A Man Betrayed

by J. V. Jones

  "The moment I have finalized them. Last night proved that I have already kept too much from my daughter. If I include her in the ceremony, she will no longer feel left out."

  Tawl kept his face impassive. "Very well. When will the marriage go ahead?"

  "I will arrange it for two days hence." The duke was thinking out loud. "Yes. That should give the old archbishop plenty of time to dust off his robes. The ceremony can be held in the ladies' chapel here, in the palace."

  "The one belowstairs?"

  "No. That is for the servants' use. The ladies' chapel is more fitting, and more discreet."

  Tawl nodded. The servants' chapel was too public a place. Anyone could smuggle themselves in there; it was guarded by two men who were half drunk all the time. "I will see to the security. Tell no one today except the archbishop. Inform everyone else the morning of the wedding." Tawl's thoughts were on Catherine.

  "Very well." Now that the decision was made, the duke looked eager to be off. "I will go to the archbishop first, then to Melliandra, then to Catherine."

  "But "

  "No, Tawl," interrupted the duke, "I cannot tell my daughter of my wedding only a few hours before it's due to go ahead. It will look as if I don't trust her." The hard look he gave Tawl put an end to the subject. "Now, I will send Bailor to you, and you can coordinate everything with him. There must be flowers and so forth in the chapel. I do not want Melliandra disappointed in any way."

  Tawl bowed. "I will make sure that everything is in place."

  "Good. I will be counting on you." With that the duke turned on his heel and walked off across the courtyard. Tawl stood where he was for some time. The midday sun shone down upon his back, casting a small but dark shadow in front of him.

  Crope hurried down the market streets. He hated being out in the daylight, especially when the sun was shining. People would stare, men would laugh, and children would throw stick and stones. He had tried keeping his hood up, but on a bright warm day like this, it just drew more attention to himself. He looked like an executioner. If only the people weren't there, then he could spend as long as he wanted looking at all the animals in cages: the partridges, the piglets, the owls. As it was, he barely risked slowing down at allexcept for the owls-for he was afraid the stallholders would curse him for scaring away paying customers. He'd been cursed a lot in the past for that.

  Still, he had his comforts. In a small pouch in the side of his cloak nestled a large rat. Big Tom, as Crope liked to call it, went everywhere with him. Big Tom had been one of his master's 'speriments, and had been born one leg short of a foursome. His master had ordered the creature to be drowned, but Crope didn't have the heart to do it. Big Tom's beady little eyes reminded him of his mother's. He limped good, too. So, for the past few months, Big Tom had been living with him; he couldn't risk his master finding out he had disobeyed an order. Crope shook his head vigorously. He wouldn't want that to happen.

  As Crope made his way to the herb stall, trying hard to remember his master's exact directions, his hand stole into his tunic, feeling for the reassuring weight of his second comfort: his painted box. Just to touch it made him feel better. It was his oldest and most precious possession, given to him by a beautiful lady many years before. The lady had been his friend. They had shared a love of animals, especially birds. Painted on the box were her favorites: seagulls. She said they reminded her of home.

  Crope was disturbed from his memories by someone rudely pushing past him. "Out of my way, you lumbering simpleton," cried a small, bad-smelling man who was carrying bolts of cloth in one hand and clutching pins and scissors in the other. Obviously a tailor. Before Crope had time to say he was sorry, the tailor was gone. Crope watched him dive in and out of the crowds and found some satisfaction in the fact that he was not the only one who the tailor pushed aside. Women, old men, and stallholders were all shoved out of the way. Then, as Crope looked on, the tailor made the mistake of picking on the wrong person. He elbowed a tall, dark man, and instead of moving out of the way, the man turned around and punched him in the face. Bolts of cloth and pins went flying. The tailor fell to the ground. The man kicked him once while he was down, spat on him, and then carried on walking, oblivious to the hostile glare of the crowds. Crope's heart was racing. He recognized the man: it was Traff, his master's mercenary. As he watched, Traff slipped into the crowds. After a moment Crope followed him. Feeling rather excited, Crope stroked Big Tom. "Master will be pleased," he whispered to the rat, as he started trailing Traff across the city.

