A Man Betrayed (80 page)

Baralis approached
the two guards. He lifted his nose up and sniffed at the air. "Ale to wash
down the gossip, eh?"

"Just half a
jug-"

Grift stopped
Bodger in midsentence by a swift kick to the shin. "What's it to
you?" he asked, meeting Baralis' eye.

"Nothing at
all." Baralis was so close now that Grift had to physically stop himself
from moving back. Bodger had already done so and was now pinned against the
back of the pew. "In fact," continued Baralis, "I hope you will
be drinking tomorrow evening. I'll even send you the jugs myselfonly the best,
of course."

"Why would we
want to drink tomorrow?" asked Grift. He was beginning to feel very wary.

"Because when
you are drinking on the other side of the chapel doors, you will miss the
passage of one man through them."

"Who is this
man?"

Baralis' hand came
up. "Ask no questions, my friend. Just do as I say." His voice was
smooth, tempting. "Let the man pass and I will consider your debt
repaid."

Grift knew he had
little choice but to do as Baralis asked. The man could have them thrown out of
the guard, whipped, tortured, poisoned, or worse. He cursed the day the king's
chancellor had overheard them speaking. To be indebted to Baralis was the same
as being indebted to the devil-both would take a man's soul given half a
chance.

"You leave us
little choice, Lord Baralis," he said.

"I see you're
a sensible man. I trust your young companion there will also be sensible."
He motioned toward Bodger.

"Bodger will
do as I say."

"Good."
Baralis brought his hands together. "Remember, not a word of this to
anyone." He began to walk down the aisle.

Grift spoke up.
"Will this man you speak of be coming through again?"

Baralis wheeled
around. "Yes." He stood and considered for a moment. The expression
on his face turned from thoughtfulness to pure cunning. "Raise the alarm
when he does. I don't want him leaving the palace alive."

"No,
Nessa," snapped Melli. "Not so tight. I won't be able to breathe, let
alone walk up the aisle." She knew she was being a little harsh on the
girl, but she was nervous. "Hand me the cup of wine." The servant
dashed off to do her bidding. A moment later Melli heard footsteps behind her.

"My lady's
wine." It was Tawl who held forth the cup, not Nessa.

Melli deliberately
hid her pleasure at seeing him. "Where's Nessa?" she said, snatching
the cup from him. "She's slipped out for a moment. I think you wore her
down." Tawl's voice was gently mocking. "You will make a beautiful
bride, but hardly a serene one."

"I look
beautiful?"

"Breathtaking."

Melli had to look
away. There was too much truth in Tawl's eyes. "Will you be attending the
wedding?" she asked, raising the cup to her lips.

"Yes. I will
be escorting you and your husband back to your chambers."

Husband. Melli
flinched at the word; she couldn't stop herself. Everything was happening so
fast. Too fast. She felt as if she were caught up in something that she was now
powerless to stop. It was as if the marriage had become a separate entity; it
was a force unto itself, and its momentum was so great that it carried her
along with it. Melli had been genuinely shocked when the duke had proposed such
a quick marriage. She had been hoping for at least a few weeks warning, but it
wasn't to be. The duke had insisted on marrying her today-in secret.

"Open the shutters,"
she said to Tawl. "Let me see what my wedding day promises."

Tawl, always so
quick to do her bidding, was by the window in an instant. He pulled back the
shutters to reveal a beautiful blue sky. Melli came and stood by him. The
outside air was warm against her face. The great lake was as smooth as glass.
"A perfect day," she murmured. Her hand felt for Tawl's. It was
waiting for her.

The door opened
and in strode her father. Tawl and Melli quickly pulled apart. Maybor was
dressed in full splendor. Wearing the family colors of red and gold, he was
bedecked from head to foot in rubies and silk. Even his shoes bore two matching
stones. "Melliandra," he said, "you look beautiful.
Beautiful."

