by J. V. Jones
Tawl sipped on his drink. The holk soothed his aching body and helped clear his head. He began to remember how he had come to be here. He was a knight of Valdis and had been sent to the wiseman Bevlin, who in turn had sent him to look for a boy. Memories flooded back. Five years spent searching for someone with no name and no face. All the cities he'd visited, all the people he'd talked to, all the years he'd spent pursuing the dream of an old man in a small cottage.
He recalled the night he was picked up. He had been drinking in a darkened tavern. Four men set upon him. They had dragged him outside and beaten him, and then, even before his blood was dry, they chained him up. He'd hated being chained at first, but once they began to torture him, he found himself longing to be strung up once more. Tawl shuddered. He had no desire to remember the torture. Through it all he'd been asked a question, one that was not within his power to answer: "Who is the boy you seek?" Countless times he'd been asked, countless times he had no answer.
He wondered how long he had been kept chained. He had no memory of the time leading up to his release. Why had they released him? He had not told them what they wanted to know; indeed, he could not. So why set him free now?
Tawl remembered a fleshy, overweight figure, a man who often lurked in the shadows while he was being tortured. The fat man had reeked of exotic fragrances and his voice was rich with privilege. He was the one who was in charge. It would have been his decision to let him go. How long had he been kept there? How much time had he lost?
There was something else to remember, something hidden deeper. He strained for the memory. It came to him with sickening clarity, bringing in its wake the familiar wave of despair. With its remembrance, Tawl felt complete. It was his burden, and he was so used to its weight that without it he felt insubstantial. It defined who he was and what he must be.
It had been a hot summer the year he'd turned thirteen. Mosquitoes rose from the marshes like smoke from a fire. The world hummed to their tune. The only time of day worth leaving the shade for was early morning. Tawl would make his way along the marsh tracks and down to the ever-shrinking fishing hole. Fixing his line in place by jamming the rod between two stones, he'd settle down for a couple of hours to give the fish chance to bite. Only today he couldn't rest. His thoughts, which normally dwelt on dreams of combat and glory, were taken up with pictures of the sickroom.
The birth wasn't going well. The midwife had halved the candles before lighting them, and Tawl, like everyone who came from the Great Marshes, knew what that meant. Not that he needed a ritual to tell him what his eyes could see: his mother was dying. The labor was too long. The house was too hot. Half the night he'd been awake, tossing and turning in sheets damp with sweat. His mother's breath drew the mosquitoes. The smell of urine drew the flies.
He was ashamed to feel relief when morning finally came, for it provided an excuse to be out of the house. The midwife had to be paid whatever the birthing might bring, and fish were the only currency they had to offer. Tawl shook off his sisters; they were too young to keep up with him, and he needed to be alone. The fish were slow to bite and it was mid-afternoon before he'd caught what was needed: three for the midwife, two for his mother, one for each of his sisters and himself, and one extra in case the baby had arrived. His father could see to his own.
The midwife met him at the door. "She's too weak to birth. Should I cut her open and at least save the child?"
Tawl beat his fist against the wall. The pain brought him back to the present. How could she do that! How could she put the decision to end his mother's life into his hands?
He, a boy just past his twelfth year. No one of any age should have such a responsibility placed upon them. Tawl's pain crystallized into anger. Where had his father been? His useless, drunken father. With anger came release. Anger made everything bearable; it was how he coped. And, as long as he didn't think about what had happened latermuch later-coping was enough.
Megan burst into the room, her brightness was a useful distraction. "Here we are. I wasn't too long, was I? I've got all sorts of goodies." Her arms were filled with packages. "Look, I've got some hot eel pie, and some jellied goose livers, and even some fresh figs!" She duly unpacked these items, holding them up for Tawl to admire. Tawl smiled, approving the purchases. He was glad of her presence. It kept his demons at bay.
