A Man Betrayed (39 page)

"He just
left."

Bailor's already
prominent eyes bulged further. "He came here!"

"Yes,"
said Melli with a casual shrug. She was beginning to enjoy herself. "He
just came by to invite me to his hunting lodge in the mountains."

"The
lodge!" Bailor uttered the words as if he were referring to a holy temple.
"His Grace never invites women to the lodge." He took the jug from
the table and raised it to his lips before realizing it was empty. "What
did he say to you?"

"First of all
he apologized for his rudeness-"

"Borc spare
us all!" Bailor had actually joined her on the bed and began to fan
himself with the corner of his robe. "The duke never apologizes. What have
you done to him? Are you a witch?"

Melli laughed; she
was beginning to like Bailor a lot more now that his demeanor was less
detached. She handed him her cup. There was still a little wine at the bottom.
He took it from her and downed it in one go.

"The duke is
due to leave first thing in the morning. You must have some suitable clothes. I
will send for Veena. Do you ride?"

"Of
course."

"Good, good.
Do you hunt, by any chance?"

How could the
daughter of the greatest huntsman in the kingdoms not hunt? It was a point of
pride to Maybor that all his sons and even his daughter were chasing boars
before other children had learned how to sit a horse. "I have hunted once
or twice. But surely there will be little game in the mountains?"

"The lodge is
on a slope forming part of a mighty valley. There is a lake and many animals
gather there to drink: bears, mountain lions, deer."

"Who else is.
going?"

"Not many, I
think. It will only be a short trip-two or three days at the most. You will
obviously be expected to keep a low profile. The duke does not like to draw
attention to his personal affairs."

"I doubt if
I'll be hunting, then." Melli was disappointed. It had been a long time
since she last knew the thrill of the chase.

Bailor stood up.
"Hmm, perhaps he may be a little less guarded without the eyes of the
court upon him. There's no way of knowing, as he's never taken a lady to his
lodge before. Either way, I will make sure that he knows you can hunt. It will
certainly come as a pleasant surprise to him." Melli realized that she had
gone up in value in Bailor's eyes. The man was almost skipping around the room.
She would have liked to ask him about the location of the lodge, but thought it
best to hold her tongue. Bailor was no fool; he would be quick to guess her
motives. Instead, she asked, "What else did the duke want to know about
me?"

"He asked
about your parents, who your father was, how you came to my attention, that
sort of thing."

Checking out her
story. "And he never normally inquires about his purchases?"

"Very rarely.
It is a great honor to be singled out by him."

Try as she might,
Melli couldn't quite keep the sneer from her lips. She was daughter of the
wealthiest lord in the kingdoms, nearly betrothed to a prince. The honor of
being the duke's latest dalliance was a dubious one at best.

"Well, I must
be on my way," said Bailor. "I will see that Veena brings you all you
need." He looked almost too happy, and a thought occurred to Melli.
"Does the duke have other women?"

"He is a man
with strong physical needs."

"What becomes
of the women he is no longer interested in?"

"Several
things. Some of them are sold again, a couple stay on in the palace as ladies
maids, and a few are given the freedom to go where they please."

"Yet first
they go to you?" Melli took the fact that Bailor couldn't meet her eye as
confirmation. "Tell me, has the duke just bid farewell to his previous
favorite?"

"Earlier this
morning he did express the wish that he had no desire to see Shanella
again." Bailor was clearly uncomfortable, as he brought the subject round
to her again. "Another good sign for you, Melli, my dear."

"Not a bad
one for you, either, Bailor," said Melli as he closed the door.

Nabber hated
mornings. The earlier in the morning, the more he hated it. As a pocket it was
his time-honored duty to be up and about for the dawn markets, but never once
in all his years of prospecting could he truthfully say that he'd enjoyed being
up with the lark. Now, stuck in this dungeon of a palace, in a room close to
the kitchens and the brewery, with an ear-splitting array of noises going in
the background, and little chance of slipping out for a healthy spot of
pocketing, he hated mornings more than ever.

