The Jackal of Nar (7 page)

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Dinadin. “I wouldn’t mind retreating to Ackle-Nye, would you, Richius?”

“Maybe not,” said Richius. “But I’d rather not fight Tharn to get there.” He looked to Lucyler.

Lucyler glanced away. He had been there the night the revolution had begun, the night Drol rebels attacked Falindar to free their enigmatic leader. Like his father and grandfather before him, Lucyler was in the service of the Daegog, a warrior of the royal caste sworn to protect the Triin lord. Tharn was only a prisoner then, rotting in the catacombs beneath the Daegog’s palace.

Until that bloody night.

Drol warriors, mostly Voris’ red-robed fanatics, attacked the palace on a moonless evening. They were merciless, as the Drol
always were, and they spared no one in their efforts to rescue Tharn. But Lucyler had been lucky that night, lucky enough to steal away from the palace without being seen, and had smuggled his Daegog to safety. Falindar fell to Tharn, and the Daegog was in exile. And for his great loyalty and courage, Lucyler was given the unenviable assignment of helping secure the Dring Valley, and of keeping an eye on Richius.

Together they had shared many horrors since the fall of Falindar, but of the trio only Lucyler had faced the Drol leader in battle. Even Voris, pledged as he was to do the bidding of his master, could not lay claim to Tharn’s dreadfulness. The warlord of the valley had jiiktars and war wolves and warriors sworn to die for him, but these were things comprehensible and natural. The bloodlust Tharn could conjure in his men was legendary. It was, in a sense, magical.

Dinadin reclined on the grass, for once ignoring an opportunity to pester Lucyler as he gazed into the cloudless sky. “Perhaps Patwin will have news of the war in Tatterak when he returns. No doubt he will stop in Ackle-Nye on his way back.”

“No doubt,” agreed Richius with a grin. “Patwin likes the ladies as much as you do.”

“You know,” said Dinadin, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin on his fists, “Ackle-Nye is only two days’ ride from here.”

“Forget it,” said Richius.

“But why? Why not now, when there’s a break in the fighting?”

Richius groaned, regretting the promise he had made to Dinadin that they would ride to Ackle-Nye when and if there was a good lull in the fighting. Now, it seemed, that lull had come.

“We can’t go, Dinadin. Voris could attack at any time.”

“After the routing Gayle gave him?” said Dinadin. “Not likely.”

“No?” asked Richius. “I’m sure Voris knows by now that Gayle and his horsemen are gone.”

“So? He still can’t have his men ready for another attack so soon. Right, Lucyler?”

“Who can say?” replied Lucyler dully. “The Wolf thinks like no other warlord. He is unpredictable.”

“And strong,” added Richius. “The Dring Valley’s big, Dinadin,
and Voris still has scores of warriors. It wouldn’t be wise to think him so damaged by the last fight.”

Dinadin frowned and looked away. “All right,” he conceded, getting to his feet and wiping the grass from his backside. “But you should at least think about it. The way Tharn and the Drol are gaining ground, this chance might not come again.”

“Sorry,” said Richius. “We simply can’t risk it.”

Dinadin made a slight, unhappy sound, then turned and left his comrades. A feeling of melancholy washed over Richius. He hadn’t enjoyed breaking his promise to his friend, nor had he taken any solace in Dinadin’s explanations as to why he had become so distrustful. He felt Lucyler press one of the wooden game pegs into his foot.

“He is young,” said Lucyler. “All he can see is the chance to lie with a woman.”

“No,” said Richius sadly. “It’s more than that. He hasn’t been the same for weeks now. He doubts me, Lucyler. He doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“He is angry, that is all. He feels trapped here, and he blames you for not doing more.”

“What can I do? Lord, I’ve done everything I know how to. It’s not my fault my father won’t send more troops. I didn’t ask for any of this!” Richius folded his arms and lowered his chin to his chest. “Lucyler, tell me something, will you? How widespread is this talk of my father?”

Lucyler cast his somber eyes on Richius. “The truth?”

“Of course.”

Lucyler smiled one of his rare, friendly smiles. “I do not believe your father will be sending any more troops here to fight. You’ve told me yourself how reluctant he was to send you. Were it not for the will of your emperor, you and Dinadin and all of your company would be safe at home in Aramoor.”