"I think I'll have a few figs. I haven't the courage for eels." As soon as he spoke, he regretted it, for the look on Megan's face turned from joy to disappointment. He was quick to mend his error. "Maybe I could manage a few of the jellied livers, though."
Megan smiled brightly, "Oh, I am pleased. Tawl, I bought them specially for you. I'll have the eel pie myself. I nearly forgot! I bought you some clothes, as well." She unwrapped the largest of her bundles. "I'm sorry they're not new, but they're not bad. Look." She held up a canary yellow tunic and a pair of striped breeches. "Oh, and I bought you a cloak, too-real goat's wool. Here, feel it." She held it out. Tawl admired the quality to gratify her, the twinkle in her green eyes being more than worth the effort.
After they had eaten, Megan poured them both glasses of honey-colored cider. "Ever since the war in the northwest, this nestor cider is mighty difficult to come across. The price of it has tripled these past years." Tawl drank the golden liquid, appreciating its subtle, fruity flavor. He was beginning to feel a little light-headed.
"I think you should go out tomorrow and take a little fresh air." Megan smiled prettily. "Besides, tomorrow is the parade, and there will be great sights to see. There will be singing and dancing and jugglers from Isro." Tawl nodded, but he wasn't sure if he would feel up to it.
Megan looked at him thoughtfully and then moved across the room muttering something about getting changed. She undressed in a gloomy comer and Tawl tried to do what was expected of any knight: look away. Megan's skin glowed like summer peaches and he could not help but look. "It's perfectly all right for you to look. I don't mind." Tawl blushed deeply.
"I am sorry, my lady." Megan's face grew grave as she came toward him: she was naked and her body was beautiful in the soft light.
She said gently, "I am no lady, Tawl, but I thank you for your courtesy." She knelt and kissed him on the lips.
"I don't think I'm in any condition to pleasure a lady this day."
"But you are in a condition to be pleasured by a lady." She smiled sweetly, pulling the blanket from his body and moving her head lower. Desire, long lost to Tawl, came to him with its welcome blankness. To love was to forget, and coupling with a stranger by a dimming fire was enough to ease the pain for a while.
Melli was beginning to wish she had never left the castle. The first few hours had been like an exciting adventure, stealing out in the dark of night with her hood drawn over her face, evading the guards. But it had been cold outside and she had begun to suspect that she was woefully unprepared. She had spent the night sleeping against the castle's outer wall. She had decided not to take a room at a tavern in the town, for she couldn't risk being recognized, and besides, she had no money.
She felt utterly miserable. She was hungry and cold, and although it had not rained, she had still somehow managed to get wet. She wanted nothing better than a hot meal and some mulled holk to soothe her aching bones. Sleeping outside on the hard ground, she discovered, was a most unpleasant experience. Hunger won over caution and she headed into Harvell.
Harvell was more a large town than a city. Most of the people made a living serving the needs of the hundreds of courtiers and thousands of servants and soldiers who lived in the castle or on its grounds. The town was just half a league to the west of the castle, a pleasant place with neatly timbered buildings.
Melli had visited it many times to buy ribbons or posies. Buy! she thought, she had never been allowed to buy anything. She would say to the storekeepers, "Lord Maybor will honor this," and they had let her take anything she wanted. Melli suddenly drew her hand to her face. That was it! Of course, why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She
could go to the market, purchase anything she might need, and leave her father with the bill! It was perfect: her father would be financing her escape. She could not help but smile. Maybor would be furious when he received the charges.
Her step grew lighter as she made a mental list of things she would buy: she would need food, there was that little bake shop that served hot pastries and rolls, and she could buy a cup of cider and maybe even a custard tart.
Melli slowed down her pace. She was not on a pleasureouting. This was no idle trip to market. She was running away from the only life she had ever known, heading to a city that lay far beyond the battlefields of the Halcus.
