The Jackal of Nar (22 page)

“You kill Triin. I know you do.”

“I kill Drol,” said Richius. “I’m not proud of it, but I kill people who are trying to kill me. Don’t think I enjoy it. Whatever your people say about me, they’re wrong to think I’m a butcher. I’m not.” The thought of Dinadin ripened in his mind and his smile melted away. “I’m just stuck here.”

The girl stared at him skeptically. “You have made your apology. Can I go now?”

Richius didn’t know how to answer. Finally he nodded and said, “Yes, if you want. But I wish you wouldn’t. I would rather not be alone tonight.”

There was a definite softening in her harshness. She looked down at her food, then back up at Richius.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” said Richius hopefully. He felt on the verge of tears, but he didn’t know why. “We don’t have to do anything, just listen to the music.”

The girl’s face was miserable. “I am hungry.”

Richius looked at her. “Me, too.”

It was all the encouragement she needed. She pulled back her plate, then waited for Richius to do the same before picking up her fork and tearing off a piece of pheasant. Together they tasted the poultry, perfectly prepared by Tendrik’s woman in the kitchen. The girl’s eyes glazed with satisfaction. Food was painfully scarce in Ackle-Nye, and she was so thin. Richius had known the symptoms of hunger too well not to be able to recognize them. Dinadin had been right. He did want to rescue her.

Not far from the table, Po strummed his lute, playing a soft ballad. He tossed Richius an encouraging wink.

They ate in silence, and Richius was content just to have her close. Then suddenly she stopped eating. She lowered her fork to the table and looked up at him. He was sipping his wine and noticed her staring at him through the bottom of the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You are right,” she said. “You did save me. I know that.” She seemed to be struggling as she added, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for staying with me. I meant what I said. I won’t hurt you anymore. If I hurt you last night, well … As I said, I’m sorry.”

“It only hurt a little. I am better now.”

“Would you like some wine?” Richius asked, to keep her talking. “It’s a good one.”

Her defenses rose up instantly. “No. No drink.”

“Tendrik told me your name is Dyana. That’s a very pretty name. Where I come from lots of women are called that. Is it a Triin name, too?”

“My father named me,” said Dyana, and didn’t elaborate.

“You told me you arrived in Ackle-Nye yesterday. Did you come from Dring?”

Her lips twitched evasively. “Yes, from Dring.”

“Why? Was the village badly damaged?”

Suddenly the misery on her face changed to a hard anger. She got up from the table. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” Richius cried, jumping up after her. “Don’t go, please.”

“I must.” The girl was almost at the stairs when Richius caught up with her. She turned on him, her eyes wild. “Do not follow me. Leave me alone. I cannot be with you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I swear. I don’t want anything from you tonight. Just some company.”

There was something in his words that stopped her from retreating. Maybe it was the aching loneliness in his voice, or maybe it was simply the allure of the food. Richius didn’t know why, but when he opened his eyes again she was still standing before him.

“My cousin was in that village. My little cousin, just a baby.” She wrapped her arms about her shoulders. “She is dead.”

And in that instant Richius understood all the venom she had dealt him. He felt filthy, dirtier than the lowest dog. The music stopped. Dyana stood there, smoldering. Richius moved toward her and reached out a hand, barely grazing her naked arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

“She was trampled,” Dyana went on. She looked away. “Just a baby …”

“Dyana, I swear to God it wasn’t me. I grieve for you but it wasn’t me. Blame the Talistanians. They’re butchers, and they’re nothing like my people from Aramoor. You have to believe me.”

“I do. But I still must go. I have said too much already.”

“Don’t. I want to help you. It doesn’t have to be this way for you.”

She shook her head and said, “It will not be for long. Tendrik will look after me.”

“Tendrik?” asked Richius. An ugly idea was occurring to him. “What do you mean?”

“It is my business, Kalak. Do not ask me of it.”

“I’m not Kalak,” he growled. “Don’t ever call me that. I’m Richius Vantran. Call me Vantran or Prince, I don’t care. But don’t call me a jackal.”

She bit her lip. “I do not know what to call you. To me you are Kalak.”

“Call me Richius. That’s my name.”

