The Baker's Boy (68 page)

His nest egg was
on his mind more often of late. Events in the world were beginning to worry
him. The ones that he initiated were in his control and so of no concern, but
events in the north, particularly the proposed marriage between Catherine of
Bren and Kylock of the Four Kingdoms, bore heavily on his mind: it was Marod's
prophecy coming to life right before his eyes. He didn't know if anyone else
saw it. The only thing he did know was that it was up to him to prevent it from
happening. Rorn would not become a lackey to a northern empire. Tyren was after
his trade, and the duke of Bren and Baralis were far too ambitious to let an
empire rest in the north. It would all end in war.

Not that war was
necessarily a bad thing. Tavalisk rubbed his chubby hands together. If he acted
wisely, Rorn just might end up making a pretty profit out of the whole affair.

Gamil knocked on
the door and let himself in. "The reply from Lord Maybor has finally
arrived, Your Eminence." He handed over the letter to the archbishop, who
studied the seal. It was unbroken: the letter M was clearly visible in the
crimson wax. To one side of the initial was a miniature representation of a
gray swan, to the other side was a double-edged sword.

"How
appropriate," murmured Tavalisk. He broke the seal and opened the letter.
He took some time deciphering its contents: the hand it was written in was
crude and unfamiliar. Obviously Lord Maybor was no scholar, an observation
which pleased the archbishop immensely. He always preferred to deal with men a
little less clever than himself.

Gamil waited
eagerly for him to finish reading the letter. Tavalisk deliberately took longer
than necessary just to taunt him. "Pour me some wine. A little refreshment
will aid my comprehension."

"What does
Lord Maybor say, Your Eminence?" Gamil handed him a glass of wine.

"He wishes to
know my identity. He says he is very interested in an alliance against-how does
he put it?" Tavalisk read the letter. "... against a certain
black-hearted traitor known to us both.' " Tavalisk smiled. "He does
have a certain primitive way with words, don't you think, Gamil?"

"So he is in
agreement?"

"Oh, he is a
most eager man. His hate for Baralis near leaps off the page. However he is
most insistent that I name myself, though I do believe he has an inkling who I
am."

"What makes
you say that, Your Eminence?"

"He says, `Be
you lord or bishop, I am willing.' " The archbishop drank deeply of his
wine, his spirits much improved.

"So you will
name yourself to him, Your Eminence?"

"Yes, I
believe I will. You must draft a reply at once. I would discover what he knows
of Baralis' plan to wed Kylock to Catherine of Bren." Tavalisk smiled
brightly. "Lord Maybor appears to be a man who bears a heavy grudge
against Baralis. I feel sure his assistance will prove invaluable."

"I will pen a
reply this day, Your Eminence. It will be a while before we can expect a
reply."

"I am not too
concerned about the time, Gamil. Even if the betrothal goes through, Kylock
will not marry at once. He is a prince and will need a long betrothal. Besides,
even without the possibility of an alliance between Bren and the Four Kingdoms
I would still be interested in keeping a close eye on our friend Baralis. I
have met the man but once, and let me tell you, Gamil, he is a dangerous man.
He hungers for power and influence."

"I never
realized Your Eminence had met Lord Baralis." Gamil was fishing for
information.

"There are
many things you don't know, Gamil." The archbishop was not about to give
him any.

"Has Baralis
always hailed from the Four Kingdoms?"

"I will
answer no more questions, Gamil."

"If there is
nothing further, Your Eminence, I will withdraw and script a reply."

"Very well,
Gamil. I would see a copy before the letter is sent."

"If you are
revealing yourself to him, will you be using your seal?"

"Don't be a
fool. If that letter were to drop into the wrong hands and my seal was upon it
I could be placed in a most uncomfortable position. No seal. Lord Maybor
already knows who I am; he merely requires confirmation of his suspicions. Be
subtle in your description of me-name me without naming me. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, Your
Eminence."

"Very good.
By the way, Gamil, I've noticed a cooling off on Toolay's part regarding the
expulsion of knights. See to it the situation becomes more ... heated."

