A Man Betrayed (50 page)

Once the two
timbers were cracked, it was easy to knock the rest of the wood inward. The
metal hoops were no longer a problem. Jack pried the lid off the barrel, and as
expected, there was a knife bundled in oilskin attached to its underside. Rovas
had not lied. Unraveling the package, he dried the blade on his tunic and then
tested it against his finger. It was so sharp he never felt it slice his skin.

Jack cupped his
hands below the splintered timbers and caught a good measure of the foamy brew.
He brought it to his face and didn't so much drink the ale as bathe in it. What
little did find its way to his mouth tasted good. An idea occurred to him, and
he lifted what was left of the barrel up above his shoulders and emptied it all
down his chest. If anyone saw him now, he'd be just another beer-soaked fool.

Less than five
minutes left. It was time to get down to business. What had Rovas said: the
officers' quarters lay to the left of the service gate? Just as he was about to
leave the shadows, Jack turned back and picked up the hook. It might come in
handy.

The two gate
guards were busy interrogating another visitor and they didn't see him dash by.
Jack followed the wall until it turned east, all the time trying to remember
Rovas' flour map. Ahead lay the covered arcade-just as the smuggler said.
Sliding along the inside wall, Jack came to a supporting timber. Hunkering
down, so his head would be lower than man height, he looked down the length of
the arcade. Double doors. Two guards. Waiting for the watch to change was not
an option: he was running out of time. What to do? What would heroes do?
Silently slash both guards to ribbons?

Jack's legs were
protesting at crouching down, so he decided to stand. As he did so, the
butcher's hook that was looped over his belt caught on the material of his
britches, causing them to tear all the way up to his waist. "Damn!"
muttered Jack under his breath. He grabbed the meat hook and was just about to
leave it on the ground beside him when he was distracted by voices. Looking out
across the courtyard, through the wooden supports of the arcade, Jack spied a
group of women and officers-seven or eight in all-and they were heading his
way.

The hook was in
his hand. There was only one thing to do. Keeping close to the beam and its
shadow, Jack swung out. All his momentum was transferred to his right arm, and
with one mighty heave, he sent the hook flying into the air; aiming straight
for the officers and their ladies.

It was a silver
streak across the sky. There was a dull thud, followed by a cry of pain. Then
all hell broke loose. Women screamed in panic, men shouted for help. Guards
came running from every direction. The hook had hit one of the officers in the
back of the neck.

The guards at the
double doors ran from their post toward the officers. Jack slipped out from the
timber and ran through the shadows of the arcade. His heart was beating so hard
he thought it would burst. The double doors were unlocked and he was through
them in an instant. What had Rovas said? Stairs on the right. First door you
come to.

Up the steps he
dashed, the door was only a few feet away. Jack paused on the threshold to
catch his breath. He pulled the knife from his tunic, brushed the hair from his
eyes, lifted the door latch and burst into the room.

She was floating
on clouds so high that she'd reached the place where the sky joined the
heavens. A thin blue line and then nothing but white. Pain had long since gone.
She could feel herself being pulled from her body. Not from the eyes, or the
nose or the mouth, but from the side. She was escaping through a gap between
her ribs.

Shadows hovered
below, words and deeds merging into one. Earlier they were frantic, irons and
needles flying like dog fur. Now they were quiet, the dog long dead.

Oil on her
forehead, thyme leaf on her tongue, blood drip-dripping to a bowl.

"She's
leaving us, Your Grace. Too much blood's been lost."

A hand hard with
calluses gripped hers. "Melli. You must prepare your soul for God. Now is
the time to lay your lies aside. Heaven only waits for those who are willing to
speak the truth."

The thin blue line
grew thinner. The white was so close it brushed against her cheek. Hot and
cold, hard and soft, safe yet dangerous in one.

"Speak,
child. Tell us who your family is. Lest your body rot waiting upon a father to
bury it."

The clouds bore
her upward to her mother. Words were difficult to form. The thyme on her tongue
was as heavy as lead. "Tell Father I'm sorry."

