The Book of Words

by J. V. Jones

  The archbishop was being sewn into a tunic of bright yellow silk. He was amusing himself by looking down the dress of the seamstress as she stitched up the sides. There was a brief knock and Gamil entered.

  “Ah, Gamil. I was just thinking about you. I was wondering when you will bring my little Comi to visit me.” Tavalisk had recently acquired a cat. The sly creature had captured his interest and so he’d given his dog to Gamil—the archbishop only had room for one favorite. Now he had the strong suspicion that his aide had either killed the dog or set it out on the streets. His suspicions were confirmed by the guilty look on Gamil’s face.

  “I will bring him as soon as he has recovered from his illness, Your Eminence.”

  “See that you do, Gamil. I will remind you to do so in a few days.” The archbishop smiled agreeably to his aide. “It warms my heart to think my dear Comi is with someone who I know will take good care of him.” He turned to the seamstress. “Not so tight, girl. I do not wish to look like a sausage about to burst its skin. There will be a feast later and I will need room for digestion.” Tavalisk gave his attention back to his aide. “So, Gamil, what news have you for me today?”

  “Word has reached Marls about your expulsion of the knights.”

  “And how is that unfortunate city taking the news?”

  “There have been demonstrations in the streets, Your Eminence. The people of Marls are calling on their authorities to follow your example. Marls has no love for the Knights of Valdis.”

  “Excellent, Gamil. Though the news is no surprise to me, it has long been rumored that the knights brought the plague to the city.”

  “Your Eminence demonstrated great forethought by starting that particular rumor.”

  “Yes, it is always a wise move to have one’s rivals at each other’s throats. I only wish I could claim the credit for starting the confounded plague in the first place.”

  “I will be expecting to hear reports on what Toolay thinks of your edict within a week. If I am not mistaken, they should have heard about the news by now.”

  “Toolay’s reaction will be most interesting. They have long associations with the knighthood. However, they, like most cities today, live in fear: fear of invasion, fear of the plague, fear of losing trade. Yes, I will watch Toolay carefully.” Tavalisk moved forward to pick at a pile of grapes, and doing so stepped on the hand of the seamstress who was hemming his cloak. “Talking of that delightful fishing port, any news of our knight?”

  “Well, Your Eminence, he was last spotted some days ago approaching the city in the company of the small boy who had been following him.”

  The archbishop admired his reflection in the mirror. “Are we still holding the prostitute?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence, but with all due respect it could be a long time before the knight returns to Rorn.”

  “Ah, Gamil, you have a woefully short memory. Only seconds ago you praised me for my forethought. I intend to keep the girl for as long as it takes: months, years, who knows? What I do know is that eventually she will be useful, and Rorn will not mourn the loss of one less whore in the meantime.”

  “If there is nothing more, I will take my leave, Your Eminence. I, too, must ready myself for the parade.”

  “I wouldn’t bother to change if I were you, Gamil. You always look so becoming in brown.”

  Tawl awoke to the sound of shouting. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and went over to the window to investigate. In the street below there was a crowd of people chanting and waving banners. Tawl stood horrified as he realized what the people were crying.

  “Ban the knights, expel them from our city.”

  He watched as a banner depicting the knights’ symbol—a circle within a circle—was set afire. There was laughing and cheering at the sight. Gradually the crowd made its way down the street, heading toward the center of the city.

  Tawl could hardly believe what he had seen and heard. For the first time he was forced to acknowledge the full extent of hostility toward his order. How had this happened? Hatred where there once was respect. What had caused people to turn against them so completely?

  “Boy!” He shook Nabber awake. “I will breakfast alone. Do not move from this room until I have returned.”

  “What about me, what shall I eat?”

  “Do not pester me now. I will be back before long.” Tawl left the room and made his way down to the dining room. He was going to find out what had caused the demonstration.

  The eating hall was busy with people eating and drinking. He picked a table that was already occupied. The stranger looked rather apprehensive as Tawl sat down and began to gather his things together.

