Master and Fool (27 page)

Tawl and Melli
exchanged glances. What Jack said was absolutely true: the northern allies
did
need Melli. Tawl began to feel more hopeful. Melli could easily slip under
the wall and into the enemy camp. "I didn't realize you were a politician,
Jack," he said.

"Neither did
L"

All three of them
laughed-their first that day.

Three sharp raps
sounded on the trapdoor. "Let me in," came Maybor's voice. "It's
as wet as a middens after a banquet out here."

Jack scooted up
and drew back the door brace. Maybor made a dignified entrance into the cellar,
lowering himself like an avenging angel into hell.

"Highwall's
army has just been spotted on the rise," he said. "The war begins
today."

The rain stopped
only when the night came. It had poured heavily all day, cleaning the slate
before the start of war.

Baralis stood in a
protected alcove high atop the duke's palace and looked south toward the
rapidly growing encampment of the enemy. A thousand campfires flickered in the
darkness, each one marking a small part of the whole. Tents and siege engines
were being erected in the lee of the hill. Now, since the rain had stopped,
Baralis could hear the sound of timber being sawn and bolts being hammered. The
rise served to conceal their activities well, but Baralis could guess what
constructions they were preparing: battering rams with roofs of hardened
leather to protect troops from hot oil and fire; assault towers borne on
rollers, built to match the exact height of Bren's own walls; timber galleries
with iron roofs, beneath which teams of miners would begin digging tunnels
under the wall. Other items such as trebuchets, catapults, and scaling ladders
would be already built, brought whole and in working order across the
mountains.

Baralis knew all
this, but he was not afraid. The duke of Bren had spent a lifetime fortifying
the city and the palace in countless minute and unassuming ways. The
crenelations were shuttered with iron, not wood. The curtain wall was now the
thickest in the north, two horses in width and splayed at the base to send
dropped missiles ricocheting into the enemy. Even the gatetowers had been built
anew, accommodating all the latest designs in portcullises, together with
much-needed additional height. A heavy stone dropped from Bren's gatehouse
would hit the ground with enough force to smash a battering ram.

The newly deceased
duke had made so many modifications that Baralis had lost count of them.

At the very worst,
if Highwall did succeed in breaching both the curtain wall and the inner wall,
the palace would be secure. For, despite its dainty name, the duke's palace was
the best protected fortress in the Known Lands. None could match its rounded
towers, or its intricate network of portcullises, traps, and murder holes. Even
its position, perched high above the Great Lake, was second to none. The only
viable approach was to the south.

Yes, thought Baralis,
bringing a crooked finger to rest against the stone, even if the city of Bren
did fall, it would take an act of God to break the palace.

Food would be the
biggest problem of the siege. This past week people had been flooding into the
city. Farmers and freeholders brought their own grain and livestock with them,
but mercenaries and opportunists traveled light. At the moment the city was
well stocked with provisions, however after weeks, perhaps months, of being
held captive things would begin to look very different. With no way to get
supplies into the city, the bloated populace would start eating whatever they
could lay their hands on: dogs, horses, rats.

Baralis shrugged.
Even then, starvation wasn't really a worry. Hunger made men desperate, and desperate
men won wars.

Withdrawing from
the battlements, Baralis didn't pause to look back. Highwall's campsites didn't
frighten him, but a certain baker's boy from Castle Harvell did. It was time to
journey to Larn. Today an army had arrived. Last night an adversary had been
born.

Swiftly, he
traveled downward. He could always find his way in the dark. Shadowed walkways
were his mistresses and unlit stairwells were his friends. Dusky corridors,
galleries, and hallways ushered him through the night, and before he knew it
the very palace itself had seduced him back to his chambers.

Crope was waiting,
crucible in hand, fire stoked up to a blaze. He drew chair to hearth and
brought silk slippers to replace leather long gone damp. Master and servant had
known each other for over twenty-five years, and at times such as this there
was little need of words.

