The Jackal of Nar (55 page)

Biagio inclined his head. “Your letter sounded urgent, Sir Jojustin. I thought it best that matters be attended to.” He watched Jojustin’s eyes flick to the Shadow Angels.

“Please, sit,” said Jojustin. “Your men, would they care for anything?”

“Not necessary,” answered Biagio as he sat back down. “Your girl Jenna has already reminded me of their needs.”

Jojustin seemed puzzled by the statement but said nothing, taking his own seat across from the count and pouring himself a liberal glass of the wine. He took three unbroken gulps before continuing.

“How was your trip from Talistan, Count? No problems, I trust.”

Biagio smiled. “No problems. Sir Jojustin, I’m wondering where young King Richius is. I expected to see him here.”

Jojustin’s expression tightened. “I’m afraid Richius is … unavailable today, Count. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my. He’s not ill, is he?”

Jojustin took a long time to answer, and when he did he looked away from Biagio, staring blankly into his glass. “To be honest with you, I’m not certain. It may be an illness that has taken control of him. I’m sorry, Count, I have something quite terrible to tell you.”

“Go on,” urged Biagio. The old steward shifted uncomfortably under his regard and the silent stare of the Shadow Angels.

“Richius is …” Jojustin groped for a word. “Gone.”

“Gone? What does ‘gone’ mean, sir? Where is he?”

Jojustin swallowed hard. “Lucel-Lor.”

“Eyes of God!” Biagio exclaimed. “What’s he doing
there
?”

“It’s a long story, Count,” said Jojustin wearily.

“I have time, sir. Tell me!”

“Please,” begged the steward. “Be calm. I will explain it to you the best I can.” He sat back in his chair, pulling at his beard as if sorting through a great drawer full of thoughts. “Four days ago a friend of Richius’ appeared to him, a Triin he had fought with in the war. This fellow told Richius he needed to speak to him, that he had important news to tell him. He wouldn’t say what.” Jojustin looked at Biagio, gauging his reaction so far.

“Continue, please,” drawled Biagio. “I’m fascinated.”

“Well, this Triin did have some news. Richius fell in love with a woman while he was in Lucel-Lor, a Triin named Dyana. But he lost her. She was taken away by the storm that destroyed Ackle-Nye, the one you think Tharn created. This Triin that appeared to Richius told him that he knows where she is. From what I’ve pieced together from Richius’ friend Patwin and the Lady Sabrina, Tharn supposedly has this woman Dyana. I think Richius went to rescue her.”

“You mean he went to see
Tharn
?”

“He went to see his Triin friend,” answered Jojustin. Then he added, “But he might be going to talk to Tharn, yes. If this Triin tells Richius that Tharn has the woman …” The old man’s voice trailed off with a shrug.

“When was this?” asked Biagio.

“He left three days ago, right after the Triin appeared to him.”

“Make sense, man. You keep saying ‘appeared.’ What does that mean?”

“I mean appeared,” replied Jojustin coolly. “Like some sort of ghost. At least that’s what Richius claimed. Triin magic, by my guess.”

Magic. The word hit Biagio like a hammer. That was what this was all about; the invasion, Arkus, everything. And now to hear that a Triin magically appeared to Richius Vantran … Stupefied, Biagio picked up his glass again and took a small sip of wine, hardly noticing its flavor. He would have to inform Arkus at once, but he was many weeks away from Nar. Certainly Vantran would reach the Drol sorcerer long before then. And there was no telling what they might say to each other. If Vantran told the sorcerer of the invasion …

No, it was unthinkable. A roiling anger swelled up within him. Like fools they had trusted this pup, had let him remain on the throne of his treacherous father, and all in the name of internal peace. Now their selfless gesture was threatening to ruin every chance they had of taking Lucel-Lor. Slowly, Biagio slid his hand down along his thigh, to the place where he kept his dagger sheathed. The strap snapped open with a prick of his finger.

“You were right to tell me this, Sir Jojustin,” said Biagio, forcing out another smile. “I only wish it hadn’t taken you so long.”

“It was a difficult decision, Count,” replied Jojustin. “I love that boy. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t hear me. I knew you’d find out about it eventually.” He paused, leaning forward for effect. “I do this for the good of Aramoor, nothing more.”

Biagio nodded. “Perfectly reasonable.”

“Now understand me, Count, please. What Richius did wasn’t treasonous, just stupid. But Aramoor has to be brought into modern times, and that means accepting the rule of Nar.”

“And you are loyal to Nar, aren’t you, sir?” asked Biagio rhetorically. He watched the old man’s face relax.

