by J. V. Jones
Jack spun around. Tawl and Nabber had reached the top of the bluff ahead of him and were already off their horses and settling down to eat. Jack felt a little disorientated. He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed between him cresting the rise and Nabber calling out. Just how long had he been sitting here, staring at the sea?
Tawl stood up and came over to him. He patted Barley’s neck and offered Jack a hand down. “Are you all right?” he said quietly.
“I’m fine. The ocean just”—Jack jumped from his horse—“caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it.”
Tawl took Barley’s reins and began leading the horse toward the makeshift camp. “You’ve never seen the ocean before, have you?”
“No. Harvell is a long, long way from the sea.”
“You know that Larn lies out there in that ocean?”
Jack drew in a quick breath. “Whereabouts?”
Tawl’s face looked grim. He turned to the south and then a fraction to the east. “It’s a couple of hundred leagues over there.”
Jack followed his pointing finger. The horizon was darkening and the sea turned from blue to black. It was about four hours past midday, but the mountains to the west were already taking in the sun for the night. Jack suddenly felt cold. His gaze rested far on the horizon, and it took Tawl’s words to pull him back to shore:
“Jack, come on. You need to rest.”
Jack turned to face him. The knight’s eyes were clear and blue. “Do you feel it, too?” he said.
Tawl looked down. “There’s not been a day since I went there that I haven’t felt its presence.”
The two men stood side by side and watched the ocean glisten like a jewel. The seagulls were quiet now.
Barley broke the spell by pulling against his reins as he sniffed out an especially fragrant clump of grass.
Tawl surprised Jack by calling out to Nabber: “Go and collect all the wood you can find. This looks like a good night for a fire.”
Nabber scurried off. Jack waited for Tawl’s explanation. The knight refused to meet his eyes, and Jack guessed that he was not the only one who felt chilled to the bone.
An hour later the fire was crackling and bright. Smoked sausages wrapped in dock leaves were warming in the embers, and a jug full of holk sat in the flames. In addition to Tawl’s longbow, Ness had provided them with an abundant variety of food. True, all the meat was lamb’s meat and the cheese was made from ewe’s milk, but up until they reached the city they had been surviving on Nabber’s highly subjective ideas of traveling fair, and anything that wasn’t sticky with honey or snow-drifted in cinnamon was more than a welcome change.
“Blackberries, anyone?” Nabber held out a handful of berries. When no one came forward to take them, he rubbed his injured arm. “Last time I go collecting fresh fruit for you lot. Risked my neck, I did. And what do I get for it?” Nabber answered his own question. “I’ll tell you what I get. Two men looking at me as if I’m offering them poison.”
Jack smiled. Nabber was very astute when it came to sensing mood changes. He saw that he and Tawl were quiet, counted this as unacceptable behavior, and decided to lighten the atmosphere with a spirited burst of self-pity.
“Here. Give me the berries,” Jack said. “I’ll eat them.”
“What, all of them?”
“Yes. Even the ones with the slug trails on them.”
“Slug trails! There’s no slugs been on these beauties. Why, slugs couldn’t even fit on ’em.”
The look of wild indignation on Nabber’s face made Jack laugh. After a moment Tawl joined in. It was easy to feel protective toward Nabber. Even with his brusque, I-can-look-after-myself manner, the boy could not conceal his vulnerability or his youth. The night he was shot he hadn’t cried once. And although he had fainted, he held that it wasn’t a girlish sick sort of faint, but rather a manly, pain-blocking, strength-saving sort of faint.
There had been a lot of blood. The arrowhead was wide and soft. Nabber’s bone bent the metal as it broke. As always the fletchings were crafted from red silk and human hair. Jack didn’t know what it meant, but he suspected that both Tawl and Nabber did.
Jack glanced quickly at Tawl. The knight was measuring the length of his arrows against his chest. More than a thumb-length past his fingers, and he cut the arrow short.
“Why the fire, Tawl?”
