The Baker's Boy (73 page)

As they drew
nearer, Tawl felt tension coil within him. He could not understand why this
visit was so important to him. It was true that Nabber needed help-the boy's
condition had grown worse this past day and Tawl suspected wet fever had set
in. It was more than the boy, though. He had problems of his own. He hoped that
Bevlin would be able to help him. Help erase whatever the drunk had seen in his
eyes. Tawl had been haunted by the man's words ever since: Larn! You have the
mark of Larn in your eyes.

They headed into a
sparse grouping of trees. As they rode further the woods thickened and became
dense: huge craggy oaks circled with ivy, their limbs heavy and low. Tawl knew
this place-out on the other side lay the dwelling of Bevlin. He recalled one
night five years back when he walked the same woods. He had been so vulnerable,
so desperate for a cause. Tyren had promised him glory and the need was so
strong it overwhelmed him.

A ghost of a smile
crossed Tawl's lips. His desire for glory was nothing more than an attempt to
make up for the past. For deserting his sisters and leaving them in the hands
of a man whose only interest was his next drink. He had to succeed-failure
meant that he'd abandoned his family for nothing. And that was a thought Tawl
could not live with. The quest and the third circle had become the symbols of
his success. Their attainment was the only thing that mattered. It was how he
judged himself. He was beyond redemption, but at least he could do something,
some small thing of value, that prevented his life from being in vain.

Megan's words came
to him: "It is love, not achievement, that will rid you of your demons.
" She was wrong. Love was beyond him and demons would be forever at his
back. The best he could hope for was to silence their accusations for a while.

The trees began to
thin once more and Tawl spotted a clearing ahead. He urged his horse forward
toward the break in the trees. As they emerged from the trees a small cottage
came into sight; there was a vegetable garden at the front and a fenced paddock
at the back. The roof was thatched and badly in need of repair. As the two
companions approached, the door opened and an old man dressed in disheveled
brown robes stood in the doorway. Bevlin wished them welcome.

"Come in,
come in, it is good to see you again, Tawl, and I see you have brought a friend
with you." He smiled brightly at Nabber. "You look like a man with a
hankering for greased duck."

"Greased
duck," said the boy skeptically.

"Ah, so you
have never tried it, then? Well, you are in for a rare treat. As luck would
have it, I just greased up a fresh one this morning. I had a feeling I might
have visitors." Bevlin led them in through the low doorway and into the
warm and crowded kitchen. As Tawl walked past him, the wiseman squeezed his
hand. "It's fitting that you came, Tawl. I am pleased to see you
again." He gave Tawl an inquiring look. "Are you well? You look a little
pale."

"I am fine,
Bevlin. It is the boy who has taken a fever. He is from Rorn and not used to
the cold weather." Tawl turned away from the old man; he did not welcome
the scrutiny.

"So you are
from Rorn, boy. Most interesting. And what is your name?"

"Nabber."
The boy had lost some of his natural exuberance to sickness.

"Well,
Nabber," said Bevlin, "I can see you are a little fevered, but no
matter, I expect Tawl has mentioned the lacus to you?" The boy shook his
head. "Well, the lacus will make you better; however, it may make you a
little sleepy once you've taken it. So I'm going to give you a bite to eat
first, a little broth and a slice or two of duck, and then I'll give you the
lacus. You'll be feeling as right as rain in a few days." Bevlin made
himself busy clearing scrolls from the table and dusting chairs. "Sit,
sit, it is a poor host who keeps his guests standing."

They sat at the
large wooden table. Nabber was gazing around with unabashed curiosity at the
strange array of items that crowded the shelves and every other available area
of space in the kitchen. "You've got a lot of stuff," he said
admiringly.

"Yes, I have.
I just wish I knew what they were all for." Bevlin poured some broth into
little pots and handed them both one.

"I can tell
you what that one's for." Nabber pointed to a strange-looking device on
the wall.