“I am. I must be. For some reason, Darius Vantran never could be, and now neither can his son. Darius could never realize the damage he was causing his land. I don’t want the same thing to happen again.” Jojustin lowered his eyes. “There are no more Vantrans. After Richius, a new leader will have to be chosen.”

“So much like his father,” said Biagio with a regretful sigh. “We are lucky to have you here, aren’t we? After all, if it weren’t for you, we’d still have Darius Vantran to deal with.”

Jojustin raised his face and their eyes met with unexpected comprehension. Biagio smiled grimly.

“Yes, you understand me, don’t you?”

Jojustin’s eyes flicked to the waiting Shadow Angels.

“Don’t worry about them,” said Biagio. “They won’t do anything unless I order it, and why should I do that? You rid Nar of a traitor, something we were loath to do. Why do you look so troubled, sir? Surely you know the Roshann is everywhere. And we never thought it was a Triin who did the killing. Didn’t you think you’ve been a suspect all along?”

The old man didn’t reply.

“Well, now you’ve proven yourself,” continued Biagio. “Feel better, it’s finally off your conscience.”

Jojustin swiveled his ear toward the door and, confident no one was outside, said in a desperate whisper, “Do you think it was easy? I’m not a murderer. Not the way you might think.”

“And no one’s accusing you,” replied Biagio. “Rather, you are a hero.”

Jojustin scoffed. “I did what I had to, nothing more. Darius was ruining Aramoor. He was bringing the wrath of Nar down on us, and he didn’t even care. I tried to make him listen, but he was full of righteous nonsense like his son. Someone had to stop him.”

“No excuses, please, sir,” Biagio interrupted. “As I said, you did us a favor. And you got away with it, isn’t that extraordinary? I doubt anyone in the castle ever suspected you, not even Richius. The king must really love you not to have seen it.”

Jojustin’s face collapsed. “What happens now?”

“To you? Nothing,” said Biagio sunnily.

“Not me,” growled the old man. “What about Aramoor?”

“Oh, well, that is a tough one. Even if young Richius returns we can’t leave him as king. No, we’ll need someone else. I’ve given this some thought, you know. None of us in Nar were completely convinced of Richius’ loyalty, after all. We need someone trustworthy, someone that understands Nar.”

Biagio rose and went to the arm of Jojustin’s chair, going down to one knee beside it. He put his lips to the steward’s ear. “I have just the person in mind,” he whispered seductively. “And Arkus has already given me the authority to do it should the need ever arise. It looks like that time has come, doesn’t it?”

Jojustin shook his head. “I didn’t do this to become king,” he insisted. “I did it for the good of Aramoor.”

“King?” hissed Biagio. He drew his dagger silently from his side. “I think you have me wrong, sir.”

With one invisible movement Biagio grabbed Jojustin’s silver hair and pulled back his head, drawing the blade quickly across his throat. The skin opened in a red, gushing line. Jojustin’s eyes widened in astonished horror. His hands went to his throat and he rose from his chair, stumbling and trying to plug the wound with his fingers. He gurgled something, reaching for Biagio with a bloodied hand. Biagio batted it away.

“You’ve killed a king of Nar,” said Biagio quietly. “That is always death.”

Jojustin seemed not to hear. He fell to his knees, gasping through his severed windpipe. His eyes flared. Biagio watched him with wonder, so defiant even in dying. They bred them strong in Aramoor.

Then Jojustin collapsed, and the floor quickly pooled with blood. Biagio wiped his blade on the steward’s vest while his bodyguards watched implacably. He did not hear the approaching footfalls until it was too late.

“Jojustin?” queried a young voice. The door opened and an apologetic face peered inside. “I’m sorry to bother you, but …”

Biagio stood up with his bloodied dagger in hand and smiled at the fair-haired intruder. “Uh-oh. Now you’ve caught me.”

The young man’s face went ashen. He stared at Biagio in frozen horror. Biagio shrugged like a little girl.

“I’m sorry,” offered the count. “I’ve made a mess of your steward. Have you any towels?”

Bewildered, the young man remained unmoving in the doorway, his eyes drinking in the scene without comprehension. Biagio stepped toward him, gingerly avoiding the corpse. “You’re Patwin, aren’t you? Richius’ friend? Be a dear and tell Lady Sabrina I’d like to talk to her, would you?”

“Oh, my God!” Patwin exclaimed. His eyes darted from Biagio to Jojustin, then back again. He began to sputter a question, then ran from the chamber yelling, “Sabrina!”

