by J. V. Jones
The banging turned into distinct footsteps. The light was now a band around the door. Melli steadied herself against the stone wall. She was shaking. There was something hard blocking her throat. She drew her hand down to her belly and lifted her head high as the key turned in the lock.
The door swung open. Melli was dazzled by the light. A figure stood in the doorway. From his shape, she knew it was Baralis. Slowly, he drew the lantern up to his face.
Fifteen
So, what did you really feel when you saw the ocean?” Tawl sat hunched close to the fire. The longbow was to his left and the arrows were to his right. He tended the fire, but his eyes looked to the hills.
Nabber was sleeping. He’d grown quickly bored of the archery. Wrapping himself up in all the good blankets, he had extracted solemn promises from both Tawl and Jack to wake him up if anything happened, and then promptly fell asleep. That was about an hour ago now, and Nabber’s vibrant snoring could currently be heard above the breeze.
It was very bright on the bluff. The full moon shone on the chalky cliffs and the ash-colored rocks and then bounced the light created down to the hills below. There weren’t many nights like this in the year. Nights when there was enough light to teach a man archery by.
Jack was on the opposite side of the fire. He lay on his blanket and looked up at the stars. He didn’t answer Tawl’s question.
Perhaps he hadn’t heard. It was late, he was tired, the wind might have blown the question out to sea. Tawl didn’t repeat it. They had both had a long day.
Searching in his pack, Tawl pulled out a small jar of beeswax. He scooped some into a cloth and began to work it into the bow. The best way to stay awake all night was never to let your hands or mind be idle.
“It was like recognizing a long lost friend.”
At first Tawl didn’t realize what Jack was talking about. The question had drifted from his thoughts.
Jack continued speaking. “I knew it. The smells, the sound, the colors—they were all familiar, and yet”—with his hand, he made a small helpless gesture—“strange. Foreign. Like something I’d dreamt about long ago.”
Jack’s voice sounded small and lost. Tawl had to remind himself that he was little more than a boy. Not through his twentieth year yet. He’d been given no choice, no guidance. Nothing to prepare him for what was to come. Yet he was here anyway, trying very hard to appear calm on the outside, while he quietly worked through the chaos underneath.
Tawl wiped the wax from his fingers. It was different for him—he’d had years to prepare for this. Bevlin had given him plenty of warning. And at the end of the day, it was always his choice to be a knight, to search for truth and honor, to take risks and “find merit in the eyes of God.” Jack had no creed to follow.
He was on his own.
“Tawl, tell me the prophecy again.”
The request took Tawl by surprise. It was the last thing he expected. Glancing quickly over at Jack, he saw that the boy was still looking at the stars.
Tawl began to say the prophecy:
“When men of honor lose sight of their cause . . .”
As he spoke the first line, Tawl heard his voice faltering. The words might have been written for him alone: he was the one who had lost sight of his allegiances and his oaths. He was the one who had brought the knighthood into disrepute. Not Tyren, as Nabber had tried to tell him, but he himself.
Tawl swallowed hard. The pain was always there inside him—it never got any smaller, or hurt any less, just shifted gradually into discernible layers: each one a band of steel around his heart. Dropping his gaze to the ground, Tawl took two deep breaths to calm himself before continuing. No matter how hard things got, he had no choice but to carry on.
“When three bloods are savored in one day
Two houses will meet in wedlock and wealth
And what forms at the join is decay
A man will come with neither father nor mother”
As Tawl paused to take a speaking breath, Jack shifted his position on his blanket, moving closer toward the fire. The light from the flames fell upon his hair, brightening it with colors that the moonlight had all but robbed. Colors of chestnut and gold. Tawl’s mind skimmed over the next line of verse.
But sister as lover
In that instant, a small warning sounded in his head. He didn’t give it any thought, didn’t question it in any way, but when he spoke, he found he’d skipped the line entirely:
“And stay the hand of the plague
The stones will be sundered, the temple will fall
The dark empire’s expansion will end at his call
And only the fool knows the truth.”
