by J. V. Jones
Tawl was scrutinized by the four men for some time before any spoke. Finally, the oldest of the four addressed him, “Why have you come to Larn?” Tawl was surprised by the directness of the question. The four waited impassively for his reply.
“I have come because I was advised to do so.” His voice seemed small and powerless, muffled by the heavy stone.
“You have failed to answer the question,” said the younger of the four. Tawl did not care for his biting tone.
“I came because I need to find a boy.”
The four men exchanged glances.
“What boy?” The younger’s voice had the sound of one accustomed to having his questions answered promptly. Tawl defiantly waited a few minutes before replying.
“I cannot say. I will know him only when I find him.”
“You hope our seers will point the way?” The elder spoke softly, in mild reproof of his younger companion.
“I have hope that they will.”
The elder nodded. “Are you willing to pay the price?”
“What price?” Tawl was beginning to feel uneasy. “Name it.”
“It is not as simple as that. The price can only be settled after the seeing has been given.”
“What if the seeing fails?” Tawl felt he was being lured into a baited trap.
“That does not concern us. You will still be liable to pay the price.” The younger of the four continued, “It is a risk you take. Leave now if you would not take it.” The man’s eyes challenged Tawl.
Tawl stood firm under the scrutiny of the four. “I am willing to pay the price.”
The elder nodded once more. “So be it.”
The younger stood up. “Follow me.” He led Tawl out of the room and down a series of passageways. Tawl felt he was descending, and the walls grew damp, confirming his suspicion that he was being led belowground.
He began to hear a noise. At first he could not tell what it was—bats or wild animals, he thought, growing uneasy. As they drew closer to the source, he realized with horror that the sound was human cries. He grew cold as he listened to the desperate keening. He was led around a corner and suddenly found himself in a vast, natural cavern.
Tawl barely noticed the magnificent towering rock and the huge domed ceiling aglow with seams of crystal. He was transfixed by what he saw in the cavern. Rows of massive, granite blocks.
Bound to each stone was a man.
Tawl was horrified by the state of the men: their bodies were thin and emaciated, their hair wild and long. It was their limbs that were the most shocking: the muscle had atrophied and withered away, leaving only bone thinly coated by skin. The ropes were thick and coarse, and held the men motionless. Tawl wondered why the men were still kept bound, for they would surely never walk again.
It was the noise the seers made, even more than the sight of them, that chilled Tawl to the bone. Terrible, anguished howling, frantic screaming, each sound telling of the torment of their souls. The seers of Larn lived hell on earth. Tawl shuddered—the seers had been driven to madness.
He could not bear to look on their anguish. He turned his head, and by doing so locked eyes with the younger of the four. The man, seeing Tawl’s distress, spoke: “The seers do God’s work.” His voice was without emotion. “Performing their task takes its toll. No one can look upon the face of God and remain unchanged.”
“I thought God was good.” Tawl found it hard to think with the tortured cries of the insane ringing in his ears.
“That is your mistake. Good or evil is not his concern. God exists. There is nothing more.”
“Your God is not mine,” Tawl said softly.
“All are one here.”
“I cannot go ahead with the seeing. I will not be party to such inhuman cruelty.”
“You knew what Larn was before you came.” The younger stated the fact with the barest hint of malice.
“Yes, I was told, but I never realized it would be like this.” Tawl motioned toward the rows of men, men destined to lie bound to the stone for life.
“It is too late to back out now. You have agreed to pay the price. The seeing will go ahead.” The man gestured minutely with his hand and three hooded men stepped forward. “You will not leave Larn without paying your due.” The younger moved forward and Tawl was escorted behind him by the hooded men.
As he walked down the rows of seers, they called to him, wailing their terrible laments, their bodies jerking gracelessly as they shifted against their bindings. Tawl was escorted to the end of a row, near to the wall of the cavern.
The younger stopped and turned to him. “He is for you. Ask and you shall be answered.” With that, he and the hooded men withdrew.
