A Man Betrayed (46 page)

"The duke of
Highwall has a daughter approaching her fifteenth summer. When she was but
eight years old, he opened negotiations with the kingdoms for Kylock's
hand."

"Baralis sent
the girl a gift: a box of sugared delights. One week later she succumbed to
brain-fever. One
month
later she couldn't remember her name. To this day
she lives in a tiny room in the duke's castle, strapped to her bed to prevent
her from injuring herself."

Maybor believed
every word: Baralis had tried no less with Melliandra. "Did suspicion fall
on Baralis?"

"There were
whisperings, but Baralis silenced most of them by stating that he was still
willing to go ahead with the betrothal, regardless of the girl's condition. Of
course he knew the duke would never allow it, but it looked good all the
same."

The stench of
decomposing entrails seemed a fitting accompaniment to such talk. "What
else have you heard?" Cravin stood and contemplated for a moment; his
tough and wiry body all angles beneath his robes. "I myself once entered
into negotiations with Baralis. It was many years ago now. My eldest daughter,
Fellina, was a match for Kylock in age. I sent a letter to the king, outlining
my proposal. He never sent a reply. Baralis did. He was most gracious, saying
that he had heard tell of my daughter's beauty and refinement; however, he said
my letter had placed him in a difficult position as he had recently received a
similar proposal from my great rival, Lord Gandrel. He pointed out that, while
he favored Fellina's suit, he was barred from choosing between us, as the king
didn't want to offend either party."

"Your
daughter got off lightly," said Maybor, surprised at the emotion in his
voice.

Cravin nodded
grimly. "I am forever grateful for that. I learned a few years later that
Gandrel had never considered marrying any of his daughters to Kylock. Baralis
had invented the whole thing. He is a clever dog, he knew there was no way I
could confirm Gandrel's proposal; at the time I hated the man with a passion
and never spoke to him except in anger."

"Baralis
kidnapped my daughter several months back," said Maybor. "I haven't
seen her since."

Cravin did not
look surprised. "Baralis will stop at nothing to get what he wants."

Maybor looked to
either side of him, checking for ears that belonged to humans, not pigs. When
he spoke, his voice was low and urgent. "What is it that he wants?"

"Power,"
murmured Cravin. "He wants to control the north. With Bren's armies at his
disposal, he thinks he can dominate Annis and Highwall and Borc knows who
else."

He turned and
looked Maybor straight in the eye. "As I said before, Baralis is a
dangerous man."

Everything was
starting to fall into place for Maybor. Why hadn't he thought of it himself?
Baralis wanted to create a northern empire. The five-year border war with the
Halcus fitted in nicely; he was merely softening the enemy up, so when the real
war came he could hit them hard. "My son told me Kylock plans to invade
Halcus once spring is fully here."

Cravin pulled back
his lips to show a sharp-toothed smile. "Kylock has already invaded. I
received word by pigeon yesterday."

Maybor hid his
astonishment. "Aah. He decided to move fast, then."

"It would
appear so," said Cravin. "Surprise was obviously his main
consideration." A gust of wind caused him to draw his cloak close.
"One thing's certain: the duke won't like it one little bit."

"Why can't he
call the marriage off, then?" asked Maybor, wishing he too had brought a
cloak.

"It's not
that simple. The betrothal has gone too far now. He'll lose face by backing
down, people will call him a coward. The best thing he can do is come up with a
way of neutralizing the marriage."

"What d'you
mean?"

"He should
let the marriage go ahead as planned, but somehow-by either direct action or
treaty-he should try and take the edge from the whole affair. At the moment the
situation is fraught with risk: Annis and Highwall are nervous, the knights are
having trouble in the south, and now Kylock's busy invading Halcus."
Cravin shook his head. "The duke must do two things: first, he needs to
dissipate tension in the north; and secondly, he needs to put Baralis in his
place."

Maybor couldn't
argue with that. Despite the flies, foul smell, and cutting wind, he was
beginning to enjoy himself. "Do you think he can pull it off?"

