The Baker's Boy (16 page)

He found he had no
further appetite for the girl in his bed and he commanded her to leave. She was
a spirited wench, abundant in thigh and hip, and normally he would have enjoyed
her once more, but his daughter's flight lay heavy upon his mind and worry
blunted the edge of his desire.

He thought long on
where his daughter might be headed, and he eventually recalled his second wife
having relatives in Annis. He hoped with all his being that she was not headed
there, for the way to Annis led through the battlefields and lands of the
Halcus. The enemy would love to get their hands on his daughter: they would
rape and then tear her limb from limb. Maybor couldn't bear thinking about it,
and with shaking hands he poured himself a glass of red wine. Just before the
liquid met his tongue, he did something he had not done for over thirty years:
he sent a silent prayer to Borc, begging him to keep his daughter safe.

Tavalisk was
enjoying his breakfast. He was eating lamb's kidneys, savoring their delicate
flavor of blood and urine. Today was to be an important day for the city of
Rorn. The whole city had been given a holiday and all the people would be
crowding the streets to watch the procession. It was on this day, nearly two
thousand years ago, that the great hero Kesmont had founded the city. Legend
told that Kesmont was being pursued by his enemies and had managed to evade
them only by the swiftness of his mount. The unfortunate horse was ridden so
fast and hard that it was said to have dropped dead under the great man. The
hero was immediately filled with intense remorse and dug a deep grave for his
beloved mare. With tears in his eyes, he vowed he would build a great city on
the site of his mount's final resting place. That city he named Rorn after his
horse.

Tavalisk had
studied the life of Kesmont and thought him to be a rather foolish and
sentimental man. He had been rumored to have founded another city, this one
named after his mother. Larnentably, that city had been situated perilously
close to the Great Marshes and eventually had succumbed to the inevitable pull
of the slow mud, never to be heard of again. Yes, thought Tavalisk, Kesmont may
have been a master with the sword, but he'd been sadly lacking in common sense.

Tavalisk expertly
skewered another kidney and placed it between his full, wet lips. There was
much to do today. Not only had he to dress for and take part in the procession,
but he also had other matters to attend to. Last night he had received a very
interesting piece of information.

Gamil, his aide,
had placed a letter in his hands-a very interesting letter, indeed. Gamil
informed him that the letter had been intercepted by his spies in Bren. The
letter was from the upstart Baralis and was addressed to the duke of Bren. It
spoke of a marriage between Catherine of Bren, the duke's daughter, and Prince
Kylock. So: Baralis was seeking to ally the Four Kingdoms with Bren. This
situation would definitely warrant careful monitoring. There was nothing
Tavalisk disliked more than people making plans without his knowledge or
consent.

He pulled the
satin cord which hung conveniently close to hand, and a few moments later his aide
appeared.

"Yes, Your
Eminence."

Tavalisk made a
point of making his aide wait while he finished his last morsel of kidney.
"Gamil, I think we should keep an eye to what our cunning friend Lord
Baralis is up to." After the velvety dryness of the kidneys, Tavalisk
needed something to cleanse his palate. He poured honey into a bowl and
proceeded to dip morsels of bread into the amber liquid. "Tell our spy in
Castle Harvell to step up his vigilance."

"It will be
done."

"If I'm not
mistaken, Baralis should soon receive the note I sent him, regarding the return
of my books. They were due back several months ago." Tavalisk drank deeply
from his golden cup. "The letter's delivery will act as a timely reminder
of my presence." Tavalisk smiled sweetly as he recalled selecting the
books which had been sent. He had been careful to ensure that nothing of great
significance had reached Baralis' greedy eye. It had been a small price to pay
for the pleasure of stirring up trouble between the Four Kingdoms and Halcus. The
fact that the war had gone on longer than he anticipated was an added bonus:
interest was accruing most deliciously from war loans to the Halcus. In the
spirit of neutrality, the archbishop had of course offered a similar loan to
the Four Kingdoms. His offer had been declined: the kingdoms were too rich for
their own good. Whenever they needed money, all they had to do was cut down
another of their damned forests. Timber was a valuable commodity in the
southeast, and the kingdoms had the greatest resource in the Known Lands.
Annis, Helch, and Highwall had their share of timber, but it was mostly fir and
pine. What carpenter would choose pine when he could have walnut, oak, and ash?

