by J. V. Jones
“Kedrac, I have an audience with the queen. I will talk with you later.”
“You will talk to me now, Father,” hissed Kedrac. “The girl who was found skinned in your bed, she was the chambermaid, Lilly.” Maybor made no reply. “Is that right, Father!”
“Yes, yes, she was the chambermaid Lilly. Surely it’s of no consequence to you, son. She was nothing, a common slut, no reason to get angry over.”
“Oh, I am not angry over the girl. You are right she was a slut. No, I’m not angry over the girl . . . I am angry at you, Father.” Kedrac’s voice was charged with contempt. “That you would steal a wench from my very bed. Are you that desperate, or is it just that you have something to prove?”
Maybor slapped his son’s face. “How dare you speak to me that way?” Kedrac smiled unnervingly and touched his cheek, which now bore the mark of Maybor’s hand upon it. He lingered a moment, meeting his father’s gaze, and then turned and stormed off.
Maybor let out a sigh of relief. Kedrac was too headstrong, too proud. It was a grave mistake to let a woman, especially a common servant, come between men. He had to admit that he’d quite enjoyed slapping his son’s face, though. The boy would recover; his pride had been wounded, nothing more. Maybor hurried ahead. He could keep the queen waiting no longer.
“Enter.” The queen’s voice rang out. Maybor walked into the sumptuous chamber and bowed low.
“I wish Your Highness joy of the day.”
“Ah, Lord Maybor.” The queen came over to greet him, smiling warmly and offering her hand. Maybor took it and brought it to his lips. “I was most distressed to hear about the girl found in your room.” She gave him a querying look. “Tell me, Lord Maybor, have you any idea who was responsible for this . . . inhuman act?”
“I cannot begin to imagine who would do such a thing, Your Highness.” Maybor suspected the queen knew there was more to the incident.
“It is certainly a tragedy. I have been informed that you did not sleep in your chambers last night.” The queen poured them both a cup of wine and invited Maybor to sit.
“I slept . . . elsewhere.” He didn’t think it was a good time to mention his daughter’s name.
“Yes, I can understand why you would not want to sleep in your own bed.” The queen handed him the wine. “With that thought in mind I have a gift for you.”
“A gift, Your Highness.” Maybor had never seen the queen so gracious, pouring wine with her own hand and now a gift. He was beginning to feel wary. It was not usual for the queen to make such a show of hospitality: did she have bad news to break to him?
“I have arranged to have your bed taken from your chambers and burnt. In its place I will provide a new bed. A beautiful bed, carved by master craftsmen over two centuries ago. It was a gift from the city of Isro to my husband and me on our wedding day.”
“Your Highness, I am overwhelmed with your generosity.” Maybor knew of the bed of which she spoke. It was worth a fortune; inlaid with gold and precious jewels, carved from the finest darkwoods. His suspicions grew—why was the queen giving him such an extravagant gift?
“You will be sleeping in it this very night, Lord Maybor.” She raised her arm in a silent toast. After she had drunk from her cup her face changed a little, and she got up and walked across the room. She came to rest by the window.
The queen stood and looked out on the courtyard for some minutes before speaking again. “Lord Maybor, I am afraid I have ill tidings for you.” She did not turn to look at him. “I can no longer continue the search for your daughter. I have need of the Royal Guard for other matters.”
“I understand, Your Highness.” Maybor realized that the bed and the gracious reception were acts of contrition.
“You must also understand that we can no longer hope to find your daughter. The Guard have looked for her almost a month now. Tomorrow I will recall them from their search.” The queen finally turned and faced him. “Maybor, even if Melliandra were found now, I could not sanction the betrothal. My son must be married to a girl beyond reproach. We have no way of knowing what your daughter has been through, who she has fallen in with. The woman who will be queen in my place must be impeccable. The betrothal between my son and your daughter will not take place.” The queen bowed her head. “I am sorry, Lord Maybor, but I have made my decision.”
