Book Of Words - Master And Fool Part 14

Melli shook her head. "No. The boy is lost without you, Tawl. He'll just moon around until you get back. Let him go with you." There was fierce determination in her deep blue eyes.

And no end of steel in her soul. "Very well," he said. "Nabber will come with us. Now, you must promise me something." He didn't wait for her a.s.sent. "Bodger knows the secret way out of the city. When the Highwall army has settled in, I want you to send Bodger with a message, telling them who you are, whose baby you are carrying, and requesting safe haven. If they agree, I want you to leave the city straightaway and make for the Highwall camp." Tawl looked Melli directly in the eyes. "Unless you promise me this, I will not leave your side."

Melli nodded once. "Better the enemy than Baralis," she said, echoing Tawl's thoughts exactly.

"Highwall isn't the enemy," said Jack. Tawl and Melli both looked at him. "They don't want Bren for themselves, they just want to send Kylock cowering back to the kingdoms. If Melli comes to them carrying Bren's heir, then they'll welcome her with open arms. Even if they conquer the city, they know they can never rule it. They'll just be creating another empire. Putting Melli's child in its rightful place will be the only way to stabilize the north once Kylock has been beaten. Bren must have a strong, unchallenged leaders.h.i.+p if the north is ever to know peace."

Tawl and Melli exchanged glances. What Jack said was absolutely true: the northern allies did need Melli. Tawl began to feel more hopeful. Melli could easily slip under the wall and into the enemy camp. "I didn't realize you were a politician, Jack," he said.

"Neither did L"

All three of them laughed-their first that day.

Three sharp raps sounded on the trapdoor. "Let me in," came Maybor's voice. "It's as wet as a middens after a banquet out here."

Jack scooted up and drew back the door brace. Maybor made a dignified entrance into the cellar, lowering himself like an avenging angel into h.e.l.l.

"Highwall's army has just been spotted on the rise," he said. "The war begins today."

The rain stopped only when the night came. It had poured heavily all day, cleaning the slate before the start of war.

Baralis stood in a protected alcove high atop the duke's palace and looked south toward the rapidly growing encampment of the enemy. A thousand campfires flickered in the darkness, each one marking a small part of the whole. Tents and siege engines were being erected in the lee of the hill. Now, since the rain had stopped, Baralis could hear the sound of timber being sawn and bolts being hammered. The rise served to conceal their activities well, but Baralis could guess what constructions they were preparing: battering rams with roofs of hardened leather to protect troops from hot oil and fire; a.s.sault towers borne on rollers, built to match the exact height of Bren's own walls; timber galleries with iron roofs, beneath which teams of miners would begin digging tunnels under the wall. Other items such as trebuchets, catapults, and scaling ladders would be already built, brought whole and in working order across the mountains.

Baralis knew all this, but he was not afraid. The duke of Bren had spent a lifetime fortifying the city and the palace in countless minute and una.s.suming ways. The crenelations were shuttered with iron, not wood. The curtain wall was now the thickest in the north, two horses in width and splayed at the base to send dropped missiles ricocheting into the enemy. Even the gatetowers had been built anew, accommodating all the latest designs in portcullises, together with much-needed additional height. A heavy stone dropped from Bren's gatehouse would hit the ground with enough force to smash a battering ram.

The newly deceased duke had made so many modifications that Baralis had lost count of them.

At the very worst, if Highwall did succeed in breaching both the curtain wall and the inner wall, the palace would be secure. For, despite its dainty name, the duke's palace was the best protected fortress in the Known Lands. None could match its rounded towers, or its intricate network of portcullises, traps, and murder holes. Even its position, perched high above the Great Lake, was second to none. The only viable approach was to the south.

Yes, thought Baralis, bringing a crooked finger to rest against the stone, even if the city of Bren did fall, it would take an act of G.o.d to break the palace.

Food would be the biggest problem of the siege. This past week people had been flooding into the city. Farmers and freeholders brought their own grain and livestock with them, but mercenaries and opportunists traveled light. At the moment the city was well stocked with provisions, however after weeks, perhaps months, of being held captive things would begin to look very different. With no way to get supplies into the city, the bloated populace would start eating whatever they could lay their hands on: dogs, horses, rats.

