The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  A few early risers passed him on the stairs, mostly women starting to attend to the citadel’s daily needs. They were traditionally dressed in their colorful but modest wrappings and long, dragging skirts that barely left their ankles visible. Their faces were mostly covered, too, shielded from the sight of all but their husbands by a clinging veil of silk. Whenever a man crossed their paths they always looked the other way, a custom Richius found particularly galling this morning. He had stopped bowing to them days ago when he realized they would only ignore him, and the thought of Dyana in such a groveling role heated his already-boiling blood.

  His room was near the end of the hall. When he approached it he paused. The door was ajar. Had he forgotten to close it?

  Carefully he moved toward the door. There was sunlight in the room, creeping out between the passage and the wall. An unsettling quiet stilled the air. Someone was inside; he sensed it. Probably Lucyler. He would want to know how the meeting went. Richius pushed open the door, dreading the coming conversation and forcing a smile onto his lips.

  A wizened ghost smiled back at him. Richius stopped in the doorway, stunned by the sight of her. She sat silently on his bed, her fragile hands clasped before her. To anyone else she might have been unrecognizable, but Richius knew her in an instant. Her name slipped from his lips in a tight sob.

  ‘Dyana.’

  Her smile broadened as he stepped closer, greeting him with wordless warmth. But this wasn’t the Dyana he had lost in Ackle-Nye. There was less luster in her eyes, less depth to the white hair. Her dainty hands shook a little, and her skin was too pale, even for a Triin. She seemed to be struggling to hold herself erect. Yet amazingly she was no less beautiful.

  Richius went to her slowly, his throat constricting with emotion, and lowered himself to her feet. She put out her hands for him and he took them, kissing them twice before placing his head in her lap.

  Dyana stroked his head for long moments, caressing his hair and calming him with her soothing touch. Words would not come. Too much emotion, the shock of it all, kept him bent like a frightened child, unable to straighten and face her. It occurred to him suddenly that he had feared her dead, and that he hadn’t dared to voice his fears, not even to himself. Now she was here, touching him again, and the perfume of her hands and thighs was fragrant and heady and irresistible.

  ‘Dyana,’ he moaned. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Be still,’ she said sweetly.

  And he was. Her voice was melodious, as it had always been in his dreams. Slowly he lifted his head, staring into her gray eyes. An invisible burden showed in her face and the lines about her mouth. She was pale and unhealthy looking. Hair fell in limp threads about her forehead, and an unsteady tremor rippled through her hands. He reached out and touched her cheek. It was hot. She recoiled from his touch as if it burned.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ he whispered. ‘What’s he done to you?’

  Her smile was forlorn. ‘He is better than that,’ she said vaguely.

  He took her hand again, squeezing it gently so that it caused no pain. He could feel the troubling shiver in her fingers. ‘You’re ill. I can see it. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I am just weak,’ she admitted softly. ‘There is no more trouble.’ Again she smiled, leaning back on the bed. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  ‘Yes, it is. But how did you get here? Does Tharn know you’re here?’

  ‘He does not keep such an eye on me. He thinks I am resting.’

  ‘As you should be, no doubt,’ said Richius. ‘Here, lay back.’ He rose and took her tiny, slippered feet in his hands, lifting them easily and coaxing them onto the bed. Dyana complied, evidently grateful for the bed as she twisted to fit her body into the mattress’ contours. ‘Better?’ he asked.

  Dyana had closed her eyes. ‘It is better.’

  Richius shut the door to the little chamber, then cleared his half-eaten breakfast off the chair beside the bed and sat down. He studied her, worried by her obvious weariness. But he saw no scars or bruises, only the sleepy lines of stress. Her breathing was regular, pleasant to listen to, and her face was unveiled, though the rest of her garb was traditionally Triin.

  ‘What will happen if he discovers you’re gone?’

  ‘He will be angry with me,’ said Dyana indifferently. ‘He worries.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with you?’

