by J. V. Jones
“Course, all this to-do is Harl’s fault. Fancy letting yourself be overpowered by a wisp of a boy.”
“Well, poor Harl’s paying the price for his mistake.”
“Aye. Did you see his face? It was ruined.”
“He won’t be attracting any more ladies, that’s for sure.”
“Nice bit of snatch this.”
“There’s more going on here than Lord Baralis is letting on. Were you there yesterday after he’d finished questioning the boy?”
“No, I don’t believe I was.” Jack was trying desperately to suppress a cough—dust had got in his throat.
“Well, something happened to Baralis, let me tell you. He came stumbling out of there, white as a sheet.”
“Oh, was he?”
“Aye, you should have seen him. He could barely stand. Had to call for Crope to carry him away.”
The two men were quiet for a while, the only noise being the sound of them chewing on their snatch. After a while one of them spat. “Aah, that’s better. He’s moved the girl, too.”
“Who has?”
“Lord Baralis, you fool. He’s moved her to one of his special places. He thinks the boy might try to rescue her.” Jack’s leg had now gone numb with the weight of the man resting on it.
“D’you know how he gets in ’em?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. I’ve seen him fiddling around with the stone. Had a go myself, didn’t get anywhere.”
“I think we’d better get going. Traff ain’t in a good mood today.” To Jack’s relief the man stood up.
“I wouldn’t care to be in his place, I can tell you.” With that the two men left the room, the light receding behind them.
Jack let out a sigh of relief and then coughed the dust from his lungs. He pushed the coverings off him and stood up, trying to work out the numbness in his leg. He felt fairly safe for the time being; he didn’t think the guards would return again soon.
He was feeling hungry and thirsty. He wished he knew what time of day it was; he had no idea how long it had been since he had escaped from his cell. The memory of the guard’s bloody face returned to him, and he shuddered involuntarily. The guard had been doing him a favor—bringing him water.
Jack felt ashamed of the fact that since he’d escaped he had not given a thought to Melli’s plight. He had assumed that Baralis would have returned her to the castle. When Melli told him that she’d run away to prevent her marriage, he’d supposed that Baralis had brought her back to enable the marriage to go ahead. Now it appeared that she was still locked up. He knew he could not make his escape from the underground hideaway, knowing that she was still held prisoner. He had nursed Melli and tended her wounds; he could hardly leave her now when she could be in even greater danger.
He had to find out where she was being held. The first thing he would do, however, was find something to drink. He needed food and water and a light of some sort. He needed no weapon—for the first time in his life he possessed a real sword. He groped for the blade tucked into his belt, but felt little joy of possession.
Jack settled down to wait. The guards were obviously looking for him and it seemed wiser to bide his time for a while. His pursuers might become less watchful as the day wore on. He decided he would try the second route next time, since the first one he’d taken had proved to be a dead end.
Several hours later, Jack slipped from the room, carefully closing the door after him. He made his way down the passageway. It grew lighter ahead as he approached where it split off. He took the route to his right and was once more plunged into darkness.
He felt his way down the tunnel and soon realized that this passage was much longer than the one he had first taken. He wasted no time feeling for side openings but walked ahead, arms held out to feel for obstructions. It was deathly cold in the tunnel and Jack was beginning to wish that he had thought to bring some of the linens he’d lain under. He continued on down the passage, hoping that this one would not turn out to end in a stone wall.
After a while his eyes began to make out a glimmer of light in the distance; he rushed toward it. The light grew brighter and the tunnel came to an abrupt end. Jack found himself in a long, rectangular room which had several passages leading from it. Something on one of the stones forming the wall caught his attention and he went over to investigate. Elaborately carved in the stone was the letter “H” flanked by two serpents. Jack knew what it meant: he was somewhere deep within Castle Harvell.
Eighteen
The land outside of Rorn was good for little, the soil shallow and barren. Only a farmer of extraordinary skill and patience could coax bounty from the earth. Goats and sheep, however, found the tough, yellow grasses to their liking, and soft, pungent cheeses were produced from their milk. There were many villages to the north of Rorn, all depending to some degree on the city for their livelihood.
Tawl judged it was time for his noonday meal and looked around for a suitable spot. Not far off the road was a rocky hill dotted with grazing sheep. He decided to climb the hill. It was about time he had a proper look at who was following him.
As he climbed, he fished in his sack and brought out a slice of dried beef. He chewed it with little relish. There were few who enjoyed drymeat. He washed it down with some water from his flask and finished his meal off with dried apricots and sea biscuits. He smiled grimly. No wonder so few sailors had any teeth left; sea biscuits were as hard as the sea bed itself. The shopkeeper had assured him the biscuits would stay fresh until Borc’s second coming. Tawl did not doubt it.
By the time he reached the top of the hill he had worked up a sweat and was sorely tempted to pour the remaining contents of his flask over his head. He stopped himself, for he could not be sure where the next fresh water would be. He had to content himself with turning his face to the cool breeze.
