Authors: J. V. Jones
Finally after some
time she said in a low voice, "Prince Kylock." She looked down,
drawing circles in the snow with her fingers. "That's why Baralis wanted
to capture me."
"To force you
to marry him?"
"No."
Melli shook her head and laughed. "To prevent me from marrying him."
She saw Jack's confusion and explained further. "Baralis hates my father.
He would do anything to stop him from getting nearer to the throne."
"You could
have been queen." Jack could hardly believe it. The dark-haired girl
sitting next to him on the snowladen log looked anything but royal.
"Well, I
won't be now." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "And I can't say that
I'm sorry. Kylock was not my idea of an ideal husband. Oh, he is handsome and
clever and good with a sword, and doubtless some woman will find him
irresistible. I always thought he was lacking in something." She thought
for a moment. "Something basic like kindness or humanity. He was always
perfectly polite but I felt as if . . ." She shook her head, unable to
find the right words.
"I think I
know what you mean."
Melli looked up
surprised. "You saw him around the castle?"
"Yes,
sometimes he visited Baralis' chambers."
"Baralis
friends with Kylock. That's hard to believe." Melli's hand stole to her
face. "Or is it? There's something very similar about those two."
Jack considered
what she said for a moment. "You're right. They're both. . ." He
struggled to find the right word. ". . . Secretive."
"I wouldn't
know about that. I was thinking more of their appearances. Both tall and
dark." She shrugged. "So, what business did Kylock have in Baralis'
chambers?"
"He was
interested in Baralis' animals." Jack put his head down. He knew Melli
wanted to hear more, but he wasn't sure if he should go on. Sometimes he would
arrive early for scribing and catch Kylock and Baralis together. The things
he'd seen Kylock doing to Baralis' creatures were sickening. Kylock liked to
discover just how much he could torture an animal before it finally died on
him. He would delicately stab a dove countless times, or slowly crush a mouse
in the palm of his hand. Jack shuddered. The most disturbing thing of all was
that Baralis just looked on, nodding his head like an indulgent father.
It was good to be
free of the castle.
Melli, almost as
if she guessed at the nature of Kylock's action, said: "So you don't blame
me for running away?" She seemed to be looking for reassurance.
"No." He
placed his hand on her arm. "I would have done the same thing in your
place."
Melli smiled
gently and stood up. "It's time we were on our way. I'm just going to fill
the skin up with water." She dashed off into the trees, a small figure in
a dark cloak.
Jack collected his
pack together and swung it over his shoulder. Pain shot through his body. He
had forgotten about his injury. He sat down for a minute to recover himself,
glad that Melli was gone-he didn't want her knowing how bad it still was. Her
own wounds had healed quickly and she assumed that his had done the same.
Jack's wound was more serious: the arrow had lodged deep within his muscle,
grazing the bone. He tentatively felt his shoulder. At least there was no
blood-the old woman had done a good job with the needle. He stood up once more
and held his pack on his other side.
He made his way
along the eastern road, wondering what lay ahead. Danger for one thing: the
Halcus would kill them if they realized they were from the Four Kingdoms.
They'd have to
keep their mouths closed; the accent of the Halcus was entirely different from
their own and to speak would be to give themselves away. There was even greater
danger for Melli if they found out who she was-Lord Maybor was a hated figure
amongst the Halcus, and they would take cruel delight in torturing his daughter
and then ransoming what remained of her.
Even if they made
it through Halcus, there was no guarantee they would get as far as Bren. Jack
had little idea of what lay beyond the River Nestor; he only knew Bren was an
impossibly long distance away, especially for two people on foot in winter.
Then there were the mountains, the Great Divide-they ran the length of the
Known Lands. He had heard that they were not as steep around Bten and there
were many passes, but everyone knew passes were treacherous in winter.
Melli came
bounding out from the trees, her waterskin full. Jack suddenly remembered she
was not going as far as Bren-her journey ended at Annis. He would be crossing
the mountains alone. She came and linked his arm, and they walked eastward
together.
