by J. V. Jones
"I would repay a debt of my own."
"The girl Megan? I will see she is compensated for her troubles." Tawl tried to conceal his surprise-was there nothing this man did not know? He was pleased, however, that the Old Man had not questioned his reasons for heading to Larn.
As if reading his thoughts, the Old Man said, "I have no wish to know what you do on Bevlin's behalf. But I do have two warnings for you. First, I have many contacts throughout the Known Lands, and I know that the knights are no longer welcome in many places and hatred for your order grows. I say keep your circles well covered; they will only bring you trouble." The Old Man spotted Tawl's expression. "You're young and idealistic--you probably can't see what's going on."
"I know the knights are much maligned in Rorn."
"And rightly so. Tyren is leading them astray. He wants money and power and seeks to gain them while hiding behind a smoke screen of religious fanaticism."
Tawl stood up to leave. "A man should not be condemned by hearsay alone. Tyren was a friend to me when I needed one most." The Old Man waved him down.
"Sit down, sit down, I meant no offense. The knights are not my concern. If you choose to follow them, then I am not the man to block your path. You are full of dreams and think that gaining the final circle is all that matters. Let me tell you, I have known many knights and the third circle is just a beginning not an end." The Old Man gave Tawl a sharp look. "What do you think you'd do once you got it, eh? The sort of great deeds that guarantee your memory outlives your flesh?"
Tawl felt his face flush. It was so near the truth. He hadn't thought beyond the third circle, except for vague dreams of glory. The future was not for him-the present was the only currency he could safely deal in.
The Old Man smiled pleasantly. "Now where was ?"
"You had two warnings. I am yet to have the benefit of the second."
"Ah, yes. The second one is this: Larn is a treacherous isle, be wary of the price."
The Old Man took the cup of nettle from Tawl. "Moth will see to your needs. Unfortunately, he and Clem are out doing a little business at the moment. My boy Noad will escort you. Moth will contact you when it's all arranged." The Old Man spoke Noad's name softly, and a young boy came into the room. The boy led Tawl out, and the Old Man turned back to his fire.
Tawl underwent the same blindfolded, foul-smelling journey, this time without the benefit of sea breezes. The boy led him back to the small dark room, and from the top of a high shelf took Tawl's long-knife and the curved blade. These he handed to Tawl. "Old Man don't want you knocked out again." The boy replaced Tawl's blindfold and led him up some steps and outside. They walked for a short while and then the boy removed the blindfold.
"Here you go. Turn left at the top of the street and you'll find yourself in the whoring quarter in no time." The boy was off, quickly slipping down a thin alleyway.
Tawl followed the boy's directions and soon found himself in an area he was familiar with. Deep in thought, he made his way back to Megan's.
Tavalisk was eating plums. He had a bowl full of the deep, purple fruit. He popped one between his pink lips, and as he chewed, its juice dribbled down his chin. He dabbed at it fastidiously with a silk napkin and then spat out the stone onto the floor.
"Enter." Gamil entered carrying a bowl of hazelnuts. "Your Eminence's nuts," he said, placing them on his desk.
"So, Gamil, what news have you for me today?" Tavalisk selected a fat and shiny plum and placed it between his sharp teeth.
"Our knight has emerged from the Old Man's clutches."
"And what state is he in? Was he beaten?" Tavalisk spat out the plum stone in the direction of his sleeping dog.
"I don't think he was, Your Eminence."
"Oh, how very disappointing. I wonder what they're up to?" Tavalisk, having missed the dog with the stone, now shook the little dog awake.
"Well, I can't say for certain, Your Eminence. Not even you can tell what the Old Man is up to." Tavalisk was about to bite on another plum, but put it down untouched as he heard Gamil's words.
"It is not your place to tell me my limitations, Gamil. You would be a fool to think that you are my only source of intelligence."
