The Jackal Of Nar: Tyrants & Kings 1

by John Marco

  Still, I may be wrong about him yet. Dear Jojustin. Could you have done this to me?

  All my loyal friends are gone now. I have seen how Arkus builds his Empire. I know that those who would not renounce me have been killed. Most likely Patwin died first. He was always loyal to a fault, and I’m sure he did his best to save Sabrina. As for Gilliam and the others, I suspect they were executed. The servants, too, probably, unless they had the sense to forsake me. If God is good he will have given them such insight. Except Jenna. Women do not do well in Talistan, and she is better off dead than sharing Gayle’s filthy bed.

  And perhaps that is what frightens me the most. At least I know Sabrina is dead. Whatever monstrous things Gayle did to her are over. But I can only guess at the tortures the rest of my people must now endure. Somehow, be it through Jojustin or some other fiend, Arkus has found out about me. He knows that the same taint that ruled my father has ruined me for Nar. He will not be so merciful with Aramoor this time. By giving Aramoor over to the House of Gayle he has destroyed us, possibly forever. Aramoor has only me for a champion, and I am in no circumstance to fight. Now they must endure the cruel governing of Blackwood Gayle, the very thing Jojustin sought so desperately to avoid. And so we have both failed our kingdom, and we are damned for it.

  I have not seen Dyana since that day. I cannot bring myself to see her. If I didn’t love her so foolishly I would never have made this trip, and Sabrina would still be alive. Dyana has sent messages to me through Lucyler. She wants to speak with me, to comfort me I suppose. But it all seems so pointless now. I should never have come to Falindar, and now that I’m stuck here I don’t know what my place is. Tharn has been gracious. He has given me leave of the citadel, and has told me I may stay as long as I wish. As of now I see little choice. There is no home for me to return to, and though I am loath to accept his hospitality, I am a man without a country now, and would be a vagabond if not for this majestic roof. I have made a mockery of my father’s throne, and now our enemy sits upon it in my stead. Someday maybe I will oust Gayle from my place, but that day is far away and I no longer command armies to make it happen. Today Gayle is the victor.

  But I will have my vengeance on the baron from Talistan. For Sabrina alone I will see him slain, and he will rue the day he made us part this way.

  Tharn has started to rally his people for another war. It’s inevitable now, and he knows it. Amazingly he has asked me for help. He thinks my knowledge of Naren tactics can be useful. How poorly he knows me. These days I can handle a sword and little else. I just don’t trust my instincts anymore, and my advice would only lead his warriors to a routing. But Tharn has been adamant. It seems he’s not used to being refused, and he has a way with his people. Already Kronin’s men are chafing for this fight. I pity them for their ignorance. For all his education and books, Tharn doesn’t realize the machinery Arkus will mass against him.

  Nor does he understand the emperor’s inhuman thirst for life. The Drol speak of death as a doorway, an arch one passes through to reach another world. They don’t fear death the way we of Nar do, and they cannot comprehend Arkus’ desperation to cheat it. I’ve tried to explain this to Tharn but he doesn’t hear me. He talks only of beating back the Naren tide. He gives pretty speeches and everyone adores him for it, but they don’t know of the weapons of science or the emperor’s fanatical legions. They remember us of Aramoor and Talistan and think that we were Nar’s best. If they knew better they would be afraid.

  The Shadow Angel that brought me Sabrina arrived here by ship. To me that means Arkus has finally ended his siege of Liss. There will be dreadnoughts on the shores of Lucel-Lor soon. They will surround this land like a noose and they will strangle it. If Tharn is as wise as everyone believes he will make the pact the Lissens want. Perhaps their navy can protect these shores, and let the fighting take place on land, where I know these Triin are best. I see little hope for their cause, but they are strong and they are many, and if the Lissens ally themselves with Tharn this may yet be a war to challenge Arkus and his legions.

  Thirty-one

  It was the dress that made Dyana realize Richius wouldn’t talk to her. Or more precisely, it was the note pinned to its sleeve.

