The Jackal of Nar Read Online Free Page A

sureness they trampled over the loose earth of the graves, and where unburied bodies lay supine, the chargers simply jumped over them. Soon the two teams were galloping past the trenches, hurrying across the battlefield toward the Drol.
    Richius had fought from horseback before. He knew the power a man could will into a weapon from the back of a speeding steed. The Drol, however, seemed stunned by the attack. Despite their numbers, the warriors of the valley were helpless beside the horses. They had come out into the open. And the beasts they faced were bred for war. They showed none of the respect for people that their parade-ground brethren felt. Unless the tug of a rein came to stop it, a warhorse paid little attention to the barrier posed by a living being. Within moments dozens of the warriors were crushed beneath hooves.
    From atop their armored mounts, where the white heads of the Drol floated at the level of their waists, the horsemen lowered their weapons. Jiiktars collided with broadswords and bare fists with armor, and Richius watched it all with a feeling of utter impotence.He longed to run out of the trench, to join in the bloodletting and his own liberation. But as Dinadin and the others eyed him hopefully, he barked only one command. “Hold your position!”
    A single horseman rode toward the trench. He was grander than the rest, his warhorse gilded with silver, his demon-faced helmet polished and bejeweled. Upon his breastplate pranced an embossed horse of gold, and at his side dangled an unblemished blade. Lucyler pointed his chin at the rider as he drew near.
    “Richius, is that Gayle?”
    Richius straightened. “It is.”
    The rider stopped his horse just shy of the trench. He raised the visor of his helmet and looked down into the trench and the men there watching him. Finally, his black beard parted.
    “Vantran?”
    Richius raised a filthy hand. “Here.”
    Blackwood Gayle laughed. “The valley has been hard on you, Vantran. I scarcely recognized you.”
    Richius forced a smile. “You were easy to recognize, Baron.”
    “How many gogs are there?”
    “As many as you see and more,” answered Richius. “Voris has been pushing us hard.”
    “Indeed. Well, we’re here now, Vantran. We’ll take care of them for you.” He lowered his helmet and began to turn his horse back to the battle, calling over his shoulder, “Clear that forward trench, why don’t you?”
    Richius cringed in hot anger. He wanted to yell back at Gayle, to hurl an obscenity at him, but he only swore under his breath. To his surprise, he heard Dinadin cursing with him.
    “What scum,” Dinadin hissed. “He can’t talk to you that way, Richius.”
    “He doesn’t care who we are, Dinadin, you know that. We’re Aramoor and he’s Talistan, and that’s all he sees when he looks at us.”
    “What now?” asked Lucyler carefully.
    Richius tightened his hand around his sword and sighed. “Now we clear the forward trench.”

CHAPTER TWO
    I t was his father who had taught Richius the value of trenches in warfare. The older Vantran, a veteran of numerous battles, had used the ditches and catacombs in his war against Talistan. Though not impregnable, a trench was like a fortress to the men inside it. With a wall of archers on its deck, a trench was difficult to reach and nearly impossible to overrun. They had kept Richius’ company alive during countless Drol raids. Until now, the Drol had never breached them.
    The job of clearing the forward trench had been sickening. Refusing to flee or surrender, the Drol who had seized it had chosen to fight, leaving Richius with one dismal option—to go into the ditch after them. So, with shield and sword in hand, he led a brigade into the trench. And the Drol were summarily slaughtered.
    The sun was high overhead when the gruesome work was finally finished. Slick with Triin gore, Richius emerged from the trench in a stupor. The field, once teeming with men and wolves and horses, was