Master and Fool (62 page)

There were still
things he didn't know or understand: who his father was, why he had to destroy
more than just Larn, and what the link was between Marod's prophecy and his
mother. He could live without those answers, though. For the time being at
least.

Now, today, and
every day until they reached Bren, he had to prepare himself to face Kylock.
The king had to die. There was no other alternative. The northern empire would
crumble without a leader. Baralis, with all his cunning and special skills,
wouldn't be able to hold it together once his figurehead was gone. Kylock had
the birthright to rule the kingdoms and the marriage right to rule Bren. If he
was assassinated, the two powers would spring apart like a severed bowstring.
There was no natural connection between them, no history to bind them close:
Kylock was the only link. If he was murdered, Bren and the kingdoms would stand
alone once more, and the empire they held between them would disintegrate into
its separate parts.

Jack had thought
long and hard about what he would do when he finally arrived in Bren. There was
no need to deal with Baralis, no need to wage a war. Kylock's death was all
that counted.

And he, Jack of
the Four Kingdoms and Larn, former baker's boy and scribe, was the one man who
could bring it about. He and Kylock were connected, and the time was coming
close to sever the thread.

Tawl had his own
concerns: the knighthood, Melli, and whatever ghosts lay in his past. Jack
would help him as far as he could, but there was a limit --a point when only he
and Kylock mattered and the nearer they got to Bren, the closer that limit
came.

Jack glanced over
at Tawl. The knight was riding close to Nabber's mule. He caught Jack's gaze
and offered a silent salute. Jack saluted back. They both knew the way things
were.

Midday came,
cloudy and cold with gentle but bitter winds. Crayne decided to stop along the
banks of a slowmoving stream. "When it's as cold as this," he said,
in his blunt, soldier's voice, "there's little point looking for tree
cover."

All morning they
had been traveling through snatches of woodland separated by grassy hills and
valleys. Everywhere Jack looked there was water. streams, pools, scampering
brooks. Some of the smaller pools were just starting to frost over, and greasy
plates of ice could be seen floating around their edges. For the most part the
water was flowing free and the sound of it rushing, tinkling, and dripping
filled the midday air.

Jack watched as
Andris approached Crayne. The two men exchanged a few words. Crayne then
beckoned Borlin over. Although he was some distance from the three men, Jack
could see Andris' lips shaping the word
Larn.
Borlin nodded. More words
were exchanged. Two other knights came over to join them.

Jack rode over to Tawl
and Nabber.

"What's going
on, Jack?" asked Tawl, lifting Nabber down from his mule. "What did
you say to Andris earlier?"

"The truth. I
told him we destroyed the temple at Larn."

"You
destroyed the temple, Jack. Not me."

"No. We both
did."

Tawl didn't reply.
He turned to Nabber and said, "Open up," and peered down the pocket's
throat. Next he felt for lumps under his jawline and then clamped a palm over
his brow. He seemed pleased with what he found. "You're getting
better."

"How come I
don't feel no better, then?"

Tawl smiled.
"Because I didn't put any brandy in your holk this morning. Now go and he
down for a while. Take my extra blanket and make sure you cover yourself well.
I'll be over with some hot food soon."

Nabber looked at
Tawl and then Jack. "I know when I'm not wanted. I might be sick, but I'm
not stupid." He began to walk toward the water's edge. "Make sure you
bring me plenty of cheese."

As soon as he was
out of earshot, Tawl said, "Jack, I don't need you to fight my battles for
me. I can deal with these men on my own."

"I know you
can, Tawl. But we haven't got much time. If they're not going to help us, then
we have to escape."

"You think
I'm holding you up." It was not a question. "That's not why I spoke
to Andris."

Tawl managed half
a smile. He brought up his hand and laid it on Jack's shoulder. "I
know."

The two men looked
over toward Andris. All the knights had gathered around him, and judging from
the amount of noise they were making, a heated discussion was taking place.

Tawl took a step
forward. "I'll go and talk to them."

"No,"
said Jack. "Let them come to you." He reached over and took his flask
from his pack. "Come on, let's get some water."

