Master and Fool (84 page)

A gentle push set
the stone in motion. Warmth, light, and freshness flooded in through the
breach. Jack was dazzled. Lulled into a half-dream by the warm shift of his
blood in the darkness, it was like being forced out of bed in the middle of the
night.

Straightaway, he
knew it wasn't the same entrance as before: there was no curtain to mask the
movement of the stone. Jack stepped out into a corridor. His foot landed on
something soft: a silken rug.

"Argh!"

Jack whipped
around to see where the cry had come from, and he came face-to-face with a
woman dressed in green satin. They stood and looked at each other for a moment,
and then the woman took a screaming breath.
"Gua--
"

Jack clamped his
hand over her mouth. His senses felt as if they were on overload: for the past
hour he had lived on the barest minimum of input, and now the real world seemed
too brazen for him to bear. Trembling, unsure of what to do, worried that
someone would come, Jack dragged the kicking woman into the passage. Even as he
brought his knife to her throat, he knew he couldn't kill her. Grabbing at the
fabric of her dress, he tore a strip good for gagging. The woman's gray eyes
were large with terror. There was something about the slant of her cheekbones
that reminded him of Tarissa.

"I'm not
going to hurt you," he said softly. "I just want you to be quiet for
a while." He had balled a wad of fabric in his fist, ready to stuff into
her mouth, but now he reduced the mass by half-he didn't want to risk
suffocating her.

As he worked, Jack
was keenly aware of minutes passing. Once the gag was in place, he tied the
woman's hands behind her back, using the stiff ribbons from her hair. "I'm
sorry about this," he said, pulling the knot tight. "But I've got no
time to do anything else." The woman simply glared back at him. Jack
stepped out into the well-lit corridors of the palace and dragged the
stone-clad panel shut. Glancing to either side, he made a brief scan of the
passageway. It was no more than thirty paces long, with two doors leading off
to the right. The rug trailed to an end just beyond the second door, but in the
opposite direction it ran straight along until another, more elaborate, rug
intercepted it at right angles. Jack felt for the telltale pull in his blood.
Weaker now, the incident with the woman and the bright light in the corridor
had disturbed the fine balance of his senses.

What was left was
just enough to confirm his best guess: Kylock's chamber lay the way of the
elaborately woven rug. Jack's heart beat fast as he raced along the passage.
Kylock was very close now.

Reaching the
comer, he slowed down his pace, bringing his body close against the wall. With
breath wheezing in his throat and knife shaking in his hand, Jack stuck his
head around the corner. Another corridor, a little longer than the last, with
only one door to mark its length. A magnificent double door, torches to either
side, guards to the side of the torches. An entrance fit for a king.

Jack's glance
raked over the two guards. Both men had swords at their waists and halberds in
their hands. It wasn't going to be an easy fight.

Or was it?

Closing his eyes,
Jack tried to concentrate on the metal of their weapons. His thoughts skimmed
through the air to the space around the door. He felt the quick buzz of loaded
particles, perceived the unique vibration of the steel. It was like being in
Stillfox's cottage all over again: feeling the substance, entering the
substance, changing its nature from within. Jack's thoughts fell into vibration
with the metal, and slowly he slipped inside. He tried to draw on his power to
warm the metal, but there was no feeling of anger, no sudden rage to use as a
spark. Without the push of strong emotions, he had nothing with which to kindle
the flame.

In his mind, Jack
searched for the old image of Rovas touching Tarissa. It came to him as quickly
as always-the smuggler's hand reaching out to encircle Tarissa's waist but this
time it didn't ring true. He saw it for what it was: a false product of his own
hate. Tarissa would never willingly submit to Rovas' caresses-he knew that now.
Time and distance had allowed him to see things more clearly. Tarissa had never
been out to snare him: her love had been true. He should have known that the
day he left her, when she'd gone down on her knees and begged to come with
him....

Jack shook his
head. He had been such a fool.

Shame at his own
pride swelled like heat within his body. He couldn't be angry with Tarissa and
he wouldn't use her image like a firelighter uses a spark.

There were other
things to get angry about. Baralis lying in wait to kill him.