“I cannot.”

“The innkeeper. What do you mean, he looks after you?”

“Please,” she implored. “If I am wrong about you, I am sorry. But let me go now. I have nothing for you.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t let you go until you tell me what hold Tendrik has over you. I know merchants like him. And I bet I know what he’s got planned for you. If you think you’re going to escape the war or hunger or anything else by working for him, you’re wrong. You’ll be nothing but a slave, especially if he takes you back to the Empire. Is that it? Is that what he’s promised you?”

“You do not understand. I must go with him.”

“Where’s he going to take you?” pressured Richius. “The Black City?”

“No,” she said simply. “Talistan.”

Richius started, struck by her terrible innocence. She might speak the tongue of Nar, but it was clear she had never been anywhere in the Empire, especially not to Talistan. No woman, no matter how desperate, would agree to such a fate.

“Dyana, come back to the table. We have all night, and I really have to talk to you.” He held out his hand. She regarded it suspiciously. “Trust me.”

Amazingly, she took his hand. He led her back to her seat and sat her down, gestured for Po to continue playing, then took his seat.

“You said you have to go with him. Why? Because of the war? If so then you should stay in Lucel-Lor. From what I’ve seen lately, the war is almost over anyway. Going to Talistan would be worse for you than living under Tharn, I’m sure.”

“You are wrong about that,” said Dyana. “Very wrong.”

“No,” continued Richius. “
You
are wrong if you think your
life would be better in Talistan. I know Talistan, Dyana. You would regret that the rest of your life. Triin have no rights there.”

“But women have rights there,” said Dyana. “My father told me so.”

“Your father was wrong. I’m sure he didn’t mean Talistan when he spoke of Nar. In some parts of the Empire women are treated no better than here in Lucel-Lor. And Talistan’s the worst of them. You would be Tendrik’s property if you went with him. He’d sell you to every man with a gold coin.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. He could see her frustration welling up. “Do not say so. My father would never have lied to me. Tendrik will let me go when we get to Talistan. He promised he would.”

“Sometimes fathers don’t know everything. Believe me, I know. If you go to Talistan you’ll be this cretin’s slave forever. He’ll never let you leave, because he won’t have to. Do you really think that’s better than staying here?”

“I have no life here!” she flared. “You do not know me. You do not know why I am here, why I have done this to myself.”

“You’d better tell me, then. Because I can think of no reason worth your taking this innkeeper’s offer. What’s in Talistan that’s so important?”

“It is what is
not
in Talistan that is important.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Tharn.”

“Tharn?” repeated Richius. “I don’t understand. Why should you be afraid of him?”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with despair. “Let me go. You are not Triin. You cannot know what I have been through, and I cannot explain it to you.”

“Try, at least.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I can’t let you leave until you do,” said Richius firmly. “I know it doesn’t make much sense to you, but I can’t.”

The girl shut her eyes. “It is difficult. So much has happened to me, so much …”

“If I’m going to help you, you’ll have to try and trust me.”

“Help me?” asked the girl. “Why should you do that? You have already gotten what you want from me.”

The words stung but Richius tried not to show it. “Please,” he
coaxed. “It’s not as hard as you think. Why don’t you tell me about your name again? Why did your father give you a Naren name?”

The woman’s lips twisted in hesitation, and it seemed to Richius she was considering his inquiry with unnecessary care. Finally she answered, “My father believed Nar and Lucel-Lor would be allies one day. He gave all his children names that would be acceptable in the Empire, so we could live among them and not be different.”

“Really? Then he was a supporter of the Daegog.” Richius chuckled. “You see? You and I aren’t so different. Where’s your father now?”

“Dead.”

Richius’ smile vanished. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. It was Tharn who killed my father, not Narens.”

“Is that why you want to leave?” asked Richius. “Because you’re afraid of Tharn?”

“I have been on the run from him since the revolution started. That is when he killed my father. You know about the Drol, yes?”

“Not a lot. I know they’re zealots. And I know they hate Nar and the Daegog. That’s why they fight, to rid Lucel-Lor of Naren influence.”

“You are mostly right. The Drol are zealots. And anyone who disagrees with them is their enemy. My father was loyal to the Daegog. He helped the Daegog open up our country to your Empire.”

