The Baker's Boy (63 page)

Baralis had, in
turn, commissioned a likeness of Kylock. The only liberty the artist had taken
with Kylock's portrait was to paint a smile upon his face. From the subsequent
letter he had received from the duke, it appeared that Catherine had found him
most attractive.

He decided he
would write to the duke that day, assuring him that the betrothal would be
finalized within the month. He would send the missive by fast rider; even then
it would be three weeks before it was delivered.

He was disturbed
from his calculations by the arrival of Crope. "What do you want, you
dithering fool?"

"You are
feeling better, master?"

"I have no
time to exchange pleasantries with you, Crope. I have more important things to
do. Now speak up and be gone."

"I have been
to the tavern in town and I talked to some mercenaries there. They said they
would see the color of your money before they agreed to anything."

"Yes, yes, I
would expect no less from their kind. I will meet them tomorrow near the
entrance of the haven. Arrange it."

"Yes, my
lord. There is one other thing."

"What?"

"You asked me
to find out about. . ." Crope paused, looking for the right word.

"About the
latest slut that Maybor is sleeping with." Baralis supplied it for him.
"Go on."

"Well, I
followed him to the garden and I saw him talking to a lady."

"Hm, if I
know Maybor's taste you are being a little generous in your description."

Baralis' humor was
lost on Crope. "Well," he paused to think, "the lady agreed to
be waiting in Lord Maybor's chambers at nightfall."

"Tonight?"
Crope nodded. "Are you sure?" Crope nodded again. "Who is this
woman?"

"Her name is
Lilly. She is chambermaid to Lady Hel. . ." Crope struggled with the
pronunciation.

"Lady
Helliarna. I know the chambermaid you mean. The little vixen has given me the
eye on more than one occasion." Baralis stood and thought for a while.
Maybor needed to be taught a lesson for daring to draw a blade in his presence.
In his experience the best lessons were visual ones. "Now think carefully,
Crope, before you answer: did Lord Maybor say he would be waiting for her in
his chamber?"

"No, my lord.
Maybor told her to be waiting for him."

"Very well.
Now this is what I want you to do. You know how to get to Maybor's chamber
using the passageway, don't you?"

"Yes, my
lord."

"Good. I want
you to be there when the girl enters. Check carefully that Maybor is not
around. . ."

Tavalisk murmured
the appropriate words and made the expected gestures-he was blessing the sea of
Rorn. Each year a bowl of seawater was drawn from the bay. It was then carried
with great ceremony to the archbishop's palace where the water was blessed.
This allowed the sacred spirit to infuse the water, enriching and sanctifying.
The blessed water was then returned to the sea, where a chosen man emptied the contents
of the bowl back into the dark waters.

The ritual of
blessing the sea water had been practiced in Rorn for centuries. It was
believed that the blessed water spread throughout the sea, bringing bountiful
fish harvests and calm waters. Tavalisk rather doubted the effectiveness of the
ceremony, but in his capacity as archbishop he was expected to perform the long
list of religious rituals that the people of Rorn required.

He knew he was a
lucky man. Since he had become archbishop, Rorn had experienced a great period
of prosperity. The various troubles in the world, such as the plague in Marls
and the Silbur running bad, had actually benefited the city, increasing trade
and commerce. A man who wanted his money safe for the future was advised to
invest that money in Rorn: it was the most stable and prosperous city in the
south-a financial haven for the wealthy.

Naturally, he as
archbishop had gained much of the praise for Rorn's prosperity. It was he who
blessed the waters, he who blessed the merchant fleets, he who blessed
everything from the money-lenders to the fish-gutters.

The people loved
him; their gratitude knew no bounds. There was one tradition of which Tavalisk
was particularly fond. If a trader or shopkeeper or merchant had a good year,
besides paying the usual taxes and levies, they were expected to give hefty
donations to the church. These donations were called the Archbishop's Purse and
that was exactly where they ended up. The irony was that the people, while
constantly complaining about taxes, were always happy to donate to the
Archbishop's Purse. They felt it would bring them good luck and good business
the following year.