"I would
never underestimate the duke," replied Cravin. "However, it's up to
you and I to monitor matters carefully. If an opportunity presents itself, and
in my experience one usually does, we must be there to seize the moment."
A naked glance left Maybor with no doubt that the man was talking about
treason.

Cravin reached in
his cloak and pulled out a slip of parchment no bigger than the palm of his
hand. He held it out to Maybor. "Take this, it is the address of a lodging
of mine on the south side of the city. It's very discreet, no one knows it
exists. If you ever need to meet anyone in private and don't want the eyes of
the court upon you, feel free to use it as your own." Cravin began to move
away. "The servants there always know how to contact me if you should ever
have need." He bowed once and was gone in an instant.

Maybor tucked the
parchment under his belt, waited a moment, and then began to trace Cravin's
path back to the palace. The man's footsteps were stamped in blood, so his path
was easy to follow.

Melli followed
Nessa into the stables. Long forgotten smells filled her senses: hay and dung
and grease for the tack. The duke, who had seen fit to ignore her all of
yesterday, had requested that she accompany him for a short ride. So here she
was, dressed in a sturdy cloak with not a single frill to soften the eye,
determined to pick the best mount she could find. Her father had kept stables
in his estate in the Eastlands, and she knew from experience that nothing
annoyed a horse owner more than when an inexperienced guest chose to ride his
best mount. Melli knew that she was far from inexperienced, but the duke
didn't, and he would be furious at her selection.

"I'll take
that one," she said to the groom, indicating a fine chestnut stallion.

"But
miss," said the groom, "the duke likes to ride Sparsis himself."

Melli turned to
Nessa. "Did the duke express the wish that I should take any horse of my
choice?"

Nessa nodded
vigorously. Having spent a full day together, Nessa was now firmly in Melli's
court.

The groom did not
look happy, but complied with Melli's wishes. He saddled the horse, muttering
words to the effect that it just wasn't decent for a woman to ride a stallion.

He led the horse
through to the courtyard and held his hand out for the mounting.

Melli straddled
the horse like a veteran. She settled herself in the saddle whilst her feet
found the stirrups. Everything fit beautifully-the groom had a good eye. The
horse she had ridden here was nothing compared to this powerful creature. She
bent down and whispered gentle words of encouragement in his ear. They were
going to be friends, she was sure of it.

"Where does
His Grace intend to ride today?" she asked of the groom.

Seeing how well
she sat the horse, the groom looked a little more respectful. "Well, miss,
I can't be certain, but for short rides he likes to go to the meadow at the
green side of the valley, behind the trees." He pointed to a place that
looked to be no more than three leagues away.

"Very good.
Tell His Grace that I shall meet him there." Melli pulled on the reins and
turned her horse.

Both Nessa and the
groom were openmouthed, but she gave neither. of them time to protest. Her
heels kicked against the stallion's flanks and she was off, trading
cobblestones for grass in the swish of a horse's tail.

The wind was in
her hair, fresh air was in her lungs, and a mighty beast lay between her
thighs. It was wonderful. Melli felt free for the first time in many weeks.
Even to be outside was a treat. The view was breathtaking. The lodge was
situated on the curve of a slope that led down to a breathtaking valley. A lake
lay at its center and trees, mostly firs, formed small groups around its edges
like women at a dance. Ahead of her lay the mountains, terrible in their
splendor, still white with winter's weeds.

The horse was
nervous of its new rider and reacted skittishly to her commands, but Melli
persisted in treating it gently, but firmly, and gradually, as they made their
way across the valley, the stallion became settled.

It would be so
easy to just ride away and never come back. Easy, yet dangerous. Melli valued
her life too highly to risk galloping off into the mountains. Funny, but the
idea of escape didn't appeal to her much at the moment. She was in no physical
danger and the duke hadn't pressed her for any sexual favors, so she felt safe
for the time being. And, if she were honest with herself, she was actually
looking forward to the duke catching up with her. Melli couldn't wait to deal
haughtily with his anger and then confound him by showing off her skills with a
horse. He was such an arrogant man, practically begging to be taken down a peg.

