The Jackal of Nar

by John Marco

  "But the Daegog has fallen," Richius reminded the emperor. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but you were fooled."

  "Was I?" asked Arkus. "By the Daegog, perhaps, but I was correct about the magic. And now that I know that, I won't be stopped again. I want Lucel-Lor, young Richius. And I intend to have it."

  "No," said Richius. What he was hearing was ludicrous, and he meant to say so. "You can't mean it."

  "I do. And I need your help to get it."

  "No!" repeated Richius, rising abruptly from the chair. "I won't. Lord Emperor, you must listen to me. What you're suggesting is madness. There's no way to win against the Drol. You said so yourself."

  "Biagio told me you saw this weapon, Richius. You claimed it was a storm, but you know better, don't you? The truth now, tell me. You saw magic there. You saw this weapon at work."

  Richius nodded dumbly, unsure what he was agreeing to. Whether the storm he saw devour Edgard was indeed a weapon, a conjuring of Tharn's ungodly magic, or whether it was some violent, freakish trick of nature he simply couldn't say. But he had seen it, whatever it was, and he knew that nothing in Arkus' vast arsenal could stand against it.

  "I saw it," he said. "I don't know what it was. Maybe it was magic. Maybe not. But whatever I saw, I know it can't be beaten with horses and swords. This thing can burn us all alive. We can't win."

  "We must take them," Arkus mumbled, still not looking at Richius. "We must."

  "But why?" Richius implored. He fell to his knees beside the old man. "I don't understand. What do you want from them?"

  Arkus broke from his trance and smiled at Richius. Slowly he raised a hand and brushed his brittle fingers across Richius' face. The touch was cold, almost dead.

  "You're so young," said Arkus. "So beautiful."

  "Please, Your Grace, listen to me...."

  "I have heard you," said Arkus. "Now you must listen to me. I know you are a man of honor. Because of that I will tell you the truth." He reached out again and took Richius' hand, clasping it firmly so that his icy fingers rested in the warmth of Richius' palm. "Do you feel that?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "Don't be polite. Tell me what you feel."

  Richius cradled the decrepit fingers. They were frigid, like two fleshy icicles. He had held the hands of dead men with more warmth than this. Even Biagio's hands, cold as they were, had been more lifelike.

  "Cold," answered Richius finally. Very gently he placed the hand on Arkus' lap.

  "Yes. That's the cold of age, Richius. Age and death."

  "No," said Richius. "That's not right. I've known old men before. I've never felt hands as cold as yours. And the count, what about him? Why are his hands also so cold? And why do his eyes shine like yours?" He leaned forward, confronting Arkus squarely. "What are you doing to yourselves?"

  Arkus gave a little, mirthless laugh. "Trying to survive."

  "How?" Richius demanded. "Some sort of magic of your own?"

  "Not magic. Science. The war labs give us potions to keep us all alive. But don't look at me and judge this all. I'm not what I want to be. Look at Biagio and the others. You've seen how alike we are, haven't you?"

  "Yes, but I still don't understand. What is this potion?"

  "Bovadin discovered it years ago. I don't really know what it is. I don't even think Bovadin knows. But whatever it is, it has the power to keep us all alive, to keep us from aging. Only it doesn't actually do that. It only slows the process."

  "Slows it? How?"

  "I don't know," said Arkus again. He was growing agitated. "I only know that it's kept me alive when I should have been dead years ago. Look at me, Richius. I am over a hundred years old! Have you ever known a man to live so long?"

  "Never," Richius admitted. "But what has all this to do with Lucel-Lor? This drug, does it come from there?"

  "No," said Arkus. "It comes from the war labs. But you're not understanding me. I'm saying the potions aren't working for me anymore. It was discovered too late. I was too old when I started taking it, and now..." He paused, examining his hands, then held them out for Richius to inspect. "I am dying, Richius."

  Slowly Richius rose from his knees and sat back in his chair. It was all becoming clear.

  "And you think the Triin have magic to stop it? Lord Emperor, you are wrong. If I may say so, this is folly. I spent three years in Lucel-Lor. I slept almost nightly beside a Triin who was my friend, and I can tell you truthfully that I never saw magic until that last day." He sighed, almost pitying the broken old man before him. "I'm sorry for you, really. But there's no cure waiting for you in Lucel-Lor. And to be honest, there may not be any magic at all."

