The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  Alain shrugged. "Not really," he admitted. "My hands still get in the way."

  Patwin looked to Dinadin. "What?"

  "He uses his whole hand instead of just his fingers," Dinadin explained. "But he's getting better."

  "I'm sure he is," said Patwin, handing the bow back to Alain. "Your brother's a good teacher, Alain. He was one of the best archers in our company. You listen to what he tells you."

  Alain smiled up at Patwin. "Will you stay for dinner? I'll tell Mother you're here."

  "She already knows. And she already invited me. I saw her and Del on my way here. They told me you were around back, so I thought I'd come and have a talk with you."

  "So?" asked Dinadin. "You going to stay?"

  Patwin was careful to hide his face from Alain. "That depends," he said seriously. "I have to talk to you, Dinadin."

  "Stay, Patwin," begged Alain. "Father won't mind. I'll go tell him."

  "Good idea," agreed Dinadin. "Alain, go tell Father Patwin's staying for dinner. Give us a chance to talk, all right?"

  The boy agreed eagerly and darted off toward the house. When he was gone, Dinadin patted the ground beside him, bidding Patwin to sit. Somewhat haltingly, Patwin folded himself down on the pile of leaves. They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

  "I really am glad you're here," Dinadin began. "But I don't want to argue."

  "I'm not here to argue, Dinadin," said Patwin. "I have news."

  "Good news?"

  "Yes. At least I think so."

  Dinadin folded his arms over his chest and gestured with his chin for Patwin to continue. He could already tell from his comrade's tone that the subject would be Richius. "Go on."

  "Richius has had news from Nar City," said Patwin. "The emperor wants to make him king." He waited for Dinadin's hard expression to change. When it didn't, he went on. "He's supposed to be in Nar on the thirtieth day of winter. That's about two months from now."

  "King," remarked Dinadin absently. "Nice."

  Patwin strained to smile. "He's taking some people with him on the trip. We're going to have a fine time, take it real easy and see some of the sights. I'm going, and of course he thought of you right away. I think you should come with us."

  "I can't," said Dinadin. He picked a dead leaf from the ground and studied it, twirling it around in his fingers. "I have things around here to do."

  "Dinadin, that's a lie."

  Dinadin shrugged. "I suppose it is." He evaded Patwin's probing eyes, inspecting the leaf with interest. "But I still can't go."

  "Can't? Or won't?"

  "Either."

  "Damn it, Dinadin," exclaimed Patwin. "Stop fooling and talk to me!"

  Dinadin crumpled the leaf and glared at Patwin. "About what? Richius? I told you already that's a dead subject. What did you think? Did you think you were going to come here with this great news about him being made king, and I was going to forget about everything?" Dinadin tossed the leaf away. "Some king he'll make."

  "I think he'll make a fine king. And I think you're being a pigheaded fool, Dinadin. How long are you going to hold this grudge? Richius is going to be our king. Are you going to ignore him forever?"

  "If I can," said Dinadin honestly. "Unlike you, I remember what happened."

  Patwin laughed bitterly. "Do you? It seems to me your memory is a little vague. You're the one who badgered Richius about going to Ackle-Nye, remember? If there is blame to go around for Lucyler's death, you're as much at fault as Richius."

  "Voris didn't come looking for me," said Dinadin coldly. "He wanted Richius. And because Richius wasn't there Lucyler got killed. Hell, we were all about to die anyway. But did Richius care? Hardly. He just let us go on dying, while his damn father abandoned us!"

  "Dinadin, he did his best--"

  "If that's his best, then Aramoor's in real trouble. Lord, I can't imagine him as king after the way he let us die like flies in Dring."

  Patwin's expression was stricken. "Dinadin, I know you don't believe that. You're just mad. It's all right to be angry. We're all angry about being left behind. But you have to get over it. Even Richius is trying, and it was his own father. How do you think he feels about it?"

  Dinadin couldn't answer. At one point he had thought Patwin was right, that he was just bitter and would get over it. But there were just too many deaths to forget. And Lucyler's capture kept coming back to him, gnawing at him, demanding to be remembered. If only Richius had been there, Lucyler might still be alive. He didn't want Richius to be dead, either, of course, but it was just another twist of Richius' weird luck, letting people die in his stead. If they had left a month earlier, there were at least a dozen more who would have come home. But Richius hadn't let them leave.