Gamil, suitably contrite, bowed his head low. Tavalisk continued. "The Old Man only has power as long as I choose to let him. For the time being his activities undermine Gavelna's leadership. And it is in my interest to keep the first minister's authority suitably-" Tavalisk chose the plumpest plum "-contained. I must be the leading power in Rorn. The old duke lives like a hermit, shunning his rightful position as leader. Someone has to fill the void, and it suits me for the moment to let the Old Man and the first minister both think they have. While those two are busy at each other's throats, I have Rorn to myself."
The archbishop dabbed at the comer of his mouth with his silk napkin, removing the dribble of plum juice that had escaped his ravenous lips. "Our spy in Castle Harvell-I would have you communicate to him."
"Certainly, Your Eminence. What would you have me say?"
"I would know who Baralis' enemies are. That man is trying to wed Kylock to Catherine of Bren, and I need not tell you how little I like the thought of that alliance. Bren is already too powerful. With the kingdoms at its side, the duke would be set to dominate the north. Who knows where the alliance might lead? The two powers could conquer all the territories between. Halcus, Annis, Highwall-before we know it the good duke could be ruling virtually half the Known Lands."
Tavalisk was feeling quite agitated; he poured himself a cup of fortified wine. He winced as the liquor met his palate: not a good mix with plums. "Not to mention trade. The duke of Bren is up to something with those damned knights. They are looking to steal trade from under our feet. They seek to make Rorn look greedy by charging lower prices. The tactics of charlatans!"
"It is indeed an insidious evil, Your Eminence, to charge a fair price."
Tavalisk gave Gamil a shrewd look. He took a second sip of wine; it tasted no better than the first. "This situation is very serious indeed. I need to monitor events carefully, and I must have players in place. Baralis will have powerful enemies whom I can contact. Why do something yourself when you can get someone else to do it for you?" Tavalisk took a third sip; the wine, though still bitter, found acceptance on his tongue.
"I will discover who has reason to hate Lord Baralis, Your Eminence."
"Knowing Baralis as I do, I'm sure there will be more than a few people in Castle Harvell who would wish him ill."
Tavalisk took another gulp of wine. How could he have ever considered this nectar bitter?
"Is there anything more, Your Eminence?"
Tavalisk picked up his dog and handed it to his aide. "Take Comi for a walk in the gardens, Gamil. He hasn't been out all day and needs to relieve himself." Gamil flashed Tavalisk a look filled with malice. Tavalisk pretended not to notice.
Once Gamil had left, Tavalisk fetched the platter of nuts and, with a sly smile on his face, proceeded to crack them open.
Today was the day that Jack was going to leave Falk's den and head east. Jack would be sorry to leave, but he had his own life, and now, thanks to Falk, it appeared more hopeful than before. Life wasn't as simple as he'd thought, but it was rich with possibilities. His mind had been opened up to other points of view. He was beginning to see that there was more than one way of looking at things, and that beliefs he'd held for years demanded questioning. Falk had given him much to think about, and now he needed time alone to reach his own conclusions.
"Why did you help me that day when I was sick?" asked Jack. They were sitting by the fire, and ale had made them pensive. Falk sipped his drink and remained silent. Jack thought that he had overstepped the boundaries of their peculiar friendship by questioning his motives. He was about to apologize for asking when Falk finally spoke up.
"I cannot lie to you, Jack. I helped you because there was more to you than sight alone."
"You saw the thing in me that changed th
e loaves?" Jack was surprised by Falk's answer. "No, I am no magician. Only they can spot the potential for sorcery in each other. I am a woodsman-I know the earth not the heavens." Jack felt the hair on his neck bristle. He was afraid. "What did you see, then?"
"You are persistent," said Falk, "I'll give you that. I helped you the day you fell sick in the rain, because I felt a pulling in my blood. I saw the potential for..." Falk looked at the floor, flattening the leaves with his shoe ". . . I cannot say. Destiny escorts you, and given the opportunity, she would lead you to the dance."
Falk stood up quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the subject of conversation. "Seems you are on your way. I have gifts I would give you."
Destiny? It seemed to Jack his life had never been more confusing: sorcery, choices to make, and now some shadowy destiny accompanying him. He was a baker's boy, nothing more. Life had been a lot easier when his only concerns were baking, scribing, and courting.
