The Baker's Boy (4 page)

The stranger
looked a little saddle weary to the wiseman, but then that was to be expected;
after all, Bevlin lived in a very remote spot-two days ride from the nearest
village, and even then the village was no more than three farms and a middens.

"Welcome,
stranger. I wish you joy of the night; come share my food and hearth." Bevlin
smiled: the young man was surprised to find himself expected, but he covered it
well.

"Thank you,
sir. Is this the home of the wiseman Bevlin?" The stranger's voice was
deep and pleasant, a trace of country accent went unconcealed.

"I am Bevlin,
wiseman is not for me to say."

"I am Tawl,
Knight of Valdis." He bowed with grace. Bevlin knew all about bowing; he
had stayed at the greatest courts in the Known Lands, bowed to the greatest
leaders. The young man's bow was an act of newly learned beauty. "A knight
of Valdis! I might have guessed it. But why have I been sent a mere novice? I
expected someone older." Bevlin was well aware that he had insulted the
young man, but he did so without malice, to test the temper and bearing of his
visitor. He was not disappointed with the young man's reply: "I expected
someone younger, sir," he said, smiling gently, "but I will not hold
your old age against you."

"Well spoken,
young man. You must call me Bevlinall this `sir' nonsense makes me a little
nervous. Come, let us feast first and talk later. Tell me, would you prefer
saltroasted beef or a nice greased duck?"

"I think I
would prefer the beef, sir, er, Bevlin."

"Excellent,"
replied Bevlin, moving into the kitchen. "I think I'll have the duck
myself!"

"Here, drink
some of this lacus. It will calm the rage in your belly." The wiseman
poured a silvery liquid into a cup, and offered it to his companion. They had
eaten and supped in silence-the knight had resisted Bevlin's attempts to draw
him into casual conversation. Bevlin was willing to overlook the young man's
reticence, as it could conceivably be due to gut sickness. Looking decidedly
pale and sickly, the knight tasted the proffered drink. He drank reluctantly at
first, but as the liquid found favor on his tongue, he drained the cup empty.
Like so many men, in so many ages, he held his cup out for more.

"What in
creation is this stuff? It tastes like-like nothing I've ever had before."

"Oh, it's
quite common in some parts of the world, I assure you. It's made by gently
squeezing the lining of a goat's stomach." The visitor's face was a blank,
and so Bevlin elaborated. "Surely you have heard of the nomads who roam
the great plains?" Tawl nodded. "Well, the plains goats are the
tribes' livelihood; they provide the nomads with milk and coarse wool, and when
they are killed, they provide meat and this rather unusual liquid. It's a rare
goat that favors the plain. A most useful creature to have around, don't you
agree?" The young man nodded reluctantly, but Bevlin could see he was
already beginning to feel much better.

"The most
interesting thing about the lacus is that served cold it cures ailments of the
belly and-how should I put it-the, er, private parts. When the lacus is warmed,
however, it changes its nature and provides relief from pain of the joints and
the head. I have even heard said that when condensed and applied as a paste to
wounds, it can quicken healing and stave off infection."

Bevlin was feeling
a little guilty. He realized the addled beef was responsible for his visitor's
illness, and decided that before the young man left he would make amends by
giving Tawl his last remaining skin of lacus.

"Is the lacus
more than the sum of its ingredients?"

The knight had
keen perception. Bevlin revised his opinion of him. "One might say there
is an added element that owes nothing to the goat."

"Sorcery."

Bevlin smiled.
"You are most forthright. All too often these days people are afraid of
naming the unseen. Call it what you like, it makes no difference, it won't lessen
its retreat."

"But there
are still those who . . ."

"Yes, there
are those who still practice." The wiseman stood up. "Most think it
would be better if they didn't."

"What do you
think?" asked the knight.

