The Jackal of Nar (45 page)

“Oh, but that’s absurd,” said Richius. “Why would he be so cruel as to deny you this? He may call it a wedding gift if he pleases.”

Sabrina’s laughter rang through the garden. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she managed. “You really don’t know anything about my father, do you? He doesn’t give gifts and he grants no favors. Especially to women.”

Richius frowned. “Your father sounds like a fool. It’s hard to believe he managed to raise so fine a daughter.”

“I’m more like my mother,” Sabrina agreed. “But thank you for your offer. It was very generous.”

“I’ve spent the last few days trying to think of ways to make this easier for you, my lady. I want you to be happy in Aramoor.”

“Well, I do, too,” said Sabrina easily. “But what about you,
my lord? Are you happy? You haven’t had much time to adjust to the idea. How do you feel about this marriage?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I hadn’t intended to marry for a long time, if ever. But you are truly beautiful, and I can’t imagine any man not being pleased with you.”

Sabrina smiled, seemingly content with his answer. “We’re both afraid,” she said, “but maybe that’s a good thing. When I first heard about you I thought you might be horrible, someone who would think little better of me than my father does. But I see now you’re not like that at all. I knew when I first met you that you were kind and that I wouldn’t need to fear you.”

“Fear me?” said Richius. “God, no. I want this to be pleasant for you, if it can be. And you won’t be alone in Aramoor. There are many others your age in the castle.…”

Richius stopped himself, suddenly embarrassed. He was talking to Sabrina as if she were a little girl worried about finding playmates. Yet in many ways she was that child. She was alone and frightened and about to lose the only friend she had in the world. And she was trusting him to take care of her. He thought about Blackwood Gayle, and how he could never satisfy this young woman’s needs. And he thought of Dyana. He had promised her much the same things he was now promising Sabrina: a home, security, a place to be welcomed. That promise he had broken. He was suddenly determined not to forsake another.

Sabrina took his hand again. “Come,” she said, leading him through the garden. “Let’s walk together.”

Quietly they moved through the flowers, avoiding each other’s eyes. Soon they reached the edge of the balcony and stared out over the sprawling metropolis. Already Nar’s eastern edges were dark with night. A smoky pall curtained the horizon, obscuring the newborn moon, and a murky silence floated in the air. Only the thrumming of the city’s incinerators reached them on their lofty perch. The breath caught in Richius’ throat, the way it always did when he looked on Nar.

“Amazing,” he said softly. “I always heard about Nar when I was a boy, but I never knew it would be like this.”

Sabrina seemed to shudder. “It frightens me,” she said. “I think it’s ugly.”

“Yes, it’s as ugly as death. But it is amazing, too, don’t you think?”

“It’s nothing like Gorkney.”

“No,” said Richius. “Nor like Aramoor. I’ll certainly have some tales to tell them back home. This place is so vast!”

Sabrina turned up her nose in disgust. “I don’t care for such big cities. I was in Goss when I was small. Even that frightened me. I can still remember all the noise and the strange people, my father arguing with the vendors in the street. It was too overwhelming for me.”

“Then Aramoor should suit you well. We’ll miss the winter, but the spring there is beautiful. Everybody goes riding in the springtime.”

“Everybody?” asked Sabrina thinly.

Richius grinned. “Indeed, my lady. Even little children take to horses in Aramoor. I know you can’t ride yet, but I’ll teach you. You’ll really have to learn if you want to fit in. And there’s the ocean, too. It’s not a big shore really, but it’s rocky and pretty, like Gorkney probably. We’ve even a few boats if you like that sort of thing, and the Iron Mountains. Really, my lady, you’ll love it.”

“Yes,” she said dreamily. “It sounds wonderful.”

“It is,” said Richius. “It’s the best place I know. Mind you, I haven’t really been many places, but I’ve never seen anything to rival Aramoor.”

A crushing melancholy came over him suddenly. He had almost forgotten the dark business that awaited him back home. He let his hand slip out of Sabrina’s.

“My lord?” asked Sabrina. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” said Richius. “I shouldn’t be talking like this to you. Aramoor might not turn out to be as grand as I say.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“You misunderstand. There’s something you don’t know yet, something I have to tell you.”

Sabrina’s faced blanched. “What is it?”

“I’m talking of Aramoor as if it’s some place you’d want to be, but it could just as easily be another prison for you, my lady. There is to be war with the Triin again, and I’m supposed to lead it.”

“Oh, no,” said Sabrina, her hands going to her face. “Why?”

“It is Arkus’ will. I’m to prepare us for war in the spring, as soon as we return home.”

“But why?” Sabrina asked again. “Why now, when we’re to be married?”