Tawl dropped the arrow he was shortening, then brushed his hair from his face. “Look around, Jack. Why do you think I brought us here?”
Jack did as he was asked. They had camped upon a small rocky cliffside. Directly ahead of them lay the ocean, below them lay more rocks, and behind them lay the hills that they had spent the best part of the day crossing. In all directions the view was unhindered. The world was laid out below them, and the full moon illuminated every bush and strand of grass.
“You’re laying a trap.”
“You could say that. If our mysterious friend tries anything tonight, I’m counting on spotting him first.”
“He’s not so mysterious, though, is he?”
Tawl sucked in his breath. “I think I know who he is.”
“Who?”
“A man whose brother I killed.”
“You didn’t kill him, Tawl. You beat him fair and square.” It was Nabber, stepping forward to defend his friend. “That Skaythe’s just a mad devil. That’s all.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Jack felt annoyed for some reason.
“The red silk on the arrows,” said Nabber. “Same color as they use in the pits.”
“And the hair?”
“Well, I couldn’t testify to it myself, but it looks about the same color as Blayze’s. Doesn’t it, Tawl?”
“Why only tell me this now?” Jack was looking at Tawl and his voice held an accusation.
“Because he’s not interested in you, Jack. He wants me.”
“Didn’t stop him from shooting Nabber, though, did it?”
Tawl whipped around. “What is your point?”
“My point is that you should have told me. The danger here concerns all of us, and at the very least you owe me the truth. I will not be treated like a child who needs protecting. If there’s trouble coming, I want to know exactly what to expect.” By the time Jack had finished speaking he was shaking.
A minute passed. The wind picked up a little, blowing sparks from the fire toward the sea.
Tawl took a deep breath and then spoke. “You’re right, Jack. I’m sorry, I should have told you everything the minute I guessed what was happening.” He looked Jack straight in the eye. He didn’t lessen his apology by making excuses. After a few seconds, he said, “So, how are you with a bow?”
Jack smiled, recognizing Tawl’s attempt to include him in his plan. “Not good,” he said.
Tawl had moved over to the horses. He untied the shortbow from the back of the gelding and handed it to Jack. “How about me giving you a few lessons while we wait.”
“Do you think we’ll have to wait long?”
“As long as it takes.” Tawl looked over at the hills. Nothing moved that the wind wasn’t blowing. “All night, perhaps.”
Jack tested the string on the bow. “Then you just might have time to teach me a thing or two.”
Tavalisk was in his chamber enjoying a fine meal of slow-roasted dove, whilst he and his aide discussed various details concerning the siege at Bren. There was nothing like eating a bird of peace when one’s tongue was busy wagging about the war. The birds themselves were a little scrawny, of course. But the archbishop found that nothing savored a dish better than a healthy sprinkling of whimsy. Besides, the doves were only the start. The fatted calf was next.
“Gamil, you slice it from shoulder to flank. Not the other way round.” Tavalisk was having his aide do the duties of his cook. “Not so thin, either, Gamil. I want to be able to chew on the slices, not wear them as an undergarment.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
“Now then, have we discovered how Kyl
ock learnt about the two thousand mercenaries yet?” Tavalisk took a dove and broke its spine. The meat slipped off more easily that way.
“No, Your Eminence. But someone obviously informed him, for he not only knew their numbers, but he also knew the exact route they would be taking to get to Bren.”
“That was certainly some ambush. Fifteen hundred men killed! Their horses slaughtered and their equipment flung into the lake. It was an outright disaster!” Tavalisk was so upset that he let the dovemeat slide to the floor. He had lost his taste for fowl. “Kylock is always one step ahead of us. If we mine a tunnel, he knows it. If we send supplies, he steals them. If we change our strategies, then he changes his before we’ve even made a move. Someone is feeding him information, and I want to know who it is.”
“I will look into it, Your Eminence,” said Gamil, placing slices of calf on a platter.
The sight of red meat heartened the archbishop. “Have we any news about Annis?”
