Master and Fool (79 page)

"I'll sleep
if you tell me what's going on," she said. "We're planning to raid
Tyren's camp before dawn." Melli was shocked. "So soon? The men have
only just arrived."

"I know. I
would have preferred to give them a full night's sleep, but we've got no
choice. Now that Kylock and Tyren know we're here we have to move fast. We've
already given them a day to prepare themselves." Tawl came and sat beside
her. Melli noticed how tired he looked. "If we're going to put your son in
his rightful place, we need to win the support of the knights. We need their
manpower, their resources-without them we haven't got a chance. We can't enter
the city with less than a hundred men; it would be suicide."

"You don't
have to enter the city." Melli didn't want Tawl leaving her so soon.
"We could just run away. Head south-"

"No."
Tawl's voice was harsh. "I won't do that. Too many people have died, too
many lives have been destroyed. I can't just run away."

"What if you
get killed? You're in no state to fight--your sword arm's wounded. It's been
dragging at your side all day."

Tawl seemed
surprised that she'd noticed. He made a circular movement with his shoulder.
"It will be all right."

"What about
me and the baby, though?" As always, when Melli was worried she became
angry. "Will we be all right if you don't come back? Or do you think
you've fulfilled your obligation now that you've saved us once?" Seeing
Tawl flinch at her words, Melli went to apologize, but Tawl spoke first.
"Borlin and a few chosen men are supposed to stay here with you, and if
things don't go well at the camp, you'll be taken straight to Ness, and then
moved south from there." Tawl leant forward. "But I'll change that if
you're worried. I'll stay here at the inn. My first obligation will always be
to you and the baby. You must believe that" Melli suddenly felt out of her
depth. There was something in Tawl's voice she couldn't understand, something
almost desperate. She knew she had to let him go, but she didn't understand
why. Taking a deep breath, she said, "The baby and I will be fine.
Borlin's a good man. I'll feel safe with him watching over us while you're
gone."

Tawl gave her a
softly knowing smile. "You are the most remarkable woman I have ever
known."

Melli returned the
smile with a similar one of her own. "When you get back, I expect you to
tell me the real reason why you had to go."

"When I get
back I'll tell you everything." He kissed her lightly on the cheek and led
her up to bed, and when she woke in the morning he was gone.

Tawl counted the
tents and the campfires. It was the last hour of darkness before dawn and the
world was arranging itself into forms. Ten regular tents, one surgeon's tent,
the command tent, and Tyren's tent could be seen amidst the glow of the fires.

"My guess is there's
three hundred men in all," hissed Andris.

Tawl nodded. He
and Andris were southeast of the camp, hiding in the cover of a small copse of
trees. The city of Bren was a dark mass on the horizon and the mountains of the
Divide were just so many shadows emerging from the night. Snow was falling:
lazy, weightless flakes that were borne sideways by the wind. It was very cold.

Tawl glanced at
the sky to the east. "How long do you think it will be before the men are
in place?"

"Forty
minutes," said Andris. "Mafrey and Corvis will signal when they're
ready."

"Let's hope
they're both ready at the same time, then. As soon as one of them lights up a
torch, the knights will know something's wrong." Tawl was tense. He wished
he'd had longer to plan the raid. He didn't know enough about the camp and the
number and makeup of the knights. He felt he was leading Maybor's men in
blindly.

"Follis and
the two Highwall archers will be in position soon. They should be able to take
out the watch the minute the signal is given."

"Will three
archers be enough, though? How many knights are normally set to watch a camp
this size?" Tawl had never campaigned with the knighthood, and he knew
little about their camps.

"It's hard to
say. Maybe twenty. Sometimes they use squires or first-year initiates,
sometimes knights. It depends on what the dangers are." Andris' voice
betrayed tension of his own. Since Crayne's death, he was in charge of the
party, and his first mission as leader was not only reckless, it was treason. He
was leading his men against Tyren.

An owl hoot
startled them both. Tawl looked at Andris. "Come on, let's get back to the
others. The signal's less than half an hour away now and I want a good head
start."