"Can you,
indeed? I'd be most interested in knowing." He broke a loaf into hefty
chunks and handed them round. "It's what the smirchers use to search for
coins amidst the filth of the streets. That end bit there is to grab coins
with-stops them from having to put their hands in the-" The boy caught
himself in time. "Course it doesn't work all that well and a master
smircher wouldn't be caught dead with such a thing." Nabber smiled with
the joy of one imparting knowledge.

"My dear boy,
I do believe you are right. Your visit is proving to be most valuable to
me." Bevlin brought another curious-looking implement forward. "You
wouldn't happen to know what this is, would you, boy?"

"Sorry, I
can't help you there, friend."

"That's too
bad, Nabber." The wiseman sighed. "I've been trying to figure out
what it is for years now. A man in Leiss gave it to me once. Ever been to
Leiss, boy?"

Tawl ate his meal
in silence. He had no desire to join in the conversation between the wiseman
and the boy. He kept an eye on Bevlin as he ate. Now that he had got here it
didn't seem like such a good idea to tell him about Larn and the drunken
ramblings of an old man. The wiseman did not look like someone whom he could
trust.

Bevlin caught Tawl
looking at him, and their eyes met for an instant. "Come on, Nabber,"
said Bevlin, "time to take the lacus, then off to bed." He ignored
the boy's protests and ushered him out of the room. As he closed the door, he
flashed Tawl the briefest of glances-it promised he would return soon and they
would be able to talk in confidence.

Tawl was relieved
when the door closed and he was alone. He found he did not want to talk to
Bevlin and began to wonder why he had ever thought the man could help him.

Maybor was once
more in the stables. He personally would have preferred the middens, but
apparently Traff didn't have the stomach for them. On the ground next to him
was a heavy wooden box, and in it were two hundred gold coins of standard size.
A fortune by any man's counting and one which Maybor was greatly adverse to
parting with. He was a rich man, but like most men of wealth there was a streak
of tightfistedness in him and he hated to pay for anything.

Maybor was feeling
decidedly worried about certain events at court. He'd heard from one of the
guards that the queen had called Baralis to an audience this very morning, and
he had the unsettling feeling the king's chancellor was up to no good. To
confound things further he had actually seen his own son talking to the man.
How could Kedrac possibly talk to a man who had so badly wronged his whole
family?

Maybor had
discreetly taken his son's steward aside and asked him about the nature of the
conversation. The steward, his palms sufficiently greased with ten silvers, had
told him that Baralis had merely wished Kedrac a good day and asked him if he
were well. A further ten silvers had assured that he would learn of any further
meetings between his son and Baralis.

He knew what the
man was up to: Baralis was finding out how strong the bonds of family were
between him and Kedrac. Maybor was not too concerned. Baralis would find out
they were stronger than he hoped. His son might have fallen out with him, but
family loyalty ran deeper than any petty quarrel-Baralis was sadly mistaken if
he thought he could lure Kedrac to his side. The thought that the man had
miscalculated served to reassure Maybor. There were things that Baralis, as a
man without family, could never hope to appreciate-he would never know how it
felt to be secure about the loyalty of any man. He had to rely upon hired
hands, and Maybor knew just how easily their loyalties could be shifted-the two
hundred gold pieces on the ground beside him was proof of that.

Traff approached,
well muscled and broad, with an annoying smirk on his face. How he detested the
man. The mercenary thought he had struck a hard bargain and it rankled Maybor
to think it would be quite some time before Traff realized how wrong he was.

"Good day to
you, Maybor." The man checked the stalls for spies. "I see you have
brought me a little gift." His eyes lingered over the box.

"It is what
you asked for, no more." Maybor had not missed Traff's pointed lack of
respect-the man failed to call him lord.

"If you would
be so kind as to open it. Nothing personal, you understand. In my line of
business you learn it's best to check everything." Traff watched greedily
as Maybor opened the box. "Everything looks to be in order. I won't insult
you by counting them." Maybor could not stop himself from snorting
indignantly. The man had already insulted him by insisting that the box be
opened in the first place.

"Before I
release this money into your possession, I demand to hear what you know about
my daughter."