He was pleased to find the small hill gave him an excellent view of the land. He could see Rorn on the horizon, looking as it could only from a distance—white and gleaming. The sea sparkled like a dark jewel in the south, and to the north there was a suggestion of mountains. Tawl felt exhilarated, glad to be on his way, glad to be free of the city.
He scanned the surrounding land carefully, aware since last night that he was being followed. His eyes traveled over bush and rock searching for movement, but he could see nothing moving except the sheep. He was not unduly worried; there was someone out there and he would root them out. Tawl made a great show of bedding down for an afternoon nap, unrolling and shaking out his blanket, yawning and stretching. He lay down on a particularly uncomfortable rock and pretended to sleep.
Tawl waited. He waited for several hours, the sun arching slowly across the sky. Finally out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement down below. Tawl strained to make out any detail, but could not. He watched as the shape moved from behind a group of bushes and approached the foot of the hill. Tawl sprang up, knife in hand, and hurtled down the hillside. The figure started to run away, but Tawl had gravity on his side and gained quickly. He was directly above the figure and he leapt onto his back, forcing him to the ground. Only when his knife was poised to strike did Tawl recognize who it was.
“Don’t kill me,” squealed the boy. Tawl twisted Nabber’s arm back and drove his face into the dirt.
“What are you doing following me?” he demanded.
“You’re hurting me,” pleaded the boy, struggling to free himself.
“I will hurt you more unless you speak up. Now tell me, why did you follow me?” Tawl increased the pressure on the boy’s arm.
“Who’s to say I followed you? It’s a free country, a man can travel where he pleases.” Tawl twisted the boy’s arm as far as he could without breaking it. Nabber howled with pain. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just thought I’d follow you.”
“People just don’t follow someone unless they have good reason.”
“There was no reason, I swear! I just thought I’d like to go on an adventure with a knight.”
“Are you working for the archbishop of Rorn?” Tawl gave the boy’s arm another twist.
“No, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The boy was close to tears. Tawl released his arm and let him go.
“So, Nabber, if I’ve got your story right, you’re telling me that you just picked up and left the city on a whim to follow a knight.” Tawl was skeptical.
“Yes, that’s right.” The boy brushed the dirt from his face and inspected his arm. “There’s nothing in Rorn for me, thought I’d find myself a bit of excitement.”
“What about your family?” Tawl noticed the red marks on Nabber’s arm where he had held him—he had been harder than he thought on the boy.
The boy shrugged. “I ain’t got none.”
“So where will you go when you get back to the city?”
“I won’t go back.” The boy’s eyes challenged Tawl.
“Well, you won’t be following me any longer.”
“Try and stop me.” The boy raised his chin defiantly.
“What did you plan on doing about food and water?”
“Thought I’d pick ’em up on the way.” Nabber shrugged his shoulders with a great show of nonchalance.
Tawl took a deep intake of breath. “Playing at adventuring is one thing, boy. You won’t be able to survive much longer on your own.”
“I did fine in Rorn.”
“Where I’m headed is a lot more dangerous than Rorn.”
“Let me travel with you, then.” The boy looked eagerly at Tawl.
“I’m traveling on foot. You’d only slow me down.”
“I’ve kept up with you so far.”
“I only have food for one and little money to buy more.”
“Getting money has never been a problem for me.” The boy smiled brightly. “I’ve always been quite resourceful where coinage is concerned. Quite resourceful indeed.”
“Look, Nabber.” Tawl decided to stop trading words with the boy. “You can’t come with me. I’ve got a long, hard journey ahead. I won’t have time to be worrying about you. Now go back to the city and practice your resourcefulness on the deserving people of Rorn.” Tawl knew he was being hard on the boy, but it was the only way to get the message across. “Go on now. If you hurry, you’ll be back in the city by dawn tomorrow.” The boy flashed Tawl a look filled with animosity. “Here,” said Tawl, pulling some drymeat from his bag. “Take this; you probably haven’t eaten anything all day.” The boy refused the offered food and walked away.
Tawl watched for a while, satisfying himself that Nabber was indeed heading back to Rorn. After some time Tawl turned north and set a fast pace; he wanted to cover a fair distance before it grew dark.
Maybor was checking his reflection in the mirror; he felt he might be getting a little portly. Just this morning the queen’s wisewoman had teased him about it, insisting that she went on top, telling him she feared to be crushed if she were beneath. Maybor did not like the idea of women being on top—that was a man’s place. The wisewoman was getting far too demanding. It was time he chose a new filly. He would pick a young one next; he had lost his taste for old flesh.
He was considering Lady Helliarna’s chambermaid as a possible dalliance when his thoughts were interrupted by his son striding into the room.
“What is it, Kedrac?” snapped Maybor, a little annoyed at being disturbed from his contemplation of the chambermaid’s ample backside.
“I have just found out something most unsettling, Father.” Kedrac poured himself a glass of wine.
“What, what?” Maybor was beginning to get worried.
“Someone has sabotaged our orchards.”
“What!” roared Maybor.
“Over five score of trees have been viciously mutilated.” Kedrac ran his hands through his dark hair.
“Which ones?”