  For seven straight days Dyana had sent Lucyler to Richius, offering her condolences and begging him to come see their child. Lucyler always returned with polite refusals, explaining that Richius had nothing to say. Then, three days ago, Lucyler had come to her with the dress, a lovely brocade of scarlet silk that looked valuable even crumpled from the saddlebag. The note on its sleeve was from Richius. In that odd way men often have of being senseless, Richius had decided that staying in Falindar would be much more tolerable if they never saw each other again, and if he could accept that she belonged to another man. The dress, the note went on to say, was an apology. Dyana accepted it reluctantly.

  But she thought of him often anyway, and she thought of him now as she put her infant daughter to her breast, fearful that the babe would grow up without knowing the father who lived just a flight of stairs away. He was a peculiar man, she decided, full of all the strange Naren idiosyncrasies her own father had warned her about. It distressed her that he would not speak to her. This was his way of acting strong, she knew, and yet it seemed uncharacteristically weak. At first she had been sure he would come to her once the shock of his wife’s death had passed, but as his refusals mounted she realized there was something more in his silence. For some unknown reason, he suffered from the same lovesickness as Tharn, and it was making him foolish.

  She opened her shirt and let Shani latch on, smiling at the pinching discomfort. This was their quiet time together, the late-afternoon feeding when the chamber was cool and all her attendants were busy with other tasks. Now that she was accustomed to feeding her daughter she enjoyed this time, and would look out of the window toward the sea as Shani gently suckled and cozied up against her breast.

  Dyana was much stronger now. No longer did she need the wetnurse who had fed Shani the first few days. But the nurse was still around, dispensing invaluable advice on how best to perform this motherly act. She had taught Dyana how to hold the baby and how to get her to drink, and how to keep her from getting too hungry so that the feedings weren’t an attack. At first nursing had been a painful nuisance, but as Dyana mastered the delicate art she found a sense of wonder in it. She was never more in love with her daughter than when she put her to her breast.

  ‘Shani,’ said Dyana, brushing at the fine hair atop the infant’s head. ‘You are hungry today.’

  Shani squirmed a little in her blanket as Dyana sat back. Beyond the window bright sunlight played on the distant waves, and the warmth diffusing through the glass felt good on her face and neck. Effortlessly she held the baby in the cradle of her arm and watched the slow progression of the ocean.

  A melancholy settled over her. Tharn had made quite a home for her here, so much different from her uncle Jaspin’s home in the Dring Valley. It was like she was a little child again, spoiled by her affluent father. All her needs were met even before she voiced them, and it seemed like every morning started with a perfect sunrise. She held no title, for Tharn vehemently disdained such things, but she felt like a queen regardless – one of those regal women from Nar who painted their nails and had slaves taste their food. And though her husband wasn’t fully functional, he was gentle with her and respectful, a claim few Triin women could boast. She wasn’t his equal, of course, but he did speak to her, sometimes with amazing candor. Drol cunning-men seldom talked to their wives about anything more important than meals, but Tharn was unusual in this regard and she was grateful for it. He was even passionate in his own impotent way, always concerned for her health before his own, which was never less than dire.

  So why was she so unhappy?

  An image of Richius flashed through her mind. Lately thoughts of him were becoming irksome. He had made his decision. It didn’t matter if she disagreed with it. She had a husband and a child to
care for. Richius would have to care for himself.

  But she missed him. Amazingly, she was fond of the strange fellow from Nar. He was gentle like Tharn, but much more vulnerable. His frenzied screams when he had discovered his dead wife had become the talk of the citadel, and there were those among her own attendants who spoke of him as less than sane. Dyana did not share their sentiments. When she had learned of his wife’s execution, she had cried for them both. There was something bitingly tragic about him, something that made him always push his way back into her thoughts.

