The Baker's Boy (59 page)

Two years into his
training as a knight, Tyren was made head of the order. The last leader,
Fallseth, had died a mysterious death, his body was found in a brothel on the
outskirts of Valdis. After the humiliation of Fallseth's death, the knights
wanted to choose someone of high moral character. Tyren was chosen.

Tawl wondered what
had happened in his absence. When he'd first set out on his quest, he was proud
to show his circles. Strangers let him into their homes on the strength of
them. They had stood for honor and bravery and faith. Now they were marks of
shame, never to be shown in the presence of others.

Pushing up his
sleeve, he brought his circles into view. He would walk back to the inn with
them on show. They were the only thing he lived for, and he would not see them
condemned on the strength of a few ugly rumors. Walking with his head high, he
felt ashamed of his doubts; the knights valued loyalty above anything else. And
considering, even for a moment, that there might be truth behind the reports of
corruption was disloyalty of the highest order.

No one challenged
Tawl as he returned to the inn, which was probably a blessing as he was eager
for a fight. It would have been an unlucky man who chose to make an issue of
his circles on this bright morning.

When he got to the
inn, Tawl was surprised to find that Nabber had actually heeded his words for
once and was waiting obediently for him. "What took you so long?" the
boy asked, but seeing the look on the knight's face, he became quiet and set
about putting his belongings into his pack.

They made their
way to the stables and picked up their mounts. When the mare was brought out
into the full daylight Tawl was well satisfied with his choice-she was lithe
and graceful. His mood lightened when he saw what Nabber would be riding. It
was a stout and bad-tempered looking pony with a coarse, sandy-colored coat. He
laughed outright when he saw the boy's indignant expression.

"I'm not
riding that sorry-looking mule."

"I assure
you, young man, that is no mule. It is a hill bred pony-a good little work
horse." The horse merchant was most offended.

"The pony
will do fine." Tawl handed the man seven gold pieces. "How much do I
owe you for the saddles and grain?"

"Two more
golds." The man was busily testing the coins he had been given. He scraped
the top of them with his knife, checking there was no base metal beneath the
gold.

Tawl knew the
merchant asked too much for the saddles, but he had no desire to bargain. He
handed over the money and took his leave.

Tawl gently patted
his horse's head, allowing the creature to become accustomed to him. Nabber
took his example and did likewise. The pony turned quickly and bit him.

"You dumb
mule." The boy rubbed his hand. "I'll get my own back." Nabber
thought for a second, obviously considering what would be a suitable punishment
for the pony.

"I know, I'll
give you a stupid name. I'll call you Smircher!"

"That doesn't
sound like such a bad name." Tawl was busy checking his harness and
saddle.

"You don't
know much, do you? A smircher is what they call people who make their living
out of searching for coins and stuff down amidst the sewage on the streets.
Ain't no worse insult in Rorn than to be called a smircher. Lowest of the low
they are."

"Well, I
quite like the name. I'm sure it will make little difference to the pony."
Tawl mounted his horse.

"What will
you be calling yours?"

"Well, you
appear to have a flair for names. What do you suggest?"

"Petal. I had
a pet rabbit once, called her Petal because she liked to eat flowers, drove the
flower-sellers up the wall."

"Petal it is,
then. Come on, Nabber, let's get a move on. I want to get a good start on the
day." As Tawl pulled on his reins, he noticed his circles were still
showing. He resisted the urge to hide them. For today at least he would defy
anyone to denounce the knights in his hearing.

Maybor stripped
out of his wet clothing and stood shivering in front of the fire while his
servant laid out new robes. He and his men had ridden hard through bad weather
and Maybor was cold and tired. He called angrily to Crandle, urging him to
hurry. He had things he must be doing.

As soon as he was
dressed he made his way through the castle. It was high time he paid Baralis a
visit; the man had toyed too long with him. He would squeeze the truth about
his daughter from his scrawny frame. He would, of course, take no chances; he
knew well the tricks Baralis had up his sleeve. No, he would not go alone. He
would not give the king's chancellor a chance to bum him to a crisp.