Baralis slumped in
his chair. He made the exact same incision, on the exact same spot, that he had
done so many times before. The skin was thickened by constant scarring, but
blood came quickly to the surface nonetheless.

The potion's
vapors propelled him upward and his willpower pushed him ahead.

Tonight the
journey was not an easy one. The overworld was troubled by unfamiliar currents.
Distortions pulled at what little there was of him, spiraling him upward to
meet the cold glitter of the stars. He had to fight it all the way. By he time
he arrived at Larn he was weary to the very bones he'd left behind.

The four waited.
They always did.

Baralis had
neither time nor energy to mince words with Larn tonight. "I believe the
knight has found the one he seeks. A boy named Jack-my former scribe. He has
great powers at his disposal, and if Marod's prophecy is to be believed, he
will soon come here to destroy you." Despite his fatigue, Baralis found
much to relish in this statement. It was pleasing to see the four visibly
distressed.

A discreet inner
dialogue passed between them. Finally the youngest shaped his thoughts to
words. "Are you sure?" Baralis snapped back, "I am not a servant
to be questioned."

"What do you
want of us?" It was the eldest now, speaking to calm.

In no mood to be
calmed, Baralis carried on. "I want your help in tracking the boy
down." He thought a moment, then added, "And I want you to fulfill
your promise about the war. You said you would help Bren's cause. What aid can
you give?"

"We will set
our seers to work on the boy," said the eldest, his voice edged with
reprimand. "And as for the war, Baralis, your memory is woefully short.
Last time we met, did we not tell you that Highwall wouldn't attack until after
the wedding?"

"One prophecy
does not a transaction make."

"We give you
information as we receive it ourselves. For now I can tell you that Annis will
not fall under Kylock's first siege, and that Highwall's army is planning to
dig a mine beneath the northeast wall directly towards the palace. They will
break ground tomorrow."

At last something
specific he could use! Nothing was as dangerous in a siege as a
well-constructed mine. Once dug, then set alight, it could collapse entire
buildings. Baralis was well pleased. No one could have guessed that Highwall
would try and mine straight for the palace. "Anything else?" The
eldest spoke in thoughts, not words, but even so he managed a fair copy of an indignant
snort. "You would have the blood of our seers if you could. There is no
more. Be content with what you have." The eldest was about to speak
further when he was distracted by another of the four. They exchanged their
secrets, and then the eldest continued. "Today one of our seers spoke of
the girl, Melliandra. Soon she will be yours." The elder lowered his tone.
"Is that enough for you, Baralis?"

"Plenty."

"Then leave
us. I will contact you when we know more about the boy named Jack."

Baralis didn't
care to be dismissed like a disobedient squire, but he let the matter drop.
He'd just heard that the one thing he wanted most would soon be his. Speeding
back to his body, leaving no farewells in his wake, Baralis risked a glance
toward the heavens: the broad arc of the firmament had never seemed more like a
crown.

"No, Nabber.
Keep some for the journey." Melli pushed Nabber's sack back toward him.
"I can't take it all." She turned away quickly, glad of the darkness
of the cellar. No one would see her eyes heavy with tears.

Everyone was being
so kind, so thoughtful. Jack and Tawl were speaking in hushed voices, pausing
every now and then to squeeze her hand and ask if she would be all right. She
felt
like
she was at a funeral. And it seemed suspiciously
like
her
own. It was early morning. As yet there was no light coming in from the cracks
around the trapdoor, but there were plenty of unsettling sounds. Sounds of
battle. The fast missiles were being flung against the south wall. The blasts
were jarring, fierce; from time to time the entire cellar rattled and creaked.
Melli's nerves were on edge. She wanted Jack and Tawl to go, to leave right
now, so that she could compose herself and find some peace. The noise of battle
she could bear, but the terrible guilt-laden atmosphere created by the three
who were leaving was more than she could stand.

In the shadows,
she wiped her eyes. Turning around, she said to Tawl, "Look, you really
should go now. You've already left it far too late as it is. First light is
less than an hour away. Come, get your things together." She knew she
sounded angry, but the anger in her voice was the only thing that stopped it
from breaking.