Kylock's forces
slaughtering thirty women, then leaving their bodies to rot in a ditch.

Melli locked up in
a room for half a year, her baby torn away at birth.

The power began to
flow through Jack. His stomach contracted and his skull grew tight around his
brain. With saliva running like molten metal on his tongue, Jack switched his
thoughts to the enemies' blades.

The air around the
weapons shimmered, then the cool silver of the steel flared to hot red. There
was no transition, no gradual change, the shift happened in less than a blink
of an eye. The guards screamed, both dropping their halberds immediately. Burnt
hands dropped down to belt buckles as swords burnt into thighs.

Jack stopped the
power. The stench of hot metal, burnt flesh, and scorched fabric wafted up his
nose on a wave of warm air. Dazed for a moment, he leant against the wall for
support. One of the guards began to run down the corridor in Jack's direction.
Jack forced his protesting body into action and leapt out into the man's path.

The guard was an
easy target: defenseless, injured, and unprepared, he barely had time to
register Jack's blade before it slipped through his ribs to his heart. Jack
freed his knife and let the man drop to the floor. The second guard had witnessed
the scene and now took flight in the opposite direction. Jack raced after him.
Seconds later he pulled the guard down, tackling his legs from behind. A quick
thrust into the back of his lungs finished him off.

Jack stood up. He
was sweating and heaving like a madman. He felt mad, too: scared out of his
wits and exuberant in one.

Looking down the
length of the corridor, he decided not to waste time hiding the bodies. Anyone
could come along at any moment, and he had to get to Kylock before someone raised
the alarm.

As he walked the
few steps to the towering double doors, Jack wiped the blood from his knife. He
tried to stop his hand from trembling, but although his body obeyed him in most
things, it wouldn't obey him in this. So it was a shaking right hand he raised
to the latch, and arms weak at the elbows that pushed against the door.

"Follow me.
We must get to the nobles' quarters at once." Baralis felt the waves of
sorcery roll over him, raising the hairs on his flesh, drying the saliva on his
teeth.

"But Jack was
in the cellar."

"Well, he
isn't there now." And he wasn't escaping, either. He was above them,
drawing his special brand of sorcery close to the very heart. Jack had come for
Kylock. Every nerve cell in Baralis' body confirmed it.

Marod's prophecy
was unraveling before him.

Master and servant
began to retrace their steps. Already halfway down to the kitchens, it would
cost them precious minutes to make their way up through the palace. Baralis
cursed his own stupidity-he should have gone straight to Kylock's chamber from
the start. He just hadn't thought. He had assumed that Jack would try to
escape, and had planned to lure him into staying by sending Crope ahead with a
little something to catch his eye.

Reaching into his
robe, Baralis pulled out the fake letter. Just as he was about to crumple it in
his fist, he stopped himself. Perhaps a use might be found for his hasty decoy
after all. Even if it only managed to distract Jack's thoughts for a
quarter-instant, it was well worth the keeping.

Jack found himself
in a small hallway with a flight of steps leading up to a second set of doors.
The place was quiet and cool with a torch burning low, and Jack took a moment
to calm himself on the stairs.

Strange, but his
sense of being led had gone; his blood was no longer pulling him forward and
his skin rested slack upon the bone. It was as if their job was done.

On his own now,
Jack climbed the stairs, took the second door, and entered Kylock's chambers. A
dimly lit reception room met his eyes. Everything looked perfect, as if no one
had ever stepped upon the silken carpets, or sat upon the cushioned chairs.
Even the papers and charts on the desk looked as if they had never been
touched. Everything was placed in neat stacks. There was something about the
room, some tiny little discrepancy, that jarred at Jack's senses. Only as he
crossed over to the door on the far side did he realize what it was.

All the
furniture-the chests, the chairs, the benches, and tables-was arranged in lines
to form a grid. The armrest of one chair was perfectly aligned with the armrest
of another chair on the far side of the room. Table edges mirrored each other,
chests were turned lengthwise and placed equal distances apart. Jack had the
distinct feeling that if he had a measuring line upon him, he'd find all the
lengths and angles exactly the same.