“The trees in the little valley, just off the hunting track.”
“When was this done?” Maybor paced furiously around the room.
“Two nights ago. The overseer sent word by pigeon.”
“Does he have any idea of who did it? It must have been those damned Halcus. By Borc! How I wish this cursed war had never happened.”
“I’m not sure that it was the Halcus. I was only up there last month, and their men had been driven way back beyond the river.”
“It must have been them. Who else would do such a thing?”
“They have never done anything like it before, Father. Don’t forget, the Halcus have their eyes on our orchards, too. I can’t see why they would defile that which they hope will one day be their own.”
“Five score trees! Our yield is already low. How badly are they damaged?” Maybor was genuinely distressed. He was proud of his orchards—they were his prime source of income. No cider fetched a higher price than that made from Nestor apples.
“I can’t say, Father. However, the overseer is not a man to send a pigeon without good cause.”
“The frost will be here once the rains have gone; it could destroy them. The trees in the small valley are amongst some of our oldest—they yield sweet, mellow apples.” Maybor searched for something to destroy. “I swear I will kill the man responsible for this.” He flung the jug of wine across the room, where it broke against the wall with a satisfying smash, spilling red wine over the priceless rug. “Is there any news of your foolhardy sister?”
“I have not sent a man to Duvitt to check out the rumors. I thought to go myself today.”
“I will go too. I will ride to Duvitt and then on to my orchards. I would see the damage that has been done firsthand.”
“Are you sure you are fit to go, Father? You are not fully recovered from your illness.”
“I am fine, boy,” boomed Maybor, adding slyly, “do not count on getting your inheritance just yet, my son. I am a long walk from death’s door.”
“I will make preparation for your journey, Father.”
“I want nothing fancy, Kedrac. I will not be slowed down by ceremony. If we ride quickly, we can be in Duvitt within five days.”
Melli awoke with a start. She was in darkness; the lamp must have gone out while she slept. She had no idea what time it was nor how long she had been in the room. Her limbs felt stiff, and as she raised herself off the floor she realized her dress and underskirts were wet. She knew she should not have slept on the damp floor, but she’d had little choice.
Melli moved over to where she thought the lamp was and felt for its presence—the lamp was cold. It must have been dead for some time. She thought that Baralis would have returned before now with some food and water. She hoped she would not have to wait much longer. A terrible thought flashed through her mind: what if Baralis intended her to die here, holed up in this tiny room until she starved to death? She shuddered violently, suddenly afraid of what her fate might be.
She forced herself not to dwell on thoughts of doom; she had other matters to worry about. She badly needed to relieve herself. The room was bare, with not so much as a pot or bucket. She made her way to the corner of the room and lifted her skirts up; a little more dampness would do no harm.
Once finished, she moved near the door to see if she could hear anyone in the next room. There was either no one there, or the door was too thick to let sound through. Melli tried hard not to fall into despair. She hated being in the dark, being in a small space, being thirsty. She began to sing to keep her spirits up, but her voice sounded thin and frightened and she soon stopped.
A short time later, she heard the jangle of keys and the turn of lock. The door swung open. Melli found herself blinded by the light. She held her hand up to shield her eyes.
“I bid you good day, miss.” It was Crope. Relief flooded over Melli; she greatly preferred the servant to the master. Her eyes grew accustomed to the light and she could make out Crope’s substantial form in the doorway. “Why, miss, you are cold and wet,” he said gently. His kindness was too much and large tears started to roll down her cheeks. “There, th
ere, lady, no need to cry.” He came over to her and patted her hair gently. “Come now, time for you to stretch your legs a bit.” He led her out of the storeroom and into the adjoining chamber. “See, I made it nice for you.”
Some of the things from her room had been transferred: a rug and her clothes. There was a tray of food and jugs of water and wine. There was even a basin full of water for her to bathe her face.
“Thank you, Crope. You have laid everything out beautifully.” The huge servant blushed.
“All the food’s fresh this day, miss. Eat up, you must be hungry.”
Melli smiled weakly. “I think I should first change out of my damp clothes.”
“Maybe you should do that later.” Crope looked uncomfortable. “When you’re back in your room.”
“I am being allowed back to my former room?”
“No, lady.” Crope didn’t meet her eye. “Lord Baralis says that once you’ve finished eating and such, you must go back into the storeroom.”
Melli’s spirits dropped; she would have to endure another day locked up like a caged animal. Crope appeared to sense her disappointment. “I’ll make it more comfortable.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll bring you a lamp and a chair and some blankets.” Melli could only manage a half-hearted nod. This was enough for Crope, however, who busied himself carrying various items into the storeroom.
Melli splashed some water on her face and poured herself a glass of wine. She looked over the tray of food. Her appetite was gone, but she forced herself to take some bread, washing it down with a large quantity of wine. Soon, the alcohol began to have an effect on Melli, warming her skin and improving her spirits; the food began to look more tempting.
Crope finished what he was doing and hovered nervously around her. “You’ll have to be going back soon, lady,” he finally said. “Lord Baralis says that you’re not to be out for long.”
