A Man Betrayed (82 page)

"What action,
Grift?"

Grift thought for
a long moment. "I say we run down to the kitchens, find young Nabber, tell
him what's happened, and then let him fetch that tall blond warrior to deal
with Traff."

"You mean the
duke's champion, Grift?"

"Aye, Bodger,
that's the one. Are you with me?"

"I'm with
you, Grift."

Tawl was sitting
in his room at the back of the kitchens. The wedding had gone according to
plan. He had just escorted Melli and the duke safely back to their chambers.
His intention had been to stand watch by the door all night, but with eight
guards stationed there, it hardly seemed necessary. Besides, he didn't have the
heart for it. Not tonight. He couldn't stand by the door to the duke's chambers
and not think of what was going on inside; the wedding night, the wedding bed.
No. Best to stay here and have a few quiet drinks on his own. And then perhaps
a few more as the hours went by. There would be no sleep for him this night.

Just as he brought
his ale to his lips, Nabber burst into the room.

"Tawl!
Tawl," he cried. "Quickly. Follow me." The young pocket stood in
the doorway, breath coming fast and furious. He had been running.

Tawl was on his
feet in an instant. His hand slipped to his waist, checking for the reassuring
presence of his blade. "What's happened?"

Nabber was so
excited he could hardly get his words out. He stamped his feet impatiently.
"Baralis has sent someone to murder the duke."

Tawl sprang across
the room, pushing the pocket out of his way.

"No, Tawl.
Don't head for the nobles' quarters. Follow me."

"Where?"

"There's a
passage leading from the servants' chapel to the duke's chamber. The man went
that way."

Tawl changed his
course. He sprinted through the kitchens and the bakery. Dimly, he was aware
that Nabber was following him. He made it to the chapel doors in less than a
minute. Two guards were stationed outside. He wasted no words on them. Barging
into the chapel, he looked around wildly.

"Where is the
entrance?"

Nabber came
padding up behind him. "Middle panel behind the altar."

Tawl was there
before the words left Nabber's lips. He tore the panel from the wall. Complete
darkness met his eyes. He went forward anyway-a candle would only slow him
down. There was a single staircase leading upward. Tawl took the steps four at
a time. Minutes later, the staircase came to an abrupt end.

Unable to see
anything, Tawl felt the obstruction: wood. Probably some sort of door. Backing
away for an instant, he slammed his shoulder into the panel. It cracked,
sending splinters stabbing into his flesh. He hardly felt them. Again he
brought his weight down. There was something heavy on the other side. He
started kicking at the wood. Light began to steal in through the breaks in the
door. Tawl made out the shape of a large desk. Someone had dragged it in front
of the entrance.

His ear picked up
the sound of a woman screaming. Melli! Gathering all the strength in his body,
Tawl crashed into the door. The desk shifted back a hand's length. It was
enough. He broke through the door and slipped into the space between the
entrance and the desk. There was no screaming now. Grabbing hold of the desktop,
he pushed it back, sending it thudding to the floor. Behind him he heard Nabber
scrambling through the remains of the door.

"Stay where
you are," he warned. The noise stopped instantly.

Tawl was in a
small room. A body lay in a pool of blood beside the desk. A guard: his throat
had been slit. Tawl had no time for the dead. He looked around. He wasn't
familiar with the duke's chambers, but he'd seen enough to know that they were
large, with many rooms. Taking a deep breath, he drew his blade, then made his
way toward the door. He passed into a room he was familiar with: the duke's
study. The large doors at the opposite side of the room marked the only
entrance to the chambers. Or what he'd thought was the only entrance. The duke
had been a fool not to tell him about the secret passageway.

Spinning around,
Tawl turned to face the second door. It had to lead to the bedchamber. It was
closed. He stepped lightly toward it. The screaming had stopped, which meant
Melli was either injured, dead, or silenced by the assassin. Tawl guessed that
the assassin knew he was in the chamber; the break-in had made a lot of noise.
He proceeded cautiously.

He reached the
door and pushed gently against it with his foot. As it swung back he stepped
back against the wall, out of sight.

"Stay where
you are," came a voice from inside. "Or I'll cut her open."