“But …”

“I think this war is lost, Richius,” Lucyler continued mercilessly. “And I think you think so, too. Dinadin is probably right. By now Tharn is planning a final assault. It might be a month or more away, but it is coming. There isn’t much time left for any of us.”

Richius was silent, letting the pain of Lucyler’s words echo in his mind. Lucyler was looking at him, his gray eyes drinking in
all the truths Richius’ expression betrayed, all the things he had tried so hard to conceal. He looked back at Lucyler, his own eyes filled with apology.

“It wasn’t really a lie, you know,” he said.

“No.”

“In the Black City there are theatres where men can act to entertain. I’ve never been there, but I hear they’re paid quite handsomely.” Richius groaned, resting his head against the gnarled tree trunk. “I tried to be as good an actor, but I see now that no one believes me.”

“Do not say that. It is not you they doubt, Richius. Every man here knows you have kept them alive.”

“Dinadin doesn’t think that,” said Richius. “And maybe he’s right, maybe he should be angry. I’ve kept us alive only to be trapped here, and I’m too damned afraid of the emperor to retreat. We’re alone now.”

Lucyler shrugged. “There is still Talistan. They might send more troops.”

“Not into the valley they won’t,” countered Richius. “They have already sent in twice the troops my father has, and even if they could send more they would go to Tatterak to save the Daegog. The Gayles would see us lose the whole valley before they sent more horsemen here to help us.”

The shadow of a frown crossed Lucyler’s face, and Richius began again to regret his angry words. Feud or no, he should have let the horsemen remain in the valley. Now the valley might be lost, and all for the sake of family pride.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it was wrong to send Gayle away.”

Lucyler waved the remark away. “No. You have told me about that one. We are better off without him, I am sure.”

“Then what?” asked Richius. The Triin’s jaw was set in the same tight way it always was when he was angry, and he looked distracted, as if arranging his thoughts in just the right way to spare Richius the worst.

“I have been here with you for nearly a year now, Richius. Yet still you keep such secrets from me. I have tried to help you, but still you do not trust me.”

The bitterness in Lucyler’s voice startled Richius. Never in the many long months of their efforts had he heard his comrade
talk like this. Now that the words hung in the air, Richius didn’t know what to do with them.

“Lucyler, don’t mistake my secrecy for mistrust. You’ve been a greater help to me than you know, but I’m the leader here. I can’t tell my men everything I know.”

“But I am not one of your men, Richius. I do not need to be protected as they do. You forget that I am the Daegog’s man here. There is nothing about this war I do not know, even if I do not hear it from you.”

Richius bit back an insult. Lucyler hadn’t seen the Daegog of Lucel-Lor in months. As far as any of them knew, the Triin leader was in Tatterak with the loyalist warlord Kronin, and probably too preoccupied with the invading Drol to give much thought to his man in the Dring Valley. To Richius’ thinking, it was self-importance at best that made Lucyler believe he was still of concern to the Daegog.

“Even I don’t know everything that goes on outside the valley, Lucyler. And as for my father, he is an even bigger mystery tome.”

As soon as he had spoken the words, Richius regretted them. His father wasn’t a subject he cared to discuss with anyone, even with a friend as close as Lucyler. But Lucyler’s eyebrows rose, and Richius knew he couldn’t avoid the turn their conversation was about to take.

“That surprises me,” said Lucyler. “Only you see the messages your father sends you. The men can only imagine what he writes.”

“My father is a man of few words. If you’d read the messages he’s sent me, you wouldn’t think me in possession of great secrets. The king tells me precious little, and what I think matters I share with you.”

“But it all matters. How can I help you if I do not know what is happening? If I am to continue with you here I must know everything. I demand it.”

Richius knew Lucyler was neither bluffing nor lying. He would hear everything, or he would leave them. And without Lucyler’s guidance, the loss of the Dring Valley was certain.

“So,” said Richius dully. “You would leave us here to deal with the Wolf ourselves, huh?”

“I would.”

“What can I tell you that you don’t know already? That the war is lost? Perhaps my father will still send us more troops, but I don’t think so. He’s never taken so long in sending us word. My guess is that he’s decided to end it.”

“I had feared as much,” said Lucyler. “But can your father really decide the war for himself? What of the emperor?”