  Dyana opened her eyes to look at him. ‘I will tell you. But first I want to know how you are. Your friend Lucyler told me you were coming.’ She glanced down at his hand and smiled. ‘He gave you back your ring.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Richius, holding it out for her to admire. ‘And he gave me your message. You shouldn’t have thanked me, Dyana. I failed you. I promised to protect you and I let you get captured.’

  ‘I knew you would come back,’ she said sadly. ‘I knew you would think you failed me and return for me. But listen now. You did not fail. You did what you could, I know. I saw you on the bridge when I was taken away. I saw . . .’

  She broke off, turning her bitter face away. Richius went to her, sitting down beside her.

  ‘I’m here now, Dyana,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to keep that promise I made you. I’m going to take you away from him.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. No, you cannot.’

  ‘I will. I’ve already spoken to him about it. He knows you’re the only reason I’ve come here. He’ll listen to me, I’m sure. And if he doesn’t, we’ll leave anyway.’

  Dyana sighed miserably. ‘I do not know why you are here, Richius. Tharn tells me almost nothing. What is happening?’

  ‘You don’t know? Didn’t Lucyler tell you?’

  ‘No. I have only spoken to him a few times. Once was just after I told Tharn about you, and once about a month ago. That was when he told me he was going to speak to you and bring you back here. I gave him the ring so he could prove to you I was alive, but I didn’t understand why he was going to see you. I asked him to explain but he would not.’ Her face tightened with confusion. ‘The last time I saw him was yesterday. He told me you were here. Richius, tell me what is happening. Why has Tharn brought you?’

  ‘Easy,’ said Richius. ‘I’ll explain it to you, if I can.’ He took a deep breath. If she didn’t know about the coming war, it would surely be a shock. ‘There’s going to be another war,’ he said. ‘Arkus is planning to invade Lucel-Lor, and he wants my country to help him. Tharn heard about his plans, and now he wants my help to stop the emperor. He thinks that if I speak to Arkus he will listen to me.’

  ‘Because you are king now.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘It is what Lucyler told me.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  ‘That you have a wife.’ Dyana watched Richius’ face and added quickly, ‘I know all of this, Richius. It is all right.’

  ‘It’s not,’ said Richius. ‘I’m sorry, Dyana. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t want to marry. I couldn’t forget you but –’

  She leaned forward and put a finger to his lips. ‘Stop,’ she ordered. ‘I am not angry.’

  ‘Good, because now I intend to keep my promise. I’ll get you out of here, one way or another. I’ve given Tharn till tomorrow to make a decision. He knows that keeping you here would mean an end to peace between us.’

  Dyana closed her eyes. ‘Oh, Richius. I wish you had never come.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ cried Richius. ‘Dyana, you’re going to be free. I’m going to take you back to Aramoor, like I promised.’

  ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘I cannot go with you.’

  ‘God damn it, don’t be afraid of him! That’s what he wants, the evil bastard. But I won’t let him take you away from me this time. I have all of Nar behind me now and he knows it. He has to listen.’

  But the more insistent he was the more she shook her head, until finally she put up her hands to stop him. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No, it is impossible. I cannot leave.’

 
Richius drew back, exasperated and terrified by her words. What magic had Tharn worked over her to bend her will so completely? She was hardly the Dyana he knew anymore, the girl willing to sell herself before wedding the devil of Lucel-Lor. He got up from the bed and looked down at her beautiful, mysterious face, trying to glean some insight from her eyes. But they were mute, as incomprehensible as her words.

  ‘Explain this to me,’ he insisted. ‘Why can’t you leave him? Do you love him?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘What, then? Has he threatened you? Because if he has –’

  ‘He is gentle with me, Richius. He would never do that to me.’

  Richius moved closer to the bed. ‘Then what is it? I’ve come a long way for you, Dyana. I won’t be turned away without reason.’

  Dyana stiffened. ‘Another war,’ she muttered. ‘This must not happen.’

  ‘Why can’t you leave?’ asked Richius ruthlessly. All the tenderness was gone from his voice. He lifted her chin with his hand, feeling the bone beneath the taut skin. ‘Answer me,’ he demanded. ‘Is it your sickness? Are you afraid? What?’