Everything was quiet after he finished. Jack didn’t move, the wind didn’t blow, even the ocean stopped sending waves to the shore.
Tawl knew he had to break the silence. More for his own good than for Jack’s. There was nothing to do in the silence but think. And Tawl did not want to spend a minute speculating about what he’d just done and why.
“Does any of it mean anything to you?” he asked.
Jack’s reply was slow in coming. “Yes and no,” he said at last. “My mother is dead, and I never had a father. And I suppose the two houses that meet are Bren and the kingdoms.”
Tawl nodded. He was glad of the opportunity to shift his thoughts onto less treacherous ground. “And the men who have lost their honor are the knights. The temple is Larn and the dark empire is being forged as we speak.”
“Kylock.”
There was something akin to longing in Jack’s voice as he spoke, and Tawl turned his head to look at him. No longer staring at the stars, he was enthralled by the flames.
“You knew him, didn’t you?”
Jack nodded. His gaze didn’t leave the fire. “I think I’m meant to destroy him.”
Tawl felt his spine prickle as surely as if someone had poured ice down his back. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a thin line of light. It moved upward as he watched. Already unnerved from what Jack had just said, Tawl was immediately on his guard. Keeping his gaze even, he whispered, “Lie down slowly, Jack. Pretend you’re bedding down for the night.”
Jack faked a yawn, smoothed out his blanket, and lay down. His face was turned to the hills. His hand was on the shortbow. “Where is he?” he hissed.
“On the hill to the left, a third of the way down. Just above the tree line.” Tawl barely moved as he spoke. He kept staring straight ahead. It was the archer. No doubt about it. He was on foot, and as he walked his bow caught the light of the moon. Tawl couldn’t see the man’s horse, but he guessed it was hidden back in the trees.
Slowly Tawl reached for an arrow. As his hand closed around the shaft, he spoke to Jack: “On my word throw the blanket on the fire.”
The shadowy figure in the distance stopped moving. The light slanted upward as he raised his bow.
They would only have a split second once the archer saw the light go out. The opportunity was too good to miss, though. Skaythe was now a standing target.
Tawl snatched his own bow from the ground. He nocked the arrow and drew back the string.
“Now, Jack. Now!”
Tawl aimed his arrow.
The light went out.
The bend of Skaythe’s elbow told of a bow drawn and ready. Tawl kissed the string and then relaxed his hold. The arrow exploded from the plate and shot toward its target.
The instant his fingers were free of the string, Tawl dove toward the fire. He heard the whir of an arrow, felt the head graze past his face. A hot searing pain followed, then the fletchings brushed against his cheek.
He slammed onto the blanket. It was hot and smoking. His momentum sent his body careening into Jack.
Jack had the shortbow up and nocked. Tawl grabbed his ankle and brought him down.
“Did I hit him?” Tawl could barely breathe. His right eye was full of blood. He twisted Jack’s ankle, preventing him from standing.
“I don’t
know. He went down maybe a second after you.” Jack kicked against the grip. “If you hadn’t pulled me down, I would have got a shot at him. I had him in my sights even after he’d hit the ground.”
Behind them, Nabber shifted in his blankets. “What’s going on?”
“Stay down.” Tawl wiped his eye. The cut was on his right cheekbone and the blood was flowing into the socket. “Where is he now?” he asked Jack. He still couldn’t see properly.
“He’s gone. In between you pulling me down and me looking up again, he got away.”
Tawl hissed a curse. Skaythe would have made it below the tree line by now. If he had been hit, it obviously hadn’t been fatal. The fact that he fell to the ground meant nothing. They both knew what game they were playing: two archers, two arrows, two shots. It was a duel. Skaythe would have had the same instinct he had—release the string, then get the hell away.
Tawl almost admired the man. He had loosed a fine arrow.
“Come on,” he said, standing up. “It’s about time we upped camp.”