“Nothing’s changed, Your Eminence. It’s a very strange situation. The backbone of the Four Kingdoms’ army is still camped outside the city. They’re engaging in a sort of half-hearted siege: keeping a round-the-clock watch on the walls, whilst never getting close enough to incur any damage.”
“It’s not strange at all, Gamil. It’s brilliant. By laying siege to Annis, Kylock is not only wearing the good people of the city down, but he’s also preventing their army from fighting at Bren. No man is going to leave his home to fight someone else’s battle when his own country is in danger.” Tavalisk took the platter from Gamil. “Kylock is effectively keeping Annis under lock and key. And it’s costing him nothing to do so.”
Tavalisk speared a chunk of meat with his little silver skewer. “What worries me is that at any point Kylock could give the order for his troops to up stakes and cross the mountains. Now, if that happens, the Highwall army is in serious danger of being outflanked.”
Gamil nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Eminence does have a point.”
Tavalisk certainly did have a point, and he used it now to spear Gamil’s arm. “If I wanted condescension, Gamil, I would go to God. Not you.” Removing the silver skewer from his aide’s flesh, Tavalisk said, “Slip of the wrist, Gamil, I had intended to spear the calf.”
Gamil did not look pleased.
“Come on now, Gamil. Stop sulking. It was only an accident.” Feeling a tiny bit contrite, the archbishop offered his napkin to wipe away the blood, then quickly changed the subject. “So, is Maybor’s daughter still under lock and key?”
Gamil got what revenge he could by bleeding profusely onto the silk napkin. “No one has heard anything about her since Lord Maybor left the city, Your Eminence. Baralis and Kylock are both denying knowing anything about the abduction. They’re claiming that Maybor is a madman.”
“But they do have her, though?”
“Either that or they’ve already killed her.”
“It makes no difference to us if she’s alive or dead, Gamil. As long as no one can be sure what has become of her, we can still go on fighting in her name.” Tavalisk ran a chubby finger along the rim of the platter. “Has she any support within the city?”
Gamil shook his head. “Anyone who openly supports the Lady Melliandra is seized by Kylock’s forces and hanged by the neck. The executions are carried out in public for all the city to see.”
“Hmm. And what of those who support the good lady in secret?”
“A fair number of noblemen have gone missing in the past months, Your Eminence. They disappear from their quarters in the middle of the night, leaving friends and family frantic.”
“Missing, eh?” Tavalisk’s smile was almost wistful.
Gamil cleared his throat. “I did take the liberty of having our spies look into the matter, Your Eminence. I’ve learned that Kylock has secret intelligence sources placed throughout the city. Any lord who as much as breathes Melliandra’s name over the dinner table is likely to disappear.”
Tavalisk sighed. “Too bad. If Kylock wasn’t cracking down so hard, I’m sure the city would be liable to turn tail.”
“Lord Maybor is causing quite a fuss in the Highwall camp, though, Your Eminence. He’s got all sorts of plans to infiltrate the city and bring the siege to an early end.”
Tavalisk waved an I told you so. “I always knew the time would come when he would need my help, Gamil. See to it that he gets whatever manpower and resources he requires. Might as well let him have a go. The Highwall generals have been sadly lacking in brilliance so far. A few wall breaches are nothing to get excited about.”
“Very well, Your Eminence. If there is nothing further, may I take my leave?”
“By all means.” Tavalisk smiled like a concerned passerby. “I’d pay a visit to the surgeon on the way out, if I were you, Gamil. That cut looks like it might need a stitching.”
Melli forced herself to eat the last of the bread. She had no water left, so she swallowed it dry. Next, she turned her attention to the pork joint. It was mostly skin and fat, but she tore away at it as if it were the finest meat. She didn’t want to, but she had to. And she would eat a lot worse if it came to it.