She, too, wore
red. A heavy satin dress of deepest crimson with a fortune's worth of pearls
sewn upon the skirt. She had developed an almost superstitious dislike for the
color, but she wasn't wearing it for herself. She wore it to honor her father.
She stepped forward to meet him. Maybor caught her up in a huge bear hug. His
smell was so familiar: expensive fragrances and lobanfern red. She felt like a
child again.

Placing Melli down
on the floor before him, Maybor said, "I am very proud this day, my
daughter."

"Even though
I'm not marrying a king?" There was so much more gray in his hair now,
thought Melli. How much of it was she responsible for?

He took her hand
and raised it to his lips. "You have made your own choice, and I'll tell
you now: 'tis a better one than I made for you." It was her father's way
of saying he was sorry.

"You should
have known I would pick no pauper." She forced herself to smile. It was
neither the time nor the place for tears.

"I am glad I
am here today," said Maybor gently.

Melli nodded. She
was glad, too. Her father's presence was a blessing; she drew strength from his
nearness. After Catherine's outburst on the night of the wedding announcement,
the only thing that had kept Melli sitting at the table was Maybor. He held her
hand all night. She had wanted to run away from the accusations and the hostile
stares of the court. Yet she couldn't let her father down. The great dignity he
demonstrated that night had moved her deeply, and she had been determined to
follow his example. People might have left that night shaking their heads over
Catherine's behavior, but no one could find fault with Maybor and his daughter.

Melli would
cherish the memory of her father's welcome to the end of her days. She had gone
through her life thinking that Maybor did not love her, that he cared only for
his sons, and that she was nothing but a possession to him. The Feast of First
Sowing had shown her how wrong she had been. Oh, she was not stupid; of course
he was thrilled that she was marrying the most powerful man in the norththings
could not have worked out better from his point of view-but wealth and titles
hadn't been on his mind when he leapt up to meet her that night. It had been
love that was the strength behind those three mighty leaps. She was sure of it.

"Are you
ready, my daughter?" Maybor offered her his arm.

Was it time
already? Everything was moving so quickly. Since returning from the hunting
lodge, she had hardly had time to catch her breath. Melli looked quickly toward
Tawl, and then back to her father. If she were to back out now she would be
failing both of them. She took Maybor's arm.

Nessa came back
into the room and made the final adjustments to her dress. Melli smiled
tenderly at her father, who kept patting her arm as if he still couldn't
believe she was real. Tawl hadn't moved from the window. She didn't need to
look at him to know that he was watching her.

When Nessa backed
away, her task complete, Melli began to walk toward the door. Maybor pulled
against her arm, halting her. Slipping his hand into his tunic, he pulled out a
diamond and ruby necklace. Melli recognized it straightaway. It was her
mother's: a wedding gift from Maybor to his new bride. The rubies were the size
of cherries, and diamonds surrounded them like petals round a bud. "I
brought it as a gift for Catherine," said Maybor. "But when it came
time to give it to her, I found I could not do it. The necklace was always
meant for you." With large, red hands that wouldn't stop shaking, Maybor
fastened the necklace about Melli's neck.

"Let us go
now, daughter," he said, smoothing her hair back in place. Melli nodded,
unable to speak. Father and daughter walked toward the door. Somehow Tawl was
in front of them now, opening the door, then placing a plain woolen cloak over
Melli's shoulders. She caught his eye as she left the room. Perhaps Tawl would
not have been disappointed if she had backed out of the wedding, after all.

"Tell me
about your family, Jack," Stillfox requested. Jack felt a quick flare of
anger at the casual inquiry. He hated people asking about his family. And he hated
himself for feeling ashamed. "Why do you need to know anything about my
family?" he said. "I would never ask about yours." Stillfox's
eyebrows went up. "I didn't ask for curiosity's sake, Jack. I asked
because I want to find out more about your powers: where they came from, if you
inherited them from your father or mother."