“I ain’t getting up. No, sir,” said Nabber from the ground. “No one’s gonna take a free shot at me.”
Tawl tore a strip from his linen undershirt and pressed it against the cut on his cheek. “He won’t bother us again tonight.”
“Why? Did you get him?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”
“If you can’t be sure,” said Jack, “what makes you think he won’t fire again?”
“Because it’s not what he wants.”
“So what does he want, then?”
Tawl looked into the distance, searching for the spot where he’d last seen Skaythe. “He wants a contest, Jack. He wants to beat me one on one. That’s what he got tonight: me against him, even odds, my skills pitted against his.”
“Why?”
“Revenge for his brother. A chance to prove he can beat the man who beat Blayze.” Tawl shrugged. “I don’t know his motives.” He began to move around the camp, putting pots and flasks in his sack.
“So what do you think he’s doing now?” Jack’s voice was hard. He hadn’t liked being kept in the dark about the mysterious archer.
“If he’s injured, then he’ll lie low until tomorrow when we’re well out of the way. If not, then he’ll probably follow us south. Either way he’ll be planning his next attack.”
“But what if you got a real good hit, Tawl?” said Nabber, finally plucking up the courage to rise from his blanket.
“Then I’ve slowed him down by a few days. Perhaps even weeks. I just don’t know.” Tawl crossed over to the horses and threw the saddle on the back of the gelding.
Jack was one step behind him. “This man might want some sort of duel with you, but he’s not above killing Nabber and me in cold blood. Is he?”
Tawl looked quickly to Nabber. The boy was busy rolling up his blanket. “Look,” he said quietly, intending his words for Jack alone, “I think you’re right. I think he’s out to kill all of us. Now I’ve got to stop him, but he’s good, and he’s tracking us as if we were game. The only time he’ll come out in the open is to take a shot at me. You and Nabber he’ll shoot from the shade. That’s why I’ve got to make myself a target—like tonight. Our only chance of killing him is when he’s intent on killing me.” Tawl fastened the girth around the gelding’s belly. “So that leaves us with no choice: we’ve got to force him to come out and fight.”
“Why didn’t you let me take a shot at him?”
“You have a shortbow. He has a longbow. You were making yourself vulnerable for no reason.”
“It wasn’t because you wanted to play his game, too? Beat him man to man?”
Tawl shook his head. “No. A man who’ll shoot a defenseless boy in the dark deserves no such honor. You spot him, Jack, you kill him. That’s fine with me. I’ll pull you down every time, though, if I think you haven’t got a chance in hell of hitting him.”
Jack smiled. “I see your point.” He began strapping the saddlebags in place. “So, I suppose we’ll be purchasing our second longbow in Toolay?”
Tawl felt tired but pleased. In his own way, Jack was telling him that he wouldn’t be left out of this. It was a good feeling to know that someone else was willing to share the danger.
“You’ll need to practice,” he said. “If there’s an archer in you, I haven’t seen him yet.”
They both laughed. Tawl reached out and clasped Jack’s arm.
Jack returned the grip. “I appreciate you being honest with me.”
“And I appreciate all the help I can get.”
The two men stood for a moment, both looking at each other, revising their opinions. For the first time in many weeks, Tawl felt that everything might just turn out all right.
Up came the lamp. Melli’s eyes strained to find detail in the brightness. Instinctively she took a step back. Her ankle struck stone. There was nowhere for her to go.
On its way up, the light cast long shadows over the man’s face, turning it into a savage mask. He took a step forward.
“It’s been such a long time, Melliandra.”
Melli took a sharp breath. It wasn’t Baralis, it was Kylock. They were perfectly matched in figure and height. Even their coloring was the same. Melli felt a growing sense of dread. At least with Baralis she knew what to expect; he was calculating, cunning, a man of method. But Kylock was a different creature altogether. A dangerously unstable one.
Determined not to show fear, Melli tilted her chin upward and said, “So, have you come to set me free?”