Tawl looked upon his seer. He saw with revulsion where the man had been bound so tight for so long that his skin had grown over the rope, its rough and knotted texture clearly visible beneath the pale skin. Tawl realized that if the seer were to be unbound it would tear open his flesh.
The seer was babbling frenzied words in a tongue Tawl could not understand. He did not look at Tawl, he was lost in his own torments. The seer urinated; he seemed unaware when the liquid soaked his linen wrap and then formed a pool around his hips.
Tawl wanted to be away from the place as quickly as possible. He asked his question: “Where do I find the boy whom I seek?”
He was not sure that the seer heard—his incoherent rantings never stopped for an instant. Tawl could discern no signs of comprehension from him. He waited, bitterly regretting having come to Larn. He could not believe that God’s work was done here.
After a while the seer became visibly more agitated. Spittle frothed at his mouth and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. The babblings grew louder—strange, haunting words, their meanings unknown to Tawl. The seer seemed to be repeating the same phrase over and over again. He could not understand it, and moved closer to the seer. He caught the sharp smell of ammonia in his nostrils.
The seer was becoming frenzied, saliva dripped down from his chin and onto his thin chest. Tawl strained for meaning in his voice. He made out the word “king.” The phrase sounded like “for king on.” Over and over the seer repeated it. Tawl puzzled at its meaning. The seer’s speech became hysterical. Tawl looked closely at his wet lips. Suddenly the phrase took shape for Tawl. He realized the seer was not saying “for king on.” The words were, “Four Kingdoms.”
Tawl’s blood ran cold. He became still, feeling a shifting within: the seer had spoken.
For some reason, he expected that the seer would stop, but he carried on, repeating the phrase with great agitation. A hooded man approached and drew Tawl away from the seer. He led him down the rows of bound men and toward the cavern entrance. Tawl looked back. The seer was oblivious to his departure: he still recited the same phrase over and over again, his dull eyes focused on the face of God.
Baralis did not bother to look up from his work when Crope entered the room. “Has our sharp-eyed squire met with an accident yet?” He continued his writing.
“He did that, master. A might unpleasant one, too. He mishandled a wheat scythe.”
“How unfortunate for him. Disturb me no further, Crope. I have many matters to attend to. In the library you will find a book with a blue leather binding. It contains illustrations of sea creatures. It is yours. Take it and leave me alone.” It was Baralis’ way of thanking his servant for the care he had given him when he’d collapsed the night of Winter’s Eve. Crope went off quickly, eager to look at the pictures in his new book.
When the man had left, Baralis stood up and began to pace the room. He had many matters on his mind. He had been disturbed by the sight of the Royal Guard riding out of the castle in the early morning; he needed to find out what mission they were on. The Royal Guard answered only to the queen. He had lost several days to exhaustion and he was anxious to waste no more time.
A knock came on the door of his chamber. Baralis opened the heavy door. “Yes?” he barked at the liveried steward, an
noyed at being interrupted.
“Her Highness, the queen, requests your immediate presence in the meeting hall.” Baralis had been expecting such a summons.
“Very well, tell Her Highness I will be there directly.” The servant withdrew. Baralis moved swiftly, preparing for the audience, donning the fine robes that were expected by the queen. He looked into his small hand mirror and saw that the burns on his face still showed a little. He would have to think of an excuse for them. He did not want the queen to suspect any connection between him and the Winter’s Eve fire. He was soon ready and made his way to the meeting hall.
“Lord Baralis, I trust you are recovered from your bout of fever?” The queen greeted him coolly. She was dressed in magnificent splendor, wearing a gown of midnight blue, bedecked in pearls. She was no longer young, but age seemed to enhance her further, bringing grace and poise in exchange for the bloom of youth.
“I am feeling much better, Your Highness.”
“Tell me, Lord Baralis. It must be an odd fever that would leave your face looking as if it were burnt.” The queen drew her lips to a thin line.
