Master and Fool (22 page)

This morning
Tawl had discovered that if he climbed up to the roof of the lodge and turned
his gaze southeast, he could see the city of Bren. It really wasn't far away at
all. All day he'd spent on the roof, trying to make out details of streets and
landmarks in the sunshine, and then when the light faded, looking at the dark
form of the city and imagining where Melli lay within it. Eventually the wind
and cold had brought him down. His hands were riddled with splinters from the
roof beams and all his limbs were stiff. Still, looking up at the roof now,
Tawl knew that at first light tomorrow he'd be up there once more.

Melli was in
his thoughts constantly. Every idea, every image, every movement he made led in
some way back to her. Even now, in the fire, he could see her face amidst the
flickers of the flame.

Should he have
left her the way he did? With no explanations or farewells? Tawl ran his
fingers through his golden hair. Should he have left her at all?

Tawl turned the
rabbit on the spit. One benefit of being on the roof was that down below all
manner of creatures gathered unawares. It was easy to throw a stone and bag a
meal for the night. The meat smelled delicious, fragrant, and smoky. The fire
sizzled with every drip of its fat. There would have been enough for Melli if
she were here. Standing up, Tawl moved away from the fire. The smell was
suddenly abhorrent to him. Why hadn't he just picked her up and carried
her-kicking and screaming-from the city? Why had he listened to Maybor and that
slick, maneuvering Lord Cravin? Why? Why? Why?

Tawl slammed
his fist against the wooden wall of the hunting lodge. The pain gave him the
answer. Because Melli was safer without him. And that was everything: keeping
Melli safe.

With the quest
and the knighthood lost to him, Melli was the one precious thing he had left,
and now that she no longer needed him it was hard for him to let her go. Yet in
his heart he knew he must. He only wished it didn't hurt so much to leave.

He had to let
go of his old fears. Just because his sisters had come to harm while he was
away didn't mean that Melli would. It was nearly ten years later, the situation
was different, Melli wasn't a child who couldn't fend for herself.

It was so hard
to put his fears behind him, though. So very, very, hard.

Without
realizing it, Tawl had stepped back to the fire. He picked up his knife, turning
the blade in his hand. Sometimes he'd rather be dead than live with the memory
of his failures. Anna, Sara, the baby, Bevlin, his quest, and the knighthood:
he'd failed them all. And right now, looking into the bleak face of the Great
Divide, it didn't seem as if he'd ever be given the chance to make up for all
his mistakes.

Just then Tawl
heard a rustling sound. He whipped around. The noise was coming from the
bushes. He shifted the grip on his blade, making ready for an attack. The
rustling came again. Tawl stepped back into the deep shadows of the lodge. A
figure emerged from the bush. A small figure with sloping shoulders.

"Nabber?"
called Tawl softly.

"Aye,
Tawl. It's me!" Nabber came forward, stepping into the place where moon
and firelight met. "I've come to deliver something to you." He began
rooting around in his sack.

Tawl slipped
his knife into his belt. "Is Melli safe? Was the search halted?"

Nabber
continued to root. "Melli's fine. They halted the search the morning after
you left."

"I told
you to stay by her side."

"Aye. And
she told me to come"-Nabber pulled something flat and cream-colored out
from his pack-"and give you this." He held it out for Tawl.

Tawl didn't
move. Nabber held a sealed letter. The parchment shone in the moonlight, flapping
gently with the breeze. He knew what it was. He had been offered the letter
before. He knew the seal, the folds, the paper. And when he'd last seen it, it
was lying in the dirt on a dark and narrow street.

Tawl's throat
was dry. His heartbeat slowed. "Where did you get this?" he said.

"The same
place where you left it: little street right by the abattoir." Nabber
thrust the letter toward him. "Take it. Melli wants you to open it."

Tawl looked at
the letter. Bevlin's letter. He had thought he would never see it again. Hadn't
wanted to see it again. But here it was, being offered to him by a boy who was
his only friend. "Nabber," he said softly, "if I open this it
will change everything."