  "I'm sure he feels badly," said Dinadin at last. "But don't you think he should? If we had retreated, Lucyler would still be alive. Jimsin and Lonal, too."

  "It doesn't work that way, Dinadin. We had a job to do. Richius knew that. He didn't want to be there, but he had to be. And you're right, he does feel badly. Badly enough to try and come here and apologize to you."

  "He tried to come here? When?"

  "The day before yesterday," said Patwin. "He wanted to talk to you, say he was sorry and try to put all this business in the past. We didn't make it, though."

  "What happened?" asked Dinadin. He couldn't keep the alarm from his voice.

  "Wolves," said Patwin. "They attacked us on the road. We tried to outrun them but they were too fast. Thunder couldn't make it."

  "Oh, no..."

  "There were five of them," continued Patwin ruthlessly. "They got hold of Thunder. Killed him."

  Dinadin closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry," he said carefully. "I really am. How's Richius?"

  "He took it about as hard as you'd expect," said Patwin. "But one of the wolves got him, too. Bit him in the arm, not too bad. He's resting now and should be fine in a few days. That's why I'm here, Dinadin. Since he can't get around, I'm helping him make the plans for the trip to Nar." Patwin paused and locked eyes with Dinadin. "You should come see him, Dinadin. He'd like that."

  Dinadin shook his head. "I... I can't," he stammered. "Sorry, Patwin. I just can't."

  "But why? Look, he told me all about the girl in the tavern. He's even sorry about that."

  "It's not about the girl," said Dinadin. "Haven't you been listening? Lord, where's your memory gone? He could have gotten all of us killed! His father abandoned us and he still wouldn't let us come home. He's got a lot of blood on his hands, Patwin. An apology just isn't enough."

  Patwin's eyes narrowed, studying him. "So that's it? You won't come with us to Nar?"

  "No," said Dinadin. "I won't."

  Patwin got to his feet. "Fine," he snapped. "I won't beg you to do the right thing. I'm sure you know in your heart how wrong you are. But he's going to be your king, Dinadin. You can't avoid him forever. If you wait too long your friendship may never recover."

  Dinadin said nothing, merely gazing off into the distance. He let Patwin hover over him for a few moments, staring down at him with barely disguised contempt. The fleeting idea of agreeing came to him, but vanished just as quickly. He was bitter, like an old man, and he wondered if he would ever be the same again.

  "Well?" pressed Patwin. "What do you say?"

  "Alain's much bigger, isn't he? I'm glad you had the chance to see him again. If you're staying for supper maybe we can play some cards after."

  Patwin's expression was like ice. "No, I won't be staying. Tell your father I'll see him when he comes around the castle, to honor his new king."

  Patwin turned to go, but before he had taken three paces Dinadin called after him.

  "Patwin, stop. You're still my friend. You're welcome here anytime. But don't ever try to convince me I'm wrong again."

  "You are wrong, Dinadin," replied Patwin. "You just don't see it yet."

  Dinadin watched him go, wondering bleakly if he had severed more than one old frien
dship.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Five days after Biagio's visit, Richius set out on the long journey to Nar City.

  There had not been much time for preparation. Richius wanted to enjoy the trip, and to take it easy on the way so as not to tax the horses too much. There was only time enough for him to pack some essential items, nurse his wounded arm, and invite a select few to join him on his journey.

  Dinadin had been the first to decline the invitation, and when Patwin returned to the castle with the news, Richius had been devastated. He knew then for certain what he already felt in his heart, that he would probably never see Dinadin again. Richius felt as though he had lost a brother.

  Jojustin too declined to make the trip. Were they to travel by ship, Jojustin had explained, he might have considered it, but his days of long rides were behind him. This Richius understood and tried to accept graciously, for he hadn't really expected the old man to accompany him. Jojustin was almost sixty, and though he prided himself on his fitness and horsemanship, even he admitted that such a long trip was for younger men. Moreover, Richius knew, Jojustin didn't relish the prospect of meeting the emperor. Like Edgard, Jojustin was a symbol of a time when a rebellious king sat on Aramoor's throne.

