by John Marco
Patwin said nothing, waiting for Richius to continue.
"Well, he listened to me. He wasn't happy about it but he didn't argue with me, either, just went upstairs to find another wench. But I couldn't do the same. She was too beautiful, and I was drunk and lonely. Before I knew what was happening I had paid the innkeeper for her and we were in bed together."
"And Dinadin found out about it?"
"I told him about it the next morning. God, I was so stupid. He was already mad at me for not letting us leave the valley, but when I explained to him about Dyana, do you know what he did?"
"Broke your nose?" quipped Patwin.
"No. He gave me his brother's silver dagger so I could buy another night with her."
Patwin's face collapsed. "Oh, Richius..."
"I know. Believe me, I'm not proud of what I did. But she was so special, Patwin. And Dinadin didn't really know her at all. He just wanted to have his way with her."
"Oh?" asked Patwin scornfully. "And you didn't? How do you know Dinadin didn't think she was special, too?"
"Patwin, he only saw her for a moment."
"Sometimes a moment is all it takes to fall in love. Especially in a war. You said she was beautiful. Maybe Dinadin was as taken with her as you were."
"Maybe," said Richius sadly. Until now it hadn't occurred to him that Dinadin had felt anything but lust for Dyana. Somehow, he had forgotten he wasn't the only one lonely and afraid that night.
"I feel like I've betrayed him," Richius concluded. "First my father, now me. But I don't want this to go on. We can keep arguing about Lucyler's death, about the things I did wrong, but what good will it do? I--"
Richius broke off, startled by a movement in the road up ahead. Five doglike figures waited there, their tongues lolling lazily out of their mouths as they spied the approaching horsemen. The horses stopped at once. Richius felt Thunder bristle. Dragonfly gave an angry snort. All five of the beasts bore the common markings of their breed, recognizable to both men and horses alike.
Mountain wolves.
"Richius..."
"I see them," Richius whispered. "Don't move. And don't let Dragonfly run."
Patwin pulled back on the reins. The big warhorse obeyed, remaining perfectly still as it stared into the eyes of its foes. The beasts had a lean and hungry look about them, a wildness that made Richius shudder. He recalled with growing dread what Patwin had said that morning. The first snow makes them crazy.
Not war wolves, he told himself. Don't be afraid.
But he was. His stomach pitched the same way it always did before a battle. He had faced wolves before, creatures far larger and more malevolent than these, but that was in Lucel-Lor, a place where he expected wolves to hunt him. He found himself wishing for a flame cannon.
"What should we do?" Patwin asked.
"Be still," said Richius. They had been riding for almost an hour, and Terril's home on the north acres was too far to hope for. If they bolted and the wolves gave chase, they would be overrun before they even came close to reaching it. He glanced over his shoulder. The road behind them was empty. He listened for a voice or the squeak of a wagon wheel, but heard only the snowy silence. They were alone. Slowly he pulled the big blade off his back. It was time to see what Jessicane could do.
"We're going to turn around," he said softly. "Slowly."
Patwin nodded, almost casually placing his hand on the hilt of his own sword. With his other hand he gingerly tugged at the reins, ordering Dragonfly around. There was a brief hesitation before the steed obeyed. Richius did the same, turning Thunder about. As they began trotting slowly away, he glanced behind them. The wolves were following.
"Damn," he hissed, sure now that the wolves meant to attack. He had heard that wolves could smell fear, and knew they must reek of it. He pulled Jessicane from its scabbard. The huge battle blade felt heavy in his grip, a good weapon for what he needed to do. Patwin pulled out his sword, too. They looked at each other for a moment.
"Ready?" Richius asked.
Patwin nodded weakly.
"All right then."
With a cry Richius kicked his heels into Thunder's side. As if the old horse had been waiting for the order he bolted forward, digging his hooves into the snow-slick road and tearing out clods of frozen earth. Amazingly, Dragonfly was already ahead of them. Richius felt the gray wake strike his face like a shower of knives. He lowered himself in the saddle, tucked his head against Thunder's neck, and glanced behind them. The wolves were running after them, gaining quickly.
"They're coming!" Richius shouted over the crash of hooves.
"Faster!" cried Patwin.
"I can't," Richius called back. Patwin cursed and twitched his wrist, slowing Dragonfly to a less enviable gallop. Thunder was soon running alongside the bigger horse, his old legs pumping furiously to keep up.