He ran his hands through his hair, longer than ever now. Master Frallit would have wielded his knife at the sight of it. The kitchen girls had liked it long, though. Not that he was interested in them anymore; a man could hardly be expected to think of women when he had just recovered from a wet fever and was about to set out on a new life. Still, the image of one woman kept playing on his mind: the girl Melli. Even now he could see her perfect skin, almost feel the contours of her body.
He felt a little ashamed of the progress of his thoughts. Women, no matter how much he tried and how pressing his problems were, had a way of insinuating themselves into his thoughts. Why, only minutes ago Falk had told him something important-true, it was a little vague, but important no less-and here he was imaging how Melli would have looked in a low-cut dress!
He laughed out loud and Falk laughed with him. He wasn't about to ask why Falk laughed along-he feared being told the woodsman could read his thoughts. Which only made him laugh more. It was good to laugh; it was hard to believe there was anything bad in the world that wouldn't retreat at the sound of laughter.
Falk walked to a comer of the den and knelt down, then lifted a bed of moss to reveal a small pit. He sorted through the contents, found what he wanted, and replaced the moss. Falk came and sat beside Jack once more and started to unwrap several items from their linen swaths. ,
"You came with nothing, and I cannot let you part that way. I did not save your life for it to be forfeit as soon as you leave." He handed Jack a small but heavy dagger. "You will need a knife." Falk unwrapped another item. "You will need a water flask." The final item was a thick and luxuriant cloak. "You will need warmth."
Jack was sobered by such generosity. "Falk, I don't know how to thank you." He was saved from saying more by Falk, who grunted in a dismissive manner.
" 'Tis nothing. Though I ask one thing in return."
"What?"
"Don't be bitter, Jack. You are young and life has set you a difficult path. Don't make it worse by blaming others for its course." The woodsman gave him a look filled with understanding. It was Jack who looked away first.
Satisfied, Falk busied himself with placing food onto a cloth. He then drew the cloth into a sling and tied the cord tightly. A few moments looking through a chest, and he pulled out a pair of boots. He looked at Jack's feet critically, shaking his head in disbelief. When Falk handed the boots over to him, Jack didn't know whether to smile or be ashamed. Lastly, Falk gave him a leather purse. "It's not much," he said, "a few golds, but it will help you once you clear the forest."
Jack tried to thank him again, but his words seemed stiff and formal. "I owe you much, Falk. I thank you for your kindness and promise to repay you."
"I want no thanks and I will have no man beholden to me. I absolve you of any debt or obligation." Jack tried to think of a suitable reply. Not finding one, he decided silence was his best course.
The two companions left the den, and stood side by side. Although Jack had seen the den from the outside several times before, he could not help but admire it once again.
It appeared to be nothing more than a mass of dense bushes. Falk caught Jack looking at it. "I have few things to be proud of, my home is one of them."
They stood in silence for a few minutes, taking in the beauty of the forest.
Falk surprised Jack by coming forward and placing a light kiss upon his cheek. "I envy you, Jack. You are young and your life is ahead of you make an adventure of it!" For the last time, Jack could find no words. The two men's eyes met, and Jack turned and walked away.
He did not look back. He headed into the deep forest, checking the position of the sun to ensure he was walking east. All the great cities lay to the east. It didn't matter where he ended up, what counted was the experience. Now that Falk had set his mind ablaze, he needed fuel to feed the flame. Jack broke into a run. He enjoyed the sensation of cool air on his face, and when it began to rain, he counted it a blessing. Many leagues he traveled, his thoughts too joyful for contemplation. His life would be an adventure, and that was enough to sustain him through the day.
When night began to make its presence felt with cool breezes and a darkening sky, Jack slowed and looked for a place to sleep. He found a flat area of ground by a narrow stream and unpacked his bag. He was overwhelmed with the contents; there was a side of cured ham, a round of yellow cheese, salted venison, apples, nuts, dried fruits, and dried meats. Besides food there was a light woolen blanket and a flask. Jack drank from the flask and found it was filled with cider. Smiling, he cut himself a large wedge of cheese to complement the brew.