  "I am very pleased, Crope," said Baralis. "You have done well."

  Crope beamed. "I spotted him with my own eyes, master."

  "Where did he end up?"

  "A right nice place, master. There were ladies leaning out from the windows."

  "Hmm, a brothel. Was it in Brotheling Street?" Seeing Crope's blank expression, Baralis tried again. "Were there lots of other places nearby with ladies leaning from windows?"

  Crope nodded vigorously. "Yes, master. Beautiful ladies-a whole street of them."

  "And did Traff spot you following him?"

  "No, master, but he might have heard the lady shoo me away."

  "What lady?"

  "The lady with no front teeth. She spotted me outside the house and told me to . . ." Crope searched for the exact words ". . . bugger off back to the cave that I'd come from."

  Baralis waved his hands. "Enough. Go now." He waited until his servant had lurched out of the room and then took a deep breath. Crope had just found someone who could turn out to be very useful. Very useful, indeed.

  The painkilling drug, which he had been about to take when Crope returned, lay ready on his desk. Baralis picked up the vial and threw it on the fire. It burned with a pure white light. He wouldn't have need for it now.

  A soft knock came at his door. He knew who it was before the last rap sounded. Flinging back the door, he said, "Catherine, I warned you not to come here." His voice was not gentle. He checked to either side of the passageway before letting her inside his chamber.

  She noticed his precautions. "I am not a fool, Lord Baralis," she said. "Do you think I would come here without checking to see if I was followed first?" The color of her cheeks was high. She had been drinking.

  Closing the door, Baralis crossed over to his desk and poured her a glass of wine. It suited him to have her drink a little more. He handed her the glass. As he did so, he traced the line of her wrist with his fingers. Making his voice as rich and seductive as the wine he had just poured, he said, "Forgive me for speaking so sharply, my sweet Catherine. I was worried for you, nothing more."

  He could see her deciding how to react to his words. Her pink lips trembled, then softened. "Would that my father showed me similar consideration."

  Baralis' smile was tender. She was nothing but a child playing a grown-up game. Catching hold of her hand, he led her to the bed and bid her sit. As she settled herself down, he reached out and touched her golden hair. A calculated gesture, nothing more. "Drink up, my sweet Catherine," he said softly. "And then tell me why you have come."

  The wine was still wet upon her tongue as she said, "Father is marrying that woman in secret. Two days from now."

  "He told you this?" Baralis did not allow himself as much as a flicker of surprise.

  "Yes. He wants me to stand by his bride's side at the ceremony. He hopes that we can become friends." Catherine's voice became shrill. "Friends! How dare he? After taking the very birthright from under me, he expects me to be friends with the woman who is responsible for it."

  Baralis barely heard what Catherine said. His mind was racing ahead. The deed would have to be done sooner than he thought. As soon as possible. The duke had to be murdered. Kylock must have Bren. For decades he had planned, and nothing, not now, not ever, would be allowed to stand in his way. The north would be his.

  Crossing the room, Baralis went and stood by the fire. Once he had warmed himself enough, he spun around to face Catherine. "What
is the best way to get to your father?"

  Catherine hesitated for a second. "There is a secret passageway leading up to his chambers from the servants' chapel. There is only one guard set to watch it. Father uses it to smuggle low-born women into his bedroom. The entrance is behind the middle panel at the back of the altar."

  Baralis missed neither the hesitation, nor its meaning: Catherine was not as reckless about this as she was pretending to be. There was still a part of her that owed loyalty to her father. Baralis realized he would have to change his approach. He could not run the risk of Catherine doing something irrational-like running to the duke. She was dangerously unstable-last night had proven that: as the guards were leading her from the table, she had actually attempted a drawing. There, in the great hall, with all of Bren's court looking on, Catherine had tried to use sorcery against Melliandra. He had blocked her, of course. The foolish girl had no idea of self-restraint. If she had been caught using sorcery, her father would have had no choice but to disinherit her on the spot. Sorcery was not tolerated in the north.

