The Jackal of Nar (58 page)

The unmistakable pinpoints of white Triin heads were soon visible, and Richius drew the cowl closer about his face.

“Remember,” warned Lucyler as they trotted toward the city. “Say nothing. If anyone speaks to you, ignore them. And don’t move too quickly. You are supposed to be ill.” He inspected Richius warily. “Sit low in your saddle,” he urged, and proceeded to coach his comrade by slumping over. “Like this.”

Richius drooped forward and rounded his back until he looked like a man near death. “All right?”

“Good. Now let us be quick. The first thing we need is a room for the night and bedding for the horses. Once you are safe inside, I will go out again for supplies.”

“Find a good room,” Richius reminded him. “Something private.”

“I will if I can,” said Lucyler. Again he looked discouragingly at Richius. “It might not be so easy to find a room at all. If they think you are a leper …”

“Fine,” said Richius, putting up his hands in exasperation. “Let’s just get what we came for and go. We can sleep in the hills tonight if we have to.”

Lucyler raised his hand to quiet Richius. They were on the narrow road leading into the town, and already there were keen ears to hear them. Richius slumped down again on Lightning’s back, averting his eyes from the people they passed. The Triin language was everywhere, clicking from the lips of bargain-hunting old women and frustrated merchants, and streaming out in lungfuls from the excited children that ran along the crowded corridors snaking between pavilions and shop fronts. There were animals both strange and familiar, goats and pigs and clamoring, caged fowl, and exotic birds with saffron plumage and striped bills. There were reptiles and dogs, downy rabbits and multi-limbed primates, some boxed up in wooden cartons, others roaming free in the streets or resting on the shoulders of their masters. And everywhere there were cats, darting under tables and lounging blissfully in the sun, their lean bodies toned to feline perfection by the hunting of mice. It was all so much like any town square at fair time, except for the notable absence of Narens. Here there were only Triin, a sea of white skin and milky hair and pale eyes. As far as Richius could see through the thin opening of his cowl, he was the only Naren in the town. He heard Lucyler’s steady voice at his side.

“Easy. Just follow me.”

Richius did as his companion bid, trailing Lucyler’s horse through the marketplace and doing what he could to avoid being noticed. Only a few of the gathered shoppers turned to look at them as they rode, and none seemed to take any interest. Richius suppressed a sudden shudder. Mistrust of Nar had been the cornerstone
of Tharn’s revolution. There was no telling how much hatred the Drol had bred among these people since.

They came to a place near the center of the market where a particularly anxious merchant was shouting and holding up headless chickens. Several horses were tethered beside the man’s stall, and bags of grain and horse feed took up most of the area. There was not much of a crowd here, and Lucyler chanced dismounting, walking over to the man as Richius watched from the recesses of his cowl. After speaking briefly with the merchant, Lucyler moved casually back to Richius, looking up at him and motioning for him to come down offhis horse. Richius hesitated, but a furtive wink from Lucyler convinced him to dismount. He dropped down slowly off Lightning’s back, careful to appear infirm. He handed the reins to his waiting companion, who led both horses over to the man. Lucyler then dug into his jacket and pulled out several small coins, which the merchant greedily accepted. There was a brief exchange before the conversation ended. Lucyler returned to where Richius was waiting.

“He will look after the horses for the night,” whispered Lucyler. “He has told me of a place at the end of the market that might have beds for us. Come.”

The Triin took Richius’ arm as if he were an old man and began leading him slowly through the crowded market. Richius followed along, limping the way the starving beggars in Nar City did, his back crooked painfully. Already he was feeling vulnerable without Lightning beneath him. Lucyler was quiet as they walked, barely taking his eyes off the ground as he led Richius gently by the arm. Occasionally the street would swell with people or livestock, and they would stop for a moment to let the quicker shoppers pass them. Triin children bolted by and cats scurried past their feet, and the sounds of the marketplace gradually engulfed them until they looked no more unusual than any grime-covered travelers. Like Lucyler, Richius kept his eyes to the ground, tilting his head only enough to see a few steps in front of him. He pulled the cowl closer about his face, closing it with his hands whenever someone came too near.