Tawl followed him
down to the edge of the stream. Nabber was close by. Bundled in a heavy blanket,
he was leaning over the water looking for skimmers. "Where does all this
water come from, Tawl?" he said, holding a pebble up to the light.
"Ain't seen so much wet stuff since we took our leave of Marls."

"It runs down
off the Divide," said Tawl, dipping his flask in the stream. "All
these little streams eventually run into the Silbur."

"Is the river
close by?" asked Jack. Everyone in the Known Lands had heard of the mighty
River Silbur.

Tawl shrugged.
"About five leagues west of us. It runs along the base of the foothills.
It's current is so strong it actually cuts a path through the Divide."

"It runs
through the mountains?"

"Yes. A
hundred leagues south of Valdis." Tawl put the cap on his flask.
"Tomorrow we should pass close to Lake Ormon. It's the deepest lake in the
Known Lands. It's where the River Viralay joins the Silbur. The Viralay flows
northward through the mountains until it hits the lake." As he spoke
Tawl's voice grew quieter. His eyes focused on a distant point across the stream.
"I followed the Viralay's path my first year at Valdis. I had to make it
to the mountain shrine to gain my first circle. I'll never forget my first
sight of the falls."

"The
falls?"

"The Faldara
Falls. The Viralay drops down from the mountains and into Lake Ormon. It's the
place where Valdis . . . " Tawl's voice trailed away. He was crouching by
the water's edge, and he began to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Abruptly he stood up.

A warning pulse
beat in Jack's temple. "What happened at the Faldara Falls?" he
cried, suddenly afraid. Something dangerous and unnamable shone in Tawl's eyes.

The knight began
to walk back to the campsite. "Valdis earned the faith of his first
followers."

Kylock dropped his
gaze to Melli's stomach. "How much longer?" He was so close Melli
could smell him. A faint sulfurous odor escaped from his lips.

"Five
weeks," she lied. It was more like three.

Kylock made a
small clicking noise with his tongue and turned his back on her. He had let
himself into her chamber only a few minutes earlier. Melli had been almost glad
of his arrival. Mistress Greal had failed to make her daily visit, and Melli
found she missed the usual clashing of tongues.

Melli moved closer
to Kylock. She had her eye on his knife. She was determined to have it in her
stash before the visit was through. "Does five weeks fail to meet with
your approval, sire?"

The clicking sound
came again. Kylock swept around to face her. "Women are such lying
whores." He grabbed her by the throat. "Tell me the truth this time.
How much longer before you give birth?"

Melli felt the
baby kicking. She tried to take a breath, but Kylock's thumb was pressed
against her windpipe. Even though she had witnessed Kylock's mood swings many
times before, they never failed to frighten her. She knew her best course of
action would be to placate him: to beg, to apologize, to admit her guilt. He
liked to see her sorry. Her mind was on his knife, though. She could feel it
pressing against her side.

Moving her right
hand down toward his hip, Melli grasped hold of the hilt. As her fingers closed
around the leather binding, she raised her left heel and stamped down hard on
Kylock's foot. He jerked back, and Melli pulled the knife from its sheath.

Before she'd had
chance to hide the knife behind her back, Kylock's fist smashed into her face.
Pain exploded in her jaw. Her vision blurred. Without thinking, she brought the
knife forward and slashed at Kylock's arm. The blade cut through linen and
flesh. Even as the blood welled from the cut, Melli knew she'd made a terrible
mistake.

Kylock looked down
at his arm and then up at her. A faint smile was on his lips. He shook his
head. "You shouldn't have done that, Melliandra."

Melli was scared
now. Everything was happening too fast. She brought her left hand down to
protect her stomach, and then dropped her knife hand down to her side.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was doing."

"Oh, I think
you did. I think you knew exactly what you were doing." Kylock lunged for
the knife. Instinct made Melli raise the blade. The edge cut deep into Kylock's
palm. Blood poured from the gash.

"Get away
from me!" she cried.

Kylock did as he
was told. Very slowly he began to back away.

Melli's heart was
beating fast. The knife shook in her hand. She tried to calm herself; she was
in charge, she had the knife, Kylock would do what
she
wanted. Then she
looked into his eyes.