There was only one
reason why he was putting up with such unpromising conditions: they were better
for Tawl. There were physicians here; one had cauterized and bandaged Tawl's
chest wound, another had dressed the burn on his arm with a cooling herbal poultice.
A third man had given him a sleeping draught that had kept him unconscious for
nearly a full day, and a pretty maid kept bringing food and ale to fortify the
patient's strength. Not that Tawl got to see much of the ale, though. Well, a
pocket had to have some compensations to make up for the boredom.

The knight was
sleeping now; it was probably for the best. The burn, the poison, the wound,
and the fight had all taken their various tolls, and his body needed rest more
than the cleverest of potions.

If rest was what
he was getting. Nabber had been awakened several times in the night by Tawl
crying out in his sleep. He mumbled words in a foreign tongue, called out two
names that sounded like Anna and Sara, and once, when the night was at its
darkest, his whole body was racked with silent sobs. Nabber had sat beside him
on the bed, put his arms around Tawl's shoulders, and stayed with him until the
sobbing stopped.

Dawn slipped
through the room like a thief, stealing the shadows from the corners and overpowering
the light from the candles. Judging from the noise, the palace staff had been
up for some hours. The smells of fermenting hops and freshly baked bread vied
for the nostrils, and heat from the great ovens warmed the air like a long-lit
fire.

They had been
brought here just after Tawl had sworn his oath. The knight had started to
stumble away from the court enclosure, blind to all who were watching, blood
soaking through his makeshift bandage. The duke made a small gesture with his
arm and a man had stepped forward. Dressed in loose silks that didn't quite
succeed in hiding his huge belly, he was most insistent that the knight
accompany him to the palace. Tawl didn't have the strength to put up a fight.
He let himself be led away. The fat man had no interest in Nabber, but by
adamantly refusing to let Tawl out of his sight and threatening to scream at
the top of his lungs if he was crossed, Nabber succeeded in having himself
included in the invitation.

So here they were,
guests of the good duke himself. It was an improvement on the stables-anyplace
that didn't contain horses was better than there-but it was sorely lacking in
profit potential. Ever since he'd left his sack at Madame Thornypurse's,
Nabber's mind had been on his contingency, or rather his sad lack of it. He
needed to be out doing business, filling his empty coffers, and helping Bren's
cash to circulate properly.

The palace was
probably full to the rafters with loot, but the snag was the guest obligation.
You couldn't rob from your host; it just wasn't honorable. Swift, who himself
had played host to many fellow villains in his time, had warned Nabber most
strongly about the sacred bond between guest and host: "You
can drink
him dry, insult his good name, and even rollick his wife, but you must never,
ever, steal from your host. "
It was a touching sentiment and one that
never failed to bring a lump to Nabber's throat. Robbing from the palace,
therefore, was out of the question.

If he'd been here
under another pretext, it would have been a different matter altogether. Nabber
scratched his chin as a rather sneaky possibility occurred to him. Swift had
never mentioned anything about taking a nosy around your host's abode to see
where he kept his valuables. No, there was definitely no rule to cover that
one. Perhaps later he might do a little reconnaissance, purely out of
professional interest, of course, nothing more. A man could learn a lot from a
casual stroll past a strong room.

Nabber was
interrupted from his reverie by the door being flung open. A young woman stood
in the doorway. It was the same one who had begged him to stop the fight two
nights back: the girl in the portrait. She saw Tawl lying asleep on the bed and
walked into the room, closing the door behind her. As she came closer, Nabber
saw that there were tears streaming down her face. "How is he?" she
demanded.

Nabber brushed
down his tunic and slicked back his hair. Judging by the way she was dressed,
she was a great lady indeed. The other night she had been wearing a plain wool
cloak; today she wore satin and pearls. "Not well, miss. He slept all of
yesterday."

A small, anguished
sound escaped from her lips. She lunged toward Tawl. It took Nabber a second to
realize that the object that glinted in her hand was a dagger. Quick as a flash,
Nabber sped to meet her. He grabbed hold of her wrist and forced the blade from
her grip. Her breath smelled of brandy, and there was a stain running down the
front of her dress. Her muscles had no strength to fight him. Bursting into a
fresh rush of tears, she mumbled over and over again, "I hate him, I hate
him."