At last they came to the end of the market. Lucyler paused and looked around, then pulled Richius into a convenient corner. There were houses here, and the noise from the market had ebbed a little so that Lucyler’s voice was clearer than before.

“I have to find the house of a man named Cavool,” said Lucyler. “The merchant told me he would be around here, and that he might be willing to rent a room to us for the right price. I will tell him that you are sick, but that you have nothing dangerous to others. Then I will give him this.”

He pulled out another coin from his robes, this one shiny and gold and many times larger than the ones he had given the merchant in the market. Enough to rent a healthy man a room for a month, thought Richius. Perhaps it was enough to buy a leper one night of privacy. Lucyler scanned the small houses, looking for some definitive features. A slight frown appeared on his face.

“I will have to ask around for this Cavool,” he said finally. “Wait here for me. It will be quicker if I go myself.”

Richius shook his head vigorously.

“I will not be long,” said Lucyler. “I am sure his house is nearby. Do not talk to anyone.”

“God damn it, Lucyler,” Richius hissed, but his friend was already gone, leaving him leaning against one of the dozens of houses lining the street. Richius felt a desperate loneliness wash over him, and he shambled into the shadows, hoping no one would see him, or worse, attempt a conversation. But the other folk in the street ignored him, going on about their business as if he were one of them. He could hear the mild chatter of Triin through the open windows above him, could smell the exotic cooking of midday meals. Women called to their children, and old men laughed about unknown things as they drank and played dice games in little groups on the sidewalks. And as the moments passed, Richius began to feel a certain foolishness about his fears. Not only did these people not notice him, he realized suddenly, they seemed like no threat at all. There were no Drol warriors among them brandishing jiiktars, no hordes of Tharn’s holy men calling out prayers. There was only the peace that Lucyler had described, orderly and regular, as if war had never touched this place.

Richius stepped out of the shadows and into the street. He had never really been here, he realized. He had once come to this place, camping on the outskirts with Okyle’s brigade, but he had never known life in Dandazar or even thought to fathom its inhabitants. Now, with the milling of all this life around him, he
was intrigued, and the sudden realization that Lucyler hadn’t lied to him struck him like a welcome wind.

Soon he was chancing a walk into the street, still averting his eyes but refusing to cower, gradually making his way past stalls and tables filled with the wares of a culture he hardly knew. He was careful not to wander far, but the pull of the market drew him forward. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder to where Lucyler would be waiting for him, and each time he didn’t see his friend he took another step deeper into the crowd, until he was surrounded by the city’s population and their odd, throaty tongue. For the first time since leaving Aramoor, he was happy, and he glided along as if invisible, hardly bothering to stoop or limp or make any pretense to illness. The charade seemed suddenly foolish now. No one knew who he was, and all were too busy with their own doings to pay him any attention. But he was careful to keep his hands off the things for sale, for no matter how much they intrigued him he knew the hue of his skin would reveal him. So he merely observed, enchanted with the variety of things being bought and sold. At a table near the end of the street a merchant had set out a fabulous collection of silks and fabrics, a rainbow procession of colors and textures spun into robes and other garments. Richius strode over to the crowded table, eyeing the beautiful wares, and gasped at what he saw there.

Hanging from a board behind the Triin merchant was a dress of silver and scarlet so perfectly made as to be breathtaking. The smile on Richius’ face broadened. Falindar was only a week away, and this would likely be their last stop before reaching the citadel. Until this moment it hadn’t even occurred to him to have a gift for Dyana, but seeing the dress reminded him of her instantly. It would be a wonderful present for her. He glanced over at the merchant, who was just finishing up with a customer. Richius looked away, struggling to think. He would have to come back with Lucyler. Surely there was enough money for the dress …

An ear-splitting scream shattered Richius’ musings. He turned to look behind him and all at once the street erupted into panic. The tide of people swarming in the square parted, and at their center Richius saw an unimaginable thing. He fell back, dumbfounded at the sight, almost stumbling into the merchant’s
table. What looked to him like a giant cougar was mauling a man in the center of the street. Twice the size of a warhorse, the creature towered above its screaming prey, its knife-like fangs bared, its short, brown mane frizzled with rage. Yellow eyes shone from its massive head, and its cropped tail whipped from side to side in fast, determined movements as it pinned the man beneath its paws. Like something out of Naren mythology, the beast bristled and hissed at the horrified crowd. The man wailed in shock and pain, fighting against the impossible mass of the creature and beating his fists against its legs, his clothes thick with bloody rents.