“And for that Tharn killed him?”

“There is more,” said Dyana gravely. “My father was a very powerful man. So too was Tharn’s father. We were both very young when our parents pledged us to each other.”

“Your father betrothed you to Tharn? How could he do that?”

Dyana shrugged. “As I said, it was long ago. No one knew what Tharn would become. He was not Drol then. My father thought he was making a good marriage for me. He thought Tharn would be a leader someday, someone who could help Nar and Lucel-Lor come together. But later, when the revolution started, my father stayed loyal to the Daegog. He and Tharn became enemies. That is when he broke his pledge to give me to Tharn.”

“And that’s when Tharn murdered your father.”

Dyana nodded. “I have been running from him ever since. He still believes my father’s vow binds me to him. If he finds me, he will kill me or force me to marry him. Now do you see why I must get to Nar? I have heard that the Daegog has already fallen. If that is true then Tharn will rule Lucel-Lor. There will be nowhere here for me to hide.” She looked down at herself, at her scantily covered legs, and a shadow of disgust passed over her face. “I have not done this to myself because I am hungry or afraid. I am still Triin. But I have no other way to escape him.”

“But why are you alone? Don’t you have any other family? What about your mother?”

“My mother left my father years ago. She was devout. She believed like the Drol that Nar was evil. One day I woke up and she was gone. I have three sisters that she took with her. I have not seen any of them since.” Her expression soured more. “They might be dead, or they might be living among the Drol now, I do not know. But they will not help. And I do not want their help. Only Tendrik can save me.”

“No,” said Richius. “I have something better for you.” He held up his hand, pulled off his ring, and showed it to Dyana. She eyed it curiously.

“What is it?”

“This ring bears the crest of the House of Vantran,” he said proudly. “The Vantrans are the rulers of Aramoor. I’m a Vantran.”

Dyana was unimpressed. “So?”

Richius reached for her hand. To his surprise she didn’t pull away, but let him place the ring in her palm. “My father is the king of Aramoor. If you show him this ring, he’ll know I’ve sent you to him.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “There are men from Aramoor camped just outside the city, friends of mine. They’ll be going home soon. I can bring you to them. They’ll take you back to Aramoor, protect you on the journey. You’ll be safe in my homeland, Dyana. Far safer than you would ever be in Talistan.”

Dyana’s gray eyes slanted with suspicion. “Why would you do this for me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re alone,” said Richius. “I know you need my help.”

And I know you’re beautiful
, he added silently. She was staring
at him, looking at him with her astonishing gray eyes, and the same fire that had seized him the night before flared up again. He had felt it when he’d rescued her from Gayle, and again when he saw her in the tavern. Somehow he knew he would never be the same again. And the thought of her leaving the room was unbearable.

“You could go to Aramoor and start a new life there,” he said. “Someplace Tharn would never find you.”

Dyana’s hand closed tightly around the ring. “Aramoor,” she echoed. “I do not know that place.”

“You don’t know Talistan, either,” said Richius. “But believe me, mine’s the better choice.”

“Are you going there, too?”

“No,” said Richius sadly. “I can’t. I still have men in the valley who need me.”

Dyana frowned.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll return home when I can.”

“If you can,” she corrected. “You are going back to Dring, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may not return. I know of the war there. It is not safe for you. You should leave with your friends.”

“I wish I could,” said Richius. “It’s too much to explain, but there are reasons I can’t go home yet. But you’ll see me again.”

“And what will become of me in Aramoor?”

“My father will look after you, if you wish it. I admit there’s little else for you there, but at least you’ll be safe and no one will make demands on you.” He looked at her, suddenly understanding the fear she was voicing. “You won’t be a slave, Dyana. Not mine or anyone else’s. Trust me, please.”

“I want to,” she said with a hesitant smile. “And it is like my father told me there? Women are free in Aramoor?”

“In Aramoor, yes. But not everywhere in Nar. Your father was both right and wrong about the Empire. There are beautiful places, but there are places you must stay away from. If you ever leave Aramoor, you could be in danger. Triin are not welcome everywhere.”