"No!" yelled Richius. "Get going, Patwin! Don't wait for me."
"We can't outrun them. We have to fight!"
Dragonfly slowed a little more. There was a snapping of jaws close behind, then a hollow crack and a yelping as the warhorse's iron hooves connected with a skull. The blow sent the wolf reeling backward. Yet still its brothers came ahead, driven on by the maddening hunger for meat. In a moment the four remaining wolves were alongside them, two flanking Thunder and two Dragonfly. Richius could hear them closing in around Thunder's legs, the quick, insistent patter of their paws, the clashing of their jaws. He raised Jessicane.
Just a little more, you bastards.
At his right a wolf was closing in, readying to make its leap. Richius knew that Thunder was tiring, that exhaustion would overtake the old horse at any moment. When that moment came the wolf would jump. He pulled back on the reins with a practiced smoothness. Thunder slowed and the wolf leapt--and Richius lowered the sword. Jessicane's heavy edge buried itself in the wolf's snout, cutting through its muzzle and sending teeth crashing backward down its throat. At once Richius turned to face the other wolf. The beast was already in the air. It caught Richius' forearm in its jaws, tearing through the thick wool of his riding coat and piercing the flesh beneath it as it yanked him from the saddle. He tumbled from Thunder's back, pulling the horse down with him. Both he and Thunder collapsed into the roadway. The horse gave an agonized whinny as one front leg snapped.
Richius still had Jessicane. He lifted his face out of the mud, struggling to see past the blood and filth covering his eyes. He heard Patwin gallop past him, crying out his name, heard too the inhuman rattle of Thunder's wail. He whirled, expecting to find the wolf behind him, ready to pounce. But the wolf had no interest in him. Its teeth were already in the neck of the fallen horse. Thunder's insane cry grew as he tried to rise to his broken legs, but each time the wolf dragged him down again. The horse's neck erupted in a fountain of blood.
"Patwin!" Richius cried, slogging through the snow toward his fallen horse. He tossed himself onto the wolf, pulling the thrashing beast from Thunder and driving his heavy boot into its ribs. Before the wolf could leap again, Richius swung the sword, catching the beast in the side of its head, slicing past its ear and eye. The wolf fell back, howling, its broken face twisting in pain. Again Jessicane came down, silencing it.
Richius turned back to Thunder. Already the two remaining wolves had broken off their chase and had begun feeding on the still-living horse. Patwin galloped up to Richius, stretching down a hand.
"Come on!" he barked.
"No!"
Richius dashed to the closest wolf. He brought the giant sword down, breaking the wolf's back in an instant. There was only one more left. It lifted its nose out of Thunder's neck and stared at Richius, a low growl rumbling from its throat. Slowly it drew closer, its head low, its eyes black and furious. Richius was still, his own rage blinding him to fear.
"This is my land, wolf!" he hissed. The wolf seemed not to hear him. It growled again and tensed, its haunches poised to leap.
"I have killed your brothers!" said Richius, gripping Jessi
cane's hilt with his fists. "Now try and kill me!" He was shouting, his voice clear and powerful. Patwin rode up close on Dragonfly, the giant warhorse whinnying and snorting.
"Back, wolf!" yelled Patwin, shaking his sword and drawing Dragonfly up on its hind legs. "Back to the mountains!"
Still the wolf did not withdraw. It was between the men and the dying horse now, jealously guarding the meal it had worked so hard for. Thunder's hellish rattle went on. Richius screamed and rushed toward the wolf, his sword stretched out above his head. Dragonfly was on his heels in an instant. The wolf reared back, hesitating, then leapt for Richius. It was in the air when Jessicane came swinging down, swift and heavy and alive with vengeance. Metal and flesh collided, and for a moment Richius saw only a gray wall of fur pressing toward him. But he felt Jessicane dig deep, the blade biting into the wolf's lean breast. Staggering backward, he heard the clap of jaws near his face and he fell to the ground, kicking and cursing and driving the sword deeper through the beast's rib cage. At last the wolf yelped, falling lifeless upon Richius as the sword pierced its heart.