They had less than
ninety men in all. Mafrey and Corvis had thirty apiece and had ridden over to
the west side of the camp: Corvis to the northwest, Mafrey to the southwest
Once in position they were to spread out and encircle the north, west, and
south of the camp. Andris' men were due to head in from the east on their
signal. Tawl was going to take a handful of men-

Gervhay and four
Highwall swordsmen--into the camp first, and attempt to take Tyren's tent.

Twenty men waited
in the dark behind the grove. Tawl didn't know most of their names. They were
lean from seven days of hard riding and tough from living on the mountains.

By all rights they
should have been tired-most had only had two or three hours rest-but one look
into their dark, weather-beaten faces was enough to see that sleep was the last
thing on their minds. They wanted revenge.

The journey to the
southern plains of Bren took under three hours, and for the last of those hours
the Highwall troops had ridden past the decomposing corpses of their
countrymen. Kylock hadn't even bothered to bury the bodies. Five thousand men
left for the weather and the carrionpickers to take their toll. It sickened
Tawl, but it had an entirely different effect on Maybor's men: it enraged them.
Their friends, their brothers, their comrades, and their leaders had been denied
the right to an honorable end.

Approaching them
now, Tawl knew in his heart they would fight to the death. Their eyes were
bright with fury. "Gervhay," hissed Tawl, dismounting his horse.
"Are you ready?"

Gervhay nodded
enthusiastically. "Aye, Tawl. We're all set to go."

Tawl smiled at
him. The young knight hadn't been branded with the second circle long: the skin
was still raised around the mark. "I hope you've strung your bow tight for
the cold."

Gervhay grinned.
"Borlin warned me you'd state the obvious."

Both men laughed.
Tawl bent down and raked a fistful of cold earth off the ground. It was too
cold to stick well when he rubbed it into his face, so he spit a couple of
times to soften it to mud. He was pleased to note that the four Highwall
swordsmen had already done the same. Seeing what he was doing, Gervhay followed
suit. The young knight covered his hands and his neck for good measure.

Tawl turned to
Andris. "Take care, my friend. I trust I'll see you later just before you
save my hide."

Andris clasped his
arm. Two days ago he would have smiled at such a remark. Today he was simply
grave. "You've got half an hour of darkness left. Use it well."

Looking at Andris'
fair northern face, Tawl suddenly realized the full extent of what he was
asking him and his men to do. They were about to break the founding tenet of
the knighthood: loyalty to one's leader.. Tawl's mind clouded with doubt: was
he asking too much? Was it fair to involve other knights in his own personal
war? He opened his mouth to speak, to offer Andris a chance to withdraw, but
the knight forestalled him with a blessing.

"Borc be with
you," he said.

Something about
the manner in which he spoke made Tawl wonder if Andris had guessed what he was
thinking. Glancing quickly up into his light gray eyes, Tawl saw that he was
right. The knight's gaze was as firm as a warning. "Go," he said.
"The time has long passed for doubts." Tawl bowed his head. First
Melli, now Andris-what had he done to deserve such selfless gifts? Briefly he
remembered the demon in the lake: perhaps one day if he was lucky he might be
worthy of them all.

Gervhay called
from behind and Tawl raised a hand in parting to Andris, then turned and walked
to the west.

Strange dreams
hounded him like packs of muzzled dogs. They barked, they harried, they snapped
at his ankles, but never once did they manage to bite.

Baralis knew
warnings when he saw them-even now, with a body driven beyond the limits of
exhaustion, his mind was as sharp as a tack. Dreams held messages and
persistent dreams held the most potent messages of all. What was wrong? What
had he overlooked? What had he left undone? Normally he would turn and face the
hounds of chance, look them in the eye and demand to know their meaning. But
such things demanded physical as well as mental strength, and he had nothing,
absolutely nothing, to spare.

The drawing
against Jack had brought him within touching distance of death. When he saw
Jack emerge from behind the curtain he knew he had to destroy him. No matter
that only moments earlier he had spent the better part of his strength killing
the two knights standing guard; he had to reach within himself and find one
drawing more.