Having finished
blessing the water, he bowed to the attending priests and took his leave. He
was anxious to return to his private chambers. He intended to spend some time
studying the exact wording of Marod's prophecy.

On his way,
Tavalisk walked through high-ceilinged corridors, lined with marble carvings of
cherubs. He was admiring their beauty when he heard the sound of humble
footsteps behind him.

"Gamil, is
there nowhere I can hide from your disagreeable gaze."

"I am sorry
to interrupt Your Eminence." Gamil had to hurry to keep up with the pace
set by the archbishop.

"So, what
news have you to bring me today?"

"Marls has
banned the knights."

"Are they
actively expelling them yet?" Rorn was currently expelling Knights of
Valdis from the city. A reward of five silver pieces was given to anyone who
informed the authorities of a knight's whereabouts. Mayhem had resulted as half
of the city tried to inform on the other half. There was one particular
practice that had made Tavalisk smile-unfortunate foreigners were hit over the
head and knocked out, they were then branded with the mark of Valdis and taken
to the authorities. Five pieces of silver was quite an incentive to the
ingenious citizens of Rorn. Tavalisk cared little about these practices; the
more knights expelled, genuine or otherwise, the more angry Valdis would be.

"No, Your
Eminence, they have stopped them from entering the city, but expulsion has not
begun yet."

"What of
Toolay?"

"Toolay
teeters on the brink."

"Toolay was
ever a gutless city. Is there news of Camlee?"

"Camlee will
be slow to act, Your Eminence. They may not take action at all; they live in
the shadow of Valdis."

"I do not
think Valdis casts as long a shadow as it once did, Gamil."

"You are
right, Your Eminence. Valdis is not as powerful as it once was, but we would be
unwise to underestimate it."

"Gamil, I
make it my business never to underestimate anyone. I need no lessons in
strategy from you." Tavalisk's thoughts kept returning to Marod's
prophecy. What role the knights had to play in its fulfillment was unclear, but
now more than ever it seemed that to expel them was the right thing to do.

Three dangerous
men had their eyes on the territory and wealth of others: the duke of Bren was
desperate for extra land; his population had grown twofold over the last
decade, and his people needed farmland and pastures. He thought that by making
Bren larger, he could name it a kingdom. Annis and Highwall, not to mention
Ness and the Four Kingdoms, watched the duke's expansion with growing unease.

Not that the Four
Kingdoms would have to worry much longer. They would soon be firmly allied with
Bren. Baralis had seen to that. He was the second man, the son of a farmer from
Leis€. Desire for power had made him king's chancellor, ambition made him want
more. Sorcery and intrigue were his weapons-Tavalisk was only just beginning to
guess at his strategies.

And lastly there
was Tyren, head of the Knights of Valdis. Greed was his main vice. He was a
shrewd profiteer, tying up trade routes in the north while managing to win the
friendship of powerful people. Cities in the colder climes were easily fooled
by a fleeting show of piety. Tyren's tactics had proven less successful in the
south. He'd tried to gain a foothold in valuable commodities like silk and
spices only to find himself rebuffed. The merchants of Rorn and Marls were wary
of the knights. They'd heard all the rumors of corruption and intrigue, which
the archbishop had so conscientiously propagated.

The Known Lands
were becoming dangerously unstable. There was trouble ahead, and trade and
ambition were at its core. Or money and power, if one were to name the motives
plainly. Tavalisk smiled sweetly. "Ah, Gamil, there is nothing more
exciting than the thrill of intrigue."

"Your
Eminence's tactical skills are greatly admired."

"Indeed they
are, Gamil. Who knows, the coming months may spread their fame even further."
The archbishop was beginning to feel rather cheerful. He was looking forward to
pitting his wits against the men of the north. He would prove more than a match
for them!

"Any news
about our knight?"

"He left
Toolay some days back, Your Eminence. He and the boy have mounts now. They are
still heading north."