  ‘Come with me,’ Dyana said, getting up from the bed with visible effort.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Follow.’

  He watched her move unsteadily to the door, then sprang forward and opened it for her. ‘You can hardly walk,’ he said, putting out his arm for her. ‘Here, let me help you.’

  ‘No, please,’ she said, pulling away. ‘Others might see.’

  ‘Dyana . . .’

  ‘I am fine. Come.’

  He followed her out of the chamber and into the hall, then down the staircase, which she negotiated with difficulty, at last accepting his help when she was sure no one was around. The citadel was quiet, and he eased her soundlessly down the stairs until they reached the place where the hall that led to the other tower began.

  ‘Are we going to your room?’

  Dyana nodded but said nothing.

  ‘What about Tharn? Won’t he see us?’

  ‘My rooms are not near his.’

  Her rooms were in the south tower, a good distance from Tharn’s. There were more windows in this hall, all letting in the warm spring sunlight, and a plush carpet blanketed the floor. The carpet gave thickly underfoot, letting Richius feel its obvious quality even through his boots. Several fixtures of tarnished gold were fastened to the wall, along with a handful of ivory and jade inlays. It was truly a royal residence here, like all of the citadel had once been. Scattered conversations echoed through the hall, the polite voices of women behind the nearest doors. Richius paused, fearful they would be seen.

  ‘Who’s here?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Servants. Women who attend to me.’

  The answer made Richius’ eyebrows shoot up. It seemed that Tharn spared no expense when it came to Dyana. While the rest of the citadel lived in relative squalor, she was Tharn’s pampered queen. A little pang of jealousy coursed through him.

  ‘Here,’ she said, coming to an open door. Richius peered into the chamber. It was sunny and bright and remarkably clean. A woman not much older than Dyana stood in the far corner of the room, fussing over a waist-high piece of furniture. The chamber was large and she couldn’t hear them until they were close behind her. She gave a startled cry when she noticed Richius, then reached out for Dyana. Dyana struggled to calm the woman, putting up her hands and talking rapidly, obviously explaining that nothing was wrong. The woman stared wide-eyed at Richius, unconvinced until Dyana practically pushed her out the door, shutting it behind her. When the argument was done Dyana nearly collapsed. She put her hand to her forehead and leaned against the closed door, breathing far too heavily. Richius went to her, catching her up in his arms. She didn’t protest, but let him support her. Again Richius felt the sickly frailty of her body and knew there was something terribly amiss.

  ‘Oh, Dyana. What’s the matter with you?’

  She gestured to a chair near the corner where the woman had been. ‘There, please. Let me sit.’

  The tall, trough-shaped piece of furniture was by the chair, covered with lace and ribbons of white linen. Four sturdy legs held it upright, and a canopy of fabric stretched half-open across its top. Richius guided Dyana to the chair, curious about the odd item. It looked like a blanket case. He could see swatches of downy fabric creeping out over its sides where the canopy was pulled away. When Dyana was seated he peered inside. Something pink stared back at him.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he whispered, backing away. His eyes flicked to Dyana. She didn’t look at him. ‘That’s a baby,’ he stammered, and the reality of the moment struck him like a bracing wind. ‘A baby!’ he said again. ‘Dyana . . .’

  ‘My daughter,’ said Dyana softly. She glanced up at Richius apologetically.

  Richius was stupefied. He tried to collect himself, chancing another peek into the cradle. The tiniest infant he had ever seen writhed beneath a swaddling of lily-soft cloth, her eyes fixing on him with unfocused interest. Ruddy cheeks blew out minute puffs of air as she breathed, and when she saw him she whimpered unhappily.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Richius whispered sadly. Lucyler had lied to him, and he could hardly veil his bitterness. ‘I suppose I was wrong about Tharn. Lucyler told me he couldn’t have you.’

  Dyana reached out and touched his hand. ‘Look more closely,’ she urged.