Nabber woke up
feeling much better. He could tell by the light stealing in from under the
shutters that the morning was well gone. He sat up and found his head felt
clearer than it had in days-the wiseman's medicine had worked its cure. Nabber
liked Bevlin. He liked his house and all the interesting things in his
kitchen-he hadn't liked the greased duck much, but he supposed that a man with
as few teeth as Bevlin needed food that would slide down without much chewing.
Nabber considered
it was the best thing he'd ever done, linking up with Tawl. He was getting to
see the world, go adventuring, meet strange people, and make a handsome profit
on the side. He felt a little guilty about keeping some of his stash back from
Tawl, but what was a boy to do? Who could tell when he might have need?
A good friend of
his named Swift, the same one who had introduced him to the lucrative world of
pocketing, had taught him a word once: contingency. "It means," he
had explained, "keeping a little back just for yourself." Swift himself
held a healthy contingency back from his gaffer, not to mention his wife and
family. Nabber had immediately embraced the idea of contingency and always made
a point of having one. Since being with Tawl his contingency had grown
considerably and had now become rather difficult to conceal.
Nabber got out of
bed and dressed. He was worried about Tawl. His friend had been acting
strangely ever since the drunk in the tavern had accosted him. He was
short-tempered and moody. Nabber hoped that the wiseman might be able to help
him; Tawl had certainly been eager to see him. He looked at the cold water in
the wash bowl and decided against it. Being clean was not a priority with him.
He did, however, make an effort to comb his hair. Swift had told him that being
a guest carried certain responsibilities, one of which was to look reasonably
neat for your host, "else you won't get invited back." Nabber wanted
to make sure Bevlin invited him back.
As soon as he was
ready he burst in on the kitchen, eager for some hot food and company. He knew
something was wrong the second he entered: the fire was out and the room was
bone cold. He heard a noise-the sound of floorboards creaking-and he moved
around the huge table. Tawl was there, covered in blood, crouched down holding
Bevlin in his arms, rocking him back and forth like a baby. The wiseman was
dead.
Nabber had lived
in the worst part of Rorn amidst cutthroats and murderers. He had seen
prostitutes with their wrists cut, swindlers with knives in their belly-he was
no stranger to blood.
He knew the first
thing he had to do was get Tawl away from the body and get something hot inside
him. Nabber went and knelt beside Tawl. He put his arm around his shoulders.
"Come on, Tawl," he said gently. "Time to get up." Tawl looked
up at him and Nabber saw no recognition in his face. The boy tried to pull
Bevlin's body away from Tawl. The knight fought it at first, trying to keep
hold of the dead man, but Nabber's words seemed to soothe him. "Come on,
Tawl, time to let go, time to let Bevlin go." Tawl released his hold on
the wiseman and Nabber laid the old man on the floor.
He gripped Tawl's
arm and urged him to stand up, all the time gently coaxing. He looked around
for somewhere to sit Tawl. The bench wouldn't do-it was covered in blood. He
led him to a chair by the fire and made him sit. His body was blue with cold
and Nabber wondered how long he had been crouching there in the kitchen. He ran
into the bedroom and pulled out a heavy woolen blanket and covered Tawl with
it. The knight looked tired and dazed and seemed willing to stay put.
Nabber built a
hasty fire and put several pots to boil. Tawl needed something hot to drink. He
decided he would deal with Bevlin's body later-the dead benefited little from
haste. He tried not to wonder what had happened. He had learned early on in
life not to ask too many questions, but he could not. help noticing the
thickness of blood around Bevlin's chest-the man had been stabbed in the heart.
He searched the
wiseman's larder for suitable fare; he found eggs, milk, butter, and ducks. A
waterskin caught his eye-the lacus. It had cured him; it probably wouldn't do
Tawl any harm. He poured a measure of the pale, milky substance into a pot and
warmed it a little before giving it to Tawl. The knight took the offered bowl
and held it close to his face, breathing in the pungent vapors. After a while
he brought the bowl to his lips and drank. Nabber heaved a sigh of relief and
put more logs on the fire.
He was feeling
rather hungry himself, but he didn't think it was very respectful to eat with a
dead man in the room, and he was sure Swift wouldn't approve. So Nabber bided
his time, cleaning the blood from bench and floor and keeping an eye on Tawl.