"After he
arrives in Ness, I would have him followed more carefully. Bevlin lurks not far
from Ness. If our knight visits him I want to know about it."

"As Your
Eminence wishes."

They arrived at
the archbishop's chambers. Tavalisk opened the door but prevented Gamil from
following him in. "You are excused now, Gamil."

"But Your
Eminence there are more matters to discuss."

"Bore me with
them another day, Gamil. I am about to eat and I intend to do so alone. If you
want to make yourself useful, go back to the chapel. I think I left my gloves
there." Tavalisk watched as his aide began to walk the long distance back
to the chapel. Once he was out of sight, he pulled his gloves from beneath his
belt and closed and locked the door.

Tawl had been
giving a great deal of thought to the archbishop of Rorn of late. Why would
such a powerful man have bothered to imprison and torture him? He was a knight,
that was true. But why him? There were many other knights in Rorn: ones who
monitored incoming ships for illegal trade, a few who acted as envoys and
couriers, and some just passing through. So why choose to jail him? He had not
been involved in any political intrigues, he was no spy, so why had he been
followed? Tawl sighed deeply. And why was he still being followed?

He had noticed
many times since leaving Rorn that he was being watched. He and the boy would
ride through a village, and no matter how small, Tawl felt there was always
someone amongst the villagers who was making note of their passing. In Toolay
he had the distinct impression he had been followed once he'd arrived in the
city.

"Tell
me," he asked the boy, "what do you know about the archbishop of
Rorn?"

"He's a
slippery one and that's the truth." The boy wiped his nose in way of
illustration. "Course he's well liked in the city. Everyone says that Rorn
has never been richer since he came to office."

"What did he
do before becoming archbishop?"

"That's a bit
of a mystery by all accounts. Apparently he didn't go the normal route, you
know, priesting and the like. He just sort of popped up overnight and took
power. I don't know too much about it. After all, it happened before my
time." The boy steered his pony around a group of rocks; his riding was improving.
"I can tell you that he is rich beyond belief. Me and my friend slipped
into his house once, near the place you delivered the first of those letters,
d'you remember?" Tawl nodded.

"Well, we
were doing a bit of staking out ... I wasn't always a 'pocket; I used to work
for a man who robbed houses. I'd go in first and make sure they had stuff worth
robbing. Anyway, I slipped into this place, nice building, nothing that
special. Once I was inside I couldn't believe my eyes: rooms packed with gold,
silver, diamonds, and emeralds. Treasure, too-paintings, carved boxes, jewelry,
tapestries, anything you could think of, piled to the rafters. It was one big
warehouse full of loot."

"There's no
need to tell you I was pretty excited. I sneaked out and gave my friend the
nod. He was all set to do the robbing when a man arrives carried in one of
those fancy litters. As soon as he stepped out into the street we could see it
was the archbishop, there's no mistaking his chubby profile. Well, he let
himself into the very place we were about to rob."

"As soon as
my man realized whose place it was he backed off the job. No one wants to mess
around with the archbishop."

"So you think
all the loot belonged to him?"

"I don't
think it belonged to the litter carrier!" Nabber grinned knowingly.
"Of course it was the archbishop's booty. He's been skimming the cream
from Rorn since before I was bom."

"Surely he
has little need for money in the future. An archbishop is appointed for
life." Tawl was trying to remember his history lessons.

"That's never
stopped the people from getting rid of anyone they don't like. The people of
Rorn are well known for their violent streak. They've run archbishops out of
town before now, not to mention beheading their fair share."

"It seems to
me that the archbishop is a vindictive man." Tawl thought of the old man
kicking the sand beneath his feet. Sand where once had been a lake.

"You speak
the truth there, Tawl. I heard that he had one of his servants and her family
beaten to death just because the woman went around telling her friends that the
archbishop was a glutton."

"So the
archbishop has ways of finding out what is being said about him in the
city?"

"Don't you
know anything about Rorn?" Nabber tutted scornfully. "The city is
crawling with Tavalisk's spies. They say if you're not spying for the
archbishop, then you're being spied upon by the archbishop."