  "Of course there is," said Arkus. "What else could have caused that storm to destroy so many men? You haven't an answer for that, have you? But I do. It was magic. I know it was. It was the sign I've waited for all my life. It proved to me I was right about the Triin, that they really do have magic. We must go back, Richius. We will go back."

  "And how will we beat them? If you're right, if this is some sort of magical Drol weapon, how can we defeat it? We barely escaped with our lives the last time. Even the survivors from Talistan will tell you that."

  "Ah, but this time you will have all of Nar behind you! No more waiting for your father to send troops that never come. No more fighting without enough fuel to keep the cannons alive. I promise you, Richius, you will have all the forces you need to conquer these Drol. My own legions will be under your command. And you won't have the Gayles of Talistan meddling with you. They won't be part of this at all."

  Richius shook his head, exasperated. Clearly he wasn't convincing Arkus of the senselessness of his plan. Even if they went in with a thousand of Nar's best troops, how much good could they really do against the Drol? All of Lucel-Lor was certainly under their control by now, and that meant a brutal, bloody campaign just to gain a foothold. He remembered Edgard, and how the old war duke had warned him of Tharn's magic. Yet Richius hadn't believed him. Even now he was unsure of it. No man could control the skies. It was impossible.

  "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I wasn't prepared for this. It's all such a shock."

  "It's the way it must be," said Arkus. "But I don't ask this for myself alone. Think of what this could mean to you. You're one of us now. I've told you things today I've never shared with anyone, because I want you to join me. Together we can make Nar invincible. Aramoor can be the power your father always wanted it to be, stronger than Talistan or any other nation of the Empire. And you will be its king. Think of it!"

  Richius did. For less than a moment he considered Arkus' proposition and knew it was insanity. Join him? He hated him. In that instant he hated Arkus more than Blackwood Gayle or Voris or even Tharn himself. Yet something kept him from flatly refusing the emperor, something more than the sheer absurdity of saying no to this man. Very clearly, very suddenly, he remembered Dyana, and that he had never actually seen her die. He knew it was irrational, that it was a hope born of pure desperation, but he couldn't stop the idea from taking shape. She might yet be alive, in the clutches of the very Drol bastard Arkus wanted so desperately to destroy. He might yet be able to save her.

  Thoughtfully he bit his lower lip, rolling the preposterous idea over in his mind. There were a hundred problems to consider, any number of ways for the plan to fail. There were supply lines that needed to be opened, horses and men to train. Worst of all, there was the matter of Arkus' current war.

  "What about Liss?" asked Richius pointedly. "Won't they interfere? They've kept you from Lucel-Lor before. What about now?"

  "Liss won't be a problem very much longer," said Arkus coolly. "By the time we attack Lucel-Lor, Liss will be finished. Then we can use our dreadnoughts against the Drol."

  "And when do you intend for us to strike? I'll need time if I'm to arrange this, Your Grace. Aramoor is poorly conditioned. We lost most of our soldiers in the last war, and have almost no horses left."

  "You'll have the time you need, Richius. For y
ou see, I need time, too. First we must defeat Liss, and that is still months away. I want you to remain in Nar for a while and rest. Then you will return to Aramoor and begin preparing your troops. By then Liss will be crumbling and the dreadnoughts will be ready to sail for the coasts of Lucel-Lor."

  "All right," said Richius. A knot of nausea tied itself in his stomach. This nightmare was really happening, and he was powerless to stop it. Listlessly he drained the remaining brandy from his goblet. Arkus was watching him sharply, his face twisting into a look of sour disapproval.

  "You don't really understand what I'm saying, do you?" asked the emperor. "This means as much for you as it does for me. I'm offering you the chance to share our potion, Richius, to be a part of my Circle."

  "I understand what you're offering, Your Grace. But why me? There are others who would be more eager to help you. Why not ask the Gayles to do this thing for you?"

  "Because they are fools and I don't trust them."

  "And because Aramoor borders Lucel-Lor and Talistan doesn't."