“Arkus and my father have never been friends. You said it yourself. If it weren’t for the emperor, my father wouldn’t have sent us here at all. Only Talistan sent troops here willingly, and that’s only because the House of Gayle is the emperor’s boot rag.” Richius shook his head. “My father wanted to keep Aramoor out of this war.”

“But you are already here. Why would your father forsake you?”

“Because he still believes Aramoor is his to rule,” said Richius. “He only let Aramoor become part of the Empire to save his people from a war with Nar.” He sighed, seeing the bitter irony of his father’s predicament. “And then the emperor thrust this war on him. God, we are lost.”

“Perhaps,” Lucyler said. “But we should not lose hope. Not yet. Patwin has still to return. Maybe we are wrong about your father. Maybe Patwin will bring us good news.”

“You’re more hopeful than you should be, my friend. I know my father has already sent more troops here than he ever intended to. He won’t recall us. Even he knows the emperor would crush Aramoor if he did. But he may think that Arkus will spare Aramoor if he simply lets the war be lost.”

“But his own son …”

“It doesn’t matter,” Richius snapped. “Even I don’t expect him to risk more lives for my sake. Scores of us have died already, maybe more. For all we hear, the fights in Tatterak and the Sheaze have already cost Aramoor hundreds of men. I know my father. He’s just foolish enough to stand against the emperor. He’s going to end it here, and we will all be trapped.”

Richius caught himself then, seeing his own black mood settle over Lucyler. For months he had done his best to keep his true beliefs from his men, and now he was droning on about how little chance they had of victory. He cursed himself, sure that Lucyler’s mind was mulling over the consequences. Even if they should lose, he and Dinadin and all the others could still return home. But Lucyler was home already, and would have to live
with whatever government Tharn and his Drol revolutionaries imposed on Lucel-Lor. The weight of that knowledge must be heavy indeed.

“Then you should go,” said Lucyler. “Listen to Dinadin. Do not let yourself be trapped here. Just leave.”

“I can’t do that,” said Richius. “I wish I could, but it’s impossible. If we retreat, the emperor will kill us as surely as the Drol would. And then he would take Aramoor away from us, maybe even give it to the Gayles to rule. Dinadin is too blind to see the politics of things. But I’m sorry for you, my friend. If we lose we’ll just be dead. But it’s your country that will really suffer.”

Lucyler smiled sadly. “I have already lost, Richius. You and I are not so different. You are here to serve an emperor you hate. I am here to serve my Daegog.”

“Who you hate?”

“Not hate exactly. But it is hard to ignore what Tharn and his followers say about the Daegog. I lived in Falindar, remember. We were less than perfect. There were excesses. And the Daegog can be very cruel. They say he was merciless when he tortured Tharn, and I believe it. He knows your emperor means us no good. He simply does not care. Just as Arkus wants something from Lucel-Lor, so too does the Daegog want something from Nar, something more than protection from the Drol.”

“What?”

“Weapons, perhaps. The warlords have followed him only because he has the title. But he is weak, and he knows his time would end soon even without Tharn to hurry it. I have no doubt he would risk our lives to get the power he wants. And your emperor was very obliging.”

“They’re both bastards,” said Richius. “Power mad. But how can you follow him?”

“Why do you obey your emperor?” Lucyler countered.

“Because I must. Aramoor would be crushed if I didn’t.”

“It is like that for me, too. I know what I have in the Daegog. I lived well in Falindar. Maybe too well, but it was a fine life. I do not know what Tharn and his Drol would bring to Lucel-Lor, but I am certain it would be worse. The time for Tharn’s dead religion is past.”

“It sounds like you’d just be trading one despot for another,” said Richius.

“Maybe. But it is what I am. My father served the Daegog, and his father before him. I am sworn to the Daegog. I cannot explain the oath, but it defines me.”

Richius sighed. “Then we are both doomed. If, as you say, Tharn is gaining ground in Tatterak …”

“They claim so, but it may only be a rumor.”

Richius frowned. Rumors were the bane of all military men. Somehow he had to find out what was really going on.

“We’re blind here,” he said bitterly. “This war could end tomorrow and it would be a week before we would even hear about it. We have to get the truth.”

Lucyler raised his eyebrows at Richius and smiled. “Like Dinadin said, it is only a two-day ride to Ackle-Nye.”