A Man Betrayed

by J. V. Jones

  "Yes. That's what I'm worried about. For ten days now I've been hearing reports of knights on the move."

  "West?"

  The duke nodded. "Fully armed, mounted on warhorses, trailing enough mules to supply a siege."

  "Then the letter is probably genuine." Tawl had a strong desire to have a drink. It seemed that everytime he managed to make some order out of his life, something came along to tear away at what he'd built. Oh, he'd heard all the rumors about Tyren being corrupt, but he could never quite bring himself to believe them. Until now. The letter was proof that the man was using Valdis to fulfill his own personal agenda. He had made mercenaries out of the knights.

  Tawl felt a deep sense of loss. For so long the knighthood was all that he had: it was his family, his religion, his life. Hearing of its decline filled him with bitter sadness. He had believed in the ideal. He still did. If he had been free to go back, he would. But it was too late. Valdis was another closed door.

  "What do you know about Tyren?" asked the duke. He walked over to the side table by the wall and poured three glasses of wine of varying measure. The fullest he gave to Melliandra, the emptiest he kept for himself.

  Tawl took a sip of the wine. He would have preferred ale. "Tyren was the first person I knew at Valdis; he recruited me before he was made leader. I always counted him a friend."

  "And now?"

  "He is still a friend." Old loyalties had a power all of their own. Tawl could not bring himself to say a word against Tyren.

  The duke gave him a hard, appraising look. Finally, he said, "He is a friend of mine, also."

  "I heard he sent knights to fight in your southeastern campaigns."

  "He did. And I admit I promised him the right to safeguard Bren's trade, but never once did I sanction unnecessary bloodshed or pillage. Most towns surrender peacefully."

  The duke brought the wine to his lips but did not drink. "When the south was busy persecuting the knights, I offered them safe haven. Bren and Valdis have been allies for many years now."

  "Perhaps Tyren thinks you still are. After all, he is fighting for the man who will soon marry your daughter." Tawl sighed heavily. He did not like politics. To him diplomacy was just an excuse to lie and deceive, and treaties were nothing more than a catalog of greed and compromises.

  "If you're right," said Melli, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, "why then didn't he inform the duke of his intentions?"

  Tawl knew the answer to that, and he suspected the duke did, too: Tyren wanted to be on the winning side, and at this point in time it looked as if Kylock was set to dominate the north. The leader of the knights was hoping to benefit from Kylock's success. Why bother consulting with the duke, when the man who would one day take his place was so much more accommodating and ambitious?

  Only now Kylock might not take the duke's place. The three people in this room and the falconer knew that a marriage would soon be announced that threatened to take the title of Bren away from Catherine and her husband. All Melli needed to do was beget a male child and the balance of power would change in the north. It would shift eastward, back toward Bren. Tawl was more worried than ever about Melli's safety. He was now forced to add Tyren and his fellow knights onto the growing list of her potential assassins.

  "May I speak plainly, Your Grace?" he asked. "Certainly."

  "Make the betrothal announcement soon, and arrange the marriage quickly thereafter." Tawl was about to say more, giving the reasons behind his advice, but the duke forestalled him with a warning glance.

  "I agree entirely, my friend. With a lady as beautiful as this," he paused and smiled at Melli, "it's hard for a man to wait."

  Tawl bowed in acknowledgment of the reprimand. The duke obviously wanted to keep Melli in the dark about the politics surrounding the wedding. The truth was he needed to marry her quickly before events on the far side of the mountains got out of hand.

  Suddenly feeling rather weary, Tawl asked if he could take his leave. He did not want to stay and witness the duke's deception. Putting his wineglass down, he was surprised to see that it was almost full. The desire to drink had thankfully passed. He smiled to himself. If it had been ale, things might have been different.

  As he made his way across the room, he tried to catch Melli's eye, but she purposely avoided him. He wondered if she realized how much the duke underestimated her.