"I know.
Melli knows, too. I told her about the quest, and Bevlin-"

"Bevlin?"

"Don't
worry, Tawl. I told her only what she needed to know."

Tawl looked in
Nabber's eyes. He was a truly remarkable boy and not just an only friend, a
best one, as well. The wind calmed. The letter was still. Tawl and Nabber stood
facing each other, the letter in between.

"Take it,
Tawl," said Nabber, his voice gentle. "Never in my whole life did
anything feel as right as this."

Tawl's vision
blurred. He felt something wet streak down his cheek. "To open this letter
will be to open the past-"

Nabber's eyes were
bright with tears of his own. Slowly he shook his head. "Tawl, your past
has never been closed. You live with it every day."

How did one so
young become so wise? Tawl wiped the tears from his cheeks. "You've held
that for many months now," he said, reaching out his hand toward the
letter. "It's time I took the burden from you."

The parchment was
smooth in his hand and warm from Nabber's touch. Tawl looked up. Nabber was
gone.

Tawl sat beside
the fire. The moon was full, brilliant, just like an oil lamp. He bowed his
head and spoke a simple prayer, and then broke the seal on the letter.

Dear Tawl,

If you are
reading this, then I am dead. For some time I have known that my life is due
for the taking, and that is. the reason that I write you this letter. There are
things I must tell you, things to be explained, and I am now no longer sure
that I will be allowed the chance to say them to you. So I write where I would
rather speak, and hope the written word carries all the affection of speech.

First, Tawl, I
must tell you that my heart is ever with you. My burden will always be that I
set you a near impossible task, and by doing so robbed you of a life of your
own. I ask forgiveness, here and now, for I am an old man and do not wish to
rest in my grave with such a weight to bear me down. You are a good man, I feel
sure you will give it gladly.

Now we must talk
of your quest. When I first sent you on your way, with Marod's prophecy ringing
in your ear and your eyes bright with purpose, there was much that I still
didn't understand. I didn't know the true meaning of the prophecy, or the role
of the boy whom you seek The only thing I knew for certain was that war would
play a part.

Over the years
I have discovered more. I now believe that Bren and the kingdoms are the two
houses who will meet in wedlock and wealth. And war will come from that union.
All the portents tell that it will be a war the likes of which we haven't seen
in a thousand years. Unless it is halted in its infancy it will rip the
continent asunder.

I fear that
Bren will have unnatural advantages at its side. Larn, the island of the seers,
will feed its armies with information. The two places are connected, by what or
whom, I do not know. The temple must be destroyed, it will ally itself with
Bren and lend the city the power of its seers. Larn must be broken if Bren is
ever to know peace.

Larn. The place
haunts my dreams. I fear it will dog me to the grave. Tawl, find the boy. He
alone can destroy that cursed place.

And now, before
I go, there is one last thing that I want to lay to parchment. Larn is not the
only thing that haunts my dreams: I also see a man with a blade standing above
me. Every night I see this and every night I wake before the blade falls upon
my heart. One night I fear I will awake and find it real. In my dreams, the one
who holds the blade is moved by strings, like a puppet. His actions are not his
own.

Tawl, whoever
kills me is not responsible for my death. Send them my forgiveness and tell
them not to blame themselves. An old man like me is never far from the shadow
of his grave.

Farewell, my
good friend. May Borr speed your journey.

I forever
remain in your debt,

Bevlin.

Tawl brought the letter to rest against his lap. He looked upward to the night
sky. It was full of stars. Strange how he had never noticed how peaceful it was
here before now. How beautiful the mountains were, how very fresh the air.

The rabbit on the
spit had some time ago passed the well-done stage and was now black and
charred. Tawl took it from the spit and set it to cool. He had a feeling it
would taste good despite the burn. Without letting go of the letter, Tawl
stretched over and took the smaller of the two flasks from his sack. He removed
the stopper and took a deep draught of Maybor's best brandy. Just one. The
golden liquid warmed him to his belly. He stood up and walked a few steps until
he was clear of the side of the lodge. Bevlin's letter was still in his hand.