They were sitting
in Stillfox's cottage, close to the fire. It was a small place and boasted only
two rooms: the kitchen and the storeroom. Every shelf in the kitchen was
crowded with jars and baskets containing herbs and spices. Sprigs of thyme and
mistletoe hung from the rafters, drying slowly in the heat from the fire. Bowls
of mushrooms and toadstools rested on the mantel, their pungent odors telling
of various stages of decay. There was rosemary pickled in vinegar and sage
pickled in brine. There were so many different plants and spices on show that
Jack couldn't even begin to guess at the names of most of them. He might have
been brought up in a kitchen, but he had never seen a selection as great as
this.

"Do you get
your powers from the herbs?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

Stillfox shook his
head. "No, lad. Certain herbs can enhance a man's powers, but they can't
give him what he was not born with."

"So sorcery
is passed down in the blood?" As Jack spoke he thought of his mother. It
had been so long since she was last on his mind.

"Sorcery can
come from three sources, Jack. Most commonly it is passed from parent to child,
from generation to generation. Mostly, as time goes on, the amount of power
lessens over time, so a mother with ability will usually give birth to a child
with less power than herself. Of course there are exceptions, and if two people
with sorcery in their blood join together and have a child, then that child
might have greater ability than both of its parents." Stillfox made a
sweeping gesture with his arm. "But nothing is certain."

"The second
way a person can receive sorcery's gifts is at the exact moment of conception.
On certain rare nights the air becomes heavy with fate and prophesy, and
sorcery itself speeds the sending of the seed." The herbalist made a soft
clicking sound in the back of his throat. "A child begot at such a time
may be powerful indeed."

Without meeting
Jack's eyes, he turned to the fire and basted the joint. It was a side of lamb
that had been rubbed with mint and pepper. Fragrant cooking smells rose from
the hearth like smoke.

Jack barely
noticed the smell of the meat. He was trying to recall if his mother had ever
done anything in his presence that might have been magical. All his memories
brought him was guilt. He had been so careless, never listening, never
watching, always taking her for granted. Except toward the end, when it had
been too late. No, she had done nothing magical, but could he honestly say he
would have noticed if she did?

"What is the
third way a man can acquire sorcery?" he asked.

Stillfox was
turning the spit. The joint was still browning and drops of fat fell sizzling
to the flames. "There are some places where sorcery is in the earth
itself. I don't claim to know much about such things-their time has long since
passed-but there is one place I know of that still exists. An island where the
rock, the soil, and even the sea that surrounds it is held in sorcery's thrall.
It's the isle of Larn, where the seers are made."

"I don't know
how the land became the way it is. Perhaps it was enchanted by a great sorcerer
thousands of years ago, perhaps it has always been that way. I do not know. Its
power continues on, though, that I know for sure." Stillfox's gaze shifted
from Jack to the flames. The fat sizzled and flared, sending black smoke up the
chimney with the gray.

When Stillfox
spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. The country lilt was heavy on his
tongue. "I heard a tale about a girl who came from Lam once. Her mother
was a servant to the priests. The powers that be on the island have ever been
wary of feminine temptations and so only allow women who are disfigured at
birth to serve them. Not only do they pay a cheap price for such girls, but
they also eliminate the chance of one of their priests going astray. These
girls are so horribly misshapen that no man would ever look at them."

"Still one
man did. For the girl in the tale was born on the island. Her mother had either
been raped or seduced by a priest. The baby girl she gave birth to grew up on
Lam. Her developing body acted like a sponge, soaking up the magic of the isle,
concentrating it in her blood and her tissue and her bone. Sorcery became part
of her very soul."

"The magic of
the island is what gives the seers their sight. The great hall of seering is
alive with sorcery; it runs through the rock like seams of crystal. It is said
to be so powerful that the cavern actually glows with the force of it."
Stillfox shook his head slowly. "'Tis a sight I would love to see."

Jack shuddered. He
never wanted to see such a place. "What happened to the girl?"

"She made the
mistake of feeling pity for the seers. Each man is bound to a stone until the
end of his days. They are tied for two reasons. First, to focus their minds,
the seers are roped so tightly that they cannot move. All they can do is think
and foretell. To escape their physical torment, they retreat to a world of
delusion and insanity, and it is from there they catch glimpses of the
future."