The Jackal of Nar (21 page)

“Perfectly,” said the innkeeper. “Now what is it you need? The room again?”

“The room and the girl. And I want her for the whole night again. No one else is to be with her before me.”

The innkeeper grimaced. “Ah, well, that could be a problem. You see, I think she’d rather slit your throat than sleep with you. She has a grudge against you, after all. Rather understandable under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

Richius remembered suddenly what Dinadin had told him. “Your price has gone up?”

“Prince Vantran, it’s not the money. Dyana is fiery, and not easy for me to control.” Tendrik gestured to the scar on Richius’ face, then traced his own. “You see? My little cat likes to use her claws, and I don’t care to try for a matching pair. I really don’t think even you have enough money to make her do it with you again.”

“I don’t want to ‘do it,’ ” said Richius angrily. “I just want to see her, talk to her. Tell her that if you have to, but get her to agree.”

Tendrik looked puzzled. “You just want to talk to her?” he asked. “May I ask why?”

“No.”

“Fine. But the price is the same for talking or touching. And with those soldiers camped outside I’m sure I could line up a busy night for her.” The innkeeper grinned. “It’s a good thing you’re a prince.”

“How much?” asked Richius. “And before you answer, I should tell you I want something special tonight.”

“Special? I thought you said you just wanted to talk.”

“I do. That’s not what I mean. I want some special arrangements made.”

The innkeeper laughed. “Royalty is strange. Very well. I’m sure I can make whatever arrangements you want.”

“Don’t agree until you know what I’m asking,” said Richius. “How hard is it to get some food around here? I mean real food, something good?”

“Food? That’s a tough one,” Tendrik admitted. “You have to know where to go, and it’s expensive. I can get it, but it’ll cost you.”

Richius pulled out Dinadin’s silver dagger and showed it to the innkeeper. Tendrik’s eyes bulged.

“Will this cover it?”

Dyana had slept the entire day. The trip to Ackle-Nye had exhausted her, and then there had been Kalak. Both had been enough to put her out for a week. Even in the noisy, filthy room she shared with the Naren women, sleep came easily. But when she had finally awakened she was still in Ackle-Nye, and what Kalak had done to her was still sore in her mind and between her legs. She awoke staring into Tendrik’s sweaty face. The innkeeper had shaken her. She remembered hearing her name called as if from a great distance. In slumber she had thought it was her father’s voice, but now Dyana recognized her captor.

“Wake up,” said the grubby man. “It’s night. I need you.”

Dyana sat up. The satiny green dress was still wrapped around her. “Night?” She glanced toward the window, and saw that it was indeed dark. A solitary star twinkled on the horizon.

“I am not ready,” she said, hoping to stall the inevitable. “I am not clean and I have nothing to wear.” She realized suddenly that she was alone. “Where are the others? Working already?”

Tendrik showed her his stained teeth. “No, not exactly. I sent them away. They’ll be working elsewhere tonight.”

“Away?” asked Dyana suspiciously. “Away where?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not sending you away. I’ve got a special customer for you tonight.” The innkeeper’s face grew dark. She knew what he was about to say.

“No!” she railed. “I will not! Do not think it!”

“Girl …”

“I will not be his again!” she cried, jumping out of the bed and stalking toward him. “You cannot make me!”

Tendrik put up his hands to calm her. “Easy. Let me explain.
It’s not what you think. You’re right, it is Vantran. He wants to see you again. But he doesn’t want you to sleep with him. He just wants to talk.”

“Talk? I have nothing to say to him. I said it all this morning.”

Tendrik got off the bed and came close to her. He could be quite menacing when he wanted to be. “You’re not listening. He went through a lot of trouble to see you again. He’s even set up a sort of surprise for you. I can’t tell you what, but believe me, it’s something you’ll like. And he promised me he wouldn’t touch you. He wanted me to tell you that.”

“I do not believe it,” spat Dyana. “Kalak is a beast. He lies.”

“It’s not a lie,” said Tendrik. They were face to face now, and his breath was hot against her cheeks. “I know. I saw him. You’re making too much out of this. He’s a whelp, a boy. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

“I will not do it.”

