Master and Fool (34 page)

There is no
window, but there is am arrow loop that is shaped like a cross. If she stands
upon her toes and presses her body to the stone, she can snatch a view of the
stars from the might. The stone is cold against her belly, though--cold and hard
and damp. And her legs and feet ache if she stands too long.

She doesn't spend
much time looking out.

They do not give
her candles at might, so she feels her way to the bench in the dark. Strange,
but she has never noticed before just how warm wood cam be. Compared to stone
it is a living, breathing thing. The wood of the bench is her only comfort, and
she wraps her arms around it as if it were a friend.

There are no
blankets, so she curls herself up into a ball.

Jack urged Barley
up to the top of the rise. It was a severe slope and the horse took its time,
choosing its steps carefully, like a young boy at his first dance.

The air changed on
the way up. It became cooler, faster, fresher, and it began to taste of salt.
Barley took the last stretch with growing confidence and Jack eased up on the
reins. He even sat back a little on the saddle.

Nothing prepared
him for what he saw at the top. Barley scrambled onto the flat ground and Jack
looked out at something he'd never seen before in his life: the ocean.

Dark and
sparkling, impossibly wide, it stretched out into the territory where the earth
met the sky. Above Jack's head seagulls turned and circled, calling and diving,
white specks amidst the blue. The air smelled of so many things that were new
and unfamiliar. So salty he could taste it, so complex he could never hope to
name the parts. Jack's breath was literally taken away and replaced with
tidings from the ocean. Caught up in a tangle of emotions and sensations, Jack
felt like he'd come home.

They had been
traveling for several weeks now. Southeast at first and later just south.
They'd skirted around the shores of Lake Herry and crossed the northeastern
plains. Meeting up with the mountains in the east, they had followed them down
as far as Ness. Two days they spent in the busy farming city. Nabber had enough
money in his pack to exchange their horses for better ones, and Tawl had gone
missing for the day. Later, when he joined up with them he had a beautifully
crafted longbow strapped to his back and a red-haired girl waving him good-bye
from the crowd.

Tawl refused to
speak about his absence, but later Nabber told Jack that the girl in the crowd
had once tried to seduce Tawl, and that Tawl had felt bad about it since.
Tawl's mood certainly seemed better after that day, and Nabber wisely concluded
that Tawl must have stopped by to apologize. Either that, or
he
had
seduced
her
this time.

They spent the
next weeks following the mountains farther south, and just today they crossed
over to the coast. Tawl said they would be in Toolay by this time tomorrow.

The weather had
been with them all the way. Late summer curved into autumn and trees changed
their wares from green to gold. The rain, when it fell, was light and warm, and
the wind only blew after dark. They made good time up until Nabber was shot in
the arm.

It was a shock to
all of them. In a way they had grown used to the shadowy presence who was
constantly at their backs. Over the past three weeks other arrows had been
shot. Expertly aimed, they skimmed breath-close but never hit. Jack had
gradually begun to relax-even Tawl had let down his guard. And then five days
back an arrow was aimed straight at Nabber's chest. No one had got much sleep
since then. Nabber's bone had been chipped and his arm was now resting in a
sling. The boy didn't seem too upset by the incident, saying that at least it
wasn't his pocketing arm.

Even though things
had been quiet since the shooting, Jack suspected they wouldn't remain so for
long. Someone was playing a game with them, and if Nabber hadn't suddenly
swiveled around to catch an escaping frog, it would have been a deadly one. The
arrow had been meant to kill him. It hit the exact spot where, less than a
tenth of a second earlier, Nabber's heart had been beating.

Tawl was on his
guard day and night. They all were. The problem was that the archer never
showed himself. He had a longbow and could fire from the sort of distances that
were impossible to spot him over. And he had a definite preference for waiting
till dark. Ever since Nabber was wounded, they hadn't had a fire. They couldn't
risk one. The flames glowed through the night like a target.

Sometimes they
would catch a glimpse of him. When they crossed the plains they had spotted him
twice. He was on horseback, that much was clear, but further details were hard
to make out. At the time, Tawl had only a shortbow, and the shots he had taken
were hardly worth the nocking. Not now, though; he had a beautiful yew-wood
longbow. Curving more wickedly than a tavern-maid's hips, it promised that the
next time the archer was spotted would be his last.