  "Of course," said Arkus. "I won't lie to you, Richius. You've already figured out why I've chosen you to do this. I need you. If this is to be done quickly, it must be done by someone with experience fighting the Drol, someone who knows his way around Lucel-Lor. But I also want you to be one of us. The House of Gayle could never be trusted with the Drol magic. But you..."

  Are young and stupid, thought Richius bitterly. But Arkus said no such thing. The old emperor sat back and gave Richius a long, languid smile.

  "You can be trusted. I know how loyally you served me in Lucel-Lor, Richius. You alone did not betray me. You won't do it now."

  Richius said nothing. He had been proud of his service in Lucel-Lor, proud that he hadn't dishonored himself by running from the fight. But he had done it for the sake of Aramoor, not to please this greedy old devil. Arkus' approval sickened him.

  "I won't betray you," he said softly.

  "I know you won't. And don't worry. You'll be well rewarded for your loyalty. You'll be able to live forever in that beautiful body."

  "No," said Richius firmly. "I'll fight your war because I must to save Aramoor. But I have no wish to live forever."

  Arkus stared at him crossly, the thin, white brows knitting above his eyes. "That would be a foolish decision. Don't refuse this. I won't offer it to you again."

  "You've been too kind with your gifts already, Lord Emperor. This one I must refuse."

  "But this potion really works! And for someone as young and strong as you, there's no telling how long you might live. You must think before you make this choice."

  "There's no need. I know what I'm saying. I don't want to live any longer than my fate has decided. Being king will be difficult enough for me."

  Arkus gave an exasperated sigh. "Very well," he said. "I won't force it on you. But I am disappointed. I had hoped we might have a better relationship than your father and I endured."

  "It still could happen, Your Grace," said Richius. "If you keep your promise to support me in Lucel-Lor. I have no love for these Drol. They killed my father and my friends. Nothing would satisfy me more than to have my vengeance on them. But we have no chance at all if you're not fully committed to this."

  "My word will be kept," said Arkus. "When this finally happens, you'll have all the might of Nar at your disposal."

  "Believe me, Your Grace, we'll need it. I'm sure the Drol have secured Lucel-Lor by now. We'll have to strike hard and quickly just to gain a foothold."

  "Yes, quickly. Time is precious to me now, Richius. This must be done as soon as possible."

  "I'll do my best." Richius rose from his seat and smiled bleakly at Arkus. "I'm probably being missed downstairs, and you look tired. Shall I leave you now?"

  "Not yet," said Arkus, also getting to his feet. "I have one more thing to give you."

  "Oh, no, Your Grace," Richius protested. "Please..."

  Arkus interrupted with a wave of his bony hand. "This is something very special, something I'm sure you will like." He placed his frigid hands on Richius' shoulders, his eyes shining with delight. "I have found a woman for you."

  Richius was thunderstruck. He blinked twice, wondering what he had heard.

  "A woman, Your Grace?" he asked. "What sort of woman?"

  "A wife, Richius," said Arkus. "A beautiful, young wife."

  Again Richius was silent for a long moment. He stared blankly at Arkus, watching the old man's face twitch with glee. Clearly he thought his news would be welcome, yet Richius could hardly stammer a response.

  "You've chosen a wife for me? But I have no wish to be married." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I'm sorry, but this gift is impossible."

  Arkus dropped his hands away and stared hard at Richius.

  "Why?" he asked sharply. "Have you already chosen a woman for yourself?"

  "No, but--"

  "Good. Because Lady Sabrina has come a long way to marry you, and I had to make her father certain promises I wish to honor."

  "Sabrina? Of Gorkney? You've chosen her for me!"

  "Don't be so alarmed. She's a beautiful girl and I'm told she's quite charming. You should consider yourself fortunate. There are others in Nar who have designs on her."

  "I know, Your Grace, but I don't want to get married. Perhaps someday, but not now."

  "You must have a wife, Richius," said Arkus. "You're a king now, and the last Vantran alive. You must marry and have sons."

  Richius was speechless. It was all coming too fast, the plans for war, the possibility of rescuing Dyana, and now this. Marriage was unthinkable. If by some miracle he did find Dyana alive...