Richius searched frantically for a solution. The cat was surely enough to best a score of men, yet he could hardly bear the screams of the Triin pinned beneath the monster. He slipped his hands under his garments, feeling quickly for Jessicane’s pommel. The giant sword felt insignificant in his grip. Only then did he notice that the creature was harnessed and saddled. He stared at the enraged beast, stupefied at the idea that someone was capable of riding it. He recalled the giant skull that hung in Arkus’ chamber, that bleached skeleton the emperor had called the remains of a Triin war lion. He had only heard of these creatures in tales, and here one was, about to tear a man’s chest open. Desperately he glanced around, hoping to find the cat’s master, but all he saw were the wide-eyed faces of onlookers like himself. There was no one else to save the man, and in less than a minute he would be dead.

It was all the convincing Richius needed.

Jessicane leapt out from under the robes in a silver flash. Richius dashed forward, the sword high above his head, a cry tearing from his throat. At once the cat sighted him. It lowered its head and fixed its angry eyes on him, emitting a violent roar. Richius stopped five feet before the snarling lion, waving Jessicane before him.

“Back, beast!” he cried. “Back!”

The lion snapped out a giant paw, swiping at Richius and missing by inches. Richius took a small step forward and swiped back, nicking the monster’s tawny breast. Enraged, the lion stretched out farther with its limb and batted the sword away, but Richius stood firm, calling out every insult he could think of to drive the creature off its dying prey. A gasp went up from the astounded
crowd. Richius pressed forward, his heart beating furiously. Where was the damn thing’s rider? If it did attack him, he would never be able to outrun it, and fighting it was unthinkable. This was no dog-sized war wolf. The thing was a behemoth. Yet still he jeered at it, poking with his sword, trying to drive it off the crumpled man. The man, too, tried to aid in his rescue, screaming and kicking and clawing. But still the cat remained there, unwilling to lift its massive paw. Finally Richius was desperate enough to attack the beast. He reared Jessicane backward in both fists. If he could harm it enough …

“Kajiea!”

Richius halted. A Triin man raced up to him, tugging at his cloak and dragging him off his feet. Richius stared up at the man, dumbstruck at the assault. He was unlike any Triin Richius had seen before. Long, weather-beaten garments hung loosely from his grimy body, and his skin was bronzed an unusual umber over his natural whiteness. He was tall, too, with a pair of fierce and dangerous eyes that shone like two burning rubies. His face was lean and hard, and he glared at Richius for a long moment before turning his attention to the lion. Richius could see the jiiktar poised on his back.

The beast calmed at the sight of the man. It lowered its head and retracted its claws, its eyes dawning with primitive recognition. The man walked fearlessly up to the cat and ran his hands through its dark mane, speaking to it in a low, comforting voice. He seemed not to notice the man trapped beneath it. The man’s pleas had died to a dull murmur, and blood seeped from his clothes and stained the street under him. Richius struggled to his feet to face the lion rider, pointing at the dying man.

“Are you mad?” he bellowed. “Can’t you see that man is dying? Let him go!”

The Triin reared back at the verbal barrage, fixing his hot eyes on Richius again, then glanced down at the twisting figure and spat. At last he cooed to the giant cat, and the beast raised its paw from the man’s chest. Richius seized the opportunity, racing up to the man and dragging him away from the lion. The lion rider glared at Richius. The wounded man was barely breathing.

“You’ve done it, you know,” he hissed. “He’s dying.”

Others were coming closer now. Triin women swarmed over the broken figure, pulling at his clothes and gasping at the deep
rents in his flesh. Richius rose to face the lion master. The giant cat’s expression had calmed to a blank stare, but his rider’s face was still fixed with rage. He squared his shoulders as Richius approached, folding his tanned arms over his chest.