"Yes, the
lovely Melli." Traff spoke with an air of proprietorship. "Well,
Baralis hasn't got her any longer. Spirited girl, she has escaped from under
everyone's noses. Course she had the boy to help her. That little bastard
killed half a dozen of my men." Maybor could not take all this in. He
attempted to clarify it.

"So, Baralis
was holding Melliandra?"

"Right. We
picked her up in Duvitt and brought her back here. Kept her in Baralis'
hideaway in the woods."

"Hideaway?"
Maybor was determined to hide his amazement at Traff's story. He had always
suspected that Baralis was trying to find his daughter, but to be told the
truth of the matter turned him cold. There was only one reason why the man
would want to capture Melliandra and that was to stop the proposed betrothal
from going through. Maybor now knew without a doubt where the blame lay-Baralis
had thwarted his ambitions and stopped him from becoming father-in-law to the
future king.

"There's a
tunnel leading to it from the castle-it's underground. The place gives me the
creeps."

"How long ago
did she escape?" Maybor could hardly believe that his daughter had been so
near to the castle. "Over a week ago now, the boy helped her to escape. We
caught up with them in the woods a couple of days later, but that boy's a devil
and they managed to get away. They could be anywhere by now. Baralis has sent
another crew out looking for them ... I wouldn't want to be in their shoes, I
can tell you."

"Why aren't
you with them?"

"I was
injured in the woods. Besides, Baralis has always got a few other things up his
sleeve that need taking care of nearer home."

"Who is this
boy you speak of?"

"Jack's the
name-he was a baker's boy at the castle. We captured him just before we got
your daughter, brung 'em both back we did."

"What interest
does Baralis have in a baker's boy?"

"Me and my
men wondered just the same thing, if you know what I mean. I know differently
now, though-that boy is trouble. First of all he mangled the face of one of my
men, and then in the forest. . ." Traff shook his head savagely.

"What
happened in the forest?"

"All hell
broke loose, that's what happened. That boy caused havoc, stirred up the devil
he did. Lost good men that day. Baralis never even bothered to wam us the boy
could be trouble, just let us charge right in." Traff's expression was
grim.

"And this boy
is with Melliandra now?" Maybor knew better than to ask for specifics of
what went on in the forest. He'd caught the whiff of sorcery and he had no
desire for a tasting.

"As far as I
know."

"What condition
was she in when you last saw her?"

"Well, she'd
had that flogging." Traff was guarded. "Did she come to any harm in
the forest?" persisted Maybor.

"The boy
never harmed her, if that's what you mean."

"Your men,
did they harm her in any way?" Maybor was not about to let Traff off the
hook. The mercenary looked down at the ground.

"She might
have taken a shot to her arm. Nothing much, a mere skimming, heal in no time it
would."

Maybor wanted to
kill the man on the spot. He felt his sword as a heavy presence against his
leg. It would be so easy to draw it and hack the man's head off. He had to
suppress the urge to kill. If he was ever to get the better of Baralis, he must
play by Baralis' rules: rules of deception and cunning. He forced himself to
keep a dispassionate demeanor. "So, if Baralis finds Melliandra again he
will bring her back to this hideaway in the woods?"

Traff hesitated a
moment before answering. "I can't say that he will."

"What d'you
mean?" demanded Maybor.

"Baralis told
the new crew to kill Melli and the boy as soon as they found them. Kill them
and bury 'em, that's what he said."

"She has not
been found yet?" Maybor was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

"I know the
new lot, a blind donkey could track better than them. I'm sure they won't have
found her. Besides, Baralis ordered them back within a week. By my reckoning
they haven't got much time left."

"What will
Baralis do when his men return?"

"Send 'em out
again. Most probably he'll do one of his little tricks and tell them where they
will find Melli and the boy." Traff saw Maybor's puzzled expression.
"Baralis has a few crafty moves up his sleeve-with birds and the like. I
think he gets them to talk to him."

"Don't be
ridiculous, man." By refusing to hear about sorcery, Maybor was stubbornly
attempting to deny its existence. He changed the subject swiftly. "When
Baralis sends the men out, you must arrange to go with them. I have no
intention of letting my daughter be murdered in cold blood."