The light was beginning to fail. A thin streak of gold caught the edge of the arrow loop, and Melli knew from experience that it would soon fade away. The anticipation of darkness was the worst thing of all—much worse than the darkness itself. At this time Melli always felt tense. She would look around the small curved room, memorizing. Then she would make last-minute adjustments, moving her bowl, shifting the straw, chasing the beetles from the bench. Last of all, just as the daylight skimmed softly out of sight, she would glance down at her belly and whisper words of comfort to her child.
True darkness is hard to come by. Melli had spent every night of her life in the dark, but the darkness of a comfortable chamber—with candlelight creeping under the door and embers glowing softly in the hearth—was a world apart from the darkness she knew now. Some nights it was like being in a grave. If you can’t see your hand in front of your face, it’s easy to believe you don’t exist. That was how Melli felt when there was no moon—as if somehow the world had passed her by.
So the words of comfort were really for herself, but it suited her to pretend they were for the child.
Melli now kept track of the moon. Tonight she was expecting a full one. Whether or not she would see it depended on the clouds. The great lake often allowed sunlight in the day, only to send the clouds in overnight. Melli hadn’t yet come up with a way of predicting the cloud cover, but she always knew when it would rain.
Being pregnant had done it. When her ankles began to ache with a needling fussy pain and her legs swelled slowly like rising dough, then it was a sure sign that the skies were going to open, and icy little droplets would soon come spitting through the loop.
Facing the lake as it did, the arrow loop was an open invitation to the wind and the rain. For the first week or so it was warm. Flies would buzz up from the water and the sun would warm the back of the stone. Now, a month later, the weather was changeable. Suffering from the growing pains of winter, it couldn’t really decide what it wanted to do: one minute it would rain and howl, the next the sun would come out and cast a remorseful rainbow across the lake. Yesterday there had even been hailstones.
The nights were always cold. Bren was at the mercy of the mountains after dark. The temperature dropped sharply and the wind stopped blowing and started cutting, instead.
Once, Melli had attempted to block the arrow loop off with her shawl. It hadn’t worked. The wind just blew it back against the wall.
Melli tried to keep track of the days as best she could. At first she had made marks against the stone: one line for every day. But after two weeks the lines began to mount up, and what had started out as a record began to take on the look of a last will and testament. She imagined people finding her body and shaking their heads sadly as they counted all the lines.
For the most part, Melli tried to keep macabre thoug
hts at the back of her mind. She told herself that if they were going to kill her, they would surely have done it by now.
She was brought food and water once a day. Two guards came. One unlocked the door, let his friend with the tray pass, and then held a halberd in her face until yesterday’s tray and chamberpot had been retrieved. Melli had tried asking them for warm clothes, candles, and some wood to block the loop, but they didn’t acknowledge her voice. Wouldn’t even look her in the eyes. Obviously they were under strict orders from someone. Someone they were so scared of that they hardly dared to breathe in her presence, lest they risk provoking the man’s displeasure.
Baralis. It was no other. There was no one to match him when it came to breeding fear. He was certainly doing a good job on her. If he had come to visit her just once—if only to refuse her requests, or gloat over her ever-worsening state—then she would have feared him less. She could hold her own with any man. She knew that if she saw Baralis in person, the myth she had created in his absence would be dispelled.
But he didn’t come. And so her mind created a monster and his motives, and she had a nagging little feeling that that had been his intention all along. He wanted her to be afraid. It pleased him: fear was at the heart of his power.
He didn’t get it all his own way, though. No, not at all. She was strong. It would take more than solitude and walls of rounded stone to break her back. They fed her slops; she ate them. They refused to bring her blankets; she did without them. They took away the light, and like a fungus she flourished in the dark. She would not give in to Baralis and his henchmen. She and her baby were not merely surviving, they were growing tougher and more vital by the day.
Melli heard a distant banging. She paid it no attention—with the siege going on the night was full of noises. The banging came again, nearer this time. Melli stood very still. This was no Highwall siege engine. Light as thin as smoke crept under the door. Someone was coming.
All her earlier bravado drained away faster than water down a grate. No one ever came at night. No one.