He knocked on the
door of Kedrac's chamber, and hearing no answer, walked straight in. His son
was abed with a wench. "You have wasted no time, Kedrac. Why, it has been
less than an hour since I took my leave." Maybor was pleased at finding
his son wenching. Some of his own prowess had obviously been passed down in the
blood.

"Father, what
do you want?" Kedrac did not seem in the slightest bit ruffled by the
interruption. His hand moved under the covers as he continued caressing the
girl.

"I have
decided to confront Baralis about your sister. He knows where she is. It is
time we found out exactly what that snake is up to. Are you with me?"
Kedrac leapt naked from the bed and rushed into his dressing room, eager to be
on his way.

While his son was
dressing, Maybor turned his attention to the girl in the bed. It was none other
than Lady Helliama's chambermaid. "What is your name, girl?" he
asked. The girl looked both embarrassed and frightened and did not answer him.
"Come, come, speak up."

"I am named
Lilly." The girl spoke in a whisper.

"Well, Lilly,
do you enjoy bedding my son?" Maybor was keeping an eye on the door lest
his son return.

"Why, yes,
sir, he has been good to me."

"Well, my
sweet Lilly, if the son is good to you, think how much better the father will
be."

Comprehension
dawned on the girl's face and her demeanor became more alluring. "Why,
sir, what are you proposing?" She spoke coquettishly, allowing the sheet
to slip artfully from her breast. She made a pretty show of reclaiming her
modesty, pulling the sheet up to her neck and blushing charmingly.

"Be at my
chamber one hour past nightfall and I will give you the details of my
proposal."

"Father,"
said Kedrac, bounding into the room, "I was thinking it would be wise to
take some men along with us." Maybor quickly turned, pretending to admire
the crossed swords on the wall. The girl slid deep beneath the covers.

"No, we will
go alone. Take your weapon."

They left the
chamber and headed up to Baralis' lair. They came to a halt by a door etched
with strange markings. Maybor rapped loudly upon it with the hilt of his sword.

After some time
the door swung open and the two men fell under Crope's shadow.

"Where is
your master? I demand to see him now." Maybor refused to be intimidated by
any servant, no matter what his size.

"You cannot
see Lord Baralis." The servant spoke like an idiot who had learned his
lines but did not understand them.

"If he is in
his chambers then I will see him."

"Lord Baralis
is unwell and cannot receive visitors."

"He will see
me!" Maybor tried to force his way past Crope, but it was like walking
into a stone wall. "Let me pass."

"Let him
pass, Crope." Baralis stood behind his servant. Maybor was shocked by his
appearance; his servant had not lied when he said his master was ill. Baralis
was white as a ghost. Kedrac moved toward the door. "No, Maybor,"
said Baralis, his voice thin and strained. "I will speak with you alone or
not at all." Kedrac looked to his father, who nodded his head. It was not
likely that Baralis could do him any damage in his present state.

Maybor had never
been in Baralis' chambers before. Like everyone else he had heard wild tales
about vials of blood, pickled brains, and skeletons, but he found none of these
things. Instead he found a well-appointed room which was discreetly and, to
Maybor's discerning eye, expensively furnished. There were deep blue handwoven
silk rugs, intricately worked tapestries from Toolay, and furniture of the
finest tropical woods.

"Can I offer
you some refreshment?" Baralis indicated that he should sit down.

"I want no
wine of yours." Maybor was beginning to feel like a fly in a spider's web.

"As you wish.
You will forgive me if I take a glass. As you can see I am not well and I find
a glass of red strengthens my blood."

"I think you
know why I am here." Things were not going the way Maybor had planned. He
felt he was allowing Baralis to take the lead.

"I'm afraid I
cannot guess, Lord Maybor."

"What have
you done with my daughter?" Maybor's voice was charged with anger.

Baralis remained
calm, pouring himself a glass of wine. "I do not know where your daughter
is."

