Authors: J. V. Jones
"We'll take
the lamb." Tawl noticed disappointment on the innkeeper's face. "I'll
also have a flagon of ale."
"The special
brew?" asked the man hopefully. "No, the plainest brew."
When he and Nabber
were comfortably settled near the huge fireplace in the dining hall, he turned
to the boy. "What's all this about two rooms?"
"I've got
more than enough coinage to cover the additional cost." Nabber helped
himself to a mug of ale.
"That's not
what I asked." Tawl took the mug away from the boy. "What have you
been up to today besides prospecting?"
"I met up
with someone." Nabber was defiant. "Who?"
"A girl.
That's all. A girl with red hair and frecklespretty she was. She said she knew
you and asked me to do her a favor."
"What
favor?" Tawl's voice was deceptively calm. "Well, she said she wanted
to surprise you in your room." Nabber blushed. "She said she wanted
to be alone with you and that I should take a separate room. Told me not to
tell you. Gave me a kiss she did, for all my trouble." Tawl leaned back
against the wall. It was a ploy. The girl was in league with Tavalisk or Larn
or Borc knows who else. She, or more probably, whoever she worked for, planned
on either killing or taking him in the night. He was a little disappointed; he
had thought she was just a nice girl. He was disgusted at his own naivete. He
stood up.
"Where you
going?" asked Nabber warily. "It's about time I got myself a decent
weapon."
A few hours later
he was in his room oiling his new blade. The blacksmith he found had been most
reluctant to fire up his forge so late. Tawl was not to be put off so easily
and surprised the man by offering to buy the sword that was displayed upon the
wall. The smith protested saying he could never sell it. He swore it was the
first sword he'd made as an apprentice that had met up to his master's high
standards.
Tawl could see it
was a plain but sturdy sword, just the kind he favored-he had no love of
embellishment in a weapon. He'd managed to persuade the man to part with the
sword for the extortionate price of three gold pieces. The smith appeared
somewhat remorseful at having charged such a high price, for as Tawl walked out
of the building he ran up to him. "Here take this," he said, handing
a soft pig-skin scabbard to Tawl. "My wife makes them. I'd like you to
have it." The smithy then hurried back inside, his guilt suitably
assuaged.
Tawl decided it
was time to bed down for the night. He pulled the covers over his fully dressed
body. His new sword lay flat against his belly, the handle firmly in his grip.
His knife was tucked in his belt. He blew out the candle and prepared to wait.
Some time later,
when the moon drew long shadows across the room, Tawl heard the door creak
open. A figure paused in the doorway and then crept toward him. Tawl's body
tensed, ready to spring. The figure loomed over the bed. Tawl sprang up, sword
in his hand. He grabbed the figure and flung it down against the bed, raising
his blade to its throat.
"Stop!
Please!" cried a female voice. So the girl had come herself!
"Who sent
you?" he demanded, pressing the blade into her flesh.
"No one sent
me. I came alone." The girl was almost hysterical. "Please let me
go."
Tawl frisked the
girl for weapons with one hand, holding the blade to her throat with the other.
He found no dagger. He lit the candles with a flint so he could search the
room-she must have dropped her weapon.
The light revealed
the face of the girl to him. It was as he expected: the cloth merchant's
daughter. Tears of terror coursed down her cheeks. She was a fine actress.
"Don't move or I'll kill you," he hissed as he looked for her blade.
He searched the room but could find nothing. He turned to the girl, who was
cringing with fear on the bed.
"Where is
your weapon?"
The girl looked
confused. "I don't know what you mean." She was sobbing
uncontrollably.
"You came
here to kill me, don't deny it." A thought suddenly occurred to him and he
flung open the door to his room; there was no one in sight. "Where are
your accomplices?"
"Please, I
don't know what you are talking about. I didn't come here to kill you."
"What did you
come here for then?" Tawl's voice was cold and insistent.
"I came here
to seduce you!" cried the girl, breaking into a new fit of sobbing. Tawl
took a deep breath. The girl was either a consummate liar or telling the truth.
He placed his sword in the scabbard.