“As Your Highness wishes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “May I be permitted to know who you are considering in my daughter’s place?”
“You will be the first to know when a suitable girl is found.” There was an edge to her voice that Maybor could not understand. “There is, I hope, Lord Maybor, no need to tell you how much I value your continuing allegiance and support.” It was as near to a plea as the queen could manage. She was asking him to accept her decision and remain loyal to her. She needed his support to maintain her position. He was not about to give her any such undertaking; they both knew his loyalty was worth more than a jeweled bed.
“I know well how much Your Highness depends upon my allegiance.” He paused a moment so there was no mistaking the meaning of his words. “I can assure you that I will take no hasty actions.” He bowed low, the silk of his robe rustling softly. “And now, if Your Highness will permit, I will take my leave.”
As he made his way to the door he stole a glance back toward the queen. She looked like a woman greatly troubled.
Baralis was on his way to speak with the new mercenaries. Crope had arranged for him to meet with them close to the haven. There were only three of the first lot of mercenaries that were fit for duty. The leader, Traff, was the only one to have escaped completely unscathed. Baralis knew how much Traff hated him and wanted to be free of him, but Baralis had no intention of letting the man off the hook. Death would be the only discharge Traff could count on.
Baralis was feeling decidedly cheerful. The incident with Maybor and the chambermaid had gone off successfully; the whole castle was talking about it. The fact that the girl had also been bedding Maybor’s son was an added bonus to be relished; it would surely cause some father-son tension. Perhaps he might even approach Kedrac at some point, nothing brash, just a subtle overture—a wronged son could prove to be a valuable asset against a father. He would wait and see. Having no family himself, it was difficult for him to gauge the pull of family loyalty.
Baralis almost felt sorry for Maybor. Finding the girl must have been quite a nasty shock, and if he was not mistaken, he had been dealt another blow today. He knew the queen had summoned Maybor to an audience and strongly suspected that she had told him the betrothal would not go ahead. After all, the time was up. Two days. That was all that was left. Even if the wretched girl was found now she could probably not be brought back to the castle in time.
Poor Maybor, things were just not going his way! Baralis shook his head in mock commiseration. He had lost his daughter, his lover, his chance at kingmaking, and maybe even the loyalty of his oldest son. He would have to be monitored carefully. Maybor was a man who prized revenge as highly as Baralis himself did; he would undoubtedly retaliate in some way.
It was only a matter of days now before Baralis’ plans were realized; the queen would reluctantly call him to her presence. They had business to settle. She had lost the wager and must pay the reckoning. He knew he had placed her in a difficult position—she had been forced to break her word to Maybor, and he was a man whose loyalty she relied upon to keep the lesser lords in their place. Maybor also contributed great sums of gold to the war against the Halcus, not to mention the use of his men and his lands.
The queen was probably feeling rather apprehensive at this moment, wondering how she could pay her debt yet keep Maybor’s allegiance. Baralis did not doubt for one second her ability to do both; she was no novice in the art of statecraft. The truth was that she was far better at political maneuvering than her poor, sick husband had ever been.
Baralis had taken the precaution of walking to the haven through the woods. He did not want the
men he was to meet to know anything about his hideaway unless they were firmly in his pay. He saw men waiting in the distance. He knew they would be watching his approach; they, like most people who passed through Harvell, would have heard tales about him. They would be a little afraid, a little wary, already intimidated by the sight of him drawing close in his black robes.
“Good day, gentlemen.” He kept his voice low—let them strain to hear him!
“You are Lord Baralis?” spoke one of the number.
“I am he.” Baralis made a point of meeting all the men’s eyes.
“You are looking to hire some men?” The man spoke with a certain assurance.
“I am willing to pay well.” The look of greed upon the men was unmistakable.
“I heard that the last men you hired were killed in the woods.” The man was trying to raise the price.
“They were careless. It would not have happened if they had been better led.” Baralis looked coolly at the leader.
“What have you in mind?”