"As you wish,
Your Eminence. Is there anything else?"

"No, that
will be all." Tavalisk waved his hand in dismissal, enjoying Gamil's
surprise. It was best not to be too predictable; it kept one's servants on
their toes.

Maybor was once
more downwind of the middens. There was not much stench on this day, though.
The dung must have frozen solid, he thought grimly, pulling his cloak about
him.

A chance meeting
in the woods two days before had led to this assignation. After his audience
with the queen he decided to take his horse for a brief ride into the woods; he
had wanted to get away from the castle and all his humiliations. He needed to
be able to think clearly and decide upon his next moves. As providence would
have it, he met a man while he was riding, a man who could prove most useful to
him.

He had just
decided to turn back when he spied a group of men in the distance. They were
not in uniform, so he knew they were not the Royal Guard. He was about to draw
closer to investigate when he saw an unmistakable figure approach the group.
Cloaked in black, tall and striking: it was Baralis.

With growing
interest, he watched the meeting. He was a distance away and could hear no
words spoken, but he got the distinct impression Baralis was engaging their
services.

His suspicions
were confirmed when he saw Baralis throw one of their number a purse. Obviously
he was hiring yet more mercenaries.

He was about to
withdraw, his curiosity satisfied, when he noticed a movement in the bushes to
the left of the group-he was not the only one spying upon the meeting. He
waited for the gathering to break up. Baralis headed back to the castle, and
the men into the woods. He then urged his horse in the direction of the man
concealed in the bush. Upon seeing him approach the man stood his ground. He
was no fearful servant or petty poacher.

Maybor drew level
with him. "What business have you in these woods?" he demanded.

The man looked at
him insolently. "Last I heard they weren't your woods, Lord Maybor."
The man was broad and well muscled. Maybor wondered where he had seen him
before.

"Since you
know my name, I would ask yours." Maybor noticed a thick bandage around
the man's arm.

"I make no
secret of who I am. My name is Traff." He spat out a wad of snatch.

"Perhaps you
would care to tell me why you were spying on Lord Baralis?" Maybor watched
the man as he considered his reply. He felt sure the man was a mercenary-his
arrogant swagger and lack of respect were typical of their kind.

"What a man
chooses to do in his spare time is his own business."

"Even when
you choose to spy on the man who pays you?" guessed Maybor.

Traff sucked in
his cheeks, contemplating his answer. "What's it to you?"

"You appear
to be a man who is not happy with his current taskmaster."

"And if I'm
not?" Traff spoke with studied disinterest. "You could always change
masters."

The mercenary's
face remained expressionless. "There is always a risk when changing
masters."

"But the
rewards may be great." Maybor decided it was the right time to end the cat
and mouse game-he'd left the cheese in full view. It was up to the rodent to
make the next move. He pulled on the reins of his horse. "If you are
interested in talking more, meet me downwind of the middens at this hour two
days from now." He urged his horse forward and rode off.

So now he was
waiting for Traff. He knew the mercenary would come; he had seen bitterness and
loathing in the man's eyes. Maybor rubbed his hands together to keep them warm.
There had been a sound frost overnight and the pinch of it could still be felt
in the air. He was becoming decidedly impatient. Maybor was not a man used to
being kept waiting.

A few minutes
later a figure appeared from the chill mist. "You picked a fine place for
a meeting," said Traff in greeting.

Maybor shrugged.
"It has its advantages." He noticed that the mercenary was still
wearing the bandage. "What happened to your arm?" He was just making
small talk, gauging the man's temperament. However at the mention of his arm
Traff's face visibly darkened and he made no answer. Maybor realized he must
have touched upon a sensitive area.

"Tell
me," he said, changing the subject, "did you hear anything to your
advantage whilst you were in the bushes?"

"I heard some
interesting things." Traff was guarded. "Have you given any thought
to what I said about changing masters?"

"How do I
know you would make it worth my while?"

"I am the
richest man in the Four Kingdoms," said Maybor simply. "Name your
price." He could see that his offer had little effect on the man. He changed
his tack, "Land, appointments, pensions, they could all be arranged."

