Master and Fool (61 page)

It didn't help
matters that the city was now rumored to be riddled with Kylock's spies and
informants. Everyone was under suspicion of dissension: guildsmen, merchants,
petty gentry, and great lords. Men were so nervous of being accused of
treachery against the king that they preferred to stay home at night and talk
to their wives. Dull evenings were nothing compared to the threat of a public
hanging.

Mistress Greal
didn't really care what happened in the outside world. The palace was her home
now. She knew its every nook and cranny. All the servants feared her, the
noblemen regarded her with wary distaste, and Baralis and King Kylock treated
her as if she didn't exist. All of which suited Mistress Greal very nicely,
indeed. She was queen bee in this domain.

There was no need
for her to resort to her old plan of blackmail now. She was making an excellent
living from her predawn excursions, and as long as she continued to make
herself useful, she would be able to carry on. Besides, blackmailing Baralis
would not be a smart move. Now that Mistress Greal knew him better, she
realized that if she ever tried to use her knowledge of the duke's murder
against him, he'd kill her where she stood. The man had too much to lose.

Mistress Greal approached
the second door of the morning. The door to the very rich and now very dead,
exchancellor, Lord Gantry's chambers. Why risk her life with blackmail when
there were so many safer ways to make money?

Just as she was
about to turn the handle, she heard a noise coming from the other side.
Strange, just yesterday she had seen Crope carrying Lord Gantry's body down to
the lake. So who would be in his chamber now? His wife had apartments of her
own. Putting a bat ear to the wood, Mistress Greal took a thin listening
breath.

A vague mumbling
could be heard. There was something familiar about the voice ... Mistress Greal
sucked in the sound like a leach siphoning blood ... it was Crape!

She flung open the
door. "What are you doing in here, you hapless imbecile?"

Crope was sitting
by the great lord's desk. By his side was a bamboo cage, and on his wrist
perched a bright green bird with a hook shaped beak. Crape looked decidedly
guilty. "I was feeding the birdie, miss. It must be hungry now it's on its
own."

"Well, don't
just sit there looking at me," said Mistress Greal. "Put that ugly
green thing back in its cage and leave this room at once."

The bird squawked
loudly.

Crope stood up and
began fumbling with certain items on the desk, stuffing them into a little
painted box. Mistress Greal came forward and clamped down a proprietorial hand
on the box. "You leave this stuff alone, you great big robber. These
things aren't yours."

Crope became
immediately agitated. "They's mine, miss. I swears it." He pried
Mistress Greal's hand from the box and hugged it tight to his chest. "I
swears it."

Mistress Greal
snatched the box from him. Crope struggled to stop her, and the box went flying
into the air. The lid came off and the contents spilled over the desk. Crope
issued a low whine and scrambled to gather the contents together.

No one had a
faster eye than Mistress Greal. Even before Crape made it to the box, she had
taken a visual inventory of the contents: two baby teeth, a length of string, a
butterfly cocoon, a lock of hair tied with a blue ribbon, several pieces of
amber, some cheap jewelry, and an ancient-looking letter sealed with wax.

Mistress Greal
reached for the letter. As she did so, her eye skimmed across the jewelry.
Three brass owls hung from a brass chain. Mistress Greal felt her heart drop
toward her belly. Tiny onyx eyes, painted yellow beaks, the owl in the center a
little bigger than the other two: it was the very necklace she had given her
niece five years ago. The same one that Madame Thornypurse swore Corsella was
wearing the night she went missing. Mistress Greal remembered it well. She had
commissioned its making, switching her order from gold to brass when the price
quoted proved too high. Crape went for the necklace.

Mistress Greal
reached it first. "Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"It's
mine."

"No, it's
not. Now where did you get it?" Mistress Greal was shaking. She wrapped
the chain around her fist and brandished it at Crope. "If you don't tell
me right now, I'll let everyone know I found you thieving. They'll lock you in
a dungeon and keep you there for life."

Her words had a
profound effect on Crope. He brought both hands to his head and pressed them
against his ears. "No. Not lock up Crope," he mumbled, shaking his
head. "Not lock him up."