She breathed in the cold air of early morning, feeling alone and afraid. A shadow crossed her path and she looked up to see a gray swan in the sky. The noble bird was heading south for the winter. It was a sign. A gray swan formed part of her family's coat of arms. Determination hardened on her smooth brow: was she not Lord Maybor's daughter? Bravery and Resolution was her family motto; she would be the first woman to prove the maxim true. She walked into the village deciding that she would have a custard tart after all.
An hour later, Melli was well fed and in the process of buying some travel supplies. She carefully considered the wares. "My brother Kedrac assured me that you would be able to supply me with what he needs for his hunting expedition. He specifically said to ask for ..." Melli found she could not remember the name over the door.
"Master Trout, m'lady."
"Yes, Master Trout. What would my brother need?"
"Well, it depends on where he's going and how long for."
Melli struggled for a plausible lie. "He's going west."
"West, m'lady? There's no hunting to the west at this time of year."
Melli decided to change her tactics. "Look, Master Trout, I really couldn't care less about the hunting or lack of it in the west. I am purely here as a favor to my brother. If you feel you can not supply me with what he needs, then I will go elsewhere." She made as if to leave.
"M'lady, please don't be so hasty. I will find you what you want. It's probably the fishing that he's going for. Does he have a good pole for a rod?"
"He has a rod, Master Trout. Now hurry, please!" She watched as he loaded a sack with all sorts of strange-looking dry food. He then went in the back and came out with an empty water flask and some miscellaneous cooking pots. "Blankets?"
"Yes, and a good warm cloak." Melli had found the one she was wearing to be most inadequate.
"If I know Lord Kedrac, he'll be wanting some snatch. I'll throw a tin in should I?"
"If you please." She was beginning to get very impatient. This whole operation was taking longer than she had hoped. Finally the shopkeeper handed her the sack.
"It's a mite heavy for you, miss. Shall I have my boy carry it back to the castle?"
"That will not be necessary, Master Trout. I have my own boy outside. Lord Maybor will honor the bill."
"Of course, m'lady. I wish you joy of the day." Melliandra carried the heavy sack outside and quickly donned the heavy cloak. She decided on impulse not to throw away her old cloak-it was not too heavy and the nights would be cold. She turned toward the inn. She dared not stretch her father's credit as far as a horse, so she would have to purchase one with her jewels.
She had waited outside the inn for several minutes when a boy approached leading a rather tired, old-looking horse. It was not what she was used to, but she was in a hurry.
"Boy! How much for the horse?"
The boy looked up slyly. "This horse is powerful fast and strong, miss."
"I didn't ask you that, boy. I said how much." Melli looked around nervously; the sun was growing higher and the morning was almost over.
"I couldn't take less than two gold pieces for it." Melli knew it was an outrageous price for such an old horse. She turned away from the boy and fished in her purse for her gold bracelet.
"Here, take this." She watched as his face grew ugly with greed.
"That will do right nice. Right nice indeed." He handed her the reins of the horse and watched cunningly as she led it away.
Melliandra stroked the horse's muzzle. "I never asked your name, did I, boy?" she said. "I'm going to need a saddle for you, too." For a brief moment she hugged the horse, placing her arms around its back and belly, resting her head on its flank. "What will become of you and me?" she whispered softly.
Baralis ignored Crope as he entered his chambers, but was forced to turn around when Crope loudly cleared his throat. "What is it, you great oaf? Is the boy found?"
"No, sir, but I know he's not in the castle."
"How do you know this?" demanded Baralis.
"One of the guards saw him leave early this morningsaid he was heading for the woods."
"Ah, the woods." Baralis mused over this fact for a few minutes. "Go now, Crope, and tell the guards to search the woods. I must think a while on what to do."
Crope hovered uneasily, not making any move to leave. "There's one other thing, my lord," he said sheepishly. Baralis looked up, annoyed. "Be gone, you imbecile."
"Very well, but I thought you might like to know Lord Maybor sent you his regards."
Baralis stood up. "He what!"
"He sent his regards. It was probably for the gift of wine you sent him last evening."