Nabber had a good
idea of what must've happened: Blayze had probably died.

After a moment.
the girl seemed to pull herself together. She wiped the tears from her eyes
with the sleeve of her dress and crossed the remaining distance to Tawl's bed.
Nabber watched her warily, ready to spring if she tried to harm him in any way.
She shook the knight's shoulder. Tawl's eyes opened. The legacy of the sleeping
draught could clearly be seen in his slowly focusing gaze. Drawing her face
breath-close to his, she whispered softly, "I will see you dead for what
you did the other night."

Nabber held his
breath. Tawl looked into the eyes of the girl. "I am already damned, my
lady," he said. "Death can only bring me peace."

The girl spat on
him.

Nabber caught hold
of her arm. "Leave him alone, he's been through enough," he cried,
trying to pull her away. She shook herself free of his grip and turned back to
face the knight. "You have not seen the last of me, Tawl of the
Lowlands." The words chilled Nabber to the bone. She stood for a moment,
trembling with the force of her own hate, and then swung around and stalked out
of the room. Tawl sat up slowly. He brought his feet to the floor and pushed
back the covers. "In Borc's name, what have I done?" he said.

Nabber could think
of no reply. There was no explanation. Tawl had beaten a man to the point of
death and sworn an oath that he had not been free to swear. Nabber didn't know
much about the Knights of Valdis, but he knew that Tawl must have broken some
terrible law by vowing to be the duke's champion. He had forsaken the
knighthood and there was no going back. Nabber wished with all his heart that
the fight had never been fought.

The door opened
for a second timid no one knock in Bren? In walked the duke himself. His lean
body was cloaked, ready for a journey. His face was cold and unreadable.
"What was my daughter doing here?"

Nabber hid his
surprise well.
The duke's daughter?
That was certainly unexpected. Before
he could think of anything to say, Tawl stepped in.

"She came
here to inquire about my health," he said.

He should have
expected no less. Even now, with his ties to Valdis newly broken, Tawl still
had the instincts of a knight: gallantry, protectiveness, a lady's honor to be
saved at all cost. For some reason Nabber felt his spirits picking up. The duke
seemed to accept this explanation. "And how is your health?"

"Better for
the skill of your physicians."

"Good."
The duke turned his back to the wall. "You fought hard the other night.
More than anything else, I admire a man who refuses to give in to defeat."

"Blayze was a
worthy opponent."

"Yes, he
served me well. He died early this morning. It is fitting that he is gone;
there would have been no future for him here. Bren does not look upon failure
lightly." The duke was silent a moment, his gaze cast down to the floor.
"I admit that I was reluctant to take your oath, but now I see that it was
for the best. You won. You are the better man." He spun around to face
Tawl. "I will never ask you why you left the knighthood, but hear this:
your first loyalty is now to me, and I will be no cheap second to Valdis."

"My oath
stands. I am yours to command." Tawl's voice was firm and true.

"I am well
pleased," said the duke. "Now, I am about to leave for a short
hunting trip. When I return I expect to find you ready to take your place at my
side."

"It will be
so."

The duke held out
his hand and Tawl clasped it. The two stood together for a moment, and then the
duke turned and left.

For the first time
since he'd come to Bren, Nabber began to think that there was hope for his
friend. It had been a long time since he'd last seen Tawl so resolute.

Maybor knocked at
Baralis' door. He was due to accompany the duke on a hunting trip to the
mountains and was therefore anxious to do two things: first, he wanted to make
sure that Baralis had not had a miraculous recovery in the night; and second,
if the king's chancellor did come round, he wanted him to be made aware of the
fact that the duke had issued him a grave insult. No exclusive mountain trip
for Baralis, not even an invitation.

Receiving no
reply, Maybor knocked again. It really was quite delicious. "Just
a few
trusted companions and my
self, " the duke had said. He, Maybor, had
been honored amongst the few. Baralis, in turn, had been dishonored by the
omission. Maybor considered it his duty to deliver the cutting blow. Too bad it
wouldn't be a fatal one.