Her
open?
That meant the duke might already be dead. Tawl heard the sound of footsteps
and the rustle of silk. "Back away," said the voice. "I'm coming
through and I've got the girl."

Slowly Tawl
shifted away from the door. As he moved back, he knocked against a bureau.
Reaching. out a hand to prevent it falling over, Tawl's fingers brushed over a
candlestick. Instinctively he grabbed hold of it, keeping it hidden behind his
back.

Melli emerged
first through the door. Tawl took a sharp intake of breath. Her face, neck, and
chest were sprayed with blood. Her hair was tangled; there were dark stains on
her dress. She stepped forward just enough for Tawl to see the knife at her back.

"Throw down
your blade," said the one holding the knife. "Now!"

Tawl bent low. He
sent the blade skittering forward. It landed at Melli's feet. She looked at him
for one brief moment. Her eyes were bright with tears. She was shaking,
terrified. Tawl nodded at her. She stepped forward and with her came the
assassin. Turning his head, he spotted Tawl. "Get back," he screamed.

Behind his back,
Tawl altered his grip on the candlestick. Just as he began to step away, out
shot his arm. He flung the candlestick straight at the man's face. Tawl leapt
after it. Landing right at Melli's side, he pushed her out of the way, sending
her careening forward. "Go!" he cried. Even as the syllable left his
lips, he felt the knife in his side. Pain exploded in his body. Anger flared
with it. He swung around and punched the assassin in the jaw. The blade was up
again, but his fist was faster. Elbow followed fist and the assassin was forced
back against the door frame. Tawl felt hot blood running down his thigh. He
grabbed hold of the man's wrist. His left arm pitted against the man's right.
It was deadlock. The assassin's grip held firm.

An idea flashed
through Tawl's mind. A second later he eased up his grip on the knife. The
assassin smiled, thinking he'd got the better of him. The smile was Tawl's cue.
Drawing back his head, he whipped it forward, butting the assassin squarely in
the nose with his forehead. Bone cracked. Blood flared. The man screamed. Tawl
slammed the assassin's wrist into the door frame, forcing him to drop the
knife. .

Ignoring the
reeling in his head, Tawl punched the man's face again-right on the broken
nose, sending splinters of bone flying back toward his brain. The assassin
swayed, losing his footing. Tawl let him fall, using the time to snatch the knife
from the floor.

By the time the
assassin reached the ground he was dead, his own blade in his heart.

Tawl slumped
against the door frame. Melli came rushing forward. "I told you to
go," he said between ragged breaths.

She pushed past
him, stepped over the assassin's body, and rushed through to the bedchamber.
Turning around, Tawl saw her kneel by the body of the duke. He pressed his fist
into the knife wound in his side and came to kneel beside her. Like the guard,
the duke's throat had been cut.

"He's dead,"
he whispered, putting his arm around Melli's shoulder. "It was a clean
blow."

Giant tears ran
down Melli's cheeks. She didn't turn to look at him. She didn't say a word.

"Come with
me," he said softly. "You can't stay here." Already his mind was
racing ahead. Melli was in great danger. They would have to leave the palace
tonight, before the body was discovered. He did not want to risk her being
implicated in the murder; better by far for her to be safely away.

"He was
waiting in the bedchamber for us." Her voice was devoid of emotion.
"He just jumped out and..."

"Ssh."
Tawl took hold of her hand. "Come with me. You're not safe here." He
pulled, but she would not move. Her other hand was clasped around the duke's.
She brought it to her lips and kissed each finger one by one. Gently she took
them into her mouth and sucked upon the tips.

Tawl looked up to
see Nabber standing in the doorway. "Get Lord Maybor," he mouthed to
the boy. Melli was in shock; she needed someone familiar to help her round.
Nabber scurried off. Tawl stood up and went over to the bed. Lilies and rose
petals were strewn over the covers. The marriage had not been consummated-so
legally it wasn't even a marriage. Melli would have no rights, everything would
go to Catherine. Kylock would have Bren after all.

Grabbing hold of
the top cover, he pulled it from the bed. Petals went flying into the air. Tawl
crossed back to Melli and placed the blanket over her shoulders. She was
sucking on the duke's thumb and didn't even acknowledge the gesture. Tawl
brushed the hair from her face; it was sticky with blood. The bodice of her
dress was wet with tears. There was nothing he could do to help her.

