by John Marco
"Done with Nar," spat Rob. "Done with Aramoor too, eh?"
Richius ignored the barb. "Come with me," he told Alazrian. "But leave the priest behind."
"I will go with you," said Lucyler.
"No. You stay and talk with Praxtin-Tar. Find out if he really means what he's saying. And keep an eye on the holy man."
"Where are we going?" asked Alazrian.
Richius smiled. "Before you try to take me away, there's someone you have to meet first."
By the time Alazrian had climbed two hundred stairs, he was thoroughly drained. Richius Vantran had taken him into the citadel, leading him through the halls toward one of the keep's several spires. A good-sized crowd had gathered in the main chamber and had watched Alazrian with suspicion, but Alazrian was accustomed to being a curiosity now, and the eyes of his distant kin no longer bothered him. Richius Vantran seemed not to notice them, either. He moved with nonchalance, occasionally waving to friends, and took Alazrian up the spiral stairs to their destination. Slotted windows revealed the landscape of Lucel-Lor and the army of Praxtin-Tar, still camped at the base of the hill. Exhausted, Alazrian followed Richius up the stairs until his thighs burned, and when he thought he couldn't go another step, they emerged at last into a vast hallway.
Alazrian leaned against the wall to catch his breath, weak from endless travelling. Richius saw his distress.
"Are you all right?" he asked, taking Alazrian by the shoulder. Instinctively Alazrian shrugged off the touch.
"Fine, "he said. "Just tired."
"Come on, then. There's a place for you to sit in my chambers."
"Your chambers? Is that where you're taking me?"
But Vantran didn't answer. He led the way down the hall, which was splendid and made of smooth white stones, and came to a door that was partially open. He didn't bother knocking but went inside, waiting for Alazrian to follow.
"Richius?" came a voice from inside. "Where have you been?"
Alazrian approached the chambers. Inside were a woman and a child. The woman was remarkably beautiful, and she looked up at Alazrian with breathtaking eyes. The child also regarded him, glancing up from the floor where she sat with the woman, balancing a quill and tablet in her lap. The woman didn't bother to rise, but rather stared at Alazrian inquisitively.
"Alazrian Leth," said Richius, "this is--"
"Oh, I know who this is." Alazrian stepped into the chamber and smiled. "You're Dyana. I saw you, in Biagio's mind."
The statement startled Dyana. "What?"
"Biagio's mind?" said Richius. "What do you mean?"
Alazrian collected himself. "I'm sorry. That doesn't make sense, does it? It's hard to explain, actually."
"Richius, who is this?" asked Dyana. She wasn't alarmed, which pleased Alazrian, but she wasn't comfortable either. "Do you know him?"
"Not really, Dyana," said Richius. He gave his wife and daughter a kiss of greeting. "Alazrian has come from Nar."
"Aramoor, actually," added the boy sheepishly.
"Aramoor," echoed Dyana. "Oh."
Richius sat down on the floor beside his family but gestured to a chair for Alazrian. "Sit down. We've got a lot to talk about."
Confused, Alazrian sat. A deep breath steadied his nerves and prepared him for the long explanation he needed to make. Remarkably, Richius Vantran watched him with patience, as though he had been through countless visitations from Nar before. Even the child seemed at ease. She had a Naren's round eyes but her mother's white skin, and Alazrian knew he was looking at a copy of his younger self. Dyana Vantran saw the similarities, too.
"You are not just Naren," she observed. "You have a Triin look about you."
"He is Triin," said Richius. "Well, half Triin. Like Shani. He's the son of Elrad Leth, Dyana. Leth is governor of Aramoor. Only Leth isn't really your father, isn't that right, Alazrian?"
Alazrian nodded. "My real father's name was Jakiras. He was a merchant's bodyguard, but I never knew him. He loved my mother in secret. I was born . . ."
Abruptly he stopped himself, looking away in shame. Suddenly he didn't want to divest himself to these strangers.
"It's all right," said Dyana. "You do not have to tell us."
"But you do have to tell us why you're here," said Richius. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Dyana, Alazrian has come from Aramoor. He says that Biagio sent him."
Dyana's placid facade evaporated. "Biagio? What for?"