Ignoring her, he looked around the room. His dark hair shone sleekly in the lamplight. Dressed in a black kidskin tunic and black silk undershirt, he looked as if he had just come from an official dinner. After a few seconds he nodded softly. “Not doing too well now, are we, Melliandra?”
“I’d be doing a lot worse if I’d married you. Your wife was cold before the wedding night was over.”
Melli felt something hard slam against her face. She went toppling backward, banging her head against the wall.
Kylock stood over her, wiping his fist on his tunic. “I’d be careful what you say if I were you, Melliandra. Your tongue’s too glib by far.”
Melli rubbed her aching jaw. She moved to stand up, but Kylock pushed her down.
“I think I’ll have you stay where you are for the moment.” He spoke like a painter posing a model. Stretching forward, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Yes, just there.”
Melli tasted blood in her mouth. She didn’t dare move. Kylock’s eyes were blank and unfocused. He looked like he’d been drinking.
In a movement so swift, Melli thought he was going to strike her, he came and knelt at her side. He saw her flinch and smiled. “Not so sure of yourself now, eh?”
His breath held no trace of alcohol, but there was an unnatural sweetness to it. There were a few specks of white powder on the corner of his lip.
“You know what I think?” he said.
“No. Why don’t you tell me?” Without realizing, Melli had slid both her arms around her stomach. She wanted desperately to lash out at Kylock, both physically and verbally, but she stopped herself. She had her baby to think of now.
“I think you deserve better than this.” His hand came up, but this time he stroked her cheek.
Melli preferred the slapping. “Is that why you came here?” she said, slowly edging her cheek away from his touch.
Kylock was very close now. The skin on his face was very pale. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I came to see how they were treating you.”
“Well, as you can see, they are treating me badly.” Melli wasn’t really sure who he was referring to: Baralis, the guards, perhaps both.
“Hmm.” Kylock’s hand moved down from her cheek to her throat. His fingertips were as soft as a baby’s.
Melli wrapped her arms more tightly across her stomach, and then asked the only question worth asking: “Why come here now? I’ve been here weeks, you could ha
ve seen me at any point.”
Kylock smiled softly, curving his beautifully sculpted lips upward. “Baralis wants you executed tomorrow.”
Very still. She kept herself very still. Not a single muscle on her face betrayed her. She didn’t blink, didn’t tremble, didn’t form any expression at all. She still breathed, though. Long, deep breaths.
“Yes, they’re going to come for you in the morning. The water they give you will be drugged to make you . . . ” Kylock took pleasure choosing the right phrase, “more compliant. Then they will put a blade through your heart. You’ll never have to leave this room, it will all happen here.” He smiled as if doing her a great courtesy.
“When the two guards have finished, they will lock the door and descend the stairs, only to be slaughtered before they reach the last step. After that’s done, the lady who supervises your comforts will also meet an unfortunate end. And that will leave no one to tell of what happened.”
All the time he was speaking, Kylock’s hand was on her throat. Now that he had finished, he moved it lower. Down to her breast and then along to her belly. “That’s the plan, anyway.”
Melli made no attempt to move away from him. She let his hand rest where it was. Her mind had seized on the tone of Kylock’s voice as he spoke his last sentence. Was it reluctance she detected? Inching her little finger forward to touch his, she tested him. “Is the plan, or was the plan?”
He pulled back from her. With his other hand he raised the lantern, bringing it close to her face. “No rouge on your lips, I see.”
Melli’s heart was beating fast. The lantern was so close she could feel it hot against her cheek. Despite all her efforts, she felt the beginnings of panic. She didn’t know what Kylock wanted from her. Couldn’t understand the shift in conversation. “No,” she said, feeling as if she were stumbling in the dark. “Not on mine.”
Kylock brought the lantern closer. The flame was now less than an eyelash length from her face. “You’ve never painted yourself like a whore, have you?”
Melli felt her skin burn. She could take it no longer. She raised up her fist and sent it smashing into Kylock’s arm.