Feeling useless,
Tawl left the room. He was impatient. He didn't know how much time they had. He
doubted if any of the fighting or screaming had been overheard by the guards;
they were one floor down, on the other side of two separate sets of doors. But
the one who sent the assassin might raise the alarm. It was probably Baralis,
acting with Catherine's help. In all likelihood the duke's daughter would have
known about the secret passage. Tawl tore a strip from his tunic and bound it
tightly around his side, stopping the flow of blood. If Catherine was somehow
involved with the murder, then Melli was in even worse danger. Catherine hated
her with a vengeance. She would have Melli imprisoned or executed. She was
duchess of Bren now, she could do what she liked.

"Where is
she?" It was Maybor, striding into the room with Nabber at his tail.
"Where is Melliandra?"

"She is in
the bedchamber with the duke," said Tawl, putting a restraining arm upon
the lord. "Be gentle with her." Maybor nodded. "I will."

Tawl and Nabber
watched as Maybor stepped into the bedchamber. Tawl put his arm out and rubbed
the pocket's hair. "You did well, Nabber. I'm proud of you."

Nabber looked
grave. "No, Tawl. It was you who did the good stuff. I was just the
messenger."

Tawl shook his
head slowly. "I failed, Nabber. I failed again."

Maybor appeared in
the doorway. Melli was at his side, leaning heavily against him. Her eyes were
focused upon some distant point.

"Come
on," said Tawl. "Let's go."

"Where are we
going?" asked Maybor.

"We need to
get Melli--"g Tawl corrected himself "Melliandra out of the palace.
Her life is in danger if she stays here. Catherine will come after her once the
news is out."

"You're
right," said Maybor heavily. He pulled a piece of paper from his tunic.
"I know of a place we can go." He handed it to Tawl.

Written upon it
was an address. "Whose house is this?" Tawl asked.

"Lord
Cravin's. It's on the south side of the city. He said I could use it if I ever
had need."

"We'll head
there, then." Tawl turned to Nabber. "Do you know any way we can get
out of here without being spotted?" He wasn't at all surprised when the
pocket nodded.

"Yes. By the
entrance to the passage, on the opposite side of the stairs, there's a hole we
can squeeze through. Once we're on the other side, I can have us out of this
place in no time. The whole place is riddled with tunnels. Course some of them
are a bit smelly, and old Lord Maybor here is going to have a hard time fitting
through the gap." Nabber gave Maybor an appraising glance. "Reckon
we'll have to make it bigger for him."

"Enough,
Nabber." Tawl's voice was hard. "We'll manage. Now come on." He
led the small party through the duke's chamber and then down the staircase. As
Nabber predicted, the gap was too small for Maybor. Tawl took the hilt of his
knife and chipped away at the stone piece by piece. Once through the ventilation
hole, Nabber guided them out of the palace and into the darkness of the city.

It was a cold and
moonless night in Bren. There were neither stars nor people to bear witness to
their passing. The wind howled from the surface of the Great Lake, and as the
four sped through the streets to safety, it seemed to push them on their way.

Baralis sat at his
new desk in his new apartments and smiled. Two weeks the old duke had been dead
now. Two exquisitely perfect weeks.

Everything had
worked out beautifully, better than he could have ever hoped. The duke was cold
in his grave; Traff was dead, and so could tell no tales, or name no names;
Melliandra had fled the palace-the marriage obviously not consummated, so not
only was there no possibility of an heir, but she had no legal claim on the
duke's estate either; and lastly, Maybor had gone with her. After all these
months he'd finally succeeded in ridding himself of the vain and meddlesome
lord. Fate was surely his partner for the dance.

As he thought,
Baralis cut the string surrounding a bundle of books. Just this morning the
courier had arrived from Bevlin's cottage, and resting on the desk before him
lay the first of many deliveries. If he was lucky he might discover why the
wiseman had sent the knight on a quest. If he was unlucky he simply received a
few more books to add to his library. Baralis slipped off the leather wrapping
and glanced at what lay beneath: some interesting books, indeed.