“Believe me, my lady, I don’t wish it. But I’m powerless. We’re the only nation bordering Lucel-Lor, the only ones who can do it.”

“That’s preposterous. Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but everyone knows Aramoor couldn’t possibly defeat the Triin. The emperor must be mad.”

“Oh, indeed he is,” said Richius. “But there’s something in Lucel-Lor he wants, and I’m to be his message boy.” He stopped, struck by Sabrina’s expression. There was real worry etched on her face.

“I’m afraid for you,” she said. “I’ve heard about these Triin. They’re sorcerers. You could be killed.”

“Here now,” said Richius. “Don’t think so blackly. I survived Lucel-Lor once and I intend to do it again. And we won’t be alone. Arkus has promised me command of his legions. This time it will be different.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Sabrina. There was a spark of hope in her tone that Richius couldn’t bear to extinguish.

“Of course,” he lied. “Tharn himself couldn’t possibly stand against such might. Perhaps I shouldn’t have even told you about it yet. The war probably won’t last more than a few weeks anyway.”

“Now you’re sparing my feelings,” said Sabrina. “There’s no way another war with the Drol could end so quickly, and you know it. Please don’t comfort me with lies, my lord. You’re afraid, too. I can see it.”

Richius gave a wan smile. “You see very clearly,” he said. He sighed and rested his hands on the balcony’s stone railing. “I am afraid. I swore I’d never go back to that place. I lost so many friends there, so many good young men. How am I supposed to do it all again?”

“Refuse him,” said Sabrina. “What the emperor is asking is insane. You must make him see that.”

“I cannot. I’ve tried, but he won’t listen. Damn him to hell, Sabrina. I am trapped!”

He ended his rant just as a sentry stepped into the garden. The soldier wore the familiar black of Nar, almost invisible in the shadows of the broad-leafed vines.

“There’s no trouble here,” said Richius. “Leave us.”

The soldier hesitated for a moment, watching them. A malevolent grin flashed across his face. Then he moved away, just as quietly as he had come, and disappeared. Enraged, Richius moved after him.

“Yes,” he cried. “Go and tell your masters what I’ve said. Tell them—”

Sabrina’s hand shot up and silenced him. “My lord, don’t! I’ve seen these sentries everywhere. They’ll hear you.” She took him by the arm, leading him back toward the railing. “It won’t do you any good.”

“You’re right,” said Richius. “I should be silent. I’ve already agreed to it, and what’s done is done. I only hope I can keep you from the danger of it, my lady. If the Drol attack us through the mountains …”

“I’m not worried about myself,” said Sabrina. “And I don’t want you troubling yourself over me, either. Look after your men and whatever else you need to when we get to Aramoor. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Richius shook his head. “I won’t bring you home to be a kitchen wench, my lady. There will be time enough for war, but only one homecoming for you. I want it to be special. I’ve already sent word to my steward that I will be returning in the spring with a wife. He’ll make everything ready for your arrival.”

“Then we are to be married before going to Aramoor?”

Richius’ eyebrows went up. “How much do you know, my lady?”

“Almost nothing. I’ve only spoken to Count Biagio about it, and he told me that plans were being made.”

“Well then,” said Richius wryly. “You’d better start arranging things. We’re to be married in two weeks.”

Sabrina went ashen. “Two weeks?” she shrieked, suddenly full of youthful ire. “And no one told me about it? But I haven’t had any time to prepare! I have no gown, no attendants.…”

“Easy,” said Richius. “I’ve asked Biagio for it to be a small wedding, very quiet. You and I and only a few of my closest companions will be there. Of course, anyone you want to invite is welcome. Perhaps your driver?”

“Yes,” Sabrina agreed. “Dason should be there. I won’t have
much time to see him after that. But what about everything else? What will I wear? I don’t know anyone here in Nar. Who will help me prepare?”

“Biagio probably has that all arranged. But I will ask him if you wish, just to be sure.”

“Please,” said Sabrina. “I suppose we’re to be married by Naren priests, then?”

Richius nodded. “In the Cathedral of the Martyrs.” He pointed out over the darkening cityscape to an elaborate, looming steeple of coppery metal. “Look there, can you see it?”

The cathedral was on the other side of the city, across the wide, winding river Kiel. It was a remarkable structure, almost as tall as the palace itself, and easily visible even at such a distance. Sabrina bristled at the sight of it.

“Might we not be married elsewhere?” she asked. “I saw the Bishop Herrith at your coronation, my lord. He seemed such an unpleasant man. Maybe we could ask that someone else perform the rite.”

“I don’t think we should, my lady. Biagio has already told me that Arkus cares greatly for his bishop. A request like that would certainly be considered an insult.”

