Master and Fool (33 page)

Without pausing to
look around, Maybor lowered himself into the cellar. He landed with a jolt. The
crates that were usually underneath were gone. Rats scattered. His shoes
quickly soaked with wine.

"Anyone
there?" he called softly. Nothing.

Maybor fumbled in
the dark until he found a candle. The wick was wet and wouldn't take a spark
from the flint. "Damn," he hissed.

Just then he heard
an unratlike noise: scraping. Something was being scraped across the floor in
the cellar to the right. "Who's there?" demanded Maybor. His voice
did not reveal his fear.

More scraping.
Followed by a barely audible whisper: "Lord Maybor, is that you?"

Maybor hurried in
the direction of the voice, cutting across the large cellar, through to the
smaller one and then under a low arch to the storeroom. Grift was lying on the
floor. There was a single candle by his side. Blood was soaking through the
bandage round his stomach. His lips were pale and cracked.

The first thing he
said was, "Is Bodger with you?" Maybor shook his head. "He was
taken with Melliandra."

Grift began coughing.
Softly at first, then hacking uncontrollably, his whole body shaking.

Maybor fished in
his tunic and pulled out his flask. There were only a few drops of brandy left.
He knelt down and supported Grift's back while he drank it. The man was in bad
need of medical attention. Food and water probably wouldn't go amiss, either.
Maybor wondered how he had managed to go unnoticed by the guards.

"Have you got
a spare candle?" he asked, when Grift had calmed down. Grift indicated a
supply on a high shelf. Maybor took one and lit it "I'll be back in a
moment," he said.

He made his way to
his own little room. The place had been ransacked; his clothes were gone, the
bedding had been torn, and several barrels were split at the seams. Everything
was soaked in wine. Maybor bent down and lifted the soaking rushes from his
pallet. The box wasn't there. Scrambling, Maybor turned the pallet on its side.
His gold was gone! He couldn't believe it. Falling to his hands and knees, he
searched every corner of the room. By the time he had finished his clothes were
soaked right through.

The guards had
taken his gold. All two hundred pieces of it. He had nothing left. Sitting back
in the pool of sour wine, Maybor made a decision.

He took the candle
and went back to Grift. The guard was lying exactly where he left him.
"Can you walk?" he asked.

Grift's response
was to struggle to his feet. He got halfway up, then his legs began to buckle.
Maybor came forward to steady him.

"Do you know
the way out of the city?"

"Aye, but
it's quite a way. I don't think I'll be able to make it."

"You'll make
it all right. Even if I have to carry you." Maybor hauled Grift up all the
way. "Come on, lean on me now."

Grift took a
lurching step forward. "But we could get caught or shot at."

"I don't care
if we get bombarded with headless corpses," said Maybor. "We're
leaving this city tonight."

Nabber's thighs
were sore, his back was aching, and his feet had gone numb. Everyone was tense.
The slightest sound stopped them in their tracks, and every quickly shifting
shadow drew knives. Tawl walked with his shortbow in his hand, his knuckles
white and strained against the wood. Jack rode six paces behind him, eyes
darting from side to side, fingers resting on the hilt of his sword.

It was impossible
to tell how many hours had passed since the shooting. Lots of them, was
Nabber's best guess. Yet it was still very dark, and whenever he spied the
stars between shifting banks of clouds their positions hadn't changed. Time
passed slowly for the guilty.

Nabber glanced over
at Tawl. The knight was staring straight ahead, intent on keeping to the trail.
He hadn't spoken since they'd upped camp, just silently led the way.

Taken by a sudden
impulse, Nabber coughed loudly, pretending to clear his throat. Tawl's head
whipped round in his direction. "Nabber, what's the matter?" he
whispered. "Are you all right?"

Feeling even more
guilty than ever, Nabber nodded. He had just wanted to look at Tawl's face,
that was all. He knew by coughing he would attract Tawl's attention, but he
hadn't counted on his concern. He thought Tawl would tell him off for making a
noise when he should be quiet. Nabber slumped down in his saddle. That was the
knight's problem: he was just too trusting.

"Tawl, let's
swap over," said Jack. "I'll lead the horses now. You need a
break."