Baralis shrugged. Even then, starvation wasn't really a worry. Hunger made men desperate, and desperate men won wars.

Withdrawing from the battlements, Baralis didn't pause to look back. Highwall's campsites didn't frighten him, but a certain baker's boy from Castle Harvell did. It was time to journey to Larn. Today an army had arrived. Last night an adversary had been born.

Swiftly, he traveled downward. He could always find his way in the dark. Shadowed walkways were his mistresses and unlit stairwells were his friends. Dusky corridors, galleries, and hallways ushered him through the night, and before he knew it the very palace itself had seduced him back to his chambers.

Crope was waiting, crucible in hand, fire stoked up to a blaze. He drew chair to hearth and brought silk slippers to replace leather long gone damp. Master and servant had known each other for over twenty-five years, and at times such as this there was little need of words.

Baralis slumped in his chair. He made the exact same incision, on the exact same spot, that he had done so many times before. The skin was thickened by constant scarring, but blood came quickly to the surface nonetheless.

The potion's vapors propelled him upward and his willpower pushed him ahead.

Tonight the journey was not an easy one. The overworld was troubled by unfamiliar currents. Distortions pulled at what little there was of him, spiraling him upward to meet the cold glitter of the stars. He had to fight it all the way. By he time he arrived at Larn he was weary to the very bones he'd left behind.

The four waited. They always did.

Baralis had neither time nor energy to mince words with Larn tonight. "I believe the knight has found the one he seeks. A boy named Jack-my former scribe. He has great powers at his disposal, and if Marod's prophecy is to be believed, he will soon come here to destroy you." Despite his fatigue, Baralis found much to relish in this statement. It was pleasing to see the four visibly distressed.

A discreet inner dialogue pa.s.sed between them. Finally the youngest shaped his thoughts to words. "Are you sure?" Baralis snapped back, "I am not a servant to be questioned."

"What do you want of us?" It was the eldest now, speaking to calm.

In no mood to be calmed, Baralis carried on. "I want your help in tracking the boy down." He thought a moment, then added, "And I want you to fulfill your promise about the war. You said you would help Bren's cause. What aid can you give?"

"We will set our seers to work on the boy," said the eldest, his voice edged with reprimand. "And as for the war, Baralis, your memory is woefully short. Last time we met, did we not tell you that Highwall wouldn't attack until after the wedding?"

"One prophecy does not a transaction make."

"We give you information as we receive it ourselves. For now I can tell you that Annis will not fall under Kylock's first siege, and that Highwall's army is planning to dig a mine beneath the northeast wall directly towards the palace. They will break ground tomorrow."

At last something specific he could use! Nothing was as dangerous in a siege as a well-constructed mine. Once dug, then set alight, it could collapse entire buildings. Baralis was well pleased. No one could have guessed that Highwall would try and mine straight for the palace. "Anything else?" The eldest spoke in thoughts, not words, but even so he managed a fair copy of an indignant snort. "You would have the blood of our seers if you could. There is no more. Be content with what you have." The eldest was about to speak further when he was distracted by another of the four. They exchanged their secrets, and then the eldest continued. "Today one of our seers spoke of the girl, Melliandra. Soon she will be yours." The elder lowered his tone. "Is that enough for you, Baralis?"

"Plenty."

"Then leave us. I will contact you when we know more about the boy named Jack."

Baralis didn't care to be dismissed like a disobedient squire, but he let the matter drop. He'd just heard that the one thing he wanted most would soon be his. Speeding back to his body, leaving no farewells in his wake, Baralis risked a glance toward the heavens: the broad arc of the firmament had never seemed more like a crown.

Eleven.

"No, Nabber. Keep some for the journey." Melli pushed Nabber's sack back toward him. "I can't take it all." She turned away quickly, glad of the darkness of the cellar. No one would see her eyes heavy with tears.