  Yes, thought Baralis, he would have to be careful what he said to Catherine. The girl could not be relied upon.

  "It is not your father who I am interested in, it is his wife. Once they are wed, Melliandra will not leave his side. The duke's weak points will become hers."

  "I want that woman dead." There was no hesitation in Catherine's voice now. "Her and her precious protector, the duke's champion."

  Baralis came and sat beside her. He took her hand in his. "Have no fear, my sweet Catherine, I will take care of both of them for you."

  "And my father?"

  "I have no quarrel with him," lied Baralis. "He will be left well alone."

  Relief flashed across Catherine's face. She worked quickly to conceal it. "Once that woman is out of the way, Father will come to his senses."

  She was wrong, very wrong. If only Melliandra were murdered, the duke could go on and wed another woman, have another child, and Catherine's inheritance would be threatened once more. Baralis could not allow that to happen.

  What was Catherine's would soon be Kylock's. And what was Kylock's was his.

  "Go now, my sweet Catherine. I will arrange everything." He pulled her up off the bed. "You need not concern yourself with the details."

  "Will you do the deed yourself?" she asked as he guided her toward the door.

  "No. I have someone in mind who will do it for me." Baralis rested his hand on the door latch. A certain mercenary named Traff would do the deed.

  "And will you use the secret passage?"

  Baralis brought his finger to his lips. Catherine was asking too many questions. Opening the door, he checked that no one was in sight. Just before he let her go, he placed a kiss upon her lips. Catherine leaned forward to meet him. He pulled away before the kiss had a chance to become anything further. "Trust me," he whispered, just before he closed the door.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Jack was dreaming about Melli again. Somehow she had stolen into his old recurring dream about the city with high battlements. She was trapped behind the walls, unable to escape. In the distance he heard a noise: a shouting, angry mob. Only when the noise grew louder did he realize it was not part of his dream. He opened his eyes. He was in a small storeroom that had been hastily adapted for sleep. There were no windows, so it was dark. Panicking slightly, Jack stood up. His head brushed against something-drying herbs from the smell of them. Back bent to avoid them, he made his way toward the door.

  Stillfox was leaning out of a window. As soon as he heard Jack enter the room, he drew back the shutters. "Gave me quite a shock there, lad," he said, patting the area of his chest where his heart lay.

  "I'm sorry. I came to find out what the noise was."

  "Helch has just surrendered to Kylock. He gave them little choice. He burned the entire city. Only the castle remains intact. All of Annis is up in arms about it. People have taken to the streets in protest . . ."

  Stillfox carried on, but Jack was no longer listening. He stood very still as the world went black around him. This time he didn't fight it. Kylock had taken Helch. The war had just begun.

  Baralis glided through the streets of Bren, his feet barely touching the filth. It was early morning, and the rising sun cast his shadow long before him. As he approached Brotheling Street

  , he slowed his pace. He spied an old man rummaging amidst the refuse in an open drain. He would do. "You," he said, approaching the man. "Which of these brothels is kept by a woman with no front teeth?" To ensure his question was answered promptly, Baralis drew the slightest of compulsions around his words. Time was of the essence today.

  The old man opened a mouth ringed with sores. "Madame Thornypurse has a sister with no front teeth. Her place is the red-shuttered building to the left." The man looked confused, as if he barely comprehended what he was saying, or why.

  Baralis inclined his head to the man. He contemplated throwing him a coin in payment, then thought better of it. Why waste money paying for something that had already been freely given? He turned on his heel and headed toward the building which the old man had described.

  He knocked loudly upon the door. A few moments later a woman answered. Seeing him, the ridiculous creature made a great show of primping her hair and smoothing down her dress. "Yes, handsome sir, can I help you?"

  She had all her teeth, though crooked and yellow as they were, they did her no favors. "Who am I speaking to?" he demanded.

  The woman curtsied like a blushing maiden. "Madame Thornypurse, proprietor of this fine establishment."

  "Have you a man named Traff staying here?" Baralis caught the unmistakable odor of dead rats in his nostrils.