"You mean to tell me that you have seen Lord Maybor up and about in the castle this day?"
"Yes, sir, just a few hours back. He smiled most pleasantly."
"Leave me alone." Baralis' voice was coldly menacing and his servant wasted no time in doing what his master commanded.
Baralis was in a fury. He paced the length of his chamber, absently rubbing his pained hands. How could this have happened? How could Maybor have avoided the poison? He knew for a fact that the drunken lord took a glass of wine every night to help him sleep. He must have discovered the poison, yet the drug had been odorless and tasteless. Maybor had the luck of the devil!
Baralis calmed himself. He needed to think clearly; he now had several problems to solve. He could not allow the betrothal to go through. If he could not prevent it by murdering Maybor, he would have to set his sights upon the daughter-the sweet and lovely Melliandra. The girl would have to be disposed of. Maybe he would do it with own hand. He shivered with anticipation; it would indeed be a pleasure to steal the life from one so fair. He might even have a little fun with her first. Women, he found, were always more appealing with terror in their eyes.
Then there was the problem of the baker's boy. So Jack had headed into the woods, undoubtedly seeking cover amidst the dense trees. Well, the boy was a fool to think he could hide from him. There were methods by which a man could gain access to the deepness of the wood. Baralis lifted the tapestry and entered his study.
He handled the bird gently, trying not to damage any of its feathers. He had calmed it, and although it was restless in his hands, it made no move to escape. He stroked its small head and it cooed lightly. Baralis was about to change the nature of the bird.
He was determined to find Jack. The search would probably locate him, but it never hurt to make contingencies. He didn't place great trust in the castle guards-it would take them many days to scan the thick woodland that surrounded much of the castle, and even then the feckless fools might miss him. He had other matters to attend to and so would send something to do his work for him.
A dove. What better creature than a bird to sight someone in the depths of the forest?
To this end he would change the nature of the bird, superimposing his wishes over the natural inclinations of the dove. Baralis had done such drawings many times before in birds, in cats, in mice. It was a delicate operation requiring twinned animals. Creatures born from the same egg. Baralis, like other masters, had ways of cultivating such creatures and usually had an assortment of them at hand, identical to each other in every way.
He soothed the first bird into an uneasy sleep, then poured some fresh water into a bowl. Next, he mad
e a careful incision into the second dove, straight down the center of its breast. The bird's blood ran into the bowl. Baralis took the still beating heart between his fingers and made an invocation as the life drained away from the bird. He raised the heart to his lips and swallowed it. The bond. He then took the first dove and immersed it in the bloody water, its graywhite feathers becoming pink with blood. Baralis then dried the bird with a soft cloth and commanded it to awaken. The bird's eyes opened and it was eager to be on its way.
He carried the bird out of his study and let it out of the window. It flew away quickly: it had no will of its own-it was Baralis' creature now.
He was pleased the messy business was over. He had no taste for warm dove hearts, but, he thought grimly, at least they were small.
It now was time to see what mischief Maybor was cooking up. He was bound to have some unpleasant revenge planned for the attempt on his life. Let him try, Baralis thought as he made his way down to the second cellar, he will not catch me unawares.
Before long Baralis was on the dark side of Maybor's chambers, listening with great interest to the conversation between father and son:
"She has been in the village this very morning, Father."
"Who saw her?" Maybor's voice was low and strained. "Quite a few people, Father. She even bought some supplies."
"What supplies? She has no money to buy supplies."
"She never paid for them. The shopkeeper gave me the bill. She said you would honor the payment."
"Oh, she is a sly one. What did she buy?"
"Apparently she bought supplies for a fishing expedition."
"Fishing!" Baralis could hear the amazement in May= bor's voice.
"Yes, and she was seen heading east with a horse."
"Damn it! She must be found, Kedrac. Put your best men on it and swear them to secrecy. I want no one to know of this-especially the queen. Tell anyone who asks that Melliandra is abed with a fever."
