Richius. "We simply can't risk it." Dinadin made a slight, unhappy sound, then turned and left his comrades. A feeling of melancholy washed over Richius. He hadn't enjoyed breaking his promise to his friend, nor had he taken any solace in Dinadin's explanations as to why he had become so distrustful. He felt Lucyler press one of the wooden game pegs into his foot.

  "He is young," said Lucyler. "All he can see is the chance to lie with a woman."

  "No," said Richius sadly. "It's more than that. He hasn't been the same for weeks now. He doubts me, Lucyler. He doesn't trust me anymore."

  "He is angry, that is all. He feels trapped here, and he blames you for not doing more."

  "What can I do? Lord, I've done everything I know how to. It's not my fault my father won't send more troops. I didn't ask for any of this!" Richius folded his arms and lowered his chin to his chest. "Lucyler, tell me something, will you? How widespread is this talk of my father?"

  Lucyler cast his somber eyes on Richius. "The truth?"

  "Of course."

  Lucyler smiled one of his rare, friendly smiles. "I do not believe your father will be sending any more troops here to fight. You've told me yourself how reluctant he was to send you. Were it not for the will of your emperor, you and Dinadin and all of your company would be safe at home in Aramoor."

  "But..."

  "I think this war is lost, Richius," Lucyler continued mercilessly. "And I think you think so, too. Dinadin is probably right. By now Tharn is planning a final assault. It might be a month or more away, but it is coming. There isn't much time left for any of us."

  Richius was silent, letting the pain of Lucyler's words echo in his mind. Lucyler was looking at him, his gray eyes drinking in all the truths Richius' expression betrayed, all the things he had tried so hard to conceal. He looked back at Lucyler, his own eyes filled with apology.

  "It wasn't really a lie, you know," he said.

  "No."

  "In the Black City there are theatres where men can act to entertain. I've never been there, but I hear they're paid quite handsomely." Richius groaned, resting his head against the gnarled tree trunk. "I tried to be as good an actor, but I see now that no one believes me."

  "Do not say that. It is not you they doubt, Richius. Every man here knows you have kept them alive."

  "Dinadin doesn't think that," said Richius. "And maybe he's right, maybe he should be angry. I've kept us alive only to be trapped here, and I'm too damned afraid of the emperor to retreat. We're alone now."

  Lucyler shrugged. "There is still Talistan. They might send more troops."

  "Not into the valley they won't," countered Richius. "They have already sent in twice the troops my father has, and even if they could send more they would go to Tatterak to save the Daegog. The Gayles would see us lose the whole valley before they sent more horsemen here to help us."

  The shadow of a frown crossed Lucyler's face, and Richius began again to regret his angry words. Feud or no, he should have let the horsemen remain in the valley. Now the valley might be lost, and all for the sake of family pride.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I know it was wrong to send Gayle away."

  Lucyler waved the remark away. "No. You have told me about that one. We are better off without him, I am sure."

  "Then what?" asked Richius. The Triin's jaw was set in the same tight way it always was when he was angry, and he looked distracted, as if arranging his thoughts in just the right way to spare Richius the worst.

  "I have been here with you for nearly a year now, Richius. Yet still you keep such secrets from me. I have tried to help you, but still you do not trust me."

  The bitterness in Lucyler's voice startled Richius. Never in the many long months of their efforts had he heard his comrade talk like this. Now that the words hung in the air, Richius didn't know what to do with them.

  "Lucyler, don't mistake my secrecy for mistrust. You've been a greater help to me than you know, but I'm the leader here. I can't tell my men everything I know."

  "But I am not one of your men, Richius. I do not need to be protected as they do. You forget that I am the Daegog's man here. There is nothing about this war I do not know, even if I do not hear it from you."

  Richius bit back an insult. Lucyler hadn't seen the Daegog of Lucel-Lor in months. As far as any of them knew, the Triin leader was in Tatterak with the loyalist warlord Kronin, and probably too preoccupied with the invading Drol to give much thought to his man in the Dring Valley. To Richius' thinking, it was self-importance at best that made Lucyler believe he was still of concern to the Daegog.

  "Even I don't know everything that goes on outside the valley, Lucyler. And as for my father, he is an even bigger mystery to me."