"I have
reason to believe that mercenaries in your pay took her from Duvitt."

"Come, come
now, Lord Maybor. You know mercenaries-one week they work for one man, the next
for another. I do not deny having used the services of mercenaries. I have
matters of my own that require their particular skills, but I have neither the
time nor the inclination to hunt down your errant daughter."

"You are
lying to me, Baralis." Maybor could barely contain his rage and
frustration. His sword itched in its sheath.

"You, Lord
Maybor, are in no position to call me a liar." Baralis' voice had gained a
hard edge. "Now I would prefer it if you leave."

Maybor stood and
drew his sword. He had the satisfaction of seeing fear in Baralis' face. The
blade flashed brilliantly in the candlelight. Crope sprang forward, but Maybor
had already resheathed the sword.

"Do not make
the mistake of underestimating me, Baralis." Their eyes met. The mutual
loathing was unmistakable-it filled the space between them with the tension of
a torturer's rack. Baralis was the first to look away. Maybor held his head
high and walked from the room..

Kedrac was waiting
outside for him. "Did you find out anything about Melliandra from him,
Father?"

"No, but I
discovered something more useful." Maybor slowly rubbed his chin with his
hand.

"What is
that?"

"Baralis is
human; he can be scared by the edge of a blade just like any man." His son
was unimpressed by this pronouncement, but he knew its true worth. Ever since
the incident with the assassin, Maybor had feared that Baralis had supernatural
powers, yet today he had tested them and none had been forthcoming. He had not
been smitten down by a bolt of lightning nor blasted into purgatory. Maybor
walked back to his room with a light step, suddenly more confident about the
future.

It took Melli many
hours before she reached the eastern road. She had dragged Jack through the
forest in the driving rain. They were both soaked to the skin; she had lost her
shawl and was chilled to the bone. Her arm had ceased to cause her pain some
time back, now it just felt numb and strangely heavy. She had broken the arrow
shaft from Jack's shoulder, but could not face the thought of removing the
head. Instead she had pressed hard against the wound for some time until the
bleeding had stopped. Unfortunately as soon as he began to walk again, the
wound began to bleed once more, and the longer they walked the worse it became.
Her own wound seemed quite clean. She could clearly see the outline of the
arrowhead in her arm. It was lodged in muscle just beneath the skin. Her ear
stung and had bled a little, but no real damage had been done.

Melli was bitterly
disappointed when the road came into sight; there was no clearing of forest
which usually marked the presence of farms or cottages. She had no way of
knowing how far along from town and castle they were, and decided to continue
heading east. She did not bother to leave the road for cover, for it would be
some time before Baralis could get together more men to replace the ones he'd
lost. As for her father's men, let them come if they would-she had almost forgotten
the reason she'd run away in the first place.

Jack had still not
spoken a word. Melli supposed he was in some kind of shock. She was worried
about him and anxious that he get help. It was his need for care that kept her
strong. She could not recall a single time in her whole life when someone had
needed her help before. She had always been the weak one, the one who was
protected and cared for. She found she liked her new role and was determined
not to let Jack down.

After a time,
Melli spotted a dirt track leading from the road. She followed the path, which
led to a small but wellmaintained farmhouse. She decided it was best if she
approached on her own and guided Jack behind some bushes, where she bid him sit
and wait. She could not tell if he heard her, but he made no effort to move.
Melli straightened her hair and dress as best she could, wishing the wind had
not taken her shawl, for it would have served to hide the wound on her arm.
Satisfied she could do no more for her appearance, she headed toward the
farmhouse.

Melli could tell
by the smell in the air that it was a pig farm. There were many such farms
around the castle: Harvell liked its pork. Local custom held that it was
unlucky for a farmer to have a door at the front of the house, so Melli made
for the side of the building. She banged loudly on the door and stood shivering
while she waited for an answer. An old woman opened the door. "What d'you
want?" she demanded in a voice surprisingly strong for one so old.
"If you're a-beggin', I'll tell you now, you'll get nothin' from me. Be
off with you."