  The second the door was closed, Melli turned to the duke. "So you are hoping to marry me quickly?" She strode into the middle of the room, centering herself on the green and scarlet rug that rested idly against the stone. As always when she was nervous, her instincts were to go on the attack. The duke put his glass down and stepped toward her. Melli had turned the rug into her own territory and she did not want him intruding upon it. She raised her hand. "Come no further, Your Grace. Lest you bring the truth in your wake."

  He did not seem pleased, but he stayed where he was. "Do not let what Tawl spoke of concern you," he said, his voice edged with impatience. "I had planned to marry you quickly before today." His gray eyes met hers without blinking. He stood straight, his sword ran gleaming along his side. His deep blue cloak cast a cold hue upon a face already lacking in blood. "I see no reason to change my design."

  Melli felt afraid. For the first time since she had met him, she realized how powerful he was. On his word armies would move. All along she had known what he was, but until now she had not seen the force behind the man. She got the distinct feeling he would marry her now, even if he had to drag her unwilling and unconscious body to the altar.

  It was time to tell him who she was. For too long she had put it off: this was the fifth day she had spent in the palace since returning from the lodge, and now, perversely, when she felt at her weakest, it seemed the right moment to do it. Determined to be in control of the situation, Melli made the duke wait whilst she retrieved her wine from the chest. With slowness just short of insolence, she made her way back to the center of the rug. Curbing her desire to down the wine in one swallow, she took a single, taunting sip. "What would give you reason to change your design?"

  The duke's face was unreadable. His hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. "When you come to know me better, Melliandra, you will learn that I am not the sort of man who enjoys playing games. Now speak your piece before I lose my temper."

  This was not the cue Melli was hoping for, but she had a lifetime of experience dealing with people quick to angerthat was the one defining trait of the Maybor men-and she refused to let him intimidate her. "Very well," she said. "Let me tell you this: I am not who you think I am."

  Was that a smile that flitted across the duke's face? Just as quickly it was gone. "Go on," he said.

  "My father is not Lord Luff, and I am nobody's illegitimate daughter." As she spoke, Melli was aware of a measure of pride entering into her voice. "My family holds power in the kingdoms second only to Kylock. My father is Maybor, Lord of the Eastlands."

  She didn't know what reaction to expect from the duke disbelief, disappointment, rage-but she had expected something. However, the duke remained composed, even to the point of pausing to take a drink from his glass. Wiping his lips with his fist, he said, "And how did you end up here?"

  Melli had already prepared her story.-"I had an argument with my father and I ran away from home. I had just seen the error of my ways, and was about to return to the court, when I was kidnapped by Fiscel the flesh-trader." Her words sounded a little stilted, so she added with venom, "What does it matter to you, anyway? You are not my keeper."

  "But I am the man you agreed to marry."

  The duke turned his back on her. Melli seized the opportunity to take a hearty gulp of wine. She was amazed the duke was taking the news so calmly.

  Spinning round to face her, he said, "I cannot say that what you have disclosed surprises me. All the time I have known you, I have never once seen a sign of the humility that is so often the birthright of the illegitimate. Instead, I see a woman who is used to we
alth and power. I do not doubt that you are Maybor's daughter."

  "And does it affect your opinion of me?"

  "No. I asked you to marry me-not your family."

  "Are you angry?"

  "No. You lied to protect your family's good name, and later you were trapped by that lie. I hope one day to inspire such magnificent devotion:"

  Melli could hardly believe what she was hearing. The duke was actually making excuses for her! And noble ones, at that. There was only one possible explanation: he must truly love her.

  The duke came toward her and this time Melli let him set foot on her rug. He took the glass from her hand and threw it toward the grate, where it smashed loudly, sending wine and splinters spilling onto the stone. Clasping hold of her hand, he bent down on one knee. "Listen to me, Melliandra," he said. "I want you, and only you. I make no decisions lightly and it would take more than a few falsehoods to make me change my mind. My first wife and I were betrothed at birth, so you are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me. And now that you have agreed, I am anxious that the wedding be soon." He looked her straight in the eye. "I may be a forgiving man, but I am not a patient one."