  The woman's hand fluttered to her chest. She was just about to speak when a second woman pushed her aside.

  "We never divulge the names of our customers," she said. It was the woman with no front teeth.

  Baralis, recognizing an opening for bribery, pulled a gold coin from his cloak. "I have important business to discuss with Traff," he said, pressing the cool coin into the waiting palm of the woman with no front teeth.

  "Come inside, noble sir," she said. "I will bring Traff to you."

  He was led into a large, untidy room where several young girls lay sleeping on the floor. "Do you have anywhere less public where we can talk?"

  "Of course," said the woman who smelled of dead rats. "Though it will cost you extra," added the woman with no front teeth.

  Another gold coin changed hands and Baralis was ushered into a small, dimly lit room near the back of the building. There was one window in the room and the shutter was firmly closed.

  The door opened and in walked Traff. The mercenary made a point of chewing on his snatch for a moment before spitting it out and speaking. "What do you want, Baralis?"

  He pulled his hand knife from his belt and began to clean the dirt from under his nails with the blade.

  Baralis regarded the mercenary coolly. Traff did not look in a good way. His hair was greasy, his clothes were dirty, and he now boasted a short beard. Flakes of snatch nestled within the bristles. The dirt he cleaned from his fingertips was the color of dried blood. "Been in a fight?" Traff looked up. "None that I've lost."

  The mercenary was as insolent as ever. Baralis decided to get straight to the point. "Have you heard that the duke is to marry Maybor's daughter?"

  Traff flung his knife across the room. It flew past Baralis and landed embedded in the wall. "No one will marry Melli, " he said.

  Baralis had a defensive drawing ready upon his lips, but on hearing Traff's words he breathed it back into his lungs. He didn't know what caused the mercenary's anger, but he could use it. "My thoughts exactly, my friend," murmured Baralis. "I don't want Melliandra wed, either."

  "Why?" Traff was suddenly more interested.

  "Because I want Bren to remain Catherine's. If Melliandra weds the duke and then gives birth to a male child, Catherine will no longer inherit her father's tit
le." The truth suited Baralis for the moment.

  "What are you planning to do?"

  "I plan to murder the duke." Baralis took a guess at Traff's motives. "As for Melliandra, you can do what you want with her."

  Traff licked his lips. "How do you plan to do this?" Baralis permitted himself a tiny smile of self-congratulation. It seemed as if he'd guessed right: Traff was enamored of Maybor's daughter. It had probably happened when the mercenary had been sent out to capture her. Baralis began to feel more confident. Fate was once again on his side.

  He took a short breath and looked Traff straight in the eye. "I want you to help me. The wedding will take place in private tomorrow. When the couple returns to their chambers after the ceremony, I want you and your knife to pay them a visit. I know of a secret passageway leading from the servants' chapel to the duke's quarters. You will use that to gain entry." Baralis paused briefly as he reshaped his plans to meet with Traff's needs. The mercenary wanted Melliandra for his own. So, if Traff was going to run away with her, then the newly wed couple must not-under any circumstances-be allowed to consummate the marriage. Baralis could not risk Melliandra popping up a few months later, claiming to be carrying the duke's child. "You must be waiting for them the moment they return from the chapel."

  Traff gave Baralis a long, hard look. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "You can't. The only thing you can be certain of is that I will be waiting by the entrance to the passageway to make sure you have done the job. From the kitchens, it will be easy for you and Melliandra to make your escape. I will make all the necessary arrangements." Baralis stepped forward and rested his hand on Traff's arm. "I won't ask what you want with the girl. That's not my concern."

  Traff drew back from the touch. "Will there be any guards in the duke's chamber?"

  "Just one. I will make sure he receives a little something in his ale to slow him down." Poisoning guards was easy: no one tasted their food.

  "I want five hundred golds in my possession by the end of the day."

  "Done." Baralis moved toward the door. "Crope will see to it. Be waiting on the east side of the palace, close to the servants' entrance tomorrow at sundown. I will come for you." Just as he was about to leave, Traff surprised him by asking: