The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  ‘I have to go after him,’ said Richius. He glanced over to where Sabrina stood, her arms wrapped about her like a blanket. ‘I have to talk to him.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ she said simply. ‘There was nobody there, Richius. Nobody.’

  ‘You couldn’t see him because he didn’t want you to. He has to talk to me. Alone.’

  ‘Who has to talk to you? Who’s Lucyler?’

  ‘I can’t explain, not now. You didn’t see him because he’s a Triin. Probably it’s some kind of magic, I don’t know. But I have to go after him.’

  ‘You can’t leave, Richius. It’s going to be dark soon. What if –’

  ‘I’ll be back before sunfall, I promise. Just wait here for me. Don’t move from this spot. I’ll find you.’

  ‘Richius, please . . .’ Sabrina implored, but Richius was already on his way into the forest. He heard her voice calling after him, yet he didn’t stop or call back to her. He was on a hunt, and his quarry was already far ahead. Around him the forest thickened, the old branches of the ancient oaks reaching out for his cloak and face, and he guarded his eyes with outstretched hands as he moved with finesse through the brush. He spied every tree and hollow log, heard every bird and every croaking bullfrog. His senses were alive, more vital than they had been since leaving Lucel-Lor. He had a mission to confirm a miracle, and the zeal put fire into his steps.

  ‘Lucyler!’ he called, his voice booming through the trees. He had already come a thousand paces and had seen nothing of his friend. Again and again he cried out the name, hoping for the apparition to reappear. ‘I’m here, Lucyler. Talk to me!’

  Nothing. He stopped. Panting, he squatted and surveyed his surroundings. Sweat fell from his brow, stinging his eyes, and he rubbed at them to clear his vision. A rabbit scampered by, startling him. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

  ‘Damn it, I saw you,’ he said. ‘I know I did. Come back to me, please. Come back.’

  Misery seized him, just as it had when he learned of Lucyler’s death. Death at the hands of Voris. A death meant for him.

  Is that why you’re haunting me, my friend?

  Slowly he rose to his feet. Nausea coursed through him. His legs quivered uncontrollably, rubbery from the run and the nagging thought that he had truly lost his mind. There were no ghosts, his father had told him once. Only madmen. He looked up into the graying sky and thought of Sabrina. It would be impossible to explain this to her. In the morning she would be penning a letter to Arkus, begging for an annulment. And Patwin and Jojustin would hear about it, too, and look away when he passed, and who could blame them? They had a lunatic for a king.

  Despondently he began the long walk back, his eyes downcast. Grime covered his boots and knees, and leaves and bits of branches clung to his hair. Viscous ribbons of sap ran down from the canopy of pines above him. Only the thought of Sabrina kept him moving forward. She was alone and defenseless with night closing in on her. If she were a man he would have left her there, but she was his wife. She needed him.

  Ten paces later Lucyler stepped out from behind a tree. Richius froze.

  ‘You have come,’ said the spectre in a voice not wholly human. The sound of it rang unnaturally, but it was Lucyler’s voice, hard and clear and unmistakably Triin. Richius regarded the figure in wonder. It wavered in the breeze, shimmering the way sunlight does on water. It was whiter than a dove, more silent than death, and thinner than the little white vest that clings to the inside of an eggshell. Impossibly beautiful. Astonishing. Richius cranked up his courage and moved toward it.

  ‘My wife thinks I’m mad, ghost,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me that I’m not. Tell me you exist in more than just my mind.’

  Lucyler, or the thing that looked like him, laughed. ‘I can hear you,’ he said gleefully. ‘Lorris and Pris, I can hear you!’

  ‘What are you?’ asked Richius. ‘Are you Lucyler?’

  The figure glanced down at its hands and flexed its bony fingers. ‘It works!’ it declared. ‘Richius, I am really here!’

  ‘Are you? Are you Lucyler?’

  ‘It is me, Richius,’ said the figure. ‘It is Lucyler.’

  Richius stepped back dubiously. ‘How can it be? You’re dead!’

  ‘Do not be afraid of me,’ begged Lucyler. ‘I am not dead. And you are not seeing a spirit. It is I, and I live.’

  ‘It does look like you,’ said Richius, inching closer. He reached out to touch the gauzy fabric and watched his hand pass through it.

  ‘This is not a body,’ Lucyler explained. ‘It cannot be felt. But it is me, my friend.’

  ‘But how?’ stammered Richius. ‘Lucyler, what are you?’

  Lucyler held up a cautioning hand. ‘I cannot describe this to you, Richius. Not now. This form is difficult to hold. So listen carefully to me, I have to be quick.’

  ‘Not good enough,’ said Richius. ‘Tell me what’s happened to you. This form, what is it? Are you somewhere else?’

  ‘I am safe,’ replied Lucyler. ‘That is all I can say for now. You must listen –’

  ‘Where are you?’ Richius demanded. ‘You’re alive and yet you are a ghost. Explain it to me. Now.’

  ‘No questions!’ boomed Lucyler. ‘There is no time. I have something to tell you and you must listen.’

  Richius laughed. It was all impossible, yet this hotheaded apparition was truly Lucyler.

  ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

  Lucyler seemed to sigh. ‘This form you see is a projection. I was told I would appear dead to you, but I assure you I am not. I have tried for days to reach you, to touch your mind, but I was unable to, until today.’

  ‘The dreams,’ said Richius knowingly.

  Lucyler nodded. ‘You resisted me. So I took a form you could not ignore.’

  ‘But my wife couldn’t see you. Why not?’

  ‘I am appearing for you, my friend. I cannot appear to someone I do not know. Do not ask me why, it is a mystery to me, too. Oh, but I waste time. Do you remember the place you told me about in the mountains? The plateau?’

  ‘I remember,’ said Richius, recalling the flat hilltop in the Saccenne Run, the rugged passage cutting through the Iron Mountains and linking Aramoor to Lucel-Lor. Richius himself had scouted it out. They had planned to retreat to that plateau if Tharn and his minions ever succeeded in ousting them from Lucel-Lor. ‘What of it?’ he asked.

  ‘You must go there,’ said Lucyler. His image was starting to waver. Frowning with concentration, he continued, ‘It is a safe place for us to talk. Bring provisions for a long ride. I will meet you there in three days’ time.’

  ‘What? I can’t leave Aramoor. And you don’t even know where the plateau is. You’ll never find it.’

  ‘I will find it,’ insisted Lucyler. ‘You must meet me there.’

  ‘But why? Why not come to the castle? Why all this secrecy?’

  ‘Please, Richius,’ Lucyler begged. ‘There is no time to argue. Will you come to me or not?’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Richius angrily. ‘Not until you tell me why. If you have a secret, spit it out. Tell me what’s so damn important.’

  Lucyler’s expression dimmed. ‘Richius, trust me,’ he said. ‘Please. Meet me in the mountains . . .’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Lucyler,’ Richius demanded. ‘What do you want me for? Why this bloody magic?’

  ‘You want proof, is that it?’ asked Lucyler angrily. ‘Very well. I will tell you one thing only.’ He leaned in close and spoke a single, remarkable name. ‘Dyana.’

  Richius stumbled backward. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘What are you telling me?’

  ‘The woman is alive,’ said Lucyler. ‘I know where she is.’

  ‘How do you know? How do you even know who she is?’

  Again the transparent hands came up. ‘No more questions. Do as I ask and I will answer everything. But ask me nothing more now. I cannot stay, Richius. I am losing control . . .’

  ‘No, God damn you, no! Don’t you leave me
now. Not until you’ve told me about her.’

  ‘Will you come to meet me?’

  ‘Where is she?’ Richius thundered.

  ‘She is safe, Richius. I swear it.’ Lucyler floated a bit closer. ‘Will you meet me?’

  Richius laughed bitterly. ‘Is there a choice? I will be there as you ask. But I warn you, my friend. Trifle with me in three days and I will kill you. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I hear you,’ said Lucyler. ‘You will forgive me this, Richius. I know you will.’ The image began to fade. ‘In three days, then.’

  ‘Three days,’ Richius agreed. ‘And if you’re not there I will hunt you down, Lucyler. And no magic under heaven will save you from me.’

  The phantom gave a sorry smile, wavered a moment, then popped like a bubble, leaving Richius alone in the gathering darkness. Painfully he pulled brambles from his hair, cursing and wondering what had really transpired. It was Lucyler, certainly, but how? And why? What ungodly news did the Triin have for him? A cold anguish gripped him. If the apparition was to be believed, Dyana was still alive, maybe waiting for him the way he had dreamed. He shut his eyes against the onslaught of questions. He would have to go to Lucyler, find out where Dyana was and then . . .

  What? Lucyler had told him to pack for a journey. Would he guide him to her? Would he even be able to rescue her? Lucel-Lor was Tharn’s now. How would he ever make his way to her unseen?

  Slowly he began making his way back through the brush. Dusk was coming in ever-quickening steps, throwing twisted shadows against the mossy earth. Above him he heard the whooing of an owl as it prepared for its nightly jaunt across the sky. This was the time when the rodents cowered, when sane men went indoors. The thought quickened Richius’ stride. In all her life Sabrina had probably been in the forest only this one day, and was no doubt chafing at the notion of nightfall. She would be irate, and he would have to explain it all to her. Even as he raced past the trees he considered what lies to use.

  In less than ten minutes he emerged out of the forest, back to the path and the place he was sure he had left Sabrina. He quickly sighted their little picnic area with its blanket and half-eaten loaf of bread. Lightning was still tied up against the tree. The gelding turned its big eyes toward Richius in relief. But the beast was alone. The small mare Sabrina had ridden was gone – and so was Sabrina.

  Richius returned home well after sunfall and entered the keep with nary a nod to the sentry at the gate. He hadn’t raced back to the castle as he knew he should have, but instead took a more scenic and circuitous route. Certainly Sabrina was here by now, and if she wasn’t, well . . . it would be a temporary reprieve. There was a cauldron of hostility waiting for him, and before he was boiled alive in it he wanted to sort out the thousand questions plaguing him. His hands still shook and his stomach tingled with the fearful ache of nerves. A chronic buzzing had taken over his mind, every thought tainted with dour resentment. Absently he dismounted and led Lightning to the stables. The courtyard was silent. Candles burned in the windows of the castle. They were waiting for him inside, he knew it. Even now Jojustin was pacing like an inquisitor. Richius groaned. He didn’t have any answers.

  When he reached the stables he was surprised to find the structure’s doors flung open. A single lantern tossed its light onto a grim visage staring at him from the dimness. Patwin’s face was tight with rage. Behind him, the small silhouette of Sabrina’s mare stood silently chomping on alfalfa. It lifted its head for a moment as Richius entered, then turned back indifferently to its food. The horse seemed calm and well rested. Clearly Patwin had been waiting some time.

  ‘She made it back safely,’ observed Richius, gesturing to the mare. ‘Good.’

  ‘Good?’ said Patwin. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  Richius led Lightning past him without a glance. ‘Yes.’

  Patwin seized him by the shoulder and spun him around, his periwinkle eyes flaring. ‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘You’ll have to explain yourself to someone tonight. It might as well be me.’

  ‘Patwin, stop.’ Richius scarcely recognized the desperation in his voice. ‘I can’t argue with you, I haven’t got the strength. Leave me alone, please.’

  ‘In hell,’ snapped Patwin, snatching the reins from Richius’ hands. ‘I want to know what happened to you today. Sabrina came home in tears and started raving that you’d lost your mind. She said you saw a ghost! The whole castle’s wondering what’s gone wrong with you. How could you leave her like that? What were you thinking?’

  Richius stumbled backward and sat down on a bale of hay, almost collapsing into the prickly mass. Wearily he ran his hands through his hair, uncertain where to begin. His tale was unbelievable, his actions inexcusable. But Patwin was looking down at him pitilessly, waiting for a convincing story, or at least some elaborate lie. Richius wasn’t sure he had either.

  ‘I didn’t leave her,’ he began shakily. ‘Not really. Only for a few minutes. When I came back she had gone. Is she all right?’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ said Patwin. ‘What happened?’

  Richius started to speak then abruptly fell silent, unable to find sufficient words. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he stammered. ‘God, Patwin, you won’t believe me if I tell you.’

  ‘You’d better try,’ said Patwin. ‘Jojustin’s been waiting for you since Sabrina got home and he’s crosser than I’ve ever seen him. King or not, you’re going to have to come up with some answers to calm him.’