Everyone was being so kind, so thoughtful. Jack and Tawl were speaking in hushed voices, pausing every now and then to squeeze her hand and ask if she would be all right. She felt like she was at a funeral. And it seemed suspiciously like her own. It was early morning. As yet there was no light coming in from the cracks around the trapdoor, but there were plenty of unsettling sounds. Sounds of battle. The fast missiles were being flung against the south wall. The blasts were jarring, fierce; from time to time the entire cellar rattled and creaked. Melli's nerves were on edge. She wanted Jack and Tawl to go, to leave right now, so that she could compose herself and find some peace. The noise of battle she could bear, but the terrible guilt-laden atmosphere created by the three who were leaving was more than she could stand.

In the shadows, she wiped her eyes. Turning around, she said to Tawl, "Look, you really should go now. You've already left it far too late as it is. First light is less than an hour away. Come, get your things together." She knew she sounded angry, but the anger in her voice was the only thing that stopped it from breaking.

Tawl looked at her gently.

Melli couldn't bear it. "Tawl, I am neither an invalid nor a holy relic. Please ease my mind by leaving now." Tears welled bright despite herself. Once again she turned to the shadows.

Tawl was one step behind her. This time he didn't take her hand. This time he kissed her lips, instead. It was no holy kiss, no invalid's kiss. It was a kiss between lovers-their very first and it was pa.s.sion, not concern, that parted lips. Tawl's arms came up around her shoulders and he held her very tight. Too soon he pulled away. Cradling her chin in his large and capable hands, he said, "Swear to me that you will be here when I return."

She looked into his eyes and said nothing. "Swear it. "

Never had she seen him like this. His whole body was shaking. His grip bit into her chin. The look on his face was almost frightening. Melli realized he needed her to say the words.

"I swear it," she said. And as she spoke, Melli knew she meant it-she would keep herself safe until he returned, no matter what it took.

Hearing her words, Tawl visibly relaxed. He let her go. "Tawl, are you ready?" It was Nabber, coming up from behind. "Dawn's just around the corner, and we have to slip out of the city before it gets light."

Tawl gave Melli one final, searching look and then turned away. Grabbing hold of his pack, he said, "I'm ready, Nabber. What about you, Jack?"

Jack hadn't said much since they'd been woken two hours earlier by Highwall's predawn attack. In fact, he hadn't said much yesterday, either, and last night, when everyone else tapped into a barrel and turned the eve of their parting into a festive affair, Jack had drunk the least and was the first to go to his bed.

Melli came over and stood beside him. He must be in turmoil, she thought. Yesterday he learnt that he alone could put an end to the empire that Kylock and Baralis were creating. Melli couldn't begin to imagine what such a responsibility would feel like. She chided herself for indulging in self-pity when others, most particularly the man before her, had much more to bear than she. All she had to do was keep herself safe and give birth to a healthy baby. Jack had to end a war.

"It hardly seems like we've only been together three days," she said, smiling gently.

He nodded. "Better three than none." He caught and held her gaze, and they both knew there was nothing more to say.

Nabber coughed tactfully. "Here you go, Melli," he said, offering her his newly lightened sack. "Kept a little back, just like you said."

Melli smiled. By the time she looked up, Jack and Tawl had moved beneath the trapdoor. They were loaded down with supplies, bedrolls slung over their shoulders, packs around their waists. And weapons, so many weapons: knives slipped beneath tunics and swords hung over belts. Tawl even had a shortbow at his back.

Jack went up first, then Nabber, and last of all went Tawl. Bodger lifted the remaining supplies up to them. Grift was sitting on a pallet against the wall. He was still weak, but he was getting better. Tawl had spent much precious time this morning demonstrating to Melli how to care for his wound.

Maybor was not in the least bit sorry to see them go. He had no faith in anything they were doing, but he wasn't above encouraging them to leave anyway. Melli looked for a moment at her father. She loved him, but he was wrong about this.

Grift shouted out some last-minute advice for the journey, then everyone said good-bye. Hearing Tawl say farewell, Melli suddenly lost her composure. She scrambled over the crates, up toward the trapdoor. "Tawl," she cried, hating herself for her weakness. "Tawl!"