“To start with I need two people tracked and found. After that I will require your services for other matters.”
“How much?”
“Five golds apiece.”
“Done!” cried the leader. He was a fool, thought Baralis. Traff had held out for eight.
“Here.” He threw the leader a purse. “You start today.”
“I will need a description of the two people.”
“They are both young. The girl has long dark hair and pale skin; the boy is tall with brown hair. They will be traveling on foot. I believe they will be heading east. You can pick up their trail to the south of the castle near an unused hunting lodge. If you do not find them in a week, report back to me.” Baralis began to walk away and then remembered something, “Do not approach the boy in full view. He must be taken off guard or better still when he is asleep.”
“We will find them and bring them back.”
“No, I don’t want them brought back,” murmured Baralis. “Kill them and then bury their bodies.”
Twenty-five
The city of Ness nestled between graciously sloping hills, its backdrop formed by pale mountain peaks, their color a mere variance of the silvery gray sky. The hills surrounding the city were a patchwork of ploughed fields, meadows, and orchards. Ness was a farming town.
Tawl and Nabber arrived just as a late dawn was rising upon the city. The mountains to the east jealously guarded the sun’s rays and daybreak always came later to Ness than elsewhere.
The city was old and weather-beaten, the buildings sturdy and unadorned, designed for practicality not for show. As the two companions made their way into the town they passed throngs of tradesmen: tanners, butchers, wheelwrights. Ness was a town that survived on its sheep. Their fleeces were shorn every spring for wool, they were milked for cheesemaking, they were slaughtered and butchered for meat, their skins were tanned into parchment for writing upon, and their droppings used as fertilizer for spring planting.
The city was famous for its wool: the women of Ness had a light finger with the spinning wheel, and the wool they spun was fine and soft. Dyemakers excelled at making beautiful vivid colors, especially reds: bright hues of scarlet and crimson were favored by the men of the town for their cloaks and jerkins. The women were not allowed the privilege of wearing bright colors, and only wore dresses of muted browns and blues. Tawl did notice one or two brightly dressed women, however. They stuck out in the crowd, their gaudy colors proclaiming their particular trade for all to see.
The air was cold and sharp, and Tawl realized they would need to purchase extra clothing now they were in the north. He smiled looking at the market stalls piled high with sheepskins and bolts of wool—he had certainly come to the right place to buy warm clothes.
He kept a close eye on the boy; he had no intention of letting him go off prospecting in this town. They wandered around the market and Tawl had to keep a firm grip on Nabber’s tunic on more than one occasion—the boy would catch sight of a portly merchant or a richly dressed woman and would gravitate in that direction.
“It’s only a bit of pocketing, they’ll never miss it.” Nabber wiped his nose with his sleeve. He was not used to the colder climes of the north and had caught a cold.
“No, I won’t have you getting us both into trouble.”
“We need to make some purchases, don’t we? There can’t have been much coinage left after you paid the horse dealer in Toolay.” Tawl checked his pack and found one gold and a handful of silvers.
“I thought we had more than that.” He looked at the boy suspiciously, but Nabber just shrugged his shoulders.
“Looks like I’ll be doing some prospecting after all, then.” The boy linked the fingers of both his hands together and cracked all his knuckles simultaneously.
“Don’t you be too long.” Tawl watched as Nabber slipped away into the crowds. “And be careful.” Tawl wandered over to a market stall that had various lengths of cloth for sale. He was looking for heavy wool; he could take the cold, but he could see it had been hard on the boy.
“Good day to you, sir.” The cloth merchant had an unfamiliar accent; he looked at Tawl with undisguised speculation. “Come from the south, have you?” He didn’t wait for Tawl’s answer. “I can tell by the poor manner in which you are dressed. If you don’t mind me saying, you could do with a new cloak. I have a beautiful length of wool here.” He pulled out a bolt of scarlet fabric. “Feel it.” Tawl dutifully ran his fingers over the cloth. It was certainly smoother than most wools he was used to.