  Though disappointed that Jojustin would not be there to see him made king, Richius was also somewhat grateful that the old steward had declined to join him. It was true what Jojustin had told Biagio. The castle needed someone to tend to it, and only Jojustin had the knowledge to make sure things ran smoothly in Richius' absence. To leave both the castle and Aramoor unattended for so long would have been unthinkable. Since Darius' death, Jojustin had seen to almost every aspect of Aramoor's governing, giving Richius ample room in which to grow into the responsibilities he had inherited. There were times, in fact, when Richius himself deferred to Jojustin's authority, for his long tenure in Lucel-Lor had left him ignorant of many of his nation's affairs, especially those that hadn't existed before the Triin conflict. It was a far better thing, Richius reasoned, that Jojustin should stay behind. Aramoor needed him.

  There was too the ugly possibility that the Drol revolution might spill over the Iron Mountains and find its way to Aramoor. Though that had once seemed an impossibility, Darius' recent murder made the chance of it appear much more likely. Since returning home, Richius had spent more than one sleepless night considering how to deal with this invisible threat. He had ordered regular patrols to keep a watch on the Saccenne Run, and to his great relief he had found that the Iron Mountains remained blessedly quiet. Still, it was an unnerving thought that Aramoor was so defenseless, its troops and weapons woefully depleted by the war, and Richius didn't want to leave his homeland wholly unprotected. If the Drol did come, Richius knew, they might well find Aramoor easy prey, and it was unlikely that Talistan would come to their aid in any way. It heartened Richius to know that he was leaving Aramoor in Jojustin's capable care, for although Jojustin was too old to ride into battle himself, his mind worked in subtle and dangerous ways, and his long experience with war made him a canny foe.

  There were, however, several of Richius' companions who did accept their new king's invitation. The first of these was Patwin. Like Dinadin and Lucyler, Patwin had been one of Richius' most trusted comrades while in Lucel-Lor, and the thought of not having him present at his coronation was simply inconceivable.

  Because of Richius' wound, Patwin had taken on the responsibility of preparing for the journey, leaving Richius time to recuperate. It had also given Jenna and Jojustin something to fret about, for they both treated Richius like a child. The bite had left some nasty scars, but by the morning of his departure Richius was sure his arm had healed enough to make riding at least passably easy.

  While Richius convalesced, Patwin set upon gathering the things they would need for their journey. First, of course, was fellow travelers, men that Richius wanted to accompany him. Not long after Biagio's departure, it had become commonly known throughout Aramoor that Richius was to be made king, and every man who could ride a horse seemed to want to go with him to Nar for his coronation. Most of these were soldiers who had returned alive from the Dring Valley, some three hundred in all. The outpouring of adoration made Richius forget about Dinadin, at least for a moment. But he knew that there was simply no way so many men could accompany him. Aramoor had neither the horses nor manpower to spare, and with the very real threat of a Drol attack looming, every able-bodied soldier was needed at home. When Richius realized that only a handful of men would be able to join him, the choices became obvious.

  Of all the men he had served with in the valley, there were three whom Richius had trusted with the vital and demanding task of commanding a trench brigade. They were men who had proven their loyalty and courage innumerable times, who had borne the awesome responsibilities given them with distinction and with selflessness. Though Richius truly believed that all his men had fought bravely, he knew that Barret, Ennadon, and Gilliam had served with the highest calibre of courage. He could think of no others who so richly deserved the reward of going to Nar and partaking in the great feasting that awaited them there. It was a small reward, not really more than a token when compared with the horrors they had endured, but it was at least something that Richius could do.

  As Richius had expected, all three of the men had accepted the invitation. Ennadon, the oldest of the trio, had even agreed to find Richius a new horse, for by this time almost everyone had heard of the gruesome fate that had befallen Thunder. Ennadon was a sensitive man, who had been a breeder of livestock before being pressed into service in Lucel-Lor, and so he shared with Richius that strange, intangible love that binds a man and a horse. Richius was grateful for the offer, but in the end he had told Ennadon not to bother. There were horses enough in the castle's stables, he had said, and replacing Thunder wasn't possible anyway. Ennadon didn't push the point, but he had promised Richius that he would not stop trying to find the perfect horse for him.