Richius twisted out from under the beast. His body ached and blood pulsed from his bitten forearm, yet his concern was only for Thunder. The horse was still barely alive, its broken legs trembling as its life ebbed. Richius stumbled through the snow and dropped onto the horse's belly.
"Oh, my beautiful boy," he moaned. He didn't bother to look more closely at the horse's wounds. They would kill Thunder for sure. He only rested his head on the horse's belly, feeling the rise and fall of the gelding's last breaths. "My sweet friend."
"Richius," said Patwin lightly. He had dismounted and was standing over Richius. "You're hurt. We have to get you help."
"Listen to him," said Richius. The horse's cries went on. Richius turned to Patwin. "Do it for me, Patwin," he said softly. "I cannot."
Patwin was ashen. "He'll die soon, Richius. I--"
"Please," Richius begged. He handed Patwin Jessicane. "Do it with this."
Patwin took the sword uneasily. "Don't look, all right?"
Richius nodded.
"Forgive me," he said, and walked over to where Dragonfly stood. The big horse was still, as if aware of the solemness around him. Richius closed his eyes.
Good-bye, old friend.
And then it was over. Richius opened his eyes. Patwin was running his sleeve over Jessicane. Ths small man looked at Richius weakly.
"It's done," he said. "God, what unholy work that was."
Slowly Richius walked over to Thunder, looking down at the corpse. Patwin had severed the horse's head, so that now the body lay in a thick pool of crimson. Little wisps of steam rose from the pool and the horse. The sight sent a wave of nausea rushing over Richius, buckling his knees.
"Oh, God," he groaned past a mouthful of bile.
"Look away," Patwin ordered, taking hold of Richius' shoulder. "I'm sorry, Richius, but he's gone. That's it."
Richius shook off Patwin's grip. "No," he said, sinking his face into his hands. "Why did this happen? Why here? I'm supposed to be home."
Patwin dropped to his knees beside Richius. Carefully he pulled Richius' hands away from his face and stared at him hard. "Listen to me, Richius. You're hurt. Look at your arm. I've got to get you help."
Richius nodded silently, letting Patwin inspect his wounded forearm. The pain was intense, yet he was scarcely aware of it. As if from a great distance he heard Patwin muttering.
"How far are we from Dinadin's, Richius? Do you know?"
Richius glanced down at his bloodied arm, then looked back at Patwin.
"Take me home," he said softly. "Please."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The ride back to the castle was dreary and sullen. Richius, his forearm bandaged in a swaddling of rags torn from his ruined coat, said almost nothing. He was in a kind of shocked stupor, a fog of which he was only scarcely aware, and even the fiery pain of his punctured arm hardly reached his mind.
It took only minutes for Dragonfly to reach the castle. Even with two grown men on his back, the young gelding made the trip effortlessly. The castle came into view just as a rain cloud opened up above them.
"There it is," said Patwin. "You'll be all right now, Richius." Richius lifted his head, heartened a little by the sight of his home. Past the high stone wall surrounding the castle he could see the three towers reaching skyward, striking in the ebbing light. Already tiny points of candlelight glowed in the castle's many windows. Richius shivered, once again feeling the cold. He welcomed the idea of his warm bed and Jenna bringing him porridge. She would make a fuss over him, he knew, and suddenly the thought of her attention didn't bother him. Just now he wanted to be mothered.
Dragonfly got them up the steep tor quickly and came to a stop at the wall's iron gate. Since the murder of Richius' father, Jojustin had ordered the gate locked and guarded at all times, and even Patwin didn't have free access to the castle. He cursed when he reached it, shouting for the sentry. As if out of nowhere the guard appeared, a giant, twin-bladed axe in his fists.
"Who is it?" he asked gruffly, peering at them through the metal shafts.
"Open up!" Patwin demanded. "Richius is hurt!" "Richius?" The guard's small eyes narrowed as he looked past Patwin. "Is it you, Prince Richius?"
"It's me," Richius called back. "Do as he says, Faren."
The man dropped his axe and produced a key tethered to his armor by a thin chain. Hurriedly he fumbled with the lock and pulled open the portal.
"Sorry, my lord," he said. "Jojustin told me to be careful tonight. We've had some strange visitors."
"Visitors?" Richius asked. "Who?"
The sentry gave a furtive glance toward the courtyard. "From Nar, my lord."