Jack opened the leather purse and found five gold pieces. To a boy who'd not owned a penny his entire life, five golds was a fortune.
He tucked in to a hearty meal, testing the blade of his dagger on the side of ham. As he ate, Jack wished he could have thanked Falk more eloquently for all he had done. He considered the strange character of his benefactor and realized the best thing he could do was simply to enjoy the bounty he had given. Jack raised his flask and made a toast: "To Falk, a man alone but at peace." Jack downed the remaining cider and belched appreciatively. It was a good brew.
Baralis was not pleased. His dove had died; the wretched bird had finally succumbed to starvation and cold. Now he had no way of ensuring his mercenaries would pick up the girl. He would have to send out another bird. He would do it tomorrow-he had a meeting with the queen later this day and he needed his wits about him. To add to his displeasure, he had just received a letter by courier from the chubby, scheming Tavalisk, asking for his library back. The corrupt and corpulent archbishop was up to no good, he could feel it in his blood. The man lived for intrigue, and he wouldn't let something as juicy as the marriage of Kylock go unquestioned. The map of the Known Lands would soon be changing, power would shift from the bloated south to the ravenous north. There was no place for a glutton in a world dominated by a lean and hungry empire.
Tavalisk would bear watching; he would not have his plans foiled by the archbishop's pudgy hand.
Baralis did have some reasons to be pleased: the queen had finally acquiesced and had requested an audience with him this night. She wanted more of the medicine. Winter's Eve festival was the following night, and he hoped to have the queen's seal of approval on his proposal by then.
As Baralis thought, he mixed a batch of poison. A new formula-one that he had not tried before. With hands made deft once more by his painkillers, he ground powders and measured liquids, careful to attain the exact proportions. Too much of the moss extract might overpower the other ingredients and the delicate balance would be disturbed. Making poison required a meticulous eye and a steady hand.
This poison was not meant to be consumed-this was more subtle. Baralis smiled grimly as he considered his handiwork; this was undoubtedly the most amusing poison he had ever made. It was designed to be poured onto the victim's robes. The poison was strong and would only need a few drops, preferably around the collar and shoulders. The victim would wear his cloak and be able to detect nothing amiss
, for the potion was clear and had little odor. The victim would then proceed about his business unaware that he was breathing in the deadly fumes that the poison gave off. It would be a slow death, for the fumes would be slight and take many hours to work their deadly commission.
Baralis now reached the point in the manufacture where he was forced to don a mask-he did not want to take any chances himself. The death that the poison brought would not only be slow but also painful. The victim would find himself short of breath as the noxious substance burnt into the delicate flesh of throat and lung. The victim would assume he had indigestion or heartburn and would think nothing of it. Gradually the poison would eat away at the victim's lungs to such an extent that he would suffocate, desperately struggling for breath that could not come.
Baralis, having finished making the poison, cautiously tipped it into a glass jar upon which he placed a firm stopper. Tomorrow, when the attention of the castle was diverted by last-minute preparations for the festival, he would slip into Maybor's chamber. Baralis would douse Maybor's best robes in the poison. As there was to be a court dance that evening, the vain Lord Maybor would be sure to wear his most extravagant and expensive robes. Little would he suspect that the clothes he wore to impress the court would be the very instrument of his downfall.
Baralis was most satisfied with his plan. This time no unsuspecting servant would step in and save his master. Maybor had been lucky once; he would not be so again.
Maybor was waiting downwind of the middens once more. Impatiently, he stamped his feet on the hard ground The assassin finally came, his diminutive figure emerging over the gentle rise. Maybor did not stand on ceremony. "Why have you not done what was agreed?"
The assassin did not appear to be concerned with Maybor's angry tone. "The time has not been right so far. I would not endanger myself by moving too soon and without due care."
Maybor was not happy with this answer. "It has been many days since we met last. I would have expected you to find a propitious moment before now."
"I have been carefully monitoring Lord Baralis' movements. He goes nowhere without his fool Crope."