"We can only
tell him if we know who he is."

What was left of
the blue line began to shimmer and fade. She knew she must speak before it
went. "Maybor, Lord of the Eastlands, he is my father." The white was
all about her; it stole into her body through the wound at her side. It began
to force out what little substance was left. "She must be saved at all
cost. I don't care what you do: sorcery, devilry. Just
save her!"

On the bed lay a
man on top of a woman. Tears streaked down the woman's face. An imprint of a
hand could clearly be seen on her cheek. Blood dripped from her mouth.
"Help me," she sobbed.

Vanly sprang from
the bed, pulling up his britches with one hand and reaching for his sword with
the other. Jack lunged forward. His blade raked across Vanly's left hand.

The man let his
britches fall to the floor. Jack had time enough to thank Borc that the
captain's undershirt was long enough to cover his vitals. He didn't fancy
fighting a man whose tackle- was on show. Vanly moved backward. He kicked off
his britches, sending them flying toward Jack. Jack was forced to dodge them.
This gave Vanly enough time to get a proper grip on his sword.

The captain leapt
forward, blade in both hands, wielding it in the Halcus fashion. Jack jumped
onto the bed. The woman screamed. Vanly's sword cut through the sheets.

Scrambling over
the woman, Jack sprang from the opposite
side.
Vanly was forced to turn
to defend himself. His legs were crossed and his weight was distributed badly.
Jack used this
to
his advantage, forcing Vanly further round by a series
of quick thrusts to his left arm. Angry at being taunted, unable to wield his
mighty sword because his feet weren't placed far enough apart, Vanly lashed out
wildly. Using his sword as a knife was a terrible mistake. It was too heavy to
be used thus. Jack dodged the blade and found enough space to slice his knife
down the captain's side.

Shocked, Vanly
stepped back. Beneath his oiled mustache, the captain's mouth was a thin line.

Jack knew his best
tactic would be to crowd the man close, not giving him enough space to use his
weapon. He leapt after him. Vanly tilted his sword up and Jack was forced to
halt his attack; he wasn't quite ready to be impaled on the end of a Halcus
blade.

Jack felt
something against his foot: the end of Vanly's britches. Parrying his opponent,
he noticed that both of the captain's feet were planted firmly on the other
end. Jack bent down and tugged with all his might on the cloth. Vanly lost his
footing and began to stumble backward. In came Jack, knife ready. The captain
lost his two-handed grip on his sword, as he needed an arm to steady himself.
It was all over. A sword of that size took two hands to wield. Jack lunged
forward and stabbed the man in the heart. Vanly's blade clattered to the floor.
Vanly himself followed after.

Jack had no time
to relish his victory. Shouts could be heard coming from the direction of the
stairs. He closed the door and turned to the woman. "Help me move the
bed."

She was too
shocked to do anything but obey him. Wiping the tears from her eyes and the
blood from her mouth, she came and stood beside him. Together they pushed
against the oaken frame. It shifted with ease.

Underneath lay a
raised square of floorboard: the trapdoor. Jack was so relieved he grabbed the
woman and kissed her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that," he said,
quickly realizing she was probably scared sick of all men.

She leaned forward
and brushed the hair from his eyes. "It's all right. It doesn't
matter," she said, trying to smile. There was a loud knock at the door and
a voice cried, "Captain! There's an intruder in the garrison. He's already
brought one man down with a meat hook."

The woman took a
deep breath and shouted: "Captain says he'll be with you in a minute. He's
just finishing off his business."

The man grunted.
"Best tell him to get a move on. This ain't no time to be wenching."

Jack and the woman
listened as the man's footsteps moved away from the door. "Come on,
then," she said. "Let's get this hatch open."

Jack nodded and
they went to work on the trapdoor. It was heavy, but together they managed to
lift it up. Peering down, Jack could see nothing but darkness.
"Right," he said to the woman, "I'll lower myself first so I can
gauge the drop. Then I'll stand below and catch you."

The woman shook
her head. "I can't come with you."

"If you stay
here, there's no telling what the guard might do."