A cold chill ran
over his cheeks, and he moved quickly on. A pair of doors waited on the far
side of the room, and he picked one at random. The handle was cool as he turned
it, so cool it raised goosebumps upon his hand and forearm. Darkness enveloped
him as he stepped inside the room. It clung, it seeped, it shrouded. The door
clicked shut behind him.

"Who dares
disturb me unannounced?"

For a brief
moment, Jack thought the voice was Baralis': the rich and beautifully modulated
timbre, the undertone of power. But there was a filigree of difference-a subtle
thread of wildness that marked it all its own.

"Name
yourself." There was no fear in the voice, simply authority used to being
obeyed.

Jack tried to
pinpoint the source. The darkness seemed to be created from more than lack of
light, it had texture and thickness and movement. Jack imagined himself
breathing it in: black smoke curling down to his lungs.

"Are you a
demon come to try me? Step forward and take your chance."

Jack was unnerved
by Kylock's calmness. He had expected many things, but never relaxed
encouragement. His grip on his knife wavered-sweat oiling the shift. Realizing
Kylock had him at a disadvantage, Jack tried hard to search for forms in the
darkness. Spots of light danced before his eyes. When they cleared, he thought
he saw a half-circle of pale light straight ahead.

"Come. I am
not afraid."

Jack was. Power
lay in this room. Raw terrible power. As he stepped forward, he began to shape
a drawing. It was difficult to know what to focus on, or how much power to use,
or where to aim the blow. He might miscalculate and miss Kylock altogether,
leaving himself open to an attack. Better by far to use a knife. Instinct warned
him to keep something in reserve, though, to hold his power close in case
Kylock lashed out.

The pale fan of
light was clearer now. Jack
willed
Kylock to speak again so he could
focus in on his position. Nothing. The only sound in the room was the pumping of
Jack's heart. Then, from the center of the paleness, came the soft swish of
silk on silk.

Jack leapt
forward. He felt his knife edge nick soft flesh before he landed hard on his
shoulder. Rolling to his feet, he sprang into a defensive position, sweeping
his knife wide to form an arc. Noise came from his left, a ragged breath or a
softly mocking laugh. Jack cursed the darkness.

Like an answer to
a prayer, light slanted across the room. A thin line at first, it broadened
into a band. Kylock was nowhere to be seen standing in shadows that had
darkened with the light. Jack felt a warn draft of air ripple over his back.
Spinning around, he saw a black figure silhouetted in the doorway.

Metal slivered
along Jack's tongue. All thoughts of caution were blasted from his mind by the
pressure of power inside. "Jack. Crope's got something for you. Crope
forgot to give you the second letter." The figure held out a hand.
Something white gleamed between the fingers.

Jack swallowed
hard, pushing the power back. His head was flooded with pressure. Pain streaked
along his forehead, meeting between his eyes. Blood poured down from his
nostrils.

"Another note
from Lucy, Jack." Crope waggled a folded piece of paper in front of him..

Jack could just
about make out the wax seal. Everything about the letter looked the same as the
one he held in the cellar earlier. Two letters from his mother? A noise buzzed
. through Jack's head. He ignored it. A rustle of fabric came from behind. He
paid it no heed.

The buzzing sound
grew louder as he stepped toward the door. It was nothing-probably an effect of
biting back the drawing.

Crope's shadow was
a black strip running through the light. Jack moved onto it, raising his hand
in readiness to accept the letter. The shadow cast by Crope's arm caught his
eye; it swayed in time to Crope's movements, but one small part seemed to trail
behind. A lace cuff, perhaps? Jack looked up. The sleeves of Crope's undershirt
were rolled above his elbows.

Jack felt a cold
trickle of sweat run down his spine. There was a hand behind the hand.

Baralis.

Jack pivoted,
leaping back from the doorway and the light. Letting his body fall to the
floor, he scrambled desperately into the shadows near the wall. As he moved, he
called up the drawing-soft now, it was slow to build. Teeth clenched, fists
clenched, Jack forced the power to come back. Thought played no part in his
actions. Reflexes were all that he had.