“Yes you will.” Tendrik seized her wrists and pinned her hands up against the wall. Dyana beat at him, but so much fat bearing down on her thin wrists threatened to crack them. She turned her face away as he whispered his familiar threat into her ear.

“In three days’ time I am leaving for Talistan. Carlina and the others are going with me. If you want to be with us, you will do as I tell you. If not, I will be more than glad to leave you here for the Drol to find. And the Drol don’t much like Triin whores.”

Dyana cringed, wanting to argue but knowing the man was right. He owned her now. He was her only passage to Nar. Still, she had to try.

“Offer him another girl. Give him that wretch Carlina.”

“Don’t ask me what he sees in you, little one. I saw that mark you gave him. If I were him, I would buy a night just to beat you. But he won’t do that because he’s soft. And for some reason he’s taken with you, enough to pay all our passage back through the Run. I’m not giving it back, girl. I’d kill you first.”

“Let me go,” commanded Dyana. “Now.”

“Will you go to him?” asked Tendrik, pressing down harder.

“Yes!” Dyana cried. He was crushing her. “I will! Let me go!”

He finally released her and she fell forward, panting. Two stout red marks circled her wrists. She rubbed at them distractedly.

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs. He wants to see you in an hour.”

“I have nothing to wear.” Dyana pulled at her dirty dress. “This will have to be good enough for him.”

“Pretty yourself up!” the innkeeper rumbled. “He’s not paying for a night with a kitchen wench. Borrow a dress from one of the others, something clean. And brush your hair. It looks like a rat’s nest!”

He stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Dyana picked up a shoe and hurled it against the door.

The sun was down, the stars were up, and Tendrik’s dirty little beer hall had been turned into the perfect romantic venue. Richius lifted his glass and tested the wine. It was a strong red from the south of Gorkney, and he smiled to himself as he tasted it. The little table in the corner of the room had been set with Tendrik’s own stoneware, a collection the innkeeper proudly explained had been “acquired” from a Naren nobleman who had traveled to Ackle-Nye and developed a nasty lung infection on the way. The infection had killed him, and Tendrik had done the rest. Richius guessed that the ornate candlesticks were also the nobleman’s, since they bore the crest of Criisia, a minor but wealthy province of the Empire. There was fine flatware on the table, too, and the crystal goblets were worthy of any royal banquet. Richius grinned as he inspected the table. Tendrik was unbearable, but he was certainly resourceful. He was sure Dyana would be impressed.

It had cost Richius more than just Dinadin’s dagger to make the arrangements. He wanted the place to himself for the night, and that meant a severe loss of business for the innkeeper, a fact that could only be corrected by Richius’ emptying his pockets and providing the innkeeper with a note. Actually more like a bill, one he could present to the king of Aramoor upon his safe passage through the Run. Richius knew his father wouldn’t be pleased, but he also knew he would pay the innkeeper. And if it was an annoyance to the old man, well, to Richius that was just an added benefit.

Now only he and the lute player occupied the room. The musician, a Naren vagabond with an overly friendly smile, had agreed to play for them. His name was Po, and his services had
come much cheaper than the food. As Richius sat back, anxiously waiting for Dyana, Po plucked absently at the strings of his instrument.

“So who is she?” the musician asked. He leaned back on his seat, his long legs propped comfortably on another chair. “Some sort of princess?”

“No, not a princess,” said Richius. “Just a girl.”

“Oh, not just a girl! Not for all this trouble.” Po leaned in closer and winked. “She must really be something, eh?”

“Yes, she is. But do me a favor, Po. You’re going to notice when she comes down that I think a lot more of her than she does of me. Just ignore it, all right?”

“Lovers’ spat, huh?”

“Not exactly.”

Po took the evasive hint and nodded. “Not a problem. You won’t even know I’m here.” He went back to playing his lute, stroking a soft and easy melody from the strings. Richius leaned back to listen. He heard a sound and thought for a moment it was Dyana, but it was only the serving boy returning from the kitchen. When he noticed Richius was alone he stopped halfway to the table.

“She’s not here yet?” asked the boy awkwardly. “Your pheasant …”

“It’s all right,” said Richius, waving the boy closer. “Just leave them on the table. She’ll be down soon.”

The boy did as Richius bade, taking the time to breathe deep of the sweet odor of the roasted birds. An excited giddiness rippled through Richius. She
would
be impressed, he was sure of it. Po took a glance at the plates, too, and his smile widened.