Mistress Greal
sniffed victory. "Yes. Lock him up and throw away the key. Lock him up so
deep he'll never see the sun again. Now, tell me where you got it."

"I didn't
steal it," screamed Crope. He was shaking his head furiously. "Master
said I could have it. I asked him, I swear."

"Stop
it!" shouted Mistress Greal. Crope's wailings were fraying her nerves.
"You got the necklace from Baralis-so who did he get it from?"

Crope stopped
whimpering the moment the question left her lips. "Don't know where master
got it from." With that said, he pressed his lips tightly together and
dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Hmm."
Mistress Greal regarded Crape for an instant. The lumbering idiot had clammed
up. She knew she wouldn't get anything else out of him. He was protecting his
master. "Go on," she said. "Get going. Take your stuff with
you."

Crope moved
swiftly to put the last of his things in his box. The green bird was pecking
its way through a fine silk curtain, and the huge servant lifted it up and
returned it to its cage.

"If you want
to keep coming here to feed that thing," said Mistress Greal, "you'd
better not mention our little chat to your master. Understand?"

Crope nodded and
left.

As soon as he was
gone, Mistress Greal brought the necklace to her lips and kissed it. Tiny acid
tears trickled down her cheek. Crape had gotten this from his master, who in
turn must have taken it from Corsella's throat. In Mistress Greal's mind that
meant only one thing: Baralis had murdered her niece.

"Tyren sold
my services, just the way he sold yours. Five hundred pieces of gold."

"Why should
we believe you, Tawl?" said Crayne, the leader. "You forsook your
oath and then you murdered Catherine of Bren."

"Who had the
most to gain from Catherine's murder?" said Jack, speaking up for the
first time. "Kylock, that's who. Tawl didn't gain a city. Tawl didn't gain
an army. He didn't poison Catherine, either. You all know that-poison is a
coward's weapon. And i defy anyone here to call Tawl a coward." Silence
followed Jack's words. Out of the comer of his eye, Jack spotted Tawl about to
speak, and with a small movement of his hand, he waved him down. Let the
knights think about what he'd said for a while.

Slowly, the men
began to move away from the campfire. Their faces were hard to read in the pale
dawn light. Their movements were subdued. Still no one spoke.

They had been
traveling north with the knights for eight days now. Every time they
stopped-for water, to rest the horses, to bring down game, or to sleep-Tawl
would go to work on them, slowly chipping away at Tyren's leadership. He had
been subtle at first, asking what role each of them had played in the capture
of Halcus, mentioning the decline of the knighthood's reputation, and bringing
up the growing number of deserters. At first the men had ignored him, but as
the days wore on, Tawl provoked them more and more. Now, having just told them
how Tyren forced Bevlin to pay for the knighthood's services, Tawl had finally
said something they couldn't ignore.

"Give them
time, Tawl," said Jack, after all the knights had walked away.
"You're not going to change their opinions that fast. They've spent too
long following Tyren to be converted overnight."

Tawl's blue eyes
were unusually dark. "I've got to keep trying, Jack. I've got to make
these men see the truth."

There was a raw
edge to Tawl's voice that made Jack sad. "Why is it so important? We don't
need these men. We could escape tonight you, me, and Nabber."

Tawl shook his
head. "No, Jack. I don't want to betray their trust. They've treated us
well-they let us ride freely during the day and don't bind us at night They're
men of honor. . . " he hesitated, his gaze lingering over the dying fire
". . . and I was one of them once."

That was it. Tawl
was one of them. He was a knight, and having traveled with him for many months
now, Jack knew just how deep his circles went.

"If I could
just get them to believe what I've told them." Tawl was speaking more to
himself than Jack. "If I could just make them see that there is another
choice."

"What is that
choice, Tawl?" Jack's voice was harder than he had intended.

The knight didn't
seem to notice. He smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I'm not sure yet. I
just know following Tyren isn't right."