Biagio cursed and stalked after him, watching the young man disappear up a flight of stairs. He gestured for his Shadow Angels to pursue. The dark duo drew their swords and charged after Patwin. Biagio followed close behind.

“Now Patwin, don’t make this more difficult than it must be,” he sang out as he climbed the stairway. “I really hate the way things are going so far!”

When they reached the top of the stairs they heard a door slam down the hall. The Shadow Angels went to it and stood outside, waiting for their master’s orders. Downstairs Biagio heard the servants clamoring, heard Jenna’s scream as she discovered the murdered Jojustin. Exasperated, he went to the door and gave it a vigorous knock. Inside he heard a woman’s astonished cry and Patwin’s insistent urgings for silence.

“Lady Sabrina?” called Biagio. “Hello. Listen, would you come out here for a moment? I really need to talk to you.”

There was something about the moment that struck the count as deliciously funny, and he giggled as he gave the order to kick in the door. A Shadow Angel drove a booted foot into the lock, splintering the wood. The Lady Sabrina gave an anguished shout as the assassins stormed her bedchamber. Patwin stood unarmed before her, staring down the bladed Angels with bare fists. Behind him, Sabrina of Gorkney looked horror-stricken. Biagio waited a moment before entering the room, and when he did he stretched out his arms in mock surrender.

“All right now, everyone calm down. Patwin, be a good man and let me talk to the lady, hmmm?”

“In hell!” snapped Patwin defiantly.

“What do you want?” cried Sabrina. “What did you do to Jojustin?”

Biagio furrowed his brow. “Ah, well, that does make me look bad, doesn’t it? Forgive my rudeness, but I killed him. And I really would rather not do the same to both of you. My lady, I have need of you. It’s about your husband, you see.”

“Get out!” Sabrina flared. “Leave us alone!”

“Alas, I cannot,” said Biagio with sadness. “Patwin, step aside, please.”

“I won’t.”

Biagio rolled his eyes. “Good lord,” he sighed.

With a snap of his dainty fingers the Shadow Angels moved, flicking their swords in a flash and pressing Patwin against the wall. While one seized the lady, the second Angel wrapped a gauntlet around Patwin’s throat and pinned him to the wall, positioning the tip of his sword in the young man’s mouth. Patwin gave a frightened moan as the blade slid past his lips and bit into his tongue. He held up his arms in surrender. Biagio strode over to him.

“Look at you now,” said the count. “Stupid boy. Like your king.”

“Let him go!” cried Sabrina. Her own captor had sheathed his sword and had his python arms coiled about her, pinning her arms and pressing the breath from her lungs. She tried to struggle but the Angel only squeezed harder, making her scream from the pressure in her chest.

“Easy, my friend,” Biagio bid his servant. “She’s a delicate flower. Let’s not pull her petals off yet.” The count put out his cold hand and brushed his fingertips over her cheek. Her skin was perfect and warm. Biagio envied her. “My lady, I need you. You’re going to deliver a message for me to your husband.”

“I won’t!” Sabrina choked. “You bastard …”

“Oh, my ears,” chuckled the count. “And from such a well-bred bitch. You know, it always amazes me how many people need convincing of my seriousness. Perhaps it’s my easygoing manner. Well, watch closely, Lady. Then make up your mind.”

The count turned his attention back to Patwin. “Young fellow, I’m really sorry about this. This is your unlucky day.” Biagio made another small gesture to his servant. The Shadow Angel pushed against his sword and drove its length through Patwin’s mouth, shattering the back of his skull.

Lady Sabrina’s anguished wail was the loudest thing Biagio had ever heard.

The House of Gayle stood on a green and rolling tor overgrown with weedy wildflowers and surrounded by a sluggish moat that reminded Biagio of the famous Gayle paranoia. It was an unremarkable place, neither large nor excessively appointed, and it bespoke solitude and a certain serious foreboding. At the bottom of the tor was a well-trampled parade ground, a huge expanse of grass where the horsemen of Talistan pranced and drilled, and near the back of the castle was a giant stable to accommodate the many beasts of the Gayle militia, a rambling structure of ramshackle wood that gave off an evil stink on hot summer days. The House of Gayle had a twenty-foot drawbridge spanning the moat and leading into a dusty courtyard. Inside the courtyard, servants and slaves attended to the castle’s needs, while on the many catwalks guardians in green and gold paced their watches and made the stout wood creak with their heavy boots. Even in the smallest hours of the night they could be heard, incessantly walking and waiting for an invasion that would probably never come.