When they were through the gate Richius noticed the strangers. Two horsemen, both wearing the green and gold uniforms of Talistan, leaned lazily against their horses, unmindful of the drizzling rain. A third horseman was with them, still atop his horse, bearing a standard instantly recognizable by its bleakness. It was a plain field of black fabric without crest or embroidering. It was the flag of Nar, the Black City. As Richius and Patwin rode into the courtyard the two Talistanians looked at them, wry smiles on their faces. The rider from Nar never moved. Richius noticed now that a fourth horse was behind him. Its flanks also bore the black banners of Nar, but its saddle was empty.
"What's this?" asked Richius, sliding down from Dragonfly's back. "Who are they, Faren?"
Faren bid Richius closer and, putting his lips near his prince's ear, whispered, "Biagio."
Richius' eyes widened. In good company, the name Biagio was always followed by a respectable silence. It was a name that had a unique power within the Empire. Richius glanced over at the trio of horsemen. The two Talistanians were still watching him. Quickly he pulled his wounded arm under the folds of his tattered coat.
"What does he want? Do you know?"
"He wanted to talk to you, my lord. I don't know why."
"Did you take him to see Jojustin?"
"Almost an hour ago. He told the others to wait outside."
"Thank God for that," said Richius. At least Biagio had shown the good sense not to let the Talistanians join him inside the castle. It was enough of an insult that they were in Aramoor at all. As for the other man, whom Richius supposed was a bodyguard, Biagio must have thought himself safe without him. Richius grimaced. Aramoor wasn't much of a threat to anyone these days.
"Biagio," spat Patwin. "What's that dog doing so far from home?"
"I wonder," said Richius. As head of the Roshann, Biagio was one of Arkus' closest advisers, a member of his so-called "iron circle." In the tongue of High Nar the term Roshann meant "The Order," and that was exactly what Biagio was charged with maintaining. Every prison, every labor camp, every trial of sedition fell under his jurisdiction, and every public hanging in the Black City happened because he said so. It was rumored that the Roshann had spies in every court of the Empire, even Aramoor's, and as absurd a
s that claim sounded to some, Richius secretly admitted to himself that no one really knew for sure. He was certain of only one thing about the Roshann--they were everywhere.
"Faren, take the horse back to the stables," said Richius. "Patwin, you come with me."
"Richius, your arm," Patwin protested. "It has to be tended to. Let Biagio wait."
"Yes, my lord," agreed Faren, taking Dragonfly's reins from Patwin. "I'll tell Jojustin you've returned."
"No. I don't want to be announced. And don't tell Jojustin I'm hurt, either. Don't tell anyone, Faren. I don't want a lot of fussing."
The big man nodded. "I understand, my lord."
"Damn it, Richius," grumbled Patwin, mindful of the nearby soldiers. "Biagio came all the way from Nar City. He can wait a little longer while you get a proper bandage."
"No," said Richius. "Biagio doesn't ever have good news for anyone, Patwin. He probably wants to talk about my father. If so, I don't want Jojustin to have to explain it all. That's my business." He turned and strode toward the castle. "Are you coming?"
"Yes," said Patwin reluctantly, following Richius across the courtyard. The Talistanians were still watching them. They both gave a slight, mocking bow to Richius.
"Good evening, Prince Richius," said one of the soldiers.
Richius said nothing, only glared at the arrogant duo. It had been over twenty years since Talistanian soldiers had stepped on the soil of Aramoor, and Richius reasoned that these two villains were proud of their accomplishment. As for the other horseman, whom Richius could see clearly now, he seemed to feel no such glee. He was perfectly erect in his saddle, his black armor dazzling. A cape of black with crimson lining was draped over his giant shoulders, clasped around his neck by a golden chain. He only turned his head toward Richius for a moment, long enough to display the death's-mask helmet he wore. It was the absolute likeness of a skull. Richius gasped. This silent, beautiful spectre was a Shadow Angel.
Bodyguard indeed, thought Richius. The Shadow Angels were Arkus' personal protectors, an elite group of soldiers famous for their skill and loyalty. They were the best fighters in the Empire, a hand-picked regiment of zealots, and they never spoke to anyone unless their masters bid it. In all his life, Richius had only seen one of them before, and that was so long ago he could scarcely remember it. Now, face to face with this soldier, he wondered just how long Aramoor really could stand against Nar.