  She glanced down at the suckling Shani, tracing a finger over the small contour of her ear. She had his features, his eyes and colorful hair. These things would mark her all her days in Lucel-Lor. But she also had her mother’s features, the thin bones and frail face, and these things too would mark her if she ever ventured outside Triin borders. And so she was very much like Richius, an innocent youth made homeless by circumstance. She was the Jackal’s daughter, and only Tharn’s grace protected her from those who hated her father.

  Her mood soured a bit more. War with Nar was imminent now. She could lose all of them – Richius, Shani, even Tharn. Not even the high walls of Falindar could protect them from the Empire’s weapons, that’s what Lucyler was saying. Instinctively she held Shani closer. They might need some sort of miracle to survive, and it was the responsibility of each of them to pray for one. Drol or non-Drol, they all had the work of the faithful to do.

  Dyana herself was not very faithful. Until very recently she hadn’t even believed the gods existed. Seeing Tharn’s broken body changed that. Like hundreds of others, she had witnessed the cunning-man’s powers and the terrible toll the lords of heaven had exacted on him. To her, Tharn was vital proof that gods indeed held sway in the world, and if he said to pray then she would pray with all her strength, and hope that her voice reached the ears of caring powers.

  ‘I pray for you,’ she said to the nursing infant. She always addressed Shani in Triin. It was Tharn’s one demand. ‘I pray for your peace and your life.’

  But will it be enough? she wondered. It was commonly known that Tharn would never use his arcane abilities again. This time the gods would need to devise a different means to save them. This time all the demons of the Empire were against them, and though she knew much less of Nar than did her husband, she knew enough to understand the threat they posed. Nar had the weapons. She had already seen the handiwork of a flame cannon. The Triin had only jiiktars and courage.

  ‘And Tharn to lead us,’ she added thoughtfully. The realization heartened her. He was a fanatic, too, capable of inspiring his people to great deeds. He had already organized the warlords and put an end to their bitter squabbles. If he could do that, then surely he could unite them in war against Nar.

  ‘Tharn will save us,’ she whispered gently. ‘Do not worry.’

  Shani obviously wasn’t worried. She continued to nurse, oblivious to her mother’s words. Dyana smiled lightly. Shani was such a good baby, not at all like those other terrors she had heard about when she was carrying. Even her wetnurse had commented on the child’s mildness. Dyana was proud of her.

  A sudden shuffling outside her door startled her. Quickly she pulled Shani away and drew her garments close. But then she recognized the sound of her husband and relaxed as she heard his rapping on the door.

  ‘Husband?’ she ventured. ‘Come in.’

  The door creaked slowly open and Tharn appeared. He looked at her apologetically.

  ‘Dyana, can we speak?’

  Dyana unclasped her hand from her shirt and let it hang open again. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘But I am nursing. Do you mind?’

  Tharn glanced down at her open shirt and for one brief moment something like lust flared in his eyes. But he looked away quickly, closing the door with a clumsy effort.

  ‘I do not mind,’ he said. He turned back to her but would not look at her again, choosing instead to distract himself with the view outside the window.

  Poor man, thought Dyana as she brought Shani back to her. She could almost feel his struggling. He always hid it well, but sometimes, like now, it bubbled to the surface and was plain to any woman who had ever seen desire in the eyes of a man. Tragically, Tharn could do nothing to ease his appetites. He couldn’t force himself on her if he wanted to, and for some odd reason she pitied him for this. Carefully she arranged her shirt closer about her bosom.

  ‘You look thoughtful,’ she said.

  Tharn seemed disappointed. ‘Do I? Forgive me. I am . . .’ he shrugged, ‘preoccupied.’

  ‘Do you have bad news for me?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Tharn dully. ‘But there are troops massing in the Saccenne Run. I think they will strike Ackle-Nye soon. When they do, then I will have bad news for you.’

  Dyana was silent. She knew that whatever Tharn wanted from her, he would ask her in his own time. He shuffled closer to the window, ignoring her for a while as he stared out at the day.

  ‘I need you to do something for me,’ he said finally. ‘I would not ask you normally but you are the only one who can do this.’