"There is
more than money at stake." Traff spat out his snatch and proceeded to
grind the pulp into the frozen earth with the heel of his boot. Maybor was
beginning to comprehend that Traff was not driven by greed but by another more
basic emotion ... fear.

Maybor spoke with
calm deliberation: "Baralis is a very powerful man, but he is not
invincible." He saw that his remark had sparked Traff's interest. "If
his throat is slit, he will die like any other man. I myself have drawn a blade
upon him and yet stand here to tell the tale." He conveniently pushed the
memory of Scarl's failed assassination attempt to the back of his mind.

"If you want
Baralis out of the way, I am not your man." Traff's voice was harsh and
unyielding. "I value my life too highly."

"But I'm
right in thinking you would like him out of the way?" Maybor saw from the
look on Traff's face that was exactly what the man wanted. "You and I have
similar goals, my friend. We should join forces to achieve them." There!
His proposal was out in the open. He would give Traff a chance to chew over the
matter. Such negotiations were best not rushed. "I must go now, I have
other business to attend to. If you are willing to come to some arrangement
contact me in the next few days." Maybor gave the most imperceptible of
bows. "I trust you will be discreet." He then headed off into the
castle grounds.

The meeting had
gone well. Traff was a man with little liking for his master; resentful
retainers always prove fertile ground for treachery. Of course the mercenary
was still wary of him. He would need a little more coaxing to come around, but
he would come around. Maybor was not by nature a patient man and disliked the
slow process of intrigue. Still, procuring a spy in Baralis' camp would be well
worth the wait.

When Traff came to
him next, he would begin to find out information from the man, discover exactly
what Baralis had been up to. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracksTraff was
probably one of the mercenaries who had been sent to look for Melliandra.
Maybor remembered Kedrac's words, "I think they tried to rape her. "
His blood turned cold. He stood and gazed into the depths of the swirling
mist-what kind of man would he be to deal with one who had violated his
daughter? His eyes narrowed and he saw the mist no more-it was all Baralis'
doing. The king's chancellor had brought him to this, brought him so low that
he now conspired with his daughter's rapist. Baralis must be dealt with at all
cost. Honor and family pride would have to come later.

The day was
darkening to dusk when the boy finally reappeared. Tawl was not happy; he had
been waiting for many hours in the marketplace and his presence had aroused the
suspicion of more than one of the local bailiffs. "Where have you been all
day?" he demanded.

"I've been
around, prospecting and the like." The boy shook his pack and coins
jingled within. "Not a bad day's work." He smiled broadly,
encouraging Tawl to forgive him.

"Come on,
then. It's time we took a room for the night." Tawl had no wish to walk a
great distance looking for the best inn and decided they would stay at the
first one they came across.

As it happened,
the first tavern they came to looked most comfortable-and expensive. The
innkeeper boasted to Tawl it was a place where the wealthiest of traders stayed
while they were in town. Tawl shot a quick glance at the boy and Nabber nodded
vigorously. He had obviously collected more than enough money to pay the bill.

"We will take
one of your smallest rooms for the night."

"No, I think
we'll take two," interjected the boy. Tawl gave him a questioning look.
"It's about time I had a good night's rest and the only way I can get one
is to sleep on my own. You snore like a donkey!" Nabber and the innkeeper
laughed companionably.

"We'll take
one room," insisted Tawl.

"Sir, I can
give you an extra room for your boy at only half the cost." The innkeeper
was obviously eager to make any extra money he could. Tawl could not understand
exactly what was going on, but he was sure Nabber was up to something. Both he
and the innkeeper fixed him with pleading stares.

"Very well,
two rooms, but make them small-put the boy in a cupboard if you will."

"You have
made a wise decision, sir. You and your boy will wake more refreshed in the
morning because of it." The innkeeper glowed with the knowledge of
additional profit. "And now, would you care to partake of a spot of
supper? We have boiled pheasant, pike in butter, roasted veal, and lamb, of
course." From the drop in his voice at the end it was obvious that lamb
was the cheapest item.