  Barret and Gilliam had come to the castle together. Both were only slightly younger than Richius, not quite twenty-five, and both of their faces glowed as they thanked Richius for the chance to go to Nar. Like most Aramoorians, Barret and Gilliam were somewhat provincial and not really knowledgeable about the world outside their narrow borders. But they had heard the tales of the Black City, and were anxious to see what truth there was to the talk. They were Guardsmen, after all. Like all Guardsmen, they ached for the chance to be on horseback and travel to places they had never been before. They were entranced with the notion of seeing Nar, and even Richius found their enthusiasm contagious. He too began to look on the coming journey with favor. It would be a long trip, maybe difficult at times, but they would be together, five companions riding without the threat of a Drol arrow finding their backs. They would be free.

  It was a bright, late autumn morning when Richius and his comrades finally set out for Nar. Ennadon, ignoring Richius' protests, had found a beautiful gelding for Richius to ride, a sandy-coated, pleasant-tempered horse that bore an almost eerie resemblance to Thunder. Though Ennadon claimed it was from his home stables, Patwin and the others knew the truth, and told Richius that Ennadon had purchased the gelding with his own gold from a horse breeder he knew. Richius was overjoyed with the gift, and on the advice of Patwin said nothing to Ennadon about how he had acquired it. Upon seeing the horse, Richius promptly named the beast Lightning.

  At last they rode away from Aramoor Castle, heading west across the continent toward the Dhoon Sea. Patwin had devised a simple course for them, and kept a trove of maps stuffed in his saddlebags. They would not really need them, for wherever they went they could always ask the locals to direct them toward the Black City, but it made Patwin feel better to have them. There was a saying in the Empire, that "all roads lead to Nar." One needed only to know the general direction of the Black City to find it. Whatever else the conquering soldiers of the Empire had done, they had constructed a network of roads that was without peer. Even in the far nor
thern reaches of the Empire, in places such as Gorkney and Criisia, there were roads. They were well-traveled roads, too, for the tax collectors of the emperor made good use of them.

  Richius was pleased with the route Patwin had planned for them. They would take the Naren roads west until they reached the western coast, where the port city of Karva lay. From there they would travel south, perhaps for no more than a week, over the hills of Locwala and finally to the Black City. By Patwin's closest guess they would reach Nar within seven weeks, and they would not hurry. They would spare the horses that misery, and enjoy the trip. For food and shelter they would stop at any of the hundreds of towns and villages that lined the roads to Nar, and make good use of the hospitality of farmhouses. Each of them had some gold, and whatever they couldn't buy they would simply do without. Doing without had been a way of life for them in the valley, and none of them particularly feared it.

  The first few days of the trip were blithe and carefree. Aramoor was behind them, and the great open fields and forests of central Nar were yet to come. The weather was mild for so late in the year, and they passed the time regaling each other with stories of what they might find in the fabled Black City. None of them had ever been to Nar, but they had all heard the tales, some bizarre, others flatly unbelievable, and every time they spoke of them it made them coax their horses on a little faster. Richius told them that Biagio had promised them a feast beyond imagining, with beautiful women and heavenly music and all of the emperor's palace at their feet. It was only a half-truth, Richius knew, but it made for great conversation, and after telling his tales a dozen times he started to believe them himself. He was, he reasoned, going to be a king. It only seemed fair that he and his men should be treated as such.

  Richius enjoyed the journey. These were days like those of his boyhood, before he had learned what being a prince really meant. Here, lost in the rolling vastness of the Empire, he wasn't a prince or a king or even an Aramoorian. He was just a man, and he had no concerns greater than where he should spend the night or how much beer he should let his comrades buy him. He loved being outside, loved being with his friends and sleeping under the stars when a bed could not be found. He cherished the talks about little things, about women and horses and wars that didn't involve them in the least. They sharpened their swords around campfires and never spoke of using them. And never once did any of them slip and say the word "Drol" or "Lucel-Lor" or "Tharn."