“Do you have anything in a less noticeable color? A gray or a brown?” The cloth merchant looked at Tawl as if he were mad.
“Sir, those colors are for the women. A fine figure of a man such as yourself would look most pulchritudinous in a red robe.” Tawl had no idea what pulchritudinous meant, and he was quite sure he did not want to look it.
“I insist on gray. How soon can you have two cloaks and tunics made ready?”
“Let me see.” The cloth merchant scrutinized Tawl, obviously deciding how much he was good for. “I can have them made up by dawn tomorrow for the right price.”
“And what is the right price?”
“Four golds.” The man looked squarely at Tawl, defying him to challenge the price.
“Two,” said Tawl with a slight raise of his brow.
“Sir, the cost of a seamstress alone will set me back two golds, not to mention the high quality of my cloth.” The man waved his arms to illustrate his point. “I can do it for no less than three.”
“Three it is, then.” The price was still far too high, but Tawl had no love of bargaining. He told the cloth merchant what style he required and the approximate size of the boy, made the expected deposit and then left.
He decided to buy a bite to eat while he waited for Nabber to return. He was just choosing between a stuffed sheep’s heart and blood pudding when he heard a female voice whisper in his ear, “If you follow me, I can show you where they serve the best food in Ness.”
Tawl looked round to see an auburn-haired girl. She was wearing a brown dress and was therefore not a prostitute. There was something familiar about her. The girl saw his puzzled look. “You have just dealt with my father, the cloth merchant.” She smiled and said flippantly, “You struck a bad deal, by the way.” She had a light, pleasant voice with a trace of the same lilting accent as her father.
“What does it matter to you? Surely you will benefit from your father’s skill at bargaining.”
“He is quite rich enough as it is.” The girl beckoned him away from the food stand.
“He was dressed poorly—or is that part of his ploy?” He followed the girl away from the crowds.
“Father has so many ploys I lose count of them. For one thing he will be paying no seamstress two golds. I will be making your cloaks.”
Tawl could not help but smile. “Well, hadn’t you better get started? I will need them by tomorrow.”
&n
bsp; “You are leaving Ness tomorrow?” The girl looked disappointed.
“What’s it to you?” Tawl was always suspicious of people who asked about his movements. Unfortunately the question appeared to offend the girl.
“It’s nothing to me,” she said proudly. “I must be on my way. You wouldn’t want your cloaks to be finished late.” The girl began to walk off.
“Wait,” cried Tawl. The girl spun around. “I am sorry if I offended you. I would be pleased if you would show me the best eating house.”
“I never said it was an eating house,” she said, returning to his side. “The best food in Ness is made in my own kitchen with my own hands.”
He followed the girl through the market, down an alleyway and then into a wide, pleasant street. Tawl looked around to see if he could catch a glimpse of Nabber; there was no sign of the boy. He was not concerned. Nabber was most enterprising; he would find him somehow.
“Here we are,” proclaimed the girl at the door of an old but well-kept townhouse. “Oh, don’t worry. No one lives here but Father and me. He is far too thrifty to keep servants.” She guided him in through the door and down the stairs into a warm and smoky kitchen.
“You do me a great honor by inviting me into your home.” Tawl was familiar with the customs of the north and knew the appropriate words to say.
“You are not from around here, are you?” The girl busied herself around the kitchen.
“No. But if I am not mistaken neither are you. Your voice has a lilt to it that comes not from Ness.” Tawl accepted the cup of ale he was handed.
“You have sharp ears. My father was originally from a place far to the west of here. After my mother died when I was but a child, we traveled east and eventually ended up here.” The girl cut slices of warm, crusty bread and buttered them generously.
“What was the name of the place you came from?”
“The town of Harvell, in the heart of the Four Kingdoms.”
“How long has it been since you left?” Tawl had never met anyone from the Four Kingdoms before, and now saw a chance of gathering some information before he got there.