  Melli was experiencing a confusion of emotions: pleasure, pride, astonishment. Nothing the duke had done impressed her more than the casual way he dismissed her family as unimportant. It made no difference to him whether she was rich or poor, highborn or illegitimate. This man, who wielded power as casually as others wielded blades, wanted her for his wife. She came and knelt beside him. Raising his hand to her lips, she said, "I will marry you as soon as you wish."

  Taking her in his arms, he kissed her full on the mouth. His lips were devoid of softness, and she found herself pressing against the hardness of his teeth. Abruptly, he pulled away.

  "I must go. Arrangements need to be made. I think we will announce our marriage at the Feast of First Sowing." Standing up, he began to pace the room. "Then with the Church's blessing we can be married within a month."

  Melli stayed where she was, his saliva slowly drying on her lips. She was disappointed that he had left her side. Something inside of her had been stirred by his nearness and she felt cheated by his withdrawal.

  "I will send Bailor to you," he said. "You and he can make whatever arrangement you wish-clothes, jewels, settlements. I will leave that all to you."

  "Can I inform my family?"

  Again, another smile. "I don't think that's necessary just yet."

  "Am I now free to move about the palace as I please?"

  "No. Until the announcement has been made you will see only Bailor, Tawl, your maid, and myself." Perhaps realizing he had spoken harshly, he added, "You must be patient a little longer, my love. Things will be different after First Sowing."

  Melli ran her fingers along the weft of the rug. From a distance the design had looked like flowers, yet now, looking closely, she saw that they weren't flowers at all, rather cleverly woven chains.

  "Keep me locked up here too long," she said, "and you run the risk that I might escape." There was little jest in her words. Somehow, from a moment of pure elation, things had rapidly slid backward into doubt. Why did he insist on keeping her away from his court? And why did he want to marry her so quickly? She believed that he loved her, but he seemed too calculating a man to be swept away by adolescent eagerness. Indeed, the manner in which he was pacing around the room whilst thinking out loud gave the impression he was planning a military campaign, not a wedding.

  "I promise you won't have to wait much longer," he said, coming toward her for what she knew would be a farewell kiss.

  "Tell me something before you go," she said. "Will the fact that Fm from the kingdoms have any effect on the marriage between your daughter and Kylock?"

  The duke gave her a long, appraising look. "The marriage will go ahead as planned."

  That was not what she asked, and he knew it. Before she could challenge him further, he was opening the door. "I must go. I have a meeting to attend. Tomorrow I will arrange to have Bailor take you to the treasury and you can choose a ring." He bowed formally and then left the room.

  Melli fell backward onto the rug. The meeting had left her dissatisfied. She suspected that she had been expertly manipulated, yet she couldn't put her finger on exactly how.

  After all, the duke had forgiven her for all her lies and obviously did not care whether she was a noblewoman or a bastard. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. She was probably reading too much into everything. The duke loved her, he wanted to marry her, and if he had to wed her sooner for political reasons, then that was hardly an unforgivable sin. She could not blame him for acting like the leader he was.

  Crossing over to the bed, she felt something warm and sticky trickle down the back of her arm. Reaching up to touch it, she knew what it was before she saw it: blood. She had cut herself on a sliver of glass.

  Baralis knew it was unwise to take even a half measure of his painkilling drug, but he took it all the same. He had a meeting with the duke-his first in several weeks-and he needed to be clear-headed. Of late the scar ringing his chest had troubled him greatly, and he had now reached the point where pain clouded judgment every bit as much as drugs.

  The bitter taste suited both his palate and his mood, and he swallowed the powder dry. Things were not going well. The duke had been avoiding him for too long, canceling meetings, running off to his hunting lodge in the mountains, and declining all requests for an audience. Delay tactics. The man did not want to be pinned down on a date for the wedding of Kylock and Catherine. Now, with events coming to a head in Halcus, and Kylock busy striking side deals with the knighthood, it looked likely that the duke might back out of the match altogether. Or at least try to.