“No, Your Highness, the burns I incurred in my chambers, when I was working on my medicines. I was careless with a flame, nothing more.”
“I see.” The queen turned and pretended to admire a painting. “Were you by any chance working on the medicine for the king?”
“I was indeed, Your Highness. I have prepared a fresh batch. I would presume by now that the initial dose has been used up?” Baralis was beginning to feel more confident. He could tell that the queen was trying to hide how desperately she wanted the medicine.
“There is none left. The king has been without it for two days now. I fear a relapse if he is without it much longer.”
“Then Your Highness must be most anxious to have some more.”
The queen wheeled around. “I can play your games no longer, Lord Baralis. I must have the medicine today.” The queen was beginning to lose her composure. Baralis remained calm.
“Your Highness knows my price.”
“I will not allow you to say who Prince Kylock will marry.”
“He must marry someone and Lord Maybor’s daughter is no longer a suitable choice. Even if she is found and brought back to the castle, Your Highness would not want the prince married to a girl who can not bear the sight of him.”
“You are wrong, Lord Baralis. I have been told the truth of the matter by Lord Maybor himself. He has told me the true reason for his daughter’s flight. I have much sympathy for him and have agreed to send the Royal Guard to search for Melliandra. When she is found, the betrothal will be carried out.” Baralis could hardly believe what was being said. What lies had Maybor cooked up to fool the queen so effectively?
He hid his surprise. “And if the girl is not found?” The queen gave Baralis a sharp look. He continued, “Or if the girl is found but is no longer a virgin?”
“I have every confidence that Melliandra will be found, and that when she is, she will be untouched.” The queen’s eyes drew narrow and she spoke again, “Lord Baralis, I have a proposition for you.”
“I am eager to hear it, Your Highness.”
“If you agree to supply the king’s medicine indefinitely, and the girl is not found within the month, I will agree to your terms.”
“And if the girl is found within the month?”
“The betrothal will go ahead as planned, but you must still continue to supply the medicine, and do so until such a time as the king no longer has need of it.”
“So you are offering me a wager.”
“Are you a betting man, Lord Baralis?” The queen was now her serene self, poised and in control.
“I pride myself on taking risks. I accept the wager.” Baralis bowed slightly and the queen smiled charmingly, showing her beautiful, white teeth.
“I warn you, Lord Baralis, the Royal Guard will find Maybor’s daughter wherever she is.”
“That remains to be seen, Your Highness. In the meantime I will arrange to have a portion of the medicine sent to the king’s chamber.” Baralis bowed once more and left.
Once out of the meeting hall, his step grew light. The queen was a most enjoyable adversary. He almost admired her. It was too bad that she would lose the wager.
Maybor was studying his reflection in the mirror. He was pleased to see that his good looks were returning. True, the sores marred his handsome features somewhat, but they would fade. The soreness in his throat was not of such importance to him, that he could live with. Today he would leave his bedchamber for the first time in days.
He rose from his bed, slapping the wisewoman’s buttocks to awaken her. As she woke, Maybor could not resist pulling back the sheets to admire her nakedness. He had found to his surprise that being with an older woman had its advantages; she was much skilled in the art of lovemaking and was not subject to a young girl’s modesty. Why, if she’d had land of her own, he might even have considered marrying her!
The wisewoman arose from the bed and proceeded to dress with slow provocation. Maybor looked on in appreciation. When she had dressed, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and left. That was another good thing about her, thought Maybor, she had asked for nothing in return for her favors. He wondered, for a brief instant, if the ailing king had ever partaken of her services. After all, even a sick man has desires.
Maybor did not bother to call for Crandle. He would dress himself this day. He strolled to his wardrobe, deciding he would buy himself a new mirror; he missed looking upon himself in full length.
He was feeling decidedly pleased with himself. He had managed to turn his circumstances round—he had gained the sympathy of the queen. Just this morning, she had sent out the Royal Guard to look for his daughter. Everything could not have worked out better. Now the only thing he needed to make his happiness complete was news of Baralis’ death. He decided he would meet with his assassin one last time; the damned man was taking too long about his business. He would have Crandle arrange an assignation.