Tavalisk licked
the honey from his finger; it was so much nicer than a spoon. "What has
become of our knight?"

"He was
picked up by a prostitute, Your Eminence." This statement struck Tavalisk
as amusing, and he laughed showing his small, white teeth. "Well, well. I
thought it was the prostitute who was supposed to be picked up." He looked
to his aide to appreciate his joke, but Gamil did not share it.

"What should
we do next, Your Eminence?"

"Why, nothing
of course. It is well that he has been picked up; it would have been
unfortunate for one so young to die." Tavalisk poured himself a generous
cup of wine. "Do nothing, Gamil ... save watch him like a hawk."
Tavalisk waved his arm in dismissal. "You may go now. I must dress for
today's festivities. The people will be disappointed if I do not look my
best."

"Very well,
Your Eminence."

Tavalisk watched
as Gamil walked across the room. The aide was about to open the door when he
spoke. "Oh, by the way, Gamil, there's no need for you to bother dressing
up. After last year's unfortunate incident with the horse dung, I feel it's
best if you keep out of the public eye altogether." The archbishop smiled
benignly and pretended not to notice the look of hatred on his aide's face as
he left the room.

"You mean to
tell me, Bodger, you ain't ever heard of the Glinff?" Grift had a roguish
twinkle in his eye.

Bodger leaned
forward and lowered his voice. "No, Grift, I can't say as I have."

"Oh, the
Glinff are a mighty strange people, Bodger. They live deep in the forest and
would rollick you as soon as look at you."

"You mean the
women?"

"Aye, and the
men, too. They're a powerful passionate race are the Glinff."

"I'll be
a-walkin in the woods soon then, Grift."

"You wouldn't
want to do that, Bodger. The Glinff might well give you a good rollickin', but
when you're off your guard, it's whoosh, off with your plums."

"Off with my
plums!"

"Aye, they
eat 'em for breakfast. What do you think makes 'em so randy?" Bodger gave
Grift a dubious look-he could never tell when Grift was pulling his leg. The
two men downed more ale.

"Something
mighty strange happened in the kitchens yesterday, Bodger."

"What makes
you say that, Grift?"

"Lord Baralis
himself came charging down. In a right state he was, ordered Frallit to destroy
half a morning's baking."

"That does
seem a bit odd, Grift."

"It's more
than odd, Bodger. It's sorcery, if you ask me."

"Sorcery?"

"Aye, Bodger,
the worst evil in the Known Lands."

"I thought
there was no such thing, Grift."

"More fool
you, then, Bodger. It's real all right, as real as Lady Helliarna's thighs are
wide. It was rife in Borc's time. He put an end to most of it, though,
slaughtered all he could find who used it."

"All of them,
Grift?"

"No, more's
the pity. His blade was sharp, but his wits grew soft."

"That's
blasphemy, Grift."

"Call it what
you will, Bodger. Borc failed us, and Lord Baralis running round the kitchens
ordering the destruction of perfectly fine loaves serves to show us how
badly."

"Maybe the
loaves weren't to his taste, Grift."

"No one
decent has a taste for sorcery, Bodger."

The nagging pain
in his back finally awoke Jack. He shifted his position and realized that he
had been sleeping most of the night on top of a collection of small rocks. He
rubbed his bruises as he remembered the previous night.

He and Melli had
eventually managed to find a small stream and had filled the flask with its
clear, cold water. They had decided that they would walk no further that night
and so they made a meager camp. Melli had agreed with Jack that they should not
light a fire, for fear of attracting attention-neither person daring to say who
they sought to avoid.

The night had been
moonlit and cold, and they bedded down under the stars, Melli ostentatiously
keeping a noticeable distance between Jack and herself. They had not thought to
set guard against intruders or wild animals. The two companions merely bundled
themselves up in the coarse blankets and fell asleep on the hard ground.