"I think that
like many things-like the stars in the heavens, like the storms in the sky-it
is misunderstood, and people usually fear what they can't comprehend."
Bevlin felt he'd said enough. He had no desire to satisfy the youthful
curiosity of the knight. If Tawl was to find anything out, let it be through
experience-he was too old to play teacher. Guiding the conversation around to
its former topic, the wiseman said, "I think maybe you should sleep for
now. You are weak and need to rest. We will talk in the morning."

The knight
recognized the dismissal and stood up. As he did so, Bevlin caught a glimpse of
a mark on his forearm. A branding-two circles, one within the other. The inner
circle had been newly branded: the skin was still raised and puckered. A knife
wound of some sort ran through the center of both circles. There were stitches
still holding it closed. It seemed an unusual place for an enemy's blade to
fall.

Battle scars
aside, the knight was young to have gained the middle circle. Bevlin had guessed
him to be a novice. Perhaps he should have spoken further about that which made
the lacus sing. The knight would have been keen to learn-the second circle
marked scholarship, not just skill with a blade. Still, he was offering the
knight a chance for glory-why should he offer him knowledge as well?

As soon as Melli
entered the chambers of her father, Lord Maybor, she made a beeline for his
bedroom, in which was to be found that most precious of objects: a looking
glass. This was the only glass that Melli had access to, as they were
considered too valuable for the use of children. Melli drew back the heavy red
curtains and let the light shine into the luxuriant bedchamber.

Melli considered
the chamber-all crimson and goldto be a little gaudy for her taste, and
resolved that when she had a chamber of her own one day, she would show greater
discrimination in the choosing of furnishings. She knew well that the rug she
walked on was priceless and that the looking glass she had come to use was
supposed to be the most beautiful one in the kingdom, better even than the one
possessed by the queen. Still, she was not greatly impressed by these trappings
of her father's great wealth.

Melli moved
directly in front of the minor. She was disappointed by what she saw there: her
chest was still flat as a board. She breathed in deeply, pushing her meager
chest out, trying to imagine what it would be like to have womanly breasts. She
was sure they would arrive anyday now, but whenever she stole into her father's
rooms, her image remained unchanged.

Part of Melli
longed to become a woman. Oh to be able to use her lady's name, Melliandra,
instead of the rather short and decidedly unimpressive Melli. How she hated
that name! Her older brothers would tease her mercilessly: Melli, Melli, thin
and smelly! She'd heard that rhyme a thousand times. If only her blood would
start to flow, for then she would be allowed to use her proper name ... and
then there was the court dress.

All young ladies
were given a special court dress on reaching womanhood. Wearing them, they
would be presented to the queen. Here Melli knew that she, as Lord Maybor's
daughter, would have a definite advantage. He was one of the richest men in the
Four Kingdoms and would certainly use the presentation of his daughter at court
as an opportunity to show off his wealth.

She had already
decided what her dress was to be made from: silver tissue-expensive and
exquisitely beautiful, made from combining silk with threads of purest silver.
The art of weaving such fabric had long been lost in the north, and it would
have to be specially imported from the far south. Melli knew nothing would
please her father more than spending his money on such a publicly displayable
commodity.

Becoming a woman
was not all good, though; at some point she would be forced to marry. Melli
knew well she would have little say in the matter-as a daughter, she was
considered the sole property of her father and would be used as such. When the
time came, he would trade her for whatever he deemed suitable: land, prestige,
titles, wealth, alliances ... such was the worth of women in the Four Kingdoms.

She had no great
liking for the pimply, simpering boys of the court. She'd even heard mention of
a possible match between herself and Prince Kylock; after all, they were the
same age. The very thought made her shiver; she disliked the cold and arrogant
boy. He might well be rumored to be learned beyond his years and an expert in
swordplay, but he rather scared her, and something in his handsome, dark face
raised warnings in Melli's heart.

She was about to
leave the bedchamber when she heard the sound of footsteps and then voices in
the other room. Her father! He would be most annoyed to find her here and might
even punish her. So, rather than make her presence known by leaving, she
decided to stay put until her father and his companion left. She heard the
deep, powerful voice of her father, and then another voice: rich and beguiling.
There was something familiar about the second voice. She knew she'd heard it
before....

