Master and Fool (24 page)

Frantic, Tawl
searched amongst the wreckage. Where was she? What had happened to her? Why in
Borc's name had he left her alone?

"Tawl."
It was Nabber, standing in the doorway. "I think they got away."

"Why?"
Tawl was a madman desperate for meaning. He had to stop himself from shaking
the answers out of Nabber. "What makes you say that?"

"There's
blood in the hallway, but there's also blood outside the kitchen door. It looks
like someone escaped." Tawl tried to calm himself. He grasped onto the
possibility that Melli might be safe-it was the only way to keep his sanity.
Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind to focus on what he could do to find
her. "Where would they go?"

"I think
Cravin's got other places in the city."

"Do you know
where they are?" Nabber began to shuffle his feet.

Tawl knew the
pocket didn't like being caught short of answers, so he spoke quickly to cover
the silence. "Well, in that case we have to find Cravin himself."

"He'll most
probably be at court at the moment," said Nabber, visibly relieved at
being able to contribute something useful, "what with the war and
everything. That Lord Cravin strikes me as the sort who doesn't like to be left
out of the reckoning."

Tawl nodded;
Nabber was right. "You know a way into the palace. Go and find him, and
demand to know what's happened." Tawl's thoughts raced ahead. Cravin would
be in a delicate position right now: Baralis may have discovered who owned the
townhouse. "If he doesn't appear talkative, threaten to tell the whole
city that we used his house with his permission." The way things were in
the city at the moment it would mean a hanging, at least. "Have you got
that?"

Nabber was all
business. He nodded. "Anything else?"

"Find out the
names and addresses of every building he owns in the city. And then meet me
back here. I'll be waiting for you."

"It could
take me a good many hours, Tawl. It's quite tricky traveling around the palace
when you don't know where you're going."

Tawl didn't
hesitate. "I'll come with you."

"No. You'd
only slow me down." Nabber's voice was surprisingly firm. "Besides,
walking through the streets with the most wanted man in Bren on my arm is not
my idea of keeping a low profile. No offense, mind."

"None
taken," murmured Tawl. He stretched out his arm and touched Nabber on the
cheek. He didn't want to let the boy go, but it seemed he had no choice.
Quickly he tried to find words that spoke of caution and love. When nothing
seemed right, he said, "Whatever you do, Nabber, keep yourself safe."

Nabber snorted.
"That's like telling a bear to eat honey. Don't worry about me, Tawl, I'll
be back before you know it." With that he was gone, running down the
stairs and into the night.

A distant bell
tolled out two hours past midnight. TWO long sleepless hours for Jack. He
couldn't stop worryingabout Grift, about Melli, about the safeness of the wine
cellar. A slim wooden bar, held most precariously in place, was all that
stopped those outside from coming in. First thing tomorrow he would make it
more secure. Second thing was to find a physician for Grift. Jack couldn't
stand by and watch the man slowly ebb away. He needed attention, and although
getting help was a risk, both he and Melli agreed it was one they had to take.

Jack shifted his
position on the pallet. With only a blanket between him and the wood, it was
highly unlikely that he would get a good night's rest. Not to mention the rats.

Jack hated rats.
Ever since Master Frallit had insisted on sending him to the granary the first
day he came to work as an apprentice, he had disliked the fat, yet
skinny-limbed, rodents. Even now, eight years on, Jack lay on his wooden
pallet, intent on keeping his fingers and toes-from hanging over the sides, in
case the rats decided to chew on them.

The night was
filled with noises. The rats scraped and scurried, the timbers creaked as they
cooled, and thunder rolled in the distance, gathering momentum for a late
summer storm.

Then came another
noise. It sounded overhead. Footsteps. Jack felt the hair on his arms prickle a
warning. He jumped up from the pallet, fumbling around for his knife. Silence.
He moved toward the trapdoor. It was so dark he could barely make out the
square outline above him. Footsteps again, this time directly over the door.
Jack was scared. His heart pumped wildly as he drew his knife to his chest.

Suddenly there was
a loud cracking noise. Wood splintered. The holding beam loosened. The trapdoor
caved in, and a man jumped down into the cellar. He called something out, but
the noise of the beam crashing to the floor drowned out the meaning of his
words.