“All right,” conceded Sabrina. “I certainly wouldn’t want to risk offending the emperor. You’ll need his goodwill if you expect his help.”

Richius grinned at her. “You talk like you know a thing or two about politics, my lady. Do you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sabrina playfully. “I’m the daughter of a king, and you can’t live in a castle without hearing about such matters. But if you would rather I was silent about it …”

“Not at all,” said Richius. “It’s just that I’m impressed. I’ve never known a woman to have real knowledge of politics. Most of the women in our castle are, well, ignorant about the subject. But I welcome your advice, my lady. Lord knows I’ll need it.”

“That might not be proper,” said Sabrina. “You’re a new king. Your people will be expecting you to look strong. How would they feel if they thought I was whispering orders in your ear?”

“Not orders,” corrected Richius. “Advice. And I say again I welcome it. Women are treated with respect where I come from. My mother, God rest her, was loved by her people, and my father listened to her advice. I want it to be the same way with us.”

“Very well, my lord. If that’s what you want, I will help you in any way I can.”

“Good,” said Richius. He cupped Sabrina’s shoulders in his hands. “Then you can start by calling me Richius.”

“Richius,” said Sabrina, as if trying out the word. “Yes, I like that. But what shall I call you around others? Surely I shouldn’t speak to you so familiarly in front of your men.”

“You needn’t worry about that. Everyone in the castle calls me Richius. I’m afraid we’re not very formal in Aramoor. And if I may, I would like to call you Sabrina.”

Sabrina smiled. “Please do … Richius.”

They stood there for a moment, regarding each other like two frightened strangers, and Richius didn’t move or take his hands from her shoulders. There was a breeze that stirred through the garden, pulling at the hem of her dress. Her lips trembled, almost opening, begging him to come closer. And suddenly he knew it: she was in love with him.

He stopped, releasing her and backing away.

“No,” he stammered. “Not yet.”

Sabrina flushed. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said in a small voice. Then she composed herself, drawing a shaky breath and turning around to face him again. “I must go now. We shouldn’t be seen spending so much time together.”

“Sabrina, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she pleaded. “Don’t say anything more.” She turned and made her way from the garden.

Richius reached out for her, but when he saw the determination in her stride he let his hand fall away. He wanted to call out to her, to beg her to stop and let him explain, yet he said nothing. There were no words for what he was feeling. In the next instant she was gone, swallowed up by the vines and blooms.

He was alone.

A rigid silence cloaked the balcony. And a name floated to him on the wind. It was a name that had come to him often in the last few days. He closed his eyes and dared to think it.

From the Journal of Richius Vantran:

Today is the eighth day of spring, and as I write this I am blessedly alone, without the blaring horns of docking ships or the rumble of incinerators to bother me. The air is sweet again, the woods around me quiet. I have missed it all so much. It is easy to forget the taste of good bread when there is only caviar to eat, and so it is with these woods, too. Like boyhood friends these trees are familiar to me. From here I can see the castle, looking small now against my memories of Nar, and to the north all the nothingness of Aramoor is beautiful. It is perfect, and if Arkus were with me now he wouldn’t need his potions to keep him alive.

After seeing home again I have decided that it is Nar itself which has driven them all mad, They are addicted to their drugs because their city is unlivable. There is too much there for the mind to grasp. Everyone who lives in Nar is like a frightened rodent, terrified of the hawks that dwell in the palace. If there is a place on earth to rival Dring for evil, it is the Black City. I don’t care to ever see its like again, and to be truthful it has shaken me. I am part of this Empire now, more than I ever was before. I have work to do for Arkus. But at least I am home, and even he cannot take the spring away or stop the trees from greening.

Last night I dreamt of Lucyler again. Another damnable nightmare. I have not had a sound night’s rest since returning home, and I am starting to wonder what has gone wrong with me. It is as if some of Nar’s drugs have made their way into my brain. They are vivid dreams, too, so much like my own thoughts that it is hard to separate one from the other. I had assumed I was over my guilt for Lucyler, but almost nightly I am reminded of the loss. He speaks to me in the dreams, but I cannot hear him. Or it
may be that I simply cannot remember his words upon my waking. Whatever it is, I wish he would say it clearly and be done. The dead should stay buried and let the living get their sleep.

Being married has been stranger than I expected. It is odd to always share my bed with someone. But Sabrina has been wonderful. Though we have been home less than three weeks, she already knows the castle as if she has lived here for years. And Jojustin and the others adore her. They keep her company at night when I am away, as I have been often lately. Only Jenna has yet to warm to her. Apparently my marriage was more of a surprise for Jenna than I had imagined. We have hardly spoken at all since I returned home, and when we do it’s only to pass pleasantries. Still, I’m sure she will come around in time. Sabrina is my wife, and Jenna has to accept it. I only hope she does so quickly. I will not be around for Sabrina much longer, and she will need friends to help her through the dark days ahead.