They were as blank
as stone.

Melli dropped the
knife. With both hands she hugged her belly.
No, Borc. No,
she mouthed.
She had seen that look before. The day Jack turned and faced the mercenaries
his eyes had looked exactly the same.

A metallic taste
reached her lips. A warm breeze touched her cheek. The light went out. And then
a band of solid air hit her full in the stomach. It was like being smashed with
a metal bar. She was lifted off her feet and slammed against the chamber wall.
Her back cracked. Her head hit stone. Something warm gushed down her thigh.

Melli slumped to
the floor. The chamber around her was moving. Her face was burning up. Her
skirt and legs were wet Kylock stood above her, smiling.

"That should
teach you not to lie."

Melli barely heard
him. She barely saw him walk away. Deep, heaving contractions gripped her
stomach. A terrible, cold fear gripped her soul. The one arm she was capable of
moving came up around her belly. And the baby within shifted downward like a
dead weight.

Oh, no. Please.
NO!

The night was
filled with pain. Her own screams filtered down to her through layer upon layer
of suffering. Everything was red. She opened her eyes, she closed her eyes, and
all she saw was red.

Her body stopped
being hers and became an instrument of the child. Violent, sickening
contractions tore through her abdomen. Hot blood-flushes plumed up her neck and
face.

Her chest was a
clawing hollow; it was as if her heart and her lungs didn't exist. The muscles
in her stomach were taut with straining, like ropes lashed around her belly.
The center of the pain was lower, deeper, nestled between her hips. Flesh,
muscle, and ligaments were stretched to the tearing point. Melli felt as if she
was being split in two.

And then there
were the other pains. Little separate pockets lurking within the whole. Right
arm throbbing, dead at the wrist. Head pounding against the stone. A knifing
sting in the back, and the skin on her face scalding in the cool air.

At first there was
no one. Melli was alone in the redtinged darkness, screaming. Then came men
with lights. A cushion was placed beneath her head, a blanket over her belly.
Something warm dripped between her lips and she heard the tear of fabric as her
dress was slit. Melli looked up. The figures looked like ghosts around a grave.
Three of them now-the last one an avenging spirit who banished the other two.

Melli felt a slap
upon her cheek.

"Take a grip
of yourself, you little slut." The figure dumped a cup of cold water over
Melli's face. "And stop that infernal screaming."

Melli stopped
screaming and started choking. Water splashed down her throat and into her
windpipe. She raised her head up from the cushion to clear her lungs. Pain
splintered her spine.

"Stay where
you are, missy. You're not moving anywhere."

Melli actually
laughed. Move? Mistress Greal was being overly optimistic.

If Mistress Greal
slapped, kicked, or drenched her again, Melli didn't feel it. A massive,
muscle-tensing spasm racked her body. Her chest was a vacuum threatening to
collapse. Spirals of pain caught her in their snare. She felt as if a
sharp-toothed dog was tearing away at her abdomen. Above her the light source
bobbed and swayed. Mistress Greal's toothless face glowed like an apparition.
Spiny claws fingered Melli's belly, prodding, pushing, scratching.

"Bite on
this." Something hard and thumb-sized was thrust into Melli's mouth. Rough
and wooden, its needle edges tore at her gums. Melli bit down on it anyway. Bit
down hard and fast, puncturing the wood with flinty, salivaglazed teeth.

Another spasm hit.
It wrenched the middle of her being, twisting muscles and organs and flesh.
Melli tasted blood. She smelled her child. It was on its way.

Melli prayed to
Borc. She prayed for her father's luck.

"What did you
do to her?" Baralis willed himself to stay calm. He reminded himself he
was addressing his king. "What happened, sire?"

Kylock was
lounging on a cushioned bench in his chambers. His face was pale, his eyes
unnaturally bright. A young girl sat cowering in a chair in the corner. Her
pale hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing a linen nightgown.
Baralis noticed that both her arms were behind her back.

A jeweled goblet
full of wine rested in Kylock's hand. "Nothing happened that you need
worry yourself over, Baralis. I merely taught the Lady Melliandra a
lesson."