Weak, morning
light filtered through the trees, and Jack felt the need to be up and stretch
his legs. He also felt a more basic need and scanned around for a suitably
dense bush behind which he could relieve himself.

Quietly, to avoid
waking the sleeping form of Melli, Jack stole away from the campsite. He
decided he would gather some wood and bracken for a fire; he would surprise
Melli by making a warm porridge with the drybread and stream water.

He was some
distance from the campsite when he first heard the distant thunder of hooves.
Jack's heart began to beat quickly-he knew they came for him. He poised,
motionless for the barest instant, deciding whether to return to the campsite
and Melli, or whether to capitalize on what little head start he had and run
alone into the heart of the wood.

Jack turned back
toward the campsite and ran swiftly calling Melli's name.

Melli was awakened
by a distant rumbling. She opened her eyes and saw that Jack had gone. She
glanced over to her horse and her sack of supplies. At least he had not robbed
her. She became aware that the nagging sound was getting louder; it was
familiar to her. It was the sound of horses. She knew they were for her. They
were drawing closer and she had little time. With lightning speed, she gathered
the blankets in her sack and tied it to the back of the mount. She untethered
her horse and jumped on its back.

She had never
before ridden a horse without a saddle and she had no time for lessons. She
gripped its flank with her thighs and took up the reins, urging the creature
into a brisk canter. The riders were approaching from the north so she would
head south, into the depths of the forest.

As her horse broke
into a run, she fancied she heard her name called, but the sound was lost under
the noise of leaf and hoof, and she paid it no heed.

The men were
gaining on her. She risked a glance backward and could see their shadowy forms
looming close. Her old horse would go no faster, and so she decided to head for
the thickening trees, where it would prove harder to maneuver a group of
horses.

Her horse moved
with surprising agility if not speed in the dense trees, as if it were well
used to the wood. She listened to the approach of the riders as they crashed
through the undergrowth, calling harsh cries to one another: there sounded to
be many. She had no time for fear, only action, and she instinctively moved
deeper into the heart of the wood.

Her plan appeared
to be working, for the approach of the riders was slowed as they were forced to
ride through ever thicker trees and bushes. Melli urged her reluctant horse
onward, but the wood became so dense she was forced to slow down to a trot: the
branches of trees were low and plentiful and could easily knock her from her
horse.

Melli heard the
riders bearing down upon her and she began to realize there was little hope for
her escape. She glanced back: the head rider was visible behind her. She was
surprised to see the man was not wearing her father's colors of red and silver.
There was no time to ponder what it meant, though, as her horse had carried her
to the banks of a fastflowing stream.

"Come,
boy," she urged. "It looks not too deep." The reluctant horse
whinnied nervously. Melli leaned forward and stroked the beast's ears, fear
rising in her breast. The men were upon her. If only her horse would move
forward!

Baralis had
neither the time nor the inclination to watch his men bring in the boy and
girl. They were not blithering fools like the royal guard. They would do what
he had paid them for. Baralis was well pleased with engaging the service of the
mercenaries. A discreet trip into Harvell and eight golds apiece was all it had
taken to purchase their expertise. It had been a most reassuring experience.
One always knew where one stood with a mercenary: greed was so much simpler to
deal with than loyalty.

For now, however,
he had something much more important on his mind. He was about to have an
audience with the queen.

He dressed with
great care, donning his most splendid robe, jet black and edged with the finest
fur. Baralis himself had little interest in finery, but such display was
necessary when dealing with Arinalda-she was a woman who set great store by appearances.

Baralis absently
smoothed the soft, black fur with his twisted hands as he contemplated his
meeting. He knew he would have to proceed very carefully. He was well aware the
queen had no liking for him. He did have an interesting gift for her, though,
one she would be most anxious to receive. He stepped into his study and took
out a small glass vial. The fluid within rolled thickly like oil, catching the
light in its unctuous core. Baralis turned the vial in his hands, a trace of a
smile upon his pale lips. The contents of this bottle would greatly increase
Her Highness' willingness to listen to what he would propose.