Lord Baralis! That
was who it belonged to. Half the women at court found him fascinating, the
other half were repulsed by him.

Melli was puzzled,
for although she knew little of politics, she was aware that her father and
Baralis hated each other. She moved closer to the door to hear what they would
say. She was not an eavesdropper, she told herself, she was just curious. Lord
Baralis was speaking, his tone coolly persuasive.

"It will be a
disaster for our country if King Lesketh is allowed to make peace with the
Halcus. Word will soon spread that the king has no backbone, and we will be
overrun with enemies knocking at our door, snatching the very land from under
our feet."

There was a pause
and Melli heard the rustle of silk followed by the pouring of wine. Baralis
spoke again. "We both know the Halcus won't be content with stealing our
waterthey will set their greedy eyes upon our land. How long do you think
Halcus will keep this proposed peace?" There was a brief hush, and then
Baralis answered his own question. "They will keep the peace just long
enough for them to mass and train an army, and then, before we know it, they
will be marching right into the heart of the Four Kingdoms."

"You need not
tell me that peace at Horn Bridge would be a disaster, Baralis." Her
father's voice was ripe with contempt. "For over two hundred years, well
before any family of yours came to the Four Kingdoms, we had exclusive rights
over the River Nestor. To give up those rights in a peace agreement is a serious
miscalculation."

"Indeed,
Maybor," Lord Baralis again, his tone calming, but not without irony,
"the River Nestor is lifeblood to our farmers in the east and, if I am not
mistaken, it runs through much of your eastern holdings."

"You know
well it does, Baralis!" Melli caught the familiar sound of anger in her
father's voice. "You are well aware that if this peace goes through, it
will be my lands, and the lands set aside for my sons, that will be affected
the most. That is the only reason why you are here today." Maybor's voice
dropped ominously low. "Mistake me not, Baralis. I will be drawn no
further into your web of intrigue than I deem fitting."

There was silence
for a moment and then Lord Baralis spoke, his manner changed from moments
earlier. It was almost conciliatory: "You are not the only lord who will
suffer from peace, Maybor. Many men with eastern holdings will support
us."

There was a brief
pause, and when Baralis continued, his voice was almost a whisper. "The
most important thing to do now is to disable the king and prevent the planned
meeting with the Halcus at Horn Bridge."

This was treason.
Melli was beginning to regret listening in; her body had grown cold and she
found herself trembling. She could not bring herself to move away from the door.

"It must be
soon, Maybor," murmured Baralis, his beautiful voice edged with
insistency.

"I know that,
but must it be tomorrow?"

"Would you
risk Lesketh making peace at Horn Bridge? He is set to do so and the meeting is
only one month hence." Melli heard her father grunt in agreement.
"Tomorrow is the best chance we have; the hunting party will be small,
just the king and his favorites. You yourself can go along to avoid
suspicion."

"I can only
go ahead with this, Baralis, if I have your assurance that the king will
recover from his injuries."

"How can you
ask that, Maybor, when it will be your man who will aim and fire the
arrow?"

"Don't play
games with me, Baralis." The fury in her father's voice was unmistakable.
"Only you know what foul concoction will be on the arrowhead."

"I assure
you, Lord Maybor, that the foul concoction will do nothing more than give the
king a mild fever for a few weeks and slow down the healing of the wound. In
two months time, the king will appear to be back to normal." Melli could
detect a faint ambiguity to Lord Baralis' words. "Very well, I will send
my man to you tonight," said her father. "Be ready with the
arrow."

"One will be
enough?"

"My man is a
fine marksman, he will have need of no more. Now, I must be gone. Be discreet
when you depart, lest you be marked by prying eyes."

"Have no
fear, Maybor, no one will see me leave. One more thing, though. I suggest that
once the arrow is removed from the king's body, it should be destroyed."

"Very well, I
will see to it." Her father's voice was grim. "I wish you good day,
Baralis." Melli heard the door close and then the soft tinkle of glass as
Baralis poured himself another cup of wine.