"Why did. you
want to seduce me?" he asked brusquely, still skeptical.
"You seemed
like a romantic stranger, almost like a knight with your golden hair and noble
manner." The girl was now blushing and crying simultaneously. Tawl didn't
know what to say to her. He was beginning to think he had made a mistake. He
handed her a linen cloth to dry her tears. She snatched it from him and blew
her nose vigorously.
"You seem a
little young to be seducing strange men."
"I'm past
seventeen summers." The girl smoothed down her skirts."You have
certainly put me off seducing any others."
"I'm glad to
hear it," said Tawl with a grin.
"I thought
you would be glad I came. Instead you jump on me and almost kill me."
Kendra's spirit was returning. "I think you are quite mad! You are lucky
I'm not calling the bailiffs."
"And how
would you explain to the bailiffs your being in my room?" The expression
of indignant rage on the girl's face made him want to laugh.
"I could tell
them you lured me here."
Tawl went and
reopened the door. "If you hurry, you might catch one before he retires
for the night."
"You are
insufferable! I don't know what I ever saw in you." She was angry but made
no move to leave the room. Tawl closed the door.
"I'm sorry I
startled you." He came and sat beside her on the bed.
"Are you
always in the habit of trying to murder women who seduce you?"
"I thought
... never mind." It seemed ridiculous that he had ever thought the girl
was an assassin.
"Is someone
trying to kill you?" Kendra was quite calm now and seemed excited at the
prospect of being involved in danger and intrigue. "I knew you were an
adventurer the moment I saw you. Are you working for the duke of Bren?"
"Why d'you
say that?"
"Oh, everyone
knows he has men all over the place up to no good."
"No, I don't
work for the duke of Bren."
The girl looked a
little disappointed. "But someone is trying to kill you, aren't they?
That's why you attacked meyou thought I was the one." She eagerly awaited
his reply.
"I mistook
you for someone else, yes." Tawl suddenly felt very tired. "I think
you had better go."
The girl moved
over to him and kissed him on the lips-a gentle, tentative kiss. Tawl kissed
her back, softly at first and then, as desire came upon him, his kiss became
hard and unyielding, forcing her lips apart and searching out the succulence of
her tongue. He placed his arms firmly around her waist and drew her to him. His
fingers searched her body, feeling for the swell of breast and hip. He pulled
at the strings of her bodice-they would not give, so he ripped the fabric. He
slipped his hands under her skirt, seeking the smoothness of thigh. Kendra
pulled away, her face flushed. Tawl let go of her and they sat for a moment
staring at each other.
He stood up. The
girl tried to stop him by catching his arm. He gently took her hand away and moved
across the room. For the third time that night he opened the door. "Go
now, Kendra, before I do something we'll both regret." There was a hard
edge to his voice and she obediently got up and walked toward the door. As she
left, she looked at Tawl with a mixture of fear and desire.
Baralis was tired
of waiting on a summons from the queen. The deadline for the wager had passed
by two days. now and yet she had still not called him. She was playing a game
with him, forcing him to wait until she was ready, seeking to gain some small
advantage in the battle of wills. It was high time he forced her hand. He had
meticulously planned for years, and he was not about to be put off by simple
delay tactics. "Bring me my robe," he called to Crope. "I am about
to pay the king a visit."
Once he was
suitably dressed, he picked up a small jar of oil and slipped it into the
lining of his cloak; it was to be his prop. He made his way to the royal
quarters, his silken robes rustling gently in his haste. The guards let him
through unchallenged. He passed the queen's chambers and the guards there drew
spears, indicating that the queen was in attendance and that he was not to
enter. Baralis ignored them and walked on-he knew it would only be a matter of
time before one of them reported to their mistress who they had seen walking
the royal corridors.
Finally, he came
to the most elaborate door in the entire castle. Molded from solid bronze it
showed scenes from the history of the Four Kingdoms: Harvell, Reskor, Granwell,
and many other ancient kings were all there-shown taller and more handsome than
they ever were in real life. Lesketh's ancestors, thought Baralis dryly, were
notoriously short and ugly men.