Tawl had been
leading the horses on foot since they left the camp. There was no moonlight to
light their way and the horses were skittish, so the knight had walked while
Jack and Nabber rode.

"I think
we'll stop for a while," Tawl said. "We haven't eaten anything all
night, and Nabber sounds as if he needs a drink!"

Nabber was
surprised at Tawl's decision-he hadn't thought they would be getting any rest
tonight, not after the shooting-but he wasn't about to argue. He was beginning
to feel a desperate need to exchange a few words with the knight.

They pulled off
the trail into the cover of some tall pines. Glistening spiderwebs trailed like
nets from the slender trees. An owl cried out in the distance and moths
fluttered from branch to branch before settling flat against the bark. The
minute Nabber clambered down from his horse, he took his waterskin from his
pack, and having checked that no one was looking, he emptied the contents into
the grass.

"Tawl,"
he hissed, a moment later, "the skin must have sprung a leak. There's no
water left."

Tawl had clambered
up a rock and was looking back in the direction they had just come from.
"Jack, have you got any water on you?"

"Only a few
drops. We'll need to get some more."

"I heard a
stream about five minutes ago. It was to the east of the trail, I think."
Nabber tried his best to sound nonchalant.

"You two wait
here," Tawl said, jumping down from the rock. "I'll be back as
soon-"

"No,"
said Nabber quickly. "Don't go. I wanted you to look at my throat. It
feels sore."

Tawl glanced
quickly at Nabber.

"I'll go,
then," Jack said, looking from Nabber to Tawl. He dismounted his horse and
started back up the trail. "Be sure to save some of the cheese and
drybread for me."

Tawl waited until
Jack was out of sight and then came and stood next to Nabber. "Now that
we're alone, what's really the matter?" he said. "I heard you
draining the water from your skin."

Even in the dark,
the knight's eyes looked very blue. He didn't look angry or amused like other
men might in similar situations. He simply looked concerned. Suddenly Nabber
wasn't sure he had done the right thing. It was the guilt, of course. It always
made him do things that were... well ... just plain
strange.

"Nabber,"
said Tawl speaking softly, "you can tell me anything. Anything at
all."

The gentleness in
Tawl's voice made everything worse as far as Nabber was concerned. How was he
supposed to tell such a trusting and caring man that the one person he revered
above all others was rotten to the core?

Nabber sighed. He
was going to have to do it all the same. The shooting had changed things, made
it harder for him to keep the truth to himself. The instant Jack came rushing
through the trees, shouting out that Tawl had been shot at, Nabber knew he'd
been wrong to conceal the truth. What if the arrow hadn't missed? What if Tawl
had died here, far away from home and the woman he loved, without ever learning
the truth? Nabber didn't like to think of things like that. Didn't like to
think of Tawl dying-ever. Tawl was his friend, his traveling companion, his
partner.
He trusted Tawl, and Tawl trusted him.

Only ever since
the night when he'd stumbled upon Baralis and Tyren meeting in the south side
of Bren, he had kept something from him. Something Nabber was certain that Tawl
would want to know.

For weeks now,
Nabber had kept the truth in, saying to himself that he just had to find the
right time and the right place. Tonight had shown him how tenuous life was.
Wait too long and the chance might never come again. Nabber looked up at Tawl.
He took a quick breath and said, "You know the night when I nearly got
caught by Skaythe?" Tawl nodded and he continued. "Well, I didn't run
straight back to the townhouse like I said. I hung around the south side of the
city making sure I wasn't being followed. That's when I sort of ran into
Baralis again."

Tawl was
immediately tense. "Did he harm you?" Nabber shook his head. Somehow
nothing he said turned out the way he meant it. "No, he didn't see me. You
see, I was in this yard, and there was a horse whose bridle was black. Only it
wasn't black, not all the way. Someone had rubbed soot on it to hide the yellow
stripes."

"Yellow
stripes?" Tawl's voice sounded strained.