Tawl crouched down by the opening. He reached out for her and lifted her up with one mighty pull. "Swear you will come back," she said.

"I swear that as long as there is breath in my body and blood in my veins I will make it back to your side." It was an oath and was spoken as one.

They looked at each other for only a moment, then Tawl laid a single kiss on her forehead. Nothing else was said. Gently he lowered her into the waiting arms of Maybor. The last thing Melli saw of him was the glint of his sword as he walked across the courtyard.

"Master, there be someone here to see you."

"Tell whoever it is to go away, you dithering fool. I am far too weary to see anyone this day."

"But he's a cripple, master. He's got a stick to help him walk."

Baralis was well aware of Crope's weakness for cripples: the huge servant carried a three-legged rat on his person at all times. "Very well," he relented. "At least tell me who it is."

"He says his name is Skaythe, master. Says he's Blayze's brother."

Baralis sipped his holk. He was sitting in a comfortable, high-backed chair close to the fire. He was dressed, for no matter how weak he was, he always took care to present an appearance of strength. His journey to Lars had left him drained of all physical energy, but his mind was as active as ever. So Blayze's brother wanted to see him. Baralis motioned to Crope to bring him forth. His curiosity had been aroused.

In walked a man who was a long way from being a cripple. He had a stick, yes, and his left leg was stiff about the knee, but Blayze's brother moved like no doddering invalid.

He was confident, stood well, and had an arrogant manner about himself. He strode up to Baralis and offered his arm to be clasped.

Baralis shook him away. He had no desire to show his hands to a stranger. Skaythe sat without being invited, resting his stick against the desk. It was long and straight, with a swelling about a hand's length below the top. The swelling was ribbed, obviously for gripping, but above the knot of wood jutted a spike of polished steel. The walking stick was a barely disguised lance.

Baralis regarded the man to whom the stick belonged. He was like Blayze, yet older, smaller, harder. "Speak your business swiftly, then leave."

"My business is your business, Lord Baralis." Skaythe smiled, showing sharp, uneven teeth. He waited a moment before he explained himself, making a show of settling down in his chair. "The man who murdered Catherine also murdered my brother. You want him found. I want him found. I say we work together to achieve what neither of us can do alone."

Baralis ill-liked anyone pointing out his failings, but he bit the retort right off his tongue and swilled it down with a little sour wine. He could use this man. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"Money, information"--Skaythe shrugged-"access to your special skills."

Baralis leant forward imperceptibly. He breathed in deeply and let the air tarry in his lungs. Things were growing more interesting by the moment. Skaythe was a user of sorcery. That could prove very useful, indeed. Skirting around the subject, Baralis said, "So you want to track the knight down?"

"No one knows the city of Bren like I do. Next time you get a tip," Skaythe emphasized the word to ill.u.s.trate that he knew very well how such a tip might be procured, "you might come to me first. I won't blunder in and let everyone get away like the Royal Guard did."

Baralis arched an eyebrow. Skaythe obviously thought a lot of himself. "What if I were to tell you that the knight plans on leaving Bren and heading south?"

"Then I will head south, too." Skaythe was unruffled. Idly his hands toyed around the knot of his stick. "I know the south well enough. I ride faster than any man you care to pit me against. No one in Bren can match me with a knife, and I've yet to miss a target I set my sights upon."

This was turning into a most fortunate meeting. Skaythe was just the sort of man he needed: driven, skilled, deadly, and, most of all, expendable. Baralis decided to test the man a little. "What would you say if I told you there was another man I wanted killed? One who will be traveling with the knight."

"I would say it will cost you more than my expenses." Baralis smiled, showing teeth more deadly than Skaythe's would ever be. "Then you have a deal, my friend."

Skaythe's face betrayed no emotion. "If I am to leave the city, I will require two hundred golds minimum. I may need to change horse, give bribes, pay for intelligence, not to mention the usual traveling expenses."

"Not to mention them," agreed Baralis, nodding faintly. "I will, of course, require more the farther south you send me."