Tawl looked at her
gently.

Melli couldn't
bear it. "Tawl, I am neither an invalid nor a holy relic. Please ease my
mind by leaving now." Tears welled bright despite herself. Once again she
turned to the shadows.

Tawl was one step
behind her. This time he didn't take her hand. This time he kissed her lips,
instead. It was no holy kiss, no invalid's kiss. It was a kiss between
lovers-their very first and it was passion, not concern, that parted lips.
Tawl's arms came up around her shoulders and he held her very tight. Too soon
he pulled away. Cradling her chin in his large and capable hands, he said,
"Swear to me that you will be here when I return."

She looked into
his eyes and said nothing. "Swear it. "

Never had she seen
him like this. His whole body was shaking. His grip bit into her chin. The look
on his face was almost frightening. Melli realized he
needed
her to say
the words.

"I swear
it," she said. And as she spoke, Melli knew she meant it-she would keep
herself safe until he returned, no matter what it took.

Hearing her words,
Tawl visibly relaxed. He let her go. "Tawl, are you ready?" It was
Nabber, coming up from behind. "Dawn's just around the corner, and we have
to slip out of the city before it gets light."

Tawl gave Melli
one final, searching look and then turned away. Grabbing hold of his pack, he
said, "I'm ready, Nabber. What about you, Jack?"

Jack hadn't said
much since they'd been woken two hours earlier by Highwall's predawn attack. In
fact, he hadn't said much yesterday, either, and last night, when everyone else
tapped into a barrel and turned the eve of their parting into a festive affair,
Jack had drunk the least and was the first to go to his bed.

Melli came over
and stood beside him. He must be in turmoil, she thought. Yesterday he learnt
that he alone could put an end to the empire that Kylock and Baralis were
creating. Melli couldn't begin to imagine what such a responsibility would feel
like. She chided herself for indulging in self-pity when others, most
particularly the man before her, had much more to bear than she. All she had to
do was keep herself safe and give birth to a healthy baby. Jack had to end a
war.

"It hardly
seems like we've only been together three days," she said, smiling gently.

He nodded.
"Better three than none." He caught and held her gaze, and they both
knew there was nothing more to say.

Nabber coughed
tactfully. "Here you go, Melli," he said, offering her his newly
lightened sack. "Kept a little back, just like you said."

Melli smiled. By
the time she looked up, Jack and Tawl had moved beneath the trapdoor. They were
loaded down with supplies, bedrolls slung over their shoulders, packs around
their waists. And weapons, so many weapons: knives slipped beneath tunics and
swords hung over belts. Tawl even had a shortbow at his back.

Jack went up
first, then Nabber, and last of all went Tawl. Bodger lifted the remaining
supplies up to them. Grift was sitting on a pallet against the wall. He was
still weak, but he was getting better. Tawl had spent much precious time this
morning demonstrating to Melli how to care for his wound.

Maybor was not in
the least bit sorry to see them go. He had no faith in anything they were
doing, but he wasn't above encouraging them to leave anyway. Melli looked for a
moment at her father. She loved him, but he was wrong about this.

Grift shouted out
some last-minute advice for the journey, then everyone said good-bye. Hearing
Tawl say farewell, Melli suddenly lost her composure. She scrambled over the
crates, up toward the trapdoor. "Tawl," she cried, hating herself for
her weakness. "Tawl!"

Tawl crouched down
by the opening. He reached out for her and lifted her up with one mighty pull.
"Swear you will come back," she said.

"I swear that
as long as there is breath in my body and blood in my veins I will make it back
to your side." It was an oath and was spoken as one.

They looked at
each other for only a moment, then Tawl laid a single kiss on her forehead.
Nothing else was said. Gently he lowered her into the waiting arms of Maybor.
The last thing Melli saw of him was the glint of his sword as he walked across
the courtyard.

"Master,
there be someone here to see you."

"Tell whoever
it is to go away, you dithering fool. I am far too weary to see anyone this
day."