  ‘I will do it if I can,’ answered Dyana.

  ‘Is the baby well?’ he asked.

  Dyana nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Strong?’

  ‘She is strong.’

  ‘And you are strong, too, yes?’

  He was still not looking at her and his evasiveness unnerved her.

  ‘I am well now, husband, do not worry. What is it you want me to do?’

  ‘It is a good day outside, not too cool. Perhaps you should take the child out for some sun and air.’

  ‘Is that your favor?’

  ‘No,’ said Tharn. ‘Not exactly.’ At last he turned to look at her, and all the lust was gone from his expression. He shuffled closer, dragging himself next to her with his cane. She looked up into his serious eyes and felt a nervous flutter.

  ‘Husband?’

  Tharn stooped nearer. ‘What I am going to ask you is important, Dyana. But you may refuse me if you wish. I will not be angry. Do you understand?’

  Dyana nodded. She didn’t really understand but the pretense made him continue.

  ‘Your man from Aramoor. He is not well. He is not thinking clearly. Do you know this?’

  ‘I have hardly spoken to him,’ answered Dyana evasively, suddenly wondering how much Lucyler had told him.

  ‘That is because he will not see anyone. My wife, I know you have tried to speak to him. You may admit it. I have not come to chastise you.’

  ‘Husband, no . . .’

  ‘Do not lie,’ warned Tharn. ‘It is too easy to read your thoughts. You care for him, and have been trying to speak to him. I know this.’

  Dyana fussed with the baby, hating the way he spoke to her. But she had been indiscreet. She knew she should apologize, but the words would not come. Thankfully, Tharn seemed not to expect an apology.

  ‘What is it you want from me?’ she asked icily.

  ‘I have been trying to get Richius to help us. He has knowledge that we need. But he will not listen to me or Lucyler. I think he might listen to you. I want you to convince him to help us.’

  Dyana’s head sprang up. ‘Husband, I cannot. He will not see me. You know this already.’

  ‘If you go to him he will not turn you away, I am certain. He will not be able to because he loves you.’

  Dyana feigned a laugh. ‘He does not.’

  ‘I have no time for your games, woman,’ Tharn said roughly. ‘He loves you as I do. And I know you think much of him. To be honest, I am jealous. Now, may we continue with important matters?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dyana. ‘But I will not seduce him. And I will not deceive him, as you have.’

  Tharn’s expression hardened. ‘Do not task me. I’m not asking you to deceive or seduce him. I only want you to convince him that he must help us.’

  ‘No, husband,’ Dyana insisted. ‘I cannot see him.’

  Tharn backed away a st
ep, then said calmly, ‘Dyana, I have already told you I would not be angry if you refused me. But I want you to let me explain myself first. We are in trouble. If the word from Ackle-Nye is true then thousands of Naren forces are already poised to strike at us. And none of us knows as much about them as Richius. He may be our only hope.’

  ‘You are wrong . . .’

  ‘I am not done,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘They will be using weapons none of us have ever seen before. And their tactics will be new, too. We will be fighting the legions of Nar this time, the emperor’s own troops. It will not just be men from Talistan or Aramoor. Richius can tell us what to expect. Even if he will not fight with us, he has knowledge we can use. I have learned all I can from my texts. I need him.’

  He leaned forward on his stick, satisfied with his speech.

  ‘That is all of it,’ he said. ‘Now you can make a proper decision.’

  ‘And if my answer is no?’

  ‘Then that is a proper decision for you.’

  Dyana laughed. ‘And you will be disappointed.’

  ‘I will,’ said Tharn. ‘But I will respect the decision.’ He moved in a bit closer. ‘I could order you to do this, you know. You are my wife. Most men do not grovel as I do.’

  ‘Husband, I do not think you realize what you ask of me,’ Dyana said boldly. ‘He has already told me not to try to speak to him. He wants nothing to do with me anymore, and though I do not understand why I know that he means it. And it is likely that he means what he has told you. If he does not wish to help you, I cannot change his mind.’