"Halt!"
cried the guard. "No one is permitted to enter without the queen's
permission."
"I suppose
you know it is I who supply the new medicine for the king? The medicine that
the queen values so highly." The guard nodded, it was a well-known fact
around the castle. "Well," said Baralis softly, his voice gently
coaxing, "I have a new oil that I have made, one that will bring motion
back to the king's shoulder. I would first try it out to ensure that it works
before I inform Her Highness about it. I would hate to build her hopes up only
to disappoint her." The guard was nodding understandingly. "You would
be doing both the king and the queen a great service by letting me
through." Baralis altered the timber of his voice slightly; it was now low
and compelling. "I will do His Majesty no harm. Why, you can even be in
the room with me the whole time if you prefer."
"Where is
this oil?" asked the guard. Baralis knew he had him. He whipped the jar
from out of his cloak. The cut glass sparkled with convenient mystery.
"Very well, Lord Baralis, you may enter, but no longer than a few
minutes."
The heavy door
swung back with noiseless ease, and Baralis entered the king's chambers. Lavish
carpets and tapestries in vivid blues and golds dulled the sound of his
footsteps. What a waste, mused Baralis, all this splendor for a bed-ridden
king. The first room was merely a reception area, and he made his way across it
and through to the bedroom.
Two people hovered
around the king's bed: the queen's wisewoman and the Master of the Bath-rather
a grand title, Baralis considered, for the man who was responsible for emptying
the king's chamberpot. The two looked most surprised at his appearance.
However, he was not about to give explanations to mere attendants.
"Lord Baralis
this is most unexpected," said the Master of the Bath. The wisewoman knew
her place too well to challenge his presence.
"Unexpected
it may be, but most beneficial I hope." He pulled the lid from the jar,
daring the man to question him further.
"Lord
Baralis," said the wisewoman softly, "if you intend to use the
contents of that jar upon the king, may I be permitted to see it first?"
"Wisewoman,
go brew some herbs!" Baralis approached the sleeping king; drowsiness was
a fortunate side effect of the medicine.
"Sir, I beg
you not to disturb the king's sleep. He needs all the rest he can get."
The Master of the Bath was beginning to look very nervous.
"Nonsense,
man, the king has slept for too long, that is his problem." Baralis didn't
really care what he said; he was just biding time before the inevitable arrival
of the queen. To speed this eventuality he began to shake the king awake, and
his action had the desired effect: the wisewoman rushed from the room,
undoubtedly to inform the queen of his presence.
The king awakened,
his slow gaze focusing upon Baralis. He mouthed some words, but no sound came
from his lips, only spittle.
"Lord
Baralis!" came the queen's voice, her words were charged with rage.
"How dare you enter the king's chamber without permission?"
"Your
Highness." Baralis bowed low, his back arching gracefully. The queen moved
to the bedside and checked the condition of her husband.
"You have
wakened him!" She turned on Baralis angrily. "Explain yourself."
"Your
Highness pointed out that I had no permission," he said smoothly.
"But may I ask who is qualified to grant such permission?" Baralis
knew the queen would be aware of one specific written law of the Four Kingdoms.
The law that stated a queen had absolutely no rights of sovereignty, even in
the event of the king's disablement or death. Queen Arinalda was without any
legal power, yet she ruled in the king's place. It was a law that had been
conveniently forgotten by the court in the interest of unity and continuity.
"Lord
Baralis, you are broaching a dangerous subject," warned the queen.
"Dangerous
for whom, Your Highness?" Baralis' voice held a warning of its own.
"Why did you
come here?" The queen backed away.
"I think Your
Highness knows why. You are overdue on paying your debts."
"So you used
the king to get my attention." Her voice was filled with loathing.
"It appears
to have worked." Baralis permitted himself the briefest of smiles.
"I will speak
with you no further this day, Lord Baralis." It was a dismissal.
"As Your
Highness wishes, but I must insist upon an audience tomorrow."
"Insist! You
forget who you are talking to, Lord Baralis." The queen looked as if she
would strike him.