Jack sprang
forward. The man was nothing but a dark silhouette. Jack felt his knife slice
into the soft flesh of the man's outer arm. Then a fist smashed into his
stomach. He went reeling backward, falling against the crates he'd moved
earlier. Even before he caught his breath, his attacker was on him again. Jack
saw the glint of his teeth. The man's free arm caught his wrist. His grip was
like steel, and his fingers pushed fouthe bone.

Jack couldn't take
the pain any longer. At the same time he dropped his knife, he brought up his
knees and smashed them into the man's chest. His attacker wavered backward, but
did not fall. Jack inhaled sharply. Any other man would have gone down.

With knife gone,
Jack tried to back away to give himself time and space. He sprung to the side,
arms ahead of him searching for something,
anything,
to put between him
and the dark shadow that was his attacker. Jack's palm brushed against a wine
barrel-only half full, thanks to Maybor--and hauling it up, he flung it in the
man's direction. He heard it crash against the cobbles, but it was too dark to
see where it landed.

Just as he put his
arm out to feel for a second barrel, something sharp jabbed against his
forehead. He lost his footing and fell against the wall. Warm blood trickled
down his cheek. Then a blade pressed against his throat.

"Stop!"

Light filled the
room. Melli came rushing forward. Jack looked into the face of his attacker.
Blue eyes, golden hair: it was the man he'd helped escape. Before either of
them could take a breath, a drop of Jack's blood dripped from his chin onto the
man's bare arm. It landed directly on the gash that Jack had opened only
seconds before.

The two bloods
met. There was a perceptible hiss, like a candle snuffed out by hand.

Both men were
locked together. Neither moved. Neither breathed. Their bodies were as stiff as
statues. Lightning flashed, forking straight down the space where the trapdoor
had been. Thunder rolled after it and the whole building shook, and by the time
the cellar was still once more, the whole nature of the night had changed.

Still Jack stared
into the blue eyes of the stranger. He knew this man. He had seen him in his
dreams.

The man's eyes
were all the colors that blue could ever be. Deep with unreadable emotions,
light with unquestionable faith. In a movement so fast that Jack could not
follow it, the man withdrew his blade from Jack's throat. Bringing up his
bloody arm, he pressed it against the gash on Jack's forehead.

Jack felt his
whole body respond. His own blood seemed to pull upward toward the stranger's.
He felt a rushing sound in his ears. A film of clouded matter seemed to fall
from his eyes and his memories, leaving sharpness and clarity behind. Every
dream, every thought, every hope he'd ever had crystallized in an instant, and
something new was born.

His heart beat in
time with the stranger's. They fell into a world where only they existed: the
wine cellar, the trapdoor, Melli and her lantern were so many shadows cast upon
them. The space between them was charged with energy, it crackled with every intake
of breath.

Still the stranger
looked at him. His gaze did not waver. Jack felt his body being renewed. Skin,
membranes, senses were changing, reshaping, making themselves anew. Hours
passed in the space of seconds. A lifetime of memories were relived in one
blink of the stranger's eye. Jack remembered his mother as she had been before
her illness: beautiful, clever, fingernails caked with soot. He remembered
Baralis probing his mind, searching for answers that he'd very nearly found. He
saw Kylock as a young boy, slamming a sack containing two kittens against the
study wall. He traveled back to the hunting lodge and spied the old crusty book
lying at the bottom of a chest, and when he took it in his hands, the letter
from the king fluttered to the floor once more. He recalled Falk's words,
"Don't
be bitter,
Jack, " and he heard Tarissa say, "I
love you.
"

Just as quickly,
everything passed, and he and the goldenhaired stranger were alone in the
present.

"You are the
one I've searched for," Tawl said. "Yes," replied Jack. "I
know."

And as he spoke,
the glass cocoon surrounding them shattered, sending out sharp-edged splinters
to puncture the night.

Baralis awoke with
a start. His heart had missed two beats. The darkness disorientated him and his
dreams lingered on past his waking. For the first time in years he knew what it
was to be completely afraid. Something was out there. Something that could
destroy him.