Thankfully, Sabrina seems comfortable here. Except for Jenna, we have all tried to make the change easier for her, to show her the land and the way we do things, and to include her when we can. At first she was quiet, but now she talks more at mealtimes, and she has a talent for keeping conversations interesting. Arkus was right about her. Most men would envy such a fine young wife. She gives me my time and lets me worry when I must. I have been doing a great-deal of worrying these days. Though the Drol seem satisfied with Lucel-Lor for the moment, we still have war plans to make, and I know Sabrina can sense my fear. Jenna has told her how Father was murdered in the garden, and now she is worse than Jojustin at trying to keep me indoors. It is like having both a mother and a father again. Yet I know her concern for me is genuine. I have not been as open as I should be with her, and only rarely do we share any time together. It has been hard even to steal an hour to write this journal. Still, I think she understands. These are difficult days for us all.

I have done what I can to keep this bold scheme of Arkus’ a secret. So far only we in the castle seem to know of it. I had expected Jojustin to be shocked by the news, but of all of us he seems the most enamored of the plan. The idea of us all going back to war has not soured his spirits at all. Perhaps he is too old to clearly remember his own war days. Like the old father, he
grieves for the possibility of our deaths, but the soldier in him rejoices. His eyes twinkle when he speaks of it. Newborn warhorses, Arkus’ legions, shipments from Nar; he tells me of these things like a greedy clerk eager to put his wares to use. To him this is all a second chance, a glorious moment for showing up the Gayles and proving to the world what Aramoor can do. When I told him of Talistan’s exclusion from the war he was as giddy as a schoolboy. His hatred of that breed has truly blinded him.

I myself feel no such joy. For me, a kingdom without interference from Nar would be far more welcome. Jojustin has become fond of telling me how like my father I am. He says we all must accept the rule of Arkus now. But I would rather have my father’s heart within me. Let the Gayles remain the emperors pets. Arkus’ favor means nothing to me. I have tried to convince Jojustin that Nar’s love for us is only momentary, yet it seems that I alone can grasp what is really happening. Lately I am surrounded by peacocks. Everyone seems to share Jojustin’s stupid pride. Even Patwin is consumed with it. Perhaps that is what Arkus knew would happen. It has not been easy for any of us to live with the humiliation of our loss, but to believe we can now win against the Drol seems foolish. I have agreed to this folly because I must, but the others are senselessly willing. They frighten me. If I do this insane thing it will not be simply for the empty pocket of revenge. At least I’ll know my reasons.

And it may be that all this is for nothing, and none of us will ever really have our requital. Precious little news reaches us from Nar, but the talk among the merchants in Innswick is that Liss is still holding on. God bless those hearty bastards. I’m sure Arkus and that butcher Nicabar had expected them to be on their knees by now. Perhaps those new dreadnoughts are not as wonderful as they supposed. Either way, it buys us needed time. If we are lucky and Liss manages against this onslaught, then maybe we will not need to ready ourselves for war at all. I have sent word to Biagio asking him how the war with Liss is progressing. It will be weeks before I get a reply. So much the better.

Yet this too troubles me. There is a part of me that wants this war. I know it’s insane to think it, but Dyana might still be alive. Somewhere in Lucel-Lor, hiding in a cave or cowering in the bed of that devil Tharn, she is waiting for me. It is like a dream or the
sense one gets of danger: no more easily seen than the air. But I know it is so. And if Liss somehow holds on, if heaven grants them a miracle and spares them from Nar, I may never have the chance to save her. It is all I have thought about these past months. I have not even whispered her name to Sabrina, but I know she suspects something. I’ve seen her watching me when I write, and I know she is wondering. And when I do not touch her at night, what does she think? She has been more than any man could want, yet I am unable to love her. I have tried to be skillful in avoiding her, to stay away at night until she is asleep, but I’m sure she questions me. She does not deserve such coldness in a husband.

Nor do I deserve her. I can never tell her of the terrible choice Arkus gave me, but I wonder these days if she is any better with me than she would have been with Gayle. It is only a different kind of torture I offer her, a more insidious isolation. I cannot conjure up a love for her that is any more than a man might have for a sister.

Tomorrow I will ride with Patwin to the House of Lotts. It is time to start telling the other families about Arkus’ grand designs. I’m sure Dinadin will be as foolishly anxious to fight again as Jojustin. He is too young to see how the emperor manipulates us. As for Terril and the others, they will make do as always. They are old enough not to argue about war.

I have already done my arguing. No one is listening.