"No,"
she said. "I've got to stay here. I can't go on the run like a criminal.
I'll lose my livelihood. I'll tell the guards you overpowered me-if that's all
right with you." The woman gave him a pleading look.

"You're
taking a big risk. Come with me instead. I'll make sure you come to no
harm."

She was firm.
"No. You're wasting precious time. The guard will be back in a
moment."

Jack had no choice
but to leave her. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of knocking her out and
slinging her body over his shoulder. No, he couldn't do that. She was too
beautiful to hit over the head. He held his hand out and she took it, squeezing
his palm.

"Luck be with
you," she said. "And with you also," he replied.

Taking a firm grip
on the timber surrounding the entrance, Jack swung his feet into the blackness.
Hanging by his arms, he couldn't feel the ground below him. The woman, whose
name he would never know, gave him one last smile. He smiled back, silently
counted
one, two three,
and then let go of the wood.

Thud!
He
landed less than two seconds later. A sharp pain shot up both his legs and he
fell onto his backside. Looking up, he saw the woman already beginning to draw
the board over the top of the hole. The sight sobered him a little: they were
both on their own now. Jack stood up and tested his legs; one ankle had been
slightly twisted and both sets of muscles were sore. Above him a series of
scrapes and bangs sounded and then he found himself in complete darkness. Time
to get out of here.

The floor of the
tunnel was boarded with rotting wood that cracked and splintered at every step.
Its height matched his shoulders and he was forced to walk with his head bowed.
His back, which had been through a lot earlier with the beer barrel, protested
at every step. Hands held out in front of him, Jack scuttled along the length
of the tunnel as quickly as he could manage. There was only one thing on his
mind: Tarissa. She would be waiting for him at the other end.

The tunnel led
downward for a while and then gradually leveled off. Never had Jack been in
such complete darkness; his nose smelled earth and his feet felt wood, but
there was nothing for his eyes to see. Splinters from the side braces stabbed
at his hands. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, Jack heard voices
behind him. He looked back. A pale light appeared in the distance. Then he
heard the unmistakable sound of dogs baying. It filled him with fear. He began
to run as fast as he could. Faster and faster. They were gaining on him. His
breath was like fire in his throat. The pain of a stitch ran across his belly.
On and on he ran, not bothering to keep his hands out in front of him anymore.

Then all of a
sudden he slammed into something solid. His entire body was jolted to the core.
One of his wrists snapped back. He heard the sound of all his knuckles cracking
at once. His knee smashed into the mass, while his chin took the last of the
impact. Reeling with pain and dizziness, Jack scrambled on the floor of the
passageway, groping for a way around the obstacle. The dogs were getting
closer. He could now see individual torches, swaying with the movement of men.

The obstruction
was solid, packed earth. Someone had blocked the tunnel. There was no way
round. Jack clawed at the soil with his fingernails. He was trapped.

Trapped!

Then the dogs
reached him. Panicking, Jack raised his arm for protection. One of the dogs
tore at his arm, another went for his leg. The noise was deafening. Blood
hungry, the dogs snarled and howled. Jack felt a pressure building in his head.
He knew what it was and he welcomed it. A dog leapt at his face and he punched
it down. The tension grew and grew, demanding release. He felt the sharp tang
of sorcery on his tongue. The instant before he let go, something hard rammed
against his chest. There was pain so terrible he couldn't bear it. Looking
down, he saw the shaft of an arrow jutting from his tunic. It didn't look real.
The dogs crowded about him and then he knew no more.

"No, Bodger,
the quickest way to bed a woman isn't to tell her she's got a fine pair of
melons."

"But Longtoad
swears it works for him, Grift."

"Then
Longtoad's women must all be stone deaf, for that sort of remark don't work on
any wenches I know."

"What does,
then, Grift?"

"Sophistication,
Bodger. Sophistication. You go up to a wench, smile right nice and then say:
how's
about me and you doing a spot o' rollickin'? I've had many women before and not
one of them's complained. "

"Hmm. I can
see that might work, Grift."