And what a drawing
it had been! Keen as an assassin's blade, dense as a defending wall. Split
seconds were his accomplices, expectation was his friend. He spotted the enemy
before the enemy spotted him. It hadn't been a contest of strength or skill, it
had been a matter of time. He hadn't allowed Jack the chance to defend
himself-his arrow had already left the bow.

Yet such a loosing
had its price, and he was paying the cost of it now. Unable to move a muscle,
he lay in his bed like a drooling invalid while Grope attended his needs.
Strength would return in a few days, and if anything should happen
unexpectedly, there were always potions to bridge the gap. In the meantime, he
took his normal recuperative medicines-mineral-rich infusions and
sorcery-enhanced drugs-rope drizzling them between his lips while he slept.

Baralis' senses
were weak, but they were still on alert. He was half-expecting to feel
something from Kylock: a drawing generated from frustration or rage. The king
would be taking Melliandra's rescue badly. He had secret plans for Maybor's
daughter--plans that Baralis could only guess at and to have her stolen away
from under his feet might have sent him deeper into madness. So far there had
been nothing, though. No great lashing out, no palace-shaking tantrum, nothing
to indicate a sudden flare of emotion.

Dimly, Baralis was
aware of Grope moving around the room. He tried to force himself awake: he
needed to discover if his servant knew anything about Kylock's mental state.

Up through the
brittle layers of unconsciousness he went, cracking the fragile sheets like
footsteps on thin ice. The hounds were still behind him, barking out their
warnings, foaming at the mouth. One layer of sleep to go, one glassy,
wafer-thin layer that bordered the waking world. He pushed against it with his
mind and it shattered into slivers.

First he saw his
chamber and Grope, and then he spied the reflection in the glass. The
reflection of his dream. The hounds full on.

A single image
flashed like sunlight upon a lake. And that was exactly what it was: a lake, a
dead body, a drawing that worked beyond its time. It was Skaythe.

Baralis blinked
and the image fractured into so many streams of light.

"Master,
master. Can you hear me?" Grope loomed over the bed, hastily stuffing his
wooden box in his tunic. Baralis couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw tears
in Crope's eyes. He had neither the time nor energy to ponder their meaning:
the dream was what counted now. Even Kylock could wait. "Grope," he
whispered, his voice a lead weight upon his tongue. "Where is Jack's
body?"

"Down
belowstairs, master. In the dungeon. Locked away."

Baralis let out a
sigh of relief. "Listen carefully. I want you to destroy it. Fire up the
forge they use for heating extra water when the court is full. Fill it with as
many logs as it will take, stoke it to a frenzy, and then throw the body upon
it. You mustn't leave until you see the bones turn black. Do you
understand?"

Crape nodded
slowly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then nodded once more
instead. "Yes, master," he murmured after a moment. "Until the
bones turn black."

"Good. Now
bring me my medicines and warm me some holk, and then go down to the cellar and
get started." Baralis watched Grope hurry away before closing his eyes to
rest.

The image of
Skaythe's dead body returned to him with the dark. The hounds had sent the
vision as a reminder to take no chances with Jack. Skaythe was weak,
inexperienced, yet his last drawing had lingered on past his death, seeping
from his body into the lake. If even he could manage that, then how much more
could Jack do? Of course there was a chance that Jack's last drawing hadn't
been full formed-after all, there was so little time-but it never hurt to take
precautions.

Baralis knew
better than to ignore his dreams.

Tawl spied the
first of the watches: two men, neither of
them
looked like knights.
"Gervhay, can you take them from here?"

Gervhay shook his
head. "If I miss at this angle, there's a chance the arrows will go
straight into the tent. I'll head north as far as those bushes on the rise and
take a couple of shots from there. That way we'll stop any stray arrows from
going wild."

Tawl nodded.
"Keep your head low. We'll head forward and wait for you by the
ditch." When Tawl looked around to confirm it, Gervhay was already gone,
bellying over the ground, his bow slung over his back like the wing of a
dragonfly.

A quick glance at
the eastern sky revealed the gray blush of dawn. The snow clouds would slow
down the light, but at most they had twenty minutes of darkness left.