  As soon as he had spoken the words, Richius regretted them. His father wasn't a subject he cared to discuss with anyone, even with a friend as close as Lucyler. But Lucyler's eyebrows rose, and Richius knew he couldn't avoid the turn their conversation was about to take.

  "That surprises me," said Lucyler. "Only you see the messages your father sends you. The men can only imagine what he writes."

  "My father is a man of few words. If you'd read the messages he's sent me, you wouldn't think me in possession of great secrets. The king tells me precious little, and what I think matters I share with you."

  "But it all matters. How can I help you if I do not know what is happening? If I am to continue with you here I must know everything. I demand it."

  Richius knew Lucyler was neither bluffing nor lying. He would hear everything, or he would leave them. And without Lucyler's guidance, the loss of the Dring Valley was certain.

  "So," said Richius dully. "You would leave us here to deal with the Wolf ourselves, huh?"

  "I would."

  "What can I tell you that you don't know already? That the war is lost? Perhaps my father will still send us more troops, but I don't think so. He's never taken so long in sending us word. My guess is that he's decided to end it."

  "I had feared as much," said Lucyler. "But can your father really decide the war for himself? What of the emperor?"

  "Arkus and my father have never been friends. You said it yourself. If it weren't for the emperor, my father wouldn't have sent us here at all. Only Talistan sent troops here willingly, and that's only because the House of Gayle is the emperor's boot rag." Richius shook his head. "My father wanted to keep Aramoor out of this war."

  "But you are already here. Why would your father forsake you?"

  "Because he still believes Aramoor is his to rule," said Richius. "He only let Aramoor become part of the Empire to save his people from a war with Nar." He sighed, seeing the bitter irony of his father's predicament. "And then the emperor thrust this war on him. God, we are lost."

  "Perhaps," Lucyler said. "But we should not lose hope. Not yet. Patwin has still to return. Maybe we are wrong about your father. Maybe Patwin will bring us good news."

  "You're more hopeful than you should be, my friend. I know my father has already sent more troops here than he ever intended to. He won't recall us. Even he knows the emperor would crush Aramoor if he did. But he may think that Arkus will spare Aramoor if he simply lets the war be lost."

  "But his own son..."

  "It doesn't matter," Richius snapped. "Even I don't expect him to risk more lives for my sake. Scores of us have died already, maybe more. For all we hear, the fights in Tatterak and the Sheaze have already cost Aramoor hundreds of men. I know my father. He's just foolish enough to stand against the emperor. He's going to end it here, and we will all be trapped."


  Richius caught himself then, seeing his own black mood settle over Lucyler. For months he had done his best to keep his true beliefs from his men, and now he was droning on about how little chance they had of victory. He cursed himself, sure that Lucyler's mind was mulling over the consequences. Even if they should lose, he and Dinadin and all the others could still return home. But Lucyler was home already, and would have to live with whatever government Tharn and his Drol revolutionaries imposed on Lucel-Lor. The weight of that knowledge must be heavy indeed.

  "Then you should go," said Lucyler. "Listen to Dinadin. Do not let yourself be trapped here. Just leave."

  "I can't do that," said Richius. "I wish I could, but it's impossible. If we retreat, the emperor will kill us as surely as the Drol would. And then he would take Aramoor away from us, maybe even give it to the Gayles to rule. Dinadin is too blind to see the politics of things. But I'm sorry for you, my friend. If we lose we'll just be dead. But it's your country that will really suffer."

  Lucyler smiled sadly. "I have already lost, Richius. You and I are not so different. You are here to serve an emperor you hate. I am here to serve my Daegog."

  "Who you hate?"

  "Not hate exactly. But it is hard to ignore what Tharn and his followers say about the Daegog. I lived in Falindar, remember. We were less than perfect. There were excesses. And the Daegog can be very cruel. They say he was merciless when he tortured Tharn, and I believe it. He knows your emperor means us no good. He simply does not care. Just as Arkus wants something from Lucel-Lor, so too does the Daegog want something from Nar, something more than protection from the Drol."

  "What?"

  "Weapons, perhaps. The warlords have followed him only because he has the title. But he is weak, and he knows his time would end soon even without Tharn to hurry it. I have no doubt he would risk our lives to get the power he wants. And your emperor was very obliging."

  "They're both bastards," said Richius. "Power mad. But how can you follow him?"

  "Why do you obey your emperor?" Lucyler countered.