Before him lay a
huge, moonlit valley. Trees were dark against the grass, and in the distance
water flowed like a thin thread of purest silver. It was perfect: silent and
lofty as a cathedral. A place of rest, a place of reverence, and most of all a
place of forgiveness. Gentle were the breezes, softly shone the stars, the vast
darkness of the sky was a salve upon his soul, and the earth beneath his feet
held him firm.

Tawl stood, he
would never know for how long, and let nature and Bevlin's forgiveness take
their course. When he finally turned back to the fire the rabbit was cold, but
it still tasted better than any meal he could remember. In the warm halo from
the fire, he curled up for the night, and with Bevlin's letter pressed fast
against his heart sleep came quick and deep.

"No, Bodger.
Clean the wound first with a little wine,
then
apply the ointment."
Grift lay on a wooden pallet surrounded by fragrant grasses and proceeded to physician
himself. "Circular movements, Bodger. Dab rather than wipe." Then,
after a few seconds, "Watch out for my appendix, Bodger. Damage that and
I'll never rollick again. Key to a man's sexual appetites is his 'pendix. Why,
without it a man might as well shave his legs and call himself a woman."

"I've heard
that there's men that do that, Grift." Bodger tried valiantly to dab, even
though it felt a lot better to wipe. Grift was still losing blood. Not as much
as yesterday, but still a fair amount. Every time Bodger dabbed, the cloth came
up red.

"Aye, Bodger,
some men do dress as women. Men from Marls generally. Apparently the women
there are so ugly that the men-
Aagh!"
Grift screamed as Bodger
dabbed directly on the wound. Grift had been sliced low in the abdomen by a
kingdoms halberd during the escape from the townhouse the day before. Bodger
was very worried about him. The wound needed to be seen to by someone who knew
about these things. Someone like Tawl.

"Do you think
there's any chance that Tawl might come back, Drift?" Bodger said, trying
his best to sound nonchalant.

Grift's face was
covered in sweat, his brow creased into many folds. Even so, the pain lifted
instantly the moment the question was asked-Drift
lived
to give his
opinions. "Can't say as he will, Bodger, but even if he did return he'd
have no way of finding us now. Stuck in a wine cellar below a butcher's yard,
with no one knowing that we're here......" Grift shook his head.
"Why, he could walk right past and not even spot us."

Bodger nodded his
head slowly, his gaze dropping down to Grift's wound. He hoped very much that
this was one of those rare instances when his dear old friend was wrong.

"Jack, if you don't stand still while I clean out this cut, I swear I will
hit you with that bowl over there." Melli stamped her foot to underline
her statement. Why were men always such pig-headed fools?

Jack glanced
toward the bowl. "Not full, is it?"

Melli managed to
turn a smile into an indignant snort. She dashed across the room, picked up the
bowl, and threw it toward him, crying, "See for yourself!"

Her aim was true,
but Jack was fast, and he dodged the bowl by executing a magnificent sideways
leap. He didn't land too well, though, crashing into a row of wine barrels,
sending them careening across the cobbled floor.

Melli rushed over.
"Are you all right?" She looked down at Jack, who lay spread out on
the damp floor.

He rubbed his
head. "It was empty, then?"

Melli made no
effort to hide her smile this time. She was feeling a little guilty; she just
wasn't cut out to be a nursemaid. "I've had no need for the bowl for the
past couple of days," she said, offering Jack a hand "My first three
months are behind me now." She hauled him up. "I haven't been sick
since . . . "
Since the day after Tawl left.
The words wouldn't
come out. Quickly, she turned from Jack. There was a hard lump in her throat
and try as she might, she couldn't swallow it.

Where was Tawl?
Had Nabber found him yet? And, if Nabber had found him, would she ever see him
again? If the letter was as important as Nabber said, Tawl might leave the
north never to return.

Melli gulped hard,
determined not to feel sorry for herself. Tawl wouldn't leave without coming to
see her. He was a man of honor, and such men always said good-bye.