  Confused, Richius did as she asked, gently pulling back the canopy and studying the babe. Newborn, he deduced. He had seen newborn babies back at home, and they always had the same red complexion and pinched appearance. This one was no more than a few days old. She was nearly bald, too, with only the barest threads of fawn hair curling up from her scalp. The fingers of her right hand snatched feebly at the air, balling into a walnut-sized fist. Cautiously he reached into the crib, slow enough for her to see him coming. Her eyes tried to follow his hand, and when he touched her head she blew a bubble from her mouth. Richius laughed.

  ‘What’s her name?’ he asked, too fascinated to address Dyana directly.

  ‘Shani,’ replied Dyana. There was a hint of pride in her tired voice. ‘I named her after a cousin – someone I loved.’

  Richius looked up at her. ‘Someone that died?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dyana sadly. ‘When she was very young. I told you about her once. Do you remember?’

  Richius did, and the memory was torture. ‘In the valley,’ he whispered. ‘She was trampled by a horse.’

  ‘And I blamed you for killing her. I never apologized to you for that.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Richius. He looked again at the child.

  ‘Hello, Shani,’ he cooed, stroking the baby’s neck the way one would a puppy. ‘Hello.’ He spared a glance at Dyana. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said again. ‘Just like her mother.’

  ‘And her father,’ said Dyana. ‘You are not seeing her, Richius. Look.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Richius, suddenly alarmed. ‘Is she sick? Oh, does she have Tharn’s disease?’ He studied her closely, looking for some telling sign of illness. Other than the normal blemishes of a difficult birth, he saw nothing extraordinary about her.

  Except for her eyes. They were unusually dark and oddly shaped. Not deformed, as one might expect of Tharn’s offspring, just different. More round than the usual narrow eyes of Triin. But Richius had never seen a Triin infant before. Perhaps it was normal. Perhaps they all had eyes like . . .

  He jumped back from the crib, as if an adder had suddenly appeared in the baby’s place. ‘God in heaven,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is she mine?’

  The floor seemed to move beneath him. Quickly he took a breath, then another. Dyana was watching him anxiously. She reached for him, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him closer, but he snapped it back with an angry scowl.

  ‘She’s mine!’ he roared, bringing his hands to his head to contain the imminent explosion. ‘Damn it all, she’s mine!’ His eyes closed and his jaws clenched and his fists shook agai
nst his ears.

  ‘Richius,’ Dyana managed. ‘I –’

  ‘You didn’t tell me! You gave me back this damned ring and didn’t tell me you were carrying my child! Lucyler, too, damn him to hell!’

  ‘I hoped you wouldn’t come,’ she said angrily. ‘I asked Lucyler not to tell you. I never wanted you to know.’

  ‘You’re as mad as he is,’ he railed. ‘She’s my baby. I should have been told!’

  ‘Why? There is nothing you can do. Do you not see that?’

  ‘Like hell,’ spat Richius. ‘I’ll take you both back. Shani can live in Aramoor, too. I’ll look after both of you. My wife already knows about you, Dyana. She knows . . .’

  Dyana was shaking her head. ‘It cannot be.’

  ‘Of course it can,’ Richius insisted. ‘I’m king of Aramoor now. I can protect you and the baby. Nothing will happen to her there.’

  She looked up at him, the skin beneath her eyes red and sagging. ‘He lured you here,’ she said. ‘He knew you would come for me. It is his way, to manipulate.’

  ‘And it worked,’ admitted Richius. ‘But I’m here now, and he knows he has no choice if he wants peace with Nar.’

  ‘He will not let me leave,’ said Dyana. ‘He loves me, Richius. He has always loved me, I told you that once before. When we were children, he was always doing things for me, bringing me flowers and gifts. And he would try to be a man for me, to impress me by riding horses or climbing trees.’ Dyana laughed. ‘He was different then, and I liked the attention. But I have never been able to understand his love. It has always been too much, too heavy.’

  ‘Does he know how you feel about him?’

  ‘It does not matter. He is Drol. He is wedded to me and that is the end of it. He would never let another man take his wife away. It would be the highest disgrace. Now do you see why I cannot leave? He would have to kill us both before letting you take me. His honor would demand it.’