His hands shook as
he felt for flint and tallow. The spark was slow in coming, and the flame it
produced was strangely subdued. The air it burnt in had changed imperceptibly.
It was thinner, it tasted bitter, and something akin to sorcery, but not
quite
sorcery, hung upon it like smoke. Perhaps, if he hadn't felt something very
similar only the day before, he might not have recognized it. But he had, and
he did, so he well knew who was responsible for the change in the very fabric
of the night. It was Jack, the baker's boy.

Yesterday morning
at dawn, a drawing had taken place at a house in the south of the city. Baralis
knew of it before the reports came in, and at once he recognized the aftermath.
His former scribe had helped Melliandra escape from his clutches. The drawing
was almost an exact copy of one that had happened nearly a year earlier now,
just outside a disused hunting lodge in the heart of Harvell forest. Almost,
but not quite. The result was the same-a blast of thickened air but the
technique was subtly different. It was more sophisticated, more controlled,
designed from start to finish. The first drawing had been the work of a
dangerous amateur. The second was the work of someone who had been taught how
to wield power properly. Still a little unsure of himself, still lacking in
timing and subtlety, but a definite improvement nonetheless.

And now, a day
later, this had happened.

Baralis reached
for a package of his pain-killing drug. He emptied the powder on his tongue,
swallowing it dry. Truth be known, he didn't really know what had happened. It
wasn't sorcery, it wasn't foretelling; it was something minutely different from
both, but infinitely more dangerous than either.

Baralis stretched
his mind to encompass all possibilities. What did he know about Jack? Larn had
told him the knight was searching for a boy.
He
knew in his soul that
the boy was none other than Jack, apprentice baker and blind scribe. Yesterday
had proven that Jack had somehow caught up with Melliandra.. . . Baralis curled
his hands into fiststhat was it! Melliandra was the link. First protected by
the knight, now protected by Jack.

What if the knight
had stolen back into the city? What if the two had met, here, tonight?

Baralis' thoughts
raced on unchecked. And if they had met, then Marod's prophecy was one step
closer to coming to pass. The northern empire, his empire-first dreamt of, then
forged by him alone-was in danger. Indeed, the very fact that both Jack and the
knight had aligned themselves with Melliandra and, presumably, the claim of her
unborn child, showed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the two men were meant to oppose
him.

And Larn. They
were also meant to oppose Larn. The powers that be on the island already knew
it. The seers were probably babbling on about it even now.

Leaning back
amongst his pillows, Baralis relaxed, letting the pain-killer run its course.
He noticed the candle began to burn more brightly.

Larn would help
him track and kill the two--they had as much interest in destroying Jack and
the knight as he. Yet destroying only two of them was not enough: Melliandra
had to be killed, as well. Only then would the future empire be safe.

Feeling calmer,
Baralis began to drift off into a light sleep. Tomorrow he would journey to
Larn.

Tawl stepped
forward and clasped the hand of the boy he'd been searching for. No, no longer
a boy. A man. Tall, well-built, with sensitive hazel eyes and chestnut hair
that fell in a mane down his back.

His grip was as
firm as his gaze.

Tawl felt as if
the earth had changed beneath his feet and the air that he breathed was somehow
thicker and sweeter. Emotions crowded upon him, then dispersed leaving nothing
at all. By turns he was elated, confused, frightened, content, then drained.

He and the boy had
been transformed. They both felt it. Their bloods had met and mingled, and the
bond that was forged had changed everything. Six years ago, Bevlin said,
"You will know him when you find him." The wiseman had been right.
When the boy's blood dripped into his, it had been like a message from God.
Something holy, a communion, passed between them and now they were forever linked
in purpose.

And to think,
seconds earlier, he had nearly killed him. Just over an hour ago, Nabber had
returned from the palace. He had talked with Cravin, been forced to resort to
threats, and had eventually gotten the man to confirm that Melli and her party
had managed to escape the search party. Cravin went on to admit that he had two
more places in the city, which he had mentioned to Maybor last time they met.
The first was a disused stables situated close to the east wall, and the second
was a wine cellar that lay underneath a butcher's courtyard. Tawl had sent
Nabber to check out the stables, while he saw to the wine cellar himself.