Maybor opened the door to his wardrobe and surveyed its contents, deciding which robe to wear. He remembered with regret that the red silk he had worn on Winter’s Eve had to be discarded—the punch had not washed out. The gray-eyed vixen had ruined his best robe! Maybor’s eye was caught by something in the corner—he looked closer and found it was a dead rat. This was most strange. If he remembered rightly, on the night of Winter’s Eve, Crandle had come from his wardrobe carrying a dead rat. Rats were a constant nuisance in the castle, but it was unusual to find a dead one. Two dead rats were damned suspicious.
Maybor picked the stiff creature up by its tail. He held it at arm’s length—it was well known they carried the plague. Maybor could see no obvious signs of the cause of the rat’s demise. He brought the creature nearer. Now he could see that its nose was red and swollen. A thrill of revelation passed through Maybor. The rat had died of the same thing that had caused his affliction. There was something in the wardrobe that had killed the rat. Maybor thought back to Winter’s Eve. He had been perfectly well; the illness overcame him only after he had dressed for the evening. His clothes had been poisoned!
Baralis had somehow managed to put poison onto his clothes. The fumes given off by the poison were what had caused his sickness. Everything fit into place: the reason he was not dead was that he had been forced to take off the doctored robe before it had finished its commission. The gray-eyed snippit had unwittingly saved his life.
Maybor stepped away from his wardrobe. What if all his clothes had been doused in poison? They would all have to be burned. Maybor was furious. He had spent years acquiring the most exquisite robes in all the Four Kingdoms; he had spent a fortune on them. Baralis would pay dearly for this, he vowed. It is one thing to poison a man’s wine, but quite another to poison his robes!
* * *
Tawl was led back into the room containing the large stone table. The four were waiting for him.
“You have your an
swer,” said the elder, more a statement than a question. Tawl nodded. “The seers seldom fail. God is benevolent to them.”
“It seems to me that God is more benevolent to you.” Tawl could not stop his anger. It was a welcome release from the horror of the cavern. “You are the ones who reap the benefits of the atrocities performed on those men. You use them for your own gain. God has no hand in this!” Tawl was shaking. The four were unmoved by his fury.
“You know nothing of God. You know less of Larn.” The elder was perfectly calm. “We do not use the seers, we are here to serve them. They are blessed by God and we are humbled by that blessing, we are their servants. Do not let the sight of them mislead you. They exist in God’s own ecstasy. We can only guess at what joy is theirs.”
“I am not fooled by your fine words. Where I have just come from is no place of God’s; no heavenly ecstasy exists there. The seers are living closer to hell.” The four looked upon Tawl as if he were a foolish child.
“The sight can be a little disturbing, but I can see you have no wish to understand. You did, however, use their services, and so now you must pay your due.” The elder regarded Tawl with the slightest trace of contempt.
“What is my due?” said Tawl looking directly into the elder’s eye.
“We require a service of you.” The elder’s voice became soft and seductive. “Nothing really, a mere trifle.” Tawl felt his eyelids grow heavy. He struggled to keep his wits about him. The elder continued, his voice low and inviting, “The smallest of favors, the easiest of tasks.” Tawl’s eyes closed. “The tiniest of services, the most innocent of undertakings . . .”
Fifteen
Tawl awoke and wondered where he was. As his head cleared he realized that he was still on Larn. He puzzled over how he had fallen asleep. He was in a small room, lying on a stone bench. As he rose, his aching back told him he had spent some time lying on the hard surface.
He had no memory of being brought to this place. He could recall nothing after leaving the cavern. Tawl felt alarmed. He could remember the seeing clearly, but nothing else. He realized he had to get back to the ship. Captain Quain had said he would sail after one day. Tawl had no way of knowing what time or what day it was. He had to leave immediately. As he made his way from the room, the youngest of the four entered.