"Alazrian says he's here to give me Aramoor back."
"No," corrected Alazrian. "Not give it back. I'm here to help you win it back."
"How?" asked Dyana pointedly. "And how do you know Biagio?"
"He's a healer, Dyana," said Richius. "Praxtin-Tar claims he has the touch of heaven."
"Like Tharn?"
"Yes," admitted Alazrian. "That's how I saw you in Biagio's mind. I met with him in the Black City. I touched him. When I did, I felt his thoughts. You were there, my lady, inside him."
"Biagio is a madman," said Dyana.
"No, my lady. He was mad, but no longer." Alazrian got out of his chair and went to her. "You spent time with him. You started the changes in him. You know what I'm talking about."
Dyana shook her head. "No one can change that much."
"Especially not Biagio," added Richius.
"Please," implored Alazrian. He knelt down before them. "I've travelled miles to see you. I've almost been killed more than once to get here, even by my so-called father. So I'm begging you both--just listen to me."
Richius nodded gravely. "Go on. Tell us why Biagio sent you."
"He wants to make a deal with you. He's emperor now."
"I know."
"Well, he's prepared to give you Aramoor back--if you'll help him."
"Help him how?"
Alazrian prepared himself for Vantran's reaction. "He needs you to fight Talistan with him. He needs you to battle my grandfather."
Richius and Dyana looked at each other, though neither of them spoke.
"Tassis Gayle," Alazrian explained. "King of Talistan."
"I know who your grandfather is, boy. But why does Biagio want to fight Talistan? They were always allies. And why in the world does he need my help?"
"Things have changed, King Richius, more than you know. Talistan isn't the same as when you left, and Emperor Biagio isn't as strong as you think. He has many enemies now, and my grandfather knows this. My grandfather plans on challenging Biagio. Do you realize what that means?"
Richius nodded. "A very big war."
"I do not understand," said Dyana. She was stroking the child's hair, holding her close. "You are from Talistan, yes? Why do you tell us this?"
"I may be a Talistanian, my lady, but I know my grandfather's wrong. He is insane. It's been happening to him gradually, and since my mother died he's gotten worse. It's driven him mad."
Richius Vantran frowned. "What you're doing is treason," he said. "You realize that, don't you? Tassis Gayle is still your kin."
"You're wrong," countered Alazrian, stung by the accusation. "Is it treason to want peace?"
Richius laughed. "Biagio doesn't want peace, boy. He's using you. You're just his pawn."
"I am not! I touched him; I felt the truth in him."
Dyana gave her husband a look of disapproval. "I believe him, Richius. I think you are judging him too quickly."
"All right. But it's still treason. Whatever you call it, you're turning on your own family and country. Believe me, I know. We're not so different, you and I."
"I don't have a choice," argued Alazrian. "My grandfather is sick."
"So? Why don't you just heal him?"
"What?"
"Use your powers. If you really have magic, why don't you heal your grandfather?"
Alazrian chuckled. "It doesn't work that way."
"How do you know? Have you tried?"
"Well, no," Alazrian confessed. He had never even thought to heal his grandfather. "But I don't think it would work. And I could
never reveal my powers to him, anyway. He doesn't know, and I promised my mother I'd never tell him."
"Lady Calida," said Richius. "She's dead?"
Alazrian nodded.
"I am sorry for you. She was not the beast her brother was."
"Brother? "said Dyana.
"Blackwood Gayle," Richius replied.
Dyana's face tightened. "Oh."
"King Richius," said Alazrian anxiously, "I'm not here because I'm a traitor. I'm here because Biagio thought you would listen to me." Finally, he reached into his shirt and pulled out the note Biagio had given him so long ago. Travelling had crinkled the paper and turned it grey, but it was still sealed, just waiting to be delivered. Alazrian handed it to Richius.
The Aramoorian was circumspect. "What is that?"
"A letter from Biagio. He gave it to me when I was in the Black City. That's my message, King Richius."
Richius Vantran took the envelope but did not open it. His wife leaned in closer, looking equally anxious. Their little girl giggled as if it were a game.
"I don't know exactly what it says," said Alazrian, "but Biagio promised it would explain everything."
Dyana nudged her husband. "Are you going to read it?"
"I'm afraid to," said Richius. But then he drew a breath and opened the envelope, unfolding the parchment and holding it so Dyana could read it, too. Together they scanned the words in silence, and when they had finished reading they stared at the letter, blinking.
"He wants Triin help," whispered Richius. "God, he must be crazy . . ."
Alazrian asked, "Is that all it says?"
"No. He also wants me to have an army ready by the first day of summer. He wants me to attack Aramoor!"
"Yes," admitted Alazrian. "I knew about the Triin army. But the first day of summer . . ." He shrugged. "That I didn't know. It's not very far away."
"Is that all you have to say?" Richius tossed the letter down between them. "Biagio wants me to bring an army of Triin into battle. The letter says he's going to be leading another army against Talistan, an army of Highlanders. He's even got a dreadnought involved!"
Alazrian laughed despite the absurdity. Biagio had big plans. "King Richius," he said, "I know this sounds like madness, but every word is true. Biagio intends to crush Talistan before my grandfather can start a world war. But he needs your help to do it. He thought you could bring the lion riders from the run with you, but there aren't any, I know. Yet you have an army here in Falindar! If you bring them into battle, Aramoor could be yours again."
"That bastard," exclaimed Richius. "Dangling Aramoor like a carrot!"
"No," Alazrian protested, "you're wrong. He really needs you. He told me he would find other allies, but that it wouldn't be enough. You have to attack from the east." He picked up the letter and shook it in the air. "And Biagio will attack on the same day, I bet. And the dreadnought, too, right?"
"That's what it says."
"Well then? Don't you think it can work? You can have Aramoor back. That's what you want, isn't it?"
There was no answer from the king. He did not look at anyone, least of all his wife. Dyana Vantran put an arm around her husband, but she was silent, too.
"King Richius," began Alazrian softly, "this is no lie. Biagio will give you Aramoor, but you're going to have to help him."
"No," gasped Richius. "I can't."
"You must. It's all part of Biagio's plan. If you don't join, he can't win. Talistan will defeat him, and then there will be war in Nar."
"War in Nar," scoffed Richius. "What else is new?"
"There's never been a war like this one," said Alazrian.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does!" flared Alazrian. "How can you sit there and argue with me? Biagio's giving you a chance to get your homeland back! Don't you care?"
Richius put up his hands in surrender. "Stop. Please . . ."
"Listen to me," Alazrian insisted. "Aramoor isn't the way you left it. Elrad Leth has your country in an iron grip. Your people are being enslaved. You have to help them!"
"I can't!" growled Richius. "You want me to bring an army to Aramoor? What army? The lion riders have left us, and I'm not the master of Falindar. I don't have any warriors."
"Then bring yourself. Come back to Aramoor with Jahl and me. You can join the Saints of the Sword. They're rebels, Aramoorians like you. Jahl Rob is their leader. But if you were to return, you could be their leader. And who knows what that could mean? You can make your army out of them, and anyone else that wants to join you. You could--
"Enough," Richius ordered. "I've listened to you, Alazrian. I've heard what you have to say. But now you have to listen to me. I brought you here because I wanted you to see my wife and daughter. This is my family. I have a life here, finally. It wasn't easy, but we made it together. I'm not going to turn my back on this life like I did my old one. And nothing you can say will change my mind."
Alazrian was aghast. "But Aramoor needs you. You can't just ignore them!"
"Aramoor needed me two years ago, when I left. I changed everything when I came to Lucel-Lor. But I can't change the past."
"You're wrong," said Alazrian. "That's exactly what you can do. All you need is the courage to try."
Richius laughed. "You're young. You don't understand."
"Yes, I do," snapped Alazrian. He got to his feet and stared down at Richius. "It's just like Jahl Rob told me. You're a coward."
"I am not a coward." Richius started to rise but a calming hand from Dyana stopped him. "You have no right to call me that."
"And you have no right to live here, lying around dumb and comfortable while your people suffer! You know what I think? I think you're a disgrace, Jackal." Alazrian shook his head ruefully. "You're not what I expected at all."
Crestfallen, Richius Vantran glanced away. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I can't help you."
Alazrian hovered over the little family, unsure of what to do. He felt resentful, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.
"What can I say to convince you?" he asked. "What will make you change your mind?"
"Nothing," answered Richius.
"I don't believe that."
"No? Well, you should. Because you've wasted your time coming here."
"Yes," sneered Alazrian. "I can see that."
"Why did you come?" asked Dyana. "I mean, why did Biagio send you?"
"Biagio knew I wanted to come to Lucel-Lor, my lady. He knew I wanted to find out about myself, to find out who and what I am."
Dyana looked profoundly sad. "Like Tharn."
"Yes, ma'am." Alazrian shrugged and said, "I'm looking for answers."
"And have you found any?"
Alazrian directed his answer at her husband. "I have found only disappointment, my lady."
Then, with his words hanging in the air, Alazrian turned and left the chamber. As he crossed the threshold, a picture appeared in his mind of Jahl Rob, laughing.
THIRTY-SIX
Jahl Rob held his breath. He had become a shadow, drifting wraith-like through the grounds. The moon was high and his heartbeat was heavy, thundering in his skull. He fought to concentrate on his quarry, to remain unseen and as silent as a breeze. He had followed Richius Vantran to a stable on the east side of the citadel, a wooden structure all but deserted save for several sleepy horses. Behind him, the sounds of life in Falindar went on, and he could hear the distant roar of the surf. But here in the stable only the solitary musings of Vantran disturbed the peace.
"Hello, my friend," whispered Vantran, oblivious to his unwanted shadow. Jahl peeked around the corner and saw the young man enter a stall. There he put out his hand to stroke the neck of a chestnut horse. "How are you doing?" he asked the beast. There was a sad smile on his face. Jahl pulled back, leaning against the wall and listening. So far, Vantran hadn't seen him.
Easy, Jahl scolded himself. Stay quiet . . .
But staying quiet wasn't easy. One small breath would betray him. He closed his
eyes and forced himself to stay calm. Tracking Vantran had taken some effort. He had followed the young king from the citadel, hoping to face him alone, not really sure what he was planning. Rage alone had driven him on.
I'll do it, he resolved. He deserves it!
Very slowly, Jahl removed the dagger from his belt, the only weapon he had brought with him to Falindar. He wasn't a murderer, but tonight he felt like one. Like Alazrian, he had come too far to be betrayed again. If Vantran wouldn't help them . . .
Sweet God, Jahl prayed silently, give me the strength to rebuke this devil.
Jahl listened for heaven's answer and heard nothing. In his wrath, he took the silence as approval. He knew he would have to move quickly. If Vantran was going riding, he would lose his chance. But something held him against the wall.
I can do this! I must!
Once more he peeked around the corner. Surprisingly, Vantran wasn't mounting his horse. He merely stood in the stall, petting the beast with a vacant expression, lost in a fog. His back was almost completely to Jahl, but Jahl could see a sadness in his profile.
"They want me to go back with them, Lightning," whispered Vantran. "They want me to be king again. But I can't do it. I'm afraid."
Jahl grit his teeth. No one deserved death more than Vantran--not even Elrad Leth. Leth was a butcher and a brute, but he was no traitor. He hadn't left his people behind to be slaughtered.
"I wish you could talk," Vantran said with a laugh. "I wish you could tell me what to do. Dyana won't say anything to me. She's afraid I'll leave her again. Shani, too."
You're the bloody king! Jahl seethed. It's your duty!
" . . . and if I go, what good can I do? There's no Triin army for Biagio. Aramoor would be better off without me."
Those final words set Jahl in motion. He sprang from the shadows, dagger in hand, and wrapped his arms about Vantran's neck, dragging him from the stall with the blade at his throat. The horse whinnied in alarm; Vantran kicked like a madman. Jahl flexed his hold and growled, wrenching Vantran backward.
"You're right!" he spat. "Aramoor is better off without you!"
Vantran fought him, trying to break the hold. He gasped for air and tried to scream, but all that came out was a scratchy rasp. Jahl put the tip of the dagger to his cheek and drew a pinpoint of blood to get his attention.