"Yes, yellow
and black." Nabber knew he had to continue fast and get the whole story
over with before Tawl had a chance to say another word. He dashed ahead.
"It was Tyren's horse, Tawl. He and Baralis came out into the yard. They'd
been having a meeting in the building, and they came out so Tyren could collect
his horse. They were talking about Helch, about converting its people, and
keeping them on their knees until Kylock had dealt with Highwall." Nabber
couldn't look Tawl in the eye. He stared at the knight's boots. "Tyren's a
bad man, Tawl. He's gonna kill anyone who spreads rumors against him--I heard
him say it He wants to get his hands on any other territories Kylock conquers,
including the south. He's after breaking up the Church."

Nabber wanted to
continue talking, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He risked
glancing up at the knight's face. Tawl's gaze was focused on a distant point. A
muscle pumped in his cheek.

Without looking at
Nabber he said, "It's no secret that Tyren wants to change the face of the
Church. Everyone in the knighthood has known that for years. Tyren has always
believed that Silbur has had too much influence on the north, and that its
priests were becoming soft, forgetting the true word of God."

Nabber didn't like
the look on Tawl's face one little bit. He looked dazed, like a sleepwalker or
a drunk. "Tawl, I was there. I heard Tyren talking. He didn't sound like a
man concerned with the well-being of Helch's people. He sounded . . . "
Nabber struggled for the right word ". . .
greedy. "

Tawl's expression
hardened. He looked Nabber straight in the eye. "Tyren wouldn't make an
agreement with Baralis without good reason. We don't know his true motives. He
could be luring Baralis into a trap, fooling him into giving Helch over to the
knighthood, trying to catch him out
Anything.
He could have said all the
things he did because he knew they were exactly the sort of things that Baralis
wanted to hear."

"But,
Tawl"

"No, Nabber.
You're wrong." Tawl went to touch Nabber's arm, but Nabber pulled away.
"I know Tyren. He helped me during a very bad time; saved my soul and my
life. He isn't the sort of man to become involved in ... in such an agreement
without due cause."

Nabber opened his
mouth to say something scathing, but Tawl's eyes were shining and his brow was
creased into many lines. He looked worried and upset Someone had tried to shoot
him earlier and would probably try again. Nabber suddenly felt very tired and
about as old as he'd ever felt in his life. Tawl was everything to him,
everything,
yet here he was upsetting him, telling him that the one man he respected
above all others was a rogue. It wasn't the night for it. He'd been wrong to
bring it up now, whilst Tawl was still shaken from the shooting, hurting from
patting with Melli, and nervous about the journey ahead. He had enough on his
mind without having to deal with the problem of an old friend turning bad.

Tawl looked at
Nabber, waiting for a response. Slowly Nabber nodded his head. "Come to
think of it, Tawl," he said. "You're right. Tyren could have been up
to anything in that yard. It was a dark might, I could hardly see a thing, both
men were whispering, and I only caught the final minutes of the meeting. Who
knows what went on before?"

Tawl looked at
Nabber closely while he was speaking. After a moment he reached out his hand
again. Nabber didn't pull away this time, instead letting the knight draw him
close to his chest. The knight smelled of good honest things, like sweat, bay
leaves, and horses. Unlike Tyren, there was no scented hair oil or slick
foreign fragrances to conceal the true smell of the man. Nabber hugged Tawl
hard. Although he would never, ever say it, he loved his friend very much.

A minute passed,
and them Tawl gently pulled away. "Come on," he said. "Let's go
and meet up with Jack. I'm not happy about him being on the path by
himself."

Sad, tired, but
not in the least bit doubtful that he'd dome the right thing, Nabber followed
Tawl down the trail.

The wood can only
warm where it touches, so much of her body is chilled. She closes her eyes to shut
out
their
dark and to replace it with some dark of her own. Now she only
wishes that she could stop her body from shaking with fear and make it shake
with cold, instead.

Even though she
knows tomorrow will be just the same, she tries very hard to go to sleep. Her
dreams scare her more than her surroundings, and she awakens in the middle of
the might. Sitting up, she draws her knees under her chin and pushes her lips
together very tightly. She will not cry. She is approaching her fourth month of
pregnancy, and she doesn't want the sound of her crying to be the first thing
her baby ever hears.

High atop the
palace, high above the lake, a woman stands alone in a room that has no angles,
only curves: a tower room with a door that is locked and bolted from the
outside.