  “No, sir, please do not go on my account. I have no wish to disturb you.” Hearing him speak, the man appeared to relax a little.

  “Forgive me for my discourtesy, but looking as you do, you must not be surprised at my reaction.”

  “It is not always best to judge a man’s intentions by his size. Even a small man can carry a long knife.” Tawl quoted a well-known travelers’ proverb. Tawl was a good head above most men in height and was well used to his size making men nervous.

  “You have put me in my place, young man. I would buy you a drink.” He called the tavern girl and ordered the traditional morning refreshment of Toolay: ale mixed with goat’s milk.

  “Did you happen to see the crowds that were gathered on the dock road?” Tawl winced as he drank from his cup—brought up in the marshlands, he had no love of goat’s milk.

  “Aye, that I did. It’s a bad business.” The man shook his head wearily. “It’s that slippery archbishop’s fault. He’s only gone and expelled the knights from Rorn.”

  “When did he do that?” asked Tawl nonchalantly.

  “Just got word of it today. There’s people around who’d like to see the same thing happen here.”

  “The protesters?”

  The stranger glanced nervously around the room. “More powerful people as well.”

  “I thought Toolay had long been on friendly terms with Valdis.”

  “No one in the south is friendly with Valdis since Tyren took over. The man wants to control all the trade routes to the north and east. He’s using strongarm tactics one minute and calling us heretics the next.” The man took a long draught. “Toolay owes a great debt to the knights. Almost a hundred years ago they helped us fight off an invasion from the barbarians who came from over the water. No one has forgotten that, but it comes down to priorities, lad. Toolay lives for trade. Threaten our trade and you threaten our livelihood. We export a fortune in embroidery and cold-water fish to Rorn. Upset Rorn and we stand to lose money. Valdis has little taste for fish or finery.” The stranger looked at Tawl suspiciously. “Where are you from, boy?”

  “I am originally from the Great Marshes.” Tawl took a hearty swig of his ale and then looked the man squarely in the eye.

  “Well, lad, I must be on my way. There are fish to be cleaned and salted—though even that’s more expensive thanks to the knights. Bought up all the salt pans, they did.” The stranger stood up, sighing heavily. “There’s trouble simmering, but Valdis isn’t the only one with a spoon in the pot. Rorn and Bren aren’t above stirring the mix.” He bowed politely. “I wish you joy of the day, and fish in fortune and famine.” Tawl returned the blessing and watched him leave. Feeling restless, he decided to wander into town and see what the marchers were up to.

  Toolay was a bright and busy place in the early morning. Facing easterly as it did, the city benefited from the sun’s first tentative rays. Tawl made his way toward the marketplace and could soon hear the sound of chanting and shouting. He followed the noise and eventually came upon a crowd of people. The men whom he had seen from his window were there, and many more. There were also a small group of people who were for the knights; these unfortunate men were heckled and pelted with fish heads. The crowd was angry, crying out harshly:

  “Down with the knights.”

  “The knights bring
the plague.”

  “They steal our trade.”

  “Valdis is rotten to the core.”

  Tawl could take no more. Hanging his head low, he returned to the inn. It seemed that none of the people he’d met since being freed from Rorn’s dungeons had a good word to say about Valdis. Tyren’s name was on everyone’s lips, and he was branded a charlatan with each breath. It had been so long since he was last at Valdis, could he really say with conviction that he knew what was going on there? It had been almost a reflex action to deny the rumors in Rorn. The city was corrupt, and the archbishop took care to create a strong antiknight sentiment amongst the people. But Toolay was different. Its people were pious and hard working, and as the stranger in the tavern had pointed out, it owed a great debt to Valdis.

  For the first time, Tawl was forced to admit there must be some truth in the rumors. But Tyren? He couldn’t believe it. Tyren had all but saved his life, and had certainly saved his soul. He was the one who first brought him to Valdis and acted as his protector when others called him too lowborn to be a knight. Tyren defended him, saying the knights needed the strength and vitality of new blood, peasant blood. Tawl admired him for the courage he’d shown. Challenging the very foundations of the knighthood hadn’t been easy, but Tyren hadn’t rested until the knights agreed to let any man, regardless of birth, try out for the circles.