Looking into Tawl's
eyes, Jack saw a man who was hurt and confused. After a moment he stood up. It
was an hour after first light and the knights were preparing to break camp.
Leaving Tawl to dampen the fire, Jack crossed over to where Andris was saddling
his horse. Of all the knights in the party Andris was the one who was the most
sympathetic to them: Tawl had been a year above him at Valdis, and Jack got the
impression that Andris had once looked up to the older knight.

"It's getting
colder all the time," said Jack, stroking Andris' horse. "I saw snow
on the far hills yesterday."

"We'll reach
those hills by the end of the day." Andris bent down to buckle the girth.
He had long, light brown hair and fine northern features. A jagged scar ran
from just below his left eye down to his neck. "This time tomorrow we'll
all be stiff with cold."

"I don't mind
snow and ice. It's the wind that sets me shivering."

"Aye. I know
all about the wind. I'm originally from eastern Halcus, and they have winds
there that can blow the sense right from a man's head."

"I
know," said Jack. Andris looked up at him, and he continued speaking:
"I traveled through eastern Halcus in midwinter, and I might not have lost
my senses, but I lost a good layer of skin. The wind was a demon."

"You from the
kingdoms?"

"Yes,
Harvell. I spent some time in Halcus, though. It's a beautiful place in
spring." As he spoke, Jack remembered the morning he and Tarissa had run
off to the little pool ringed with daffodils. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

"What was
your business there?" Andris began to brush out his filly's mane. Jack
noticed the tip of his left index finger was missing.

"I had no
business, really. I was running away. I found people in Halcus who were willing
to take me in. Good people." Jack took a deep breath. "And some bad
ones as well."

Andris stopped
what he was doing. "What did you come over here to say to me, Jack? I
don't think you really want to stand here and chat about Halcus."

Jack respected the
man's directness. It was time to come clean. "I came to tell you about
Tawl."

"What about
him?"

"He didn't
forsake the knighthood, not really. Not in his heart. Even now he's still doing
Bevlin's work. We just came from Larn--we destroyed the temple there. No more
stones, no more bindings, no more lives served up to God." Andris shook
his head. "Larn is an old wives' tale. There's no such place."

"I've been to
the island. I've seen the seers with my own eyes. My mother was born
there." Jack's voice was grim. "Don't tell me it doesn't exist. Go
ask Crayne or Borlin; they'll know about it." Jack was taking a guess that
the two eldest knights in the party would have heard of Larn; their timeworn,
deeply lined faces told of countless sights seen and dark tales told around
campfires at dusk.

Andris looked
around the camp. The fire was dead, the bedrolls were up, most of the knights
were already on their horses. His gaze returned to Jack. "Why are you
telling me this?"

"I'm telling
you because I know Tawl wouldn't. He'd never speak out for himself. He's too
modest for that. You were with him at Valdis-you know what I'm saying is
true."

Andris mounted his
horse. "So what's your point?"

"My point is
this: Tawl's not a liar, he's not a murderer, he's the bravest man I've ever
met. The knighthood is part of his soul. I've been with him for months now, and
up until twelve days ago he refused to hear a bad word said against Tyren. He
loved the man like a father. And now he's learnt the truth he feels betrayed.
He's hurting inside. I know how he feels, and I think you do, too. Tyren's
betrayed all of you."

A second or two
passed. Andris looked down at Jack, his gray northern eyes the same color as
the sky. Kicking his horse forward, he said, "I'll talk to the others at
midday."

They made good
time that morning. It was cold enough to harden the mud, and as the temperature
dropped so did the wind. The mountains were close now. The party was to the
southwest of them, their peaks shrouded in mist.

The farther north
they traveled, the more excited Jack became. A subtle pressure had started
building in his stomach the moment he landed in Marls. Every day the knot grew
a little tighter. He felt as if he was being reeled in, pulled forward to Bren,
to Baralis. To Kylock. Things were different now. Learning about his mother's
identity had made him stronger. It was as if he had claimed her strength along
with her true name: Aneska. It was a charm to ward off evil. Whatever happened
in the coming weeks, nothing could take that away from him. He knew who he was,
where he had come from, and what he was fated to do.