  Baralis idly stroked the fur of Maybor's dog. She was his creature now. She lay by his feet luxuriating in the warmth of the fire, snoring faintly and smelling of her last meal. Crope liked to spoil her, giving her the tenderest sweetmeats and the bloodiest livers, warming them first between his hands until they were the temperature of living flesh. Baralis smiled to himself. He might control the dog's will, but her heart and her stomach belonged to Crope.

  He knew it was time to leave-the duke would not like to be kept waiting-but he felt disinclined to rush to His Grace's summons like a paid lackey, or an overzealous merchant. It was time the duke realized that the king's chancellor was not a man to be toyed with. Besides, he felt weary to the bone. He had just come from talking to the duke's handler, and at first the man had been unwilling to admit that he had read the message which came tied to the bird. The compulsion which followed, whilst successfully loosening the handler's tongue, had drained Baralis of all his strength.

  It was worth it, though. He now knew exactly what Kylock was up to with Tyren. The only problem was that so did the duke. That was what made Baralis nervous: the summons to the meeting had come only hours after the eagle had landed.

  An ensorcelled bird was like a woman who wore too much fragrance: her arrival could be sensed before she was seen, and her presence lingered long after she was gone. Baralis knew the moment the eagle touched down in the palace dovecote. He waited an hour to allow time for the message to be passed on, and then he paid the handler a visit. Normally he wouldn't bother with such petty investigations, but ever since the day in the courtyard, when he had experienced an extreme sensation of foreboding, he was reluctant to let even the smallest incident go unquestioned.

  Something was not going to plan. Every stretch of scarred flesh on his body pulled and tingled a warning. The only thing he knew for certain was that a girl was involved.

  Lam had told him that much. His own vision had confirmed who it was. Baralis began to massage his pained hands. He could think of no reason why the dark and lovely Melliandra would be a threat to him. She was a disgraced runaway, nothing more. It made no sense.

  Even without a prophecy on his back, he knew that events did not bode well. Kylock was bringing the Halcus to their knees. That one simple fact was
sending shock waves to the four corners of the Known Lands. All eyes were turned to the north and there was now no mistaking what they saw: an empire in the making. There was little doubt in Baralis' mind that the duke was currently planning ways to limit Bren's involvement. After reading Kylock's letter of this morning, his need was more pressing than ever.

  Baralis stood up. The dog went to follow him, but he waved her back down. Things would have been different if only Kylock had waited to show his teeth. The boy was turning out to be a military genius-winning a war that had long gone stagnant-but he had acted too soon. The marriage should have been consummated before as much as a single soldier crossed the River Nestor. If he had been in the kingdoms, not stuck here in Bren waiting upon a duke conspicuous by his absence, he could have controlled the pace and order of events. The new king might have talent on the battlefield, but he was too young and inexperienced for the subtleties of politics.

  As Baralis made his way along the tall stone corridors to the duke's chambers, his step was heavy. He could not guess why the Hawk had called the meeting, but he was shrewd enough to know that the man was up to no good.

  He was greeted by a guard who was expecting him. Shown through to a private staircase, he climbed up the short flight of stairs toward a heavy bronze door.

  The door swung open. "Ah, Lord Baralis. I was wondering what had become of you." The duke beckoned him in. "I thought perhaps my messenger had failed to find you."

  Baralis made no attempt to fill the ensuing silence with excuses. Let His Grace think whatever he wanted.

  The duke was standing in the middle of a large reception room. He beckoned Baralis to sit.

  "I will stand, if you don't mind, Your Grace."

  The duke shrugged. "As you please." He walked over to the window and pulled back the metal shutters. "It is a fine day, is it not, Lord Baralis?"

  "Yes. If you speak purely of the weather." Baralis strolled over to the duke's desk. It was covered with maps and charts. He recognized the shape of the kingdoms amongst them.