"Hey! Jack!
What you doing mooning over the ocean? Come over here and have some
blackberries."

Jack spun around.
Tawl and Nabber had reached the top of the bluff ahead of him and were already
off their horses and settling down to eat Jack felt a little disorientated. He
wasn't sure how much time had elapsed between him cresting the rise and Nabber
calling out Just how long had he been sitting here, staring at the sea?

Tawl stood up and
came over to him. He patted Barley's neck and offered Jack a hand down.
"Are you all right?" he said quietly.

"I'm fine.
The ocean just" --Jack jumped from his horse--"caught me off guard. I
wasn't expecting it."

Tawl took Barley's
reins and began leading the horse toward the makeshift camp. "You've never
seen the ocean before, have you?"

"No. Harvell
is a long, long way from the sea."

"You know
that Larn lies out there in that ocean?" Jack drew in a quick breath.
"Whereabouts?"

Tawl's face looked
grim. He turned to the south and then a fraction to the east. "It's a
couple of hundred leagues over there."

Jack followed his
pointing finger. The horizon was darkening and the sea turned from blue to
black. It was about four hours past midday, but the mountains to the west were
already taking in the sun for the night. Jack suddenly felt cold. His gaze
rested far on the horizon, and it took Tawl's words to pull him back to shore:

"Jack, come
on. You need to rest."

Jack turned to
face him. The knight's eyes were clear and blue. "Do you feel it,
too?" he said.

Tawl looked down.
"There's not been a day since I went there that I haven't felt its
presence."

The two men stood
side by side and watched the ocean glisten like a jewel. The seagulls were quiet
now.

Barley broke the
spell by pulling against his reins as he sniffed out an especially fragrant
clump of grass.

Tawl surprised
Jack by calling out to Nabber: "Go and collect all the wood you can find.
This looks like a good night for a fire."

Nabber scurried
off. Jack waited for Tawl's explanation. The knight refused to meet his eyes,
and Jack guessed that he was not the only one who felt chilled to the bone.

An hour later the
fire was crackling and bright. Smoked sausages wrapped in dock leaves were warming
in the embers, and a jug full of holk sat in the flames. In addition to Tawl's
longbow, Ness had provided them with an abundant variety of food. True, all the
meat was lamb's meat and the cheese was made from ewe's milk, but up until they
reached the city they had been surviving on Nabber's highly subjective ideas of
traveling fair, and anything that wasn't sticky with honey or snow-drifted in
cinnamon was more than a welcome change.

"Blackberries,
anyone?" Nabber held out a handful of berries. When no one came forward to
take them, he rubbed his injured arm. "Last time I go collecting fresh
fruit for you lot. Risked my neck, I did. And what do I get for it?"
Nabber answered his own question. "I'll tell you what I get. Two men
looking at me as if I'm offering them poison."

Jack smiled.
Nabber was very astute when it came to sensing mood changes. He saw that he and
Tawl were quiet, counted this as unacceptable behavior, and decided to lighten
the atmosphere with a spirited burst of self-pity.

"Here. Give
me the berries," Jack said. "I'll eat them."

"What, all of
them?"

"Yes. Even
the ones with the slug trails on them."

"Slug trails!
There's no slugs been on these beauties. Why, slugs couldn't even fit on
'em."

The look of wild
indignation on Nabber's face made Jack laugh. After a moment Tawl joined in. It
was easy to feel protective toward Nabber. Even with his brusque,
I-can-look-after-myself manner, the boy could not conceal his vulnerability or
his youth. The night he was shot he hadn't cried once. And although he
had
fainted,
he held that it wasn't a girlish sick sort of faint, but rather a manly,
pain-blocking, strength-saving sort of faint.

There had been a
lot of blood. The arrowhead was wide and soft. Nabber's bone bent the metal as
it broke. As always the fletchings were crafted from red silk and human hair.
Jack didn't know what it meant, but he suspected that both Tawl and Nabber did.