  He shook his head, unable to reason anymore. Arkus was walking away from him, replacing the crystal goblets in the dusty cabinet.

  "Please," Richius implored, sounding like a pauper begging coins. "I don't want this. Find some other husband for her. Perhaps one of my own men would accept her."

  "Your men? She's the daughter of a duke. She must marry into royal blood. I chose her for you because I was told she's the most beautiful girl in the Empire. I want you to have someone special. If you have your eye on some kitchen wench, forget her. You will marry Lady Sabrina."

  "Your Grace--"

  "Not another word," snapped Arkus. "You've already refused the potion. I won't let you refuse this gift as well."

  There was a terrible, echoing silence as Arkus turned away. Slowly Richius moved toward the door. Yet before he could reach it; Arkus called back to him.

  "Richius," said the emperor. "Come here."

  Arkus was standing by the cloudy window, looking out over the metal metropolis of Nar. Richius moved to stand beside the emperor. A light snow was falling, dropping lazily into the filthy streets and the smokestacks of the laboratories.

  "I can give her to Blackwood Gayle," said Arkus quietly, his eyes never moving from the window. "But only if that's what you truly wish. He would probably beat her, of course, and she would have you to thank for it."

  "But why not somebody else? Surely there's another you can give her to. Must it be Gayle or me?"

  Arkus nodded. "That's the choice. Either you agree to marry her and save me from looking like a fool with Duke Wallach, or I will give her to Blackwood Gayle. Make your decision now. I must know what to tell the baron."

  Silently Richius considered his options. Sabrina was indeed beautiful, one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen. It was true what Arkus had said. Any man would be fortunate to share his bed with her. Yet could he love her? Could he truly be a husband to her? And what of Dyana? Dead or alive, she still haunted his nights. Yet how could he condemn Sabrina to a life of degradation in Talistan? She would be little more than a slave there, another harlot between Gayle's filthy sheets. He would breed her like a horse, owning her womb until it expired or split open and killed her. And if she were barren or he were not man enough to seed her, he would beat her.

  Richius stared mutely out the window. He could see th
e giant Cathedral of the Martyrs scratching the gray sky, and wondered if God truly had abandoned him. It seemed so.

  "You won't reconsider this?" asked Richius.

  Arkus shook his head. "No. I brought her here for you. If you don't want her, I shall give her to Gayle. Perhaps it will help mend his wounded pride. He won't be pleased when he learns that I've asked you to return to Lucel-Lor without him."

  "Very well, then," said Richius. "If there's no other choice but that murderous rogue, I will take her."

  Arkus turned back to Richius, his blue eyes once more sparkling with excitement. "Excellent. You've made me very happy, Richius. And you'll see. You're frightened now, but you'll thank me for this someday. She will make you a fine wife."

  "Yes," said Richius dully. "I'm sure you're right."

  "And we shall do great things together, Richius. Great things!"

  Richius tried to smile. "Yes," he managed. "Great things."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Richius approached the garden like a stalking cat, careful not to let the Lady Sabrina notice him. As had been arranged she was waiting there for him, amusing herself with a bold little bird that had alighted on her finger. Quietly he stopped behind a statue and watched her. He hadn't seen her for three days, not since the coronation, and he wanted to be sure about her, to look at her undisturbed and reassure himself that she was indeed as lovely as he'd remembered. Sabrina did not disappoint him. She was as striking as ever amid the blooms of winter lilies, her cheeks lightly flushed, her long sapphire dress swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her painted lips were pursed in a merry whistle that made the canary on her finger cock its head inquisitively.

  Dusk was wrapping its dark mantle about the city. Behind her, a thousand candled windows blinked against the encroaching shadows, and the garden's braziers bathed the balcony in orange light.

  Like everything in Nar, the garden of Arkus was immense. It hung out over the palace like a giant, multicolored wing, a veritable forest against a backdrop of unyielding granite. Richius was awed by it. It was so very different from the garden back home where his father had proudly grown roses. That was a simple garden where nothing exotic grew. Not so with this place. Arkus' garden was a masterpiece of flowers, a meticulous canvas where artists worked with living colors. It was just as Biagio had promised: the perfect romantic venue for their meeting.