Baralis continued nodding. "Of course."

Judging from the sun, which was straining for attention behind a bank of high clouds, it was close to midday. All morning they had crawled through mud on their elbows and bellies, now they were crawling through burnt chaff. Jack smiled grimly. The mud had been a lot smoother.

They had left the city just as dawn was breaking. The Highwall army was attacking the southwestern wall, and they left to the southeast. Already the bodies had begun to pile up. The gates had obviously been closed last night, and people waiting until morning to gain entrance to Bren had been slaughtered where they stood.

Tawl insisted they hit the soft and b.l.o.o.d.y ground straightaway, else risk being picked out by a keen-eyed marksman. Nabber had taken to the mud like a leech, slithering along chin down, nose up, bedroll trailing behind him like a disobedient child. Tawl's movements were silent, efficient-he had obviously done this sort of thing before. His face was dark and easy to read; it said: Do not talk to me, do not bother me, I have my own problems to deal with.

Seeing him with Melli earlier, Jack could guess what those problems were. Tawl had to physically wrench himself away from Melli this morning. The parting had been more than difficult; it had been devastating. And the haunted look in the knight's normally light blue eyes told that although his body was here, on the burnt grainfields of rural Bren, his soul was in the city with the woman he loved.

Jack did not trouble him. So in silence the three crept through the smoking fields. Ash and burnt chaff stole into their lungs with the air, and dry and blackened stalks sc.r.a.ped against cheek and s.h.i.+n. Everything was dead: gra.s.s scorched to the pith, field mice charred to the bone, and thousands upon thousands of insects reduced to tiny filigrees-like snowdrops, only black.

Occasionally they would come across roads. There were still some people wandering their lengths, poor dazed souls who had nowhere to go now that the city had shut down for the siege.

Sometimes they caught sight of Highwall soldiers; they carried torches and were busily burning what little of the countryside was left: barns, villages, farms. It seemed to Jack that there was little difference between Kylock burning the fields and Highwall burning the buildings. Ashes from one looked pretty much like the other.

The sun managed to push past a cloud for an instant, flooding the fields with light. Jack swung round for a moment and looked back at the city. Its walls shone like hammered silver. Highwall would not find it easy to break Bren.

Jack was surprised by how near they still were. They'd been on the move for six hours now, yet they were still close to the city. Or was it that the walls were so tall and substantial that it just seemed that way?

Shrugging, Jack moved on. After a while, Tawl raised his hand. It was a sign for them to stop. More Highwall soldiers? wondered Jack. Tawl beckoned them forward, and Jack and Nabber came level with him. All three of them lay belly-flat on the ground.

"This is the last of the grain fields," hissed Tawl. "Up ahead is open country. Nothing but grazing land. It's going to be harder to keep ourselves hidden. If we spot anyone now, the chances are that they'll be mercenaries or stragglers hoping to reach Bren. If anyone asks, we're traders from Lanholt, leaving the city, yet afraid to travel west because of Highwall. I'll do the talking. Right?"

"What if we see any soldiers from the Wall?" asked Nabber.

"Up to three and we kill them. More than that and we run." Tawl looked at Jack, and Jack nodded. "Now, there's a small thicket of bushes directly ahead. I say we make it as far as there, then take a break for a while. I for one intend to pick all this cursed dry gra.s.s from my tunic and have myself a decent drink. Are you with me?"

Ten minutes later, they were sitting around a small puddle that might once have been a pond, eating honeycakes and sipping on Cravin's best brandy. Yesterday Tawl had put Nabber in charge of provisions, and the boy obviously had no liking for traditional traveling fair, for there was no drybread or drymeat on the menu, just items that were wellhoneyed or sugared or both. And cheese.

Everyone ate in silence. Nabber had produced a pair of tweezers from his pack and was pulling burnt stalks from his britches with all the finesse of a court dandy. Tawl simply took off his tunic and beat it against the nearest tree trunk. Jack hadn't begun his extraction yet. He was still trying to keep up with everything. In fact, that was what he had been doing for the past three days: just trying his best to keep up.