  Two years into his training as a knight, Tyren was made head of the order. The last leader, Fallseth, had died a mysterious death, his body was found in a brothel on the outskirts of Valdis. After the humiliation of Fallseth’s death, the knights wanted to choose someone of high moral character. Tyren was chosen.

  Tawl wondered what had happened in his absence. When he’d first set out on his quest, he was proud to show his circles. Strangers let him into their homes on the strength of them. They had stood for honor and bravery and faith. Now they were marks of shame, never to be shown in the presence of others.

  Pushing up his sleeve, he brought his circles into view. He would walk back to the inn with them on show. They were the only thing he lived for, and he would not see them condemned on the strength of a few ugly rumors. Walking with his head high, he felt ashamed of his doubts; the knights valued loyalty above anything else. And considering, even for a moment, that there might be truth behind the reports of corruption was disloyalty of the highest order.

  No one challenged Tawl as he returned to the inn, which was probably a blessing as he was eager for a fight. It would have been an unlucky man who chose to make an issue of his circles on this bright morning.

  When he got to the inn, Tawl was surprised to find that Nabber had actually heeded his words for once and was waiting obediently for him. “What took you so long?” the boy asked, but seeing the look on the knight’s face, he became quiet and set about putting his belongings into his pack.

  They made their way to the stables and picked up their mounts. When the mare was brought out into the full daylight Tawl was well satisfied with his choice—she was lithe and graceful. His mood lightened when he saw what Nabber would be riding. It was a stout and bad-tempered looking pony with a coarse, sandy-colored coat. He laughed outright when he saw the boy’s indignant expression.

  “I’m not riding that sorry-looking mule.”

  “I assure you, young man, that is no mule. It is a hill bred pony—a good little work horse.” The horse merchant was most offended.

  “The pony will do fine.” Tawl handed the man seven gold pieces. “How much do I owe you for the saddles and grain?”

  “Two more golds.” The man was busily testing the coins he had been given. He scraped the top of them with his knife, checking there was no base metal beneath the gold. Tawl knew the merchant asked too much for the saddles, but he had no desire to bargain. He handed over the money and took his leave.

  Tawl gently patted his horse’s head, allowing the creature to become accustomed to him. Nabber took his example and did likewise. The pony turned quickly and bit him.

  “You dumb mule.” The boy rubbed his hand. “I’ll get my own back.” Nabber thought for a second, obviously considering what would be a suitable punishment for the pony. “I know, I’ll give you a stupid name. I’ll call you Smircher!”

  “That doesn’t sound like such a bad name.” Tawl was busy checking his harness and saddle.

  “You don’t know much, do you? A smircher is what they call people who make their living out of searching for coins and stuff down amidst the sewage on the streets. Ain’t no worse insult in Rorn than to be called a smircher. Lowest of the low they are.”

  “Well, I quite like the name. I’m sure it will make little difference to the pony.” Tawl mounted his horse.

  “What will you be calling yours?”

  “Well, you appear to have a flair for names. What do you suggest?”

  “Petal. I had a pet rabbit once, called her Petal because she liked to eat flowers, drove the flower-sellers up the wall.”

  “Petal it is, then. Come on, Nabber, let’s get a move on. I want to get a good start on the day.” As Tawl pulled on his reins, he noticed his circles were still showing. He resisted the urge to hide them. For today at least he would defy anyone to denounce the knights in his hearing.

  Maybor stripped out of his wet clothing and stood shivering in front of the fire while his servant laid out new robes. He and his men had ridden hard through bad weather and Maybor was cold and tired. He called angrily to Crandle, urging him to hurry. He had things he must be doing.