Jack glanced
quickly at Tawl. The knight was measuring the length of his arrows against his
chest More than a thumb-length past his fingers, and he cut the arrow short.
"Why the fire, Tawl?"

Tawl dropped the
arrow he was shortening, then brushed his hair from his face. "Look
around, Jack. Why do you think I brought us here?"

Jack did as he was
asked. They had camped upon a small rocky cliffside. Directly ahead of them lay
the ocean, below them lay more rocks, and behind them lay the hills that they
had spent the best part of the day crossing. In all directions the view was
unhindered. The world was laid out below them, and the full moon illuminated
every bush and strand of grass.

"You're
laying a trap."

"You could
say that. if our mysterious friend tries anything tonight, I'm counting on
spotting him first."

"He's not so
mysterious, though, is he?"

Tawl sucked in his
breath. "I think I know who he is."

"A man whose
brother I killed."

"You didn't
kill him, Tawl. You beat him fair and square." It was Nabber, stepping
forward to defend his friend. "That Skaythe's just a mad devil. That's
all."

"How do you
know it's him?" Jack felt annoyed for some reason.

"The red silk
on the arrows," said Nabber. "Same color as they use in the
pits."

"And the
hair?"

"Well, I
couldn't testify to it myself, but it looks about the same color as Blayze's.
Doesn't it, Tawl?"

"Why only
tell me this now?" Jack was looking at Tawl and his voice held an
accusation.

"Because he's
not interested in you, Jack. He wants me."

"Didn't stop
him from shooting Nabber, though, did it?"

Tawl whipped
around. "What is your point?"

"My point is
that you should have told me. The danger here concerns all of us, and at the
very least you owe me the truth. I will not be treated like a child who needs
protecting. If there's trouble coming, I want to know exactly what to
expect." By the time Jack had finished speaking he was shaking.

A minute passed.
The wind picked up a little, blowing sparks from the fire toward the sea.

Tawl took a deep
breath and then spoke. "You're right, Jack. I'm sorry, I should have told
you everything the minute I guessed what was happening." He looked Jack
straight in the eye. He didn't lessen his apology by making excuses. After a
few seconds, he said, "So, how are you with a bow?"

Jack smiled,
recognizing Tawl's attempt to include him in his plan. "Not good," he
said.

Tawl had moved
over to the horses. He untied the shortbow from the back of the gelding and
handed it to Jack. "How about me giving you a few lessons while we
wait."

"Do you think
we'll have to wait Iong?"

"As long as
it takes." Tawl looked over at the hills. Nothing moved that the wind
wasn't blowing. "All night, perhaps."

Jack tested the
string on the bow. "Then you just might have time to teach me a thing or
two."

Tavalisk was in
his chamber enjoying a fine meal of slow-roasted dove, whilst he and his aide
discussed various details concerning the siege at Bren. There was nothing like
eating a bird of peace when one's tongue was busy wagging about the war. The
birds themselves were a little scrawny, of course. But the archbishop found
that nothing savored a dish better than a healthy sprinkling of whimsy.
Besides, the doves were only the start. The fatted calf was next.

"Gamil, you
slice it from shoulder to flank. Not the other way round." Tavalisk was
having his aide do the duties of his cook. "Not so thin, either, Gamil. I
want to be able to chew on the slices, not wear them as an undergarment."

"Yes, Your
Eminence."

"Now then,
have we discovered how Kylock learnt about the two thousand mercenaries
yet?" Tavalisk took a dove and broke its spine. The meat slipped off more
easily that way.

"No, Your
Eminence. But someone obviously informed him, for he not only knew their
numbers, but he also knew the exact route they would be taking to get to
Bren."

"That was
certainly some ambush. Fifteen hundred men killed! Their horses slaughtered and
their equipment flung into the lake. It was an outright disaster!"
Tavalisk was so upset that he let the dovemeat slide to the floor. He had lost
his taste for fowl. "Kylock is always one step ahead of us. If we mine a
tunnel, he knows it. If we send supplies, he steals them. If we change our
strategies, then he changes his before we've even made a move. Someone is
feeding him information, and I want to know who it is."