Melli thought he
would have requested her presence yesterday. All afternoon she had waited for
his summons, hair dressed, pretty shoes pinching, and cheeks bright with the
flush of fine wine. She was disappointed when no word came. Staying in her room
was dull, and Nessa's company left a lot to be desired. The duke might be
annoying, but at least he wasn't boring.

Her best policy
concerning her mysterious parentage was, she decided, to stick to her original story,
and no matter how hard the duke challenged her give nothing away. Stubbornness
came naturally to Melli, so this course shouldn't prove too difficult. The duke
wouldn't be able to trick, or catch her off guard, again.

Aware that her
horse had not used a tenth of his potential, Melli urged him into a gallop. For
an instant she was scared by the power. Then, a second later, she was thrilled
by it. She brought her body down and gave him the reins. Ditches, streams,
fallen logs, and boulders: her horse leapt them all with the grace of a demon.
She could feel his sweat soaking her skirts. The ground was a blur and the
distant trees were a target. She couldn't tell whose heart was beating faster:
hers or her horse's.

The minute she
pulled on the reins, Melli became aware of a sound behind her. Hooves were
thundering at her back. It could only be the duke. She brought her horse to a
halt and spun to meet him. Minutes passed as he drew close. His first words
were: "Are you out of your mind! What were you thinking, taking my best
stallion? It's a wonder it hasn't killed you."

Melli raised an
eyebrow to an arch. "I didn't realize you had such protective instincts.
Perhaps in a former life you were a shepherd." She turned her horse on a
pinpoint and galloped off.

Unable to keep the
smile from her face, Melli struck a path for the far trees. She heard the duke
pursuing her, and after a minute he seemed to be gaining. "Come on,
Sparsis," she whispered to her horse. "Time to show your owner your
worth." A squeeze of thighs and a guiding pull on the reins and the course
was altered enough to take in a filigree of tiny streams that were bent upon
the lake. Horse and rider jumped them like gods. Then came one final leap. The
stream rested in a depression and the breadth was hard to judge until they were
on top of it. The bank on the other side was sharply sloped. The stallion
cleared the water, and then slammed into the slope, shank first.

Melli was thrown
forward. Almost in slow motion she saw the rocky bank approaching. She even
knew which rock was hers. Crack! A sharp pain in her forehead, a sharper pain
in her side, and then everything went black.

Jack felt a sudden
pain in his forehead. He was holding a cup of water and lost his grip, sending
it smashing to the floor.

Magra looked up.
"Jack, are you all right?" There was genuine concern in her voice.

He wished she'd
never spoken, for until her words had skimmed across his thoughts, he'd been
seeing a vision of Melli. Gone now. Even as Magra got up from her chair, he was
beginning to doubt it had happened.

Magra ignored the
broken cup and took his hand. "Come on, Jack," she said. "Sit
down by the fire for a while." The lines of her beautiful, haughty face
were taut with worry. She led him to the bench and forced him to sit. Then she
surprised him by kneeling down at his feet. Her cool hand still held his.

"Jack,"
she said softly, "you don't have to go through with it tonight." He
started to protest, but she spoke over him. "No, hear me out. You can
leave the cottage today. I have some gold set aside-not much, but enough to
ease your journey. Please take it." She squeezed his hand tightly. "I
would never forgive myself if anything happened to you." Jack looked into
the deep blue of her eyes. She was speaking the truth. It had been a long, long
time since anyone had worried about him. He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed it gently. Such smooth and fragile flesh. His mother would have been the
same age, if she lived. "There's no need to worry about me," he said.
"I'm going to be coming back. I promise you that."

"I expect you
to keep that promise, Jack." Magra smiled, and for one instant she looked
so like Tarissa it took his breath away. One final squeeze of his hand and she
was up, brushing down her skirts and tut-tutting over the broken cup.

Tarissa came
bursting into the room-Jack liked the fact that she wasn't one for discreet
entrances. Seeing Magra picking up pottery fragments, she said, "What's
been going on here? I only left to feed the chickens and when I get back, you
two are busy destroying the place."