  ‘The hell with him,’ spat Richius. ‘He’s the least of my worries. What did Sabrina say to you?’

  ‘That you’ve gone mad,’ said Patwin. ‘That you started raving about seeing some Triin that wasn’t there and that you went running off into the forest to chase him. What about it, Richius? Is that what happened? Because if that’s all you’ve got you’re going to have a lot of trouble explaining it.’

  Richius looked up at Patwin. ‘Did she tell you anything else? Did she tell you who I saw?’

  ‘She couldn’t remember,’ said Patwin. ‘She just said it was some Triin you knew in the Dring Valley.’ Patwin’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I think I can guess.’

  ‘It was Lucyler,’ Richius insisted. ‘And let me tell you truthfully – I haven’t lost my mind, Patwin. I saw him like I’m seeing you now. He was there.’

  Patwin’s expression became mournful. ‘Oh, Richius. Let’s go inside. You need to rest.’

  ‘God damn it!’ flared Richius, springing to his feet. ‘I don’t need rest! I did see Lucyler. Sabrina didn’t see him because she couldn’t, because that’s the way he wanted it. I don’t know how or why, but that’s what happened and if you don’t believe me then I really will lose my mind! I need someone to listen!’

  ‘All right,’ soothed Patwin. ‘I’m listening. Sit down.’

  Richius sighed and fell again against the hay. His head was pounding miserably and he put his hand against his forehead. In the morning he would have a headache worse than any hangover. But he smiled when Patwin sat down beside him, grateful to see the old concern back in his comrade’s eyes. There was one thing he loved about Patwin; he never stayed angry for long.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ said Richius finally. ‘We were eating at the roadside, just talking, and then . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I saw him.’

  ‘What were you talking about?’ asked Patwin.

  ‘Dring,’ snapped Richius. ‘As if Sabrina didn’t tell you. That’s not enough to make me see ghosts, Patwin.’

  ‘But the strain of everything . . .’

  ‘Listen to me. I’m not mad. I’m not surprised Sabrina thinks I am, but I’m not. And he didn’t just walk up to me and say hello. He appeared to me. I can’t really describe it, but it was like a form of him. He called it a projection.’

  ‘He spoke to you?’

  ‘Yes. When I left Sabrina I followed him into the forest. He had disappeared but I knew he had something he wanted to tell me, so I went after him.’

  ‘It seems you found
him.’

  Richius nodded. ‘He appeared to me again, and it wasn’t easy for him, I could tell. He was like a ghost, all clear, white light. He told me he couldn’t hold the form very long. God, he seemed as amazed by it all as I was.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Very little.’ Richius turned to Patwin and grabbed at his sleeve. ‘Patwin, I need to ask you something. Will you be honest with me and tell me the truth?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Patwin. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What did you tell Sabrina about Dinadin? She was questioning me. She seems to know a lot more than she should.’

  Patwin blanched. ‘I’m sorry, Richius. I guess I told her more than I intended to. She came to me yesterday morning and asked me about Dinadin. She wanted you to stay home with her and I told her that you couldn’t because you had to talk to him. She asked me why, and I didn’t have an explanation for her. She got suspicious when I wouldn’t tell her more.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know about Dyana?’

  ‘God, no! Not from me anyhow. Why?’

  Richius sat back, frowning. ‘She was asking me about the Dring Valley and about Dinadin. When I told her there was nothing to talk about she didn’t seem to believe me. I think she suspects, Patwin. I don’t know how. I never told her about Dinadin because I didn’t want her to find out anything about Dyana. But now she seems to know anyway.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ said Patwin gravely. ‘I swear it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I believe you. The question is, do you believe me?’

  ‘I want to,’ answered Patwin grimly. ‘But Lucyler’s dead, Richius, captured by Voris. How could you have seen him? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘He’s not dead. I saw him, or at least some sort of image of him. Like I told you, he couldn’t hold the form very well, so he didn’t have time to explain it to me. But it was him. I’m certain of it.’

  ‘But what did he say to you? If he’s not dead, then where is he? Is he all right?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Richius thoughtfully. ‘He said he was. He wouldn’t tell me very much, only that he needs to speak to me. I’m supposed to meet him at our plateau in the mountains in three days.’