  As soon as he was dressed he made his way through the castle. It was high time he paid Baralis a visit; the man had toyed too long with him. He would squeeze the truth about his daughter from his scrawny frame. He would, of course, take no chances; he knew well the tricks Baralis had up his sleeve. No, he would not go alone. He would not give the king’s chancellor a chance to burn him to a crisp.

  He knocked on the door of Kedrac’s chamber, and hearing no answer, walked straight in. His son was abed with a wench. “You have wasted no time, Kedrac. Why, it has been less than an hour since I took my leave.” Maybor was pleased at finding his son wenching. Some of his own prowess had obviously been passed down in the blood.

  “Father, what do you want?” Kedrac did not seem in the slightest bit ruffled by the interruption. His hand moved under the covers as he continued caressing the girl.

  “I have decided to confront Baralis about your sister. He knows where she is. It is time we found out exactly what that snake is up to. Are you with me?” Kedrac leapt naked from the bed and rushed into his dressing room, eager to be on his way.

  While his son was dressing, Maybor turned his attention to the girl in the bed. It was none other than Lady Helliarna’s chambermaid. “What is your name, girl?” he asked. The girl looked both embarrassed and frightened and did not answer him. “Come, come, speak up.”

  “I am named Lilly.” The girl spoke in a whisper.

  “Well, Lilly, do you enjoy bedding my son?” Maybor was keeping an eye on the door lest his son return.

  “Why, yes, sir, he has been good to me.”

  “Well, my sweet Lilly, if the son is good to you, think how much better the father will be.”

  Comprehension dawned on the girl’s face and her demeanor became more alluring. “Why, sir, what are you proposing?” She spoke coquettishly, allowing the sheet to slip artfully from her breast. She made a pretty show of reclaiming her modesty, pulling the sheet up to her neck and blushing charmingly.

  “Be at my chamber one hour past nightfall and I will give you the details of my proposal.”

  “Father,” said Kedrac, bounding into the room, “I was thinking it would be wise to take some men along with us.” Maybor quickly turned, pretending to admire the crossed swords on the wall. The girl slid deep beneath the covers.

  “No, we will go alone. Take your weapon.”

  They left the chamber and headed up to Baralis’ lair. They came to a halt by a door etched with strange markings. May
bor rapped loudly upon it with the hilt of his sword. After some time the door swung open and the two men fell under Crope’s shadow.

  “Where is your master? I demand to see him now.” Maybor refused to be intimidated by any servant, no matter what his size.

  “You cannot see Lord Baralis.” The servant spoke like an idiot who had learned his lines but did not understand them.

  “If he is in his chambers then I will see him.”

  “Lord Baralis is unwell and cannot receive visitors.”

  “He will see me!” Maybor tried to force his way past Crope, but it was like walking into a stone wall. “Let me pass.”

  “Let him pass, Crope.” Baralis stood behind his servant. Maybor was shocked by his appearance; his servant had not lied when he said his master was ill. Baralis was white as a ghost. Kedrac moved toward the door. “No, Maybor,” said Baralis, his voice thin and strained. “I will speak with you alone or not at all.” Kedrac looked to his father, who nodded his head. It was not likely that Baralis could do him any damage in his present state.

  Maybor had never been in Baralis’ chambers before. Like everyone else he had heard wild tales about vials of blood, pickled brains, and skeletons, but he found none of these things. Instead he found a well-appointed room which was discreetly and, to Maybor’s discerning eye, expensively furnished. There were deep blue handwoven silk rugs, intricately worked tapestries from Toolay, and furniture of the finest tropical woods.

  “Can I offer you some refreshment?” Baralis indicated that he should sit down.

  “I want no wine of yours.” Maybor was beginning to feel like a fly in a spider’s web.

  “As you wish. You will forgive me if I take a glass. As you can see I am not well and I find a glass of red strengthens my blood.”

  “I think you know why I am here.” Things were not going the way Maybor had planned. He felt he was allowing Baralis to take the lead.

  “I’m afraid I cannot guess, Lord Maybor.”