He scrubbed away, trying not to look at Bevlin, but the face of the old man
seemed to draw his eye. It was not an upsetting sight. The wiseman looked as if
he was in a deep sleep, a little pale perhaps, but at peace.
Blood, Nabber
considered, was not an easy thing to clean off. He tried his best, but it just
seemed to make everything worse, causing ugly red smears over the floor. He
looked at his hands and they were covered in bloody water; he felt a tension in
his throat and found he had to stop. He stood up and glanced over to Tawl. The
knight was sitting motionless with his eyes closed.
Nabber knew he was
getting upset, but fought it, Swift would be ashamed of him-stoicism was highly
valued amongst 'pockets. He clamped his lips together tightly and moved away
from the body, talking himself round. "Come on now, Nabber," he
murmured. "You're no baby, seen worse than this in your time."
He had to get the
blood from his hands. It was the sight of them, he decided, that was upsetting
him. He needed some fresh water to wash them in. He'd just slip back into his
bedroom for a minute, where there was clean water and a cloth. He looked over
to Tawl, checking that the knight would be all right for a few minutes. He
seemed to be asleep. Satisfied that he wouldn't be missed, Nabber went into the
bedroom, shutting the door after him.
Once there Nabber
gave in to the tension. He sat on the bed and his body shook; he told himself
the room was cold, that was all. Tears welled in his eyes and he quickly
brushed them away: Swift would laugh at him. Willing himself to remain calm, he
went over to the wash bowl and splashed cold water on his face. What had been
so undesirable only an hour before, he now welcomed readily. The sting of cold
revived his spirits. He scrubbed mercilessly at his hands, removing the last
traces of blood.
By the time Nabber
had dried himself off he was feeling much better. Composed and ready to return
to the kitchen, he straightened his clothes and went into the next room.
Tawl had gone. The
chair was empty. The door was open. Nabber cursed himself; he should never have
left him. He went over to the window. Tawl's horse, which had been tethered to
the gate, was gone. Nabber dashed out of the house and into the garden. In the
distance, heading to the west, he spied Tawl. The knight was riding fast and
furious and was soon out of sight.
Nabber stood for a
while, watching the horizon over which Tawl disappeared. Clouds passed over the
sun and it grew dark and chill. Reluctantly, he returned to the cottage.
He checked in
Tawl's room and was relieved to see his pack had gone; the knight would at
least have food and blankets.
Nabber made
himself something to eat: a little porridge and some duck. He took it into the
bedroom so he could eat without looking at Bevlin's body. He thought about what
to do next. He could return to Rorn-Swift would take him back as a 'pocket, no
questions asked; the prospecting in Ness had been fruitful-he could set up on
his own there; he could even sit out the winter here in the wiseman's
cottagethere was plenty of food.
Nothing seemed as
appealing as it should. He was in a good position, his contingency had never
been bigger, he could go where he pleased and do what he wanted. Nabber knew
what he wanted to do and knew it was foolish to consider it. He wanted to go
after Tawl, to find his friend and travel with him once more. It's madness, he
told himself. He didn't know the country, it was the middle of winter, and he
didn't know where Tawl was headed and couldn't even be sure the knight would
welcome him if he found him.
Tawl was his
friend, though. They had adventured together. He had saved the knight's life
once; it might need saving again. He would do it. He would follow Tawl west.
When Bevlin had given him the lacus, Nabber had asked what cities lay nearest
to his cottage. The wiseman had said Lairston was to the north, Ness to the
east, and Bren to the west. Bren, that would be where Tawl was headed.
He would head
west, then, following Tawl's trail. Nabber had heard tell that Bren was a rich
city, there was bound to be good prospecting there. First though, he had to
sort out things here. He would have to bury Bevlin-Swift would have thought it
fitting to do so. He would also tidy and secure the cottage. He would head for
Bren in the morningthere was much to do this day.
Tavalisk was
eating gruel. His stomach complaint was getting no better and the only food he
could keep down was thin porridge. The physicians had come that morning. How he
hated them with their proddings and whisperings and damn-fool remedies. They
had told him he had malevolent humors in his stomach and suggested that they
put a poultice of hot mustard seed on his belly to draw them out. When he had
refused the poultice, they suggested bloodletting followed by a medicinal
enema. Were they trying to kill him?