“Nice,” he commented. “Where did you find those?”

“Tendrik,” said Richius. The answer made the musician laugh.

“That explains it. That man could find a baked ham in the middle of a desert. But I don’t know about that wine. Are you sure it goes?”

“It’s fine.”

Po shrugged, then added, “You should think of a white.”

“It’s fine!” said Richius. “Come on, fellow. Can’t you see I’m nervous? Just play.”

“It’s going to get cold,” said the boy.

Richius sighed. “So what if it does? The last fresh meal she had was probably still moving. You think she’s going to mind cold pheasant?”

“I could take it back to the kitchen.…”

“It’s not necessary. Please, just be quiet. All right?”

The serving boy started to apologize, but Richius ignored him. Over the boy’s shoulder he could see Dyana descending the stairway. A quiver of anticipation moved through him as he rose to greet her. She was splendid. Her white face was colored lightly by a dusting of makeup across her cheeks, a mellow pink that complemented the dazzling scarlet of her dress. There was a resentment in her eyes that made them sparkle. She moved like a wraith down the staircase, soundless, and she did not look at him until she reached the lower level. Richius heard Po give a small, impressed whistle. The lute player’s smile was as wide as his face.

Dyana wore no such smile, and her face held no exuberance. She looked defiant. Cold and unapproachable, she raised her eyes to look at him. And when she saw the splendid table he had set for her, an expression of utter shock passed over her.

“Hello,” said Richius, offering his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

The music, the smell of the pheasants and the candle wax; all of it rushed at her senses just as he knew it would. She stood dumbfounded, spying the servant boy waiting to push her chair in, and what looked almost like a smile passed her lips.

“What is this?” she asked. She did not take Richius’ hand, but she did not pull away from him, either. Richius took a breath.

“This is an apology,” he replied.

“It will take more than all this to make up for what you have done, Kalak. I am only here because Tendrik said I must. He said you want to speak to me. Why?”

“We can talk about that,” said Richius easily. He gestured toward the table and the serving boy waiting to seat her. “Will you sit with me?”

Without a word she went to the table. She saw the exquisite food and her mouth twisted hungrily. Richius tried to hide his smile. It was like setting an elaborate trap. He would have to speak like an angel and move like a serpent. Dyana’s eyes flicked up to him as he took his own seat. He could almost hear her
stomach rumbling over the lute. Then the girl’s expression hardened, and she pushed the dish away.

“I am not hungry,” she declared.

A lie, Richius knew. He feigned agreement. “No? Me, either. I really just wanted to talk to you. We don’t have to eat all this.”

Dyana’s face fell. “This is a bribe. You should know I cannot be bought like this. I may be a whore, but I am not a fool.”

“I don’t like that word,” said Richius. “Don’t call yourself that.”

For a moment it seemed she would get up and leave. She looked down at the table and let out a sigh. “Why am I here?” she asked. “Tendrik told you I will not go to your bed again, yes?”

“He told me,” replied Richius. “That’s not why I wanted to see you.”

“Why then?”

“To talk. To tell you how sorry I am for what I did.” He touched his face to remind himself of the stinging bruise she had given him. “This morning, when you ran from me, I told you I was sorry for taking your maidenhood. I was wrong to abuse you so. But I truly didn’t know. I swear to you, if I had I would never have done it.”

“Then it would have been someone else,” she said simply.

“Why?” asked Richius. “Why are you even here?”

“You ask too many questions,” said the girl sharply.

Richius shrugged. “I’m curious about you. I want to know why you hate me so much. You call me a jackal but you don’t know me. I’m not your enemy.”

“You
are
,” she corrected harshly. “You destroy. I knew people in that village. Now some of them are dead. Your men killed them. This is why I hate you. This is why you are Kalak.”

“You have me wrong. Those weren’t my men who burned that village. And it wasn’t my order. No one from my company would ever hurt you or your people.”

“I saw you there,” countered the girl. “And Kalak is the supreme Naren in Dring. Even the Drol say that.”

“But it wasn’t me,” insisted Richius. “I was the one that stopped the burning. I saved you from that brute, remember? He’s the one you should hate, not me.”