The Baker's Boy (18 page)

Excitement over
his discovery quickly turned to worry: all it had done was confirm that he
wasn't normal.

The thing Jack
wanted most in life was to be normal, to be able to walk through the castle
without someone calling him a bastard. He wanted a father like everyone else,
and a mother who no one called a whore. He wanted to be on the same footing as
legitimate offspring and have the same sense of belonging. Now, more than ever,
it seemed impossible.

He could move to
the east and become a baker's apprentice. But the best he could hope for would
be to conceal his past. He wouldn't lie. No. When someone asked about his
parents, and they surely would, it would be an insult to himself and his mother
to make up stories about a life he'd never had.

Jack shivered
violently, chilled to the bone. It seemed there would be no easy option for
him. Wherever he went, he would be an outsider. The incident yesterday had
merely sealed his fate. The sooner he accepted that and stopped dreaming about
finding his mother's family and being welcomed with open arms as a long lost
relative, the better. He had to deal in realities. The ditch was a reality, the
loaves were a reality, and he would never be more than a bastard.

He settled down in
the cold water and listened to the progress of the mounted men. Before long he
felt the ground tremble as some of their number drew near to his hiding place.
Judging from the sound of hooves, they were only few in number. He heard them
slow down and then shout to each other. They spoke with accents unfamiliar to
Jack's ears.

"You said the
boy ran this way."

"He did. I'm
sure of it."

"He can't
have gone far. You head over there and we'll take this path. Go now and
hurry." Jack heard one horse gallop off. The two remaining riders were
quiet for some time. Jack imagined them to be listening very carefully. He lay
as still as he could manage, hardly daring to breathe. Eventually the two
riders were off. Only when they had run a fair distance did Jack feel safe to
breathe again.

He decided not to
risk moving, unpleasant though his circumstances were. His ankle was throbbing,
but more distressing was the slow chill of the water upon his skin. He noticed
a slight pressure under his left leg and tentatively felt for the cause of it.
It was something furry. Jack could risk no further movement but was now sure
that the foul smell in the ditch was due to the decomposing carcass of a small
animal. Jack hoped it wasn't a rat. He was afraid of rats. The one thing he'd
hated most about his job with Frallit was going to the storeroom for the flour.
As soon as he opened the door, he would hear the sound of rats scurrying. He
always gave them a few moments to hide before bringing his lantern forward, not
wanting to see their fleshy legs and tails. Even with the lantern ahead of him,
there were always some rats who defied its light and carried on feeding. Those
were the worst-their beady eyes cold with defiance. Jack had kicked one once,
and its bones crunched against the wall. The next day when he entered the
storeroom, there were a score of rats feeding upon the carcass. There had been
something else, too dark to make out; its teeth glinted for an instant, then it
was gone.

Master Frallit
gave him a beating over the incident. "Live rats are bad enough," he
said, "but dead ones attract the devil."

According to
Frallit, there were no end of things that attracted the devil. Long hair and
daydreaming were two of his favorites. Jack knew the master baker said such
things just to bully him, but he wasn't about to take any chances over a dead
rat.

He scrambled out
of the ditch. His clothes were soaked in mud, and he shivered as the wind
picked up. As he limped deeper into the wood, his thoughts were with Melli: he
hoped she had not been caught instead of him.

"There's a
good boy." Melli's horse reluctantly stepped into the flow. Her pursuers
were only feet away. She ignored their approach as she coaxed her mount to
cross the stream. The horse was now up to his fetlocks in icy water. "Good
boy, good boy." She spoke more to comfort herself than the horse. The
creature stumbled a little as he found his footing on the rocky streambed.
"It's all right, boy," she whispered gently.

The guards came to
a halt only a few yards from where she was. Two of their number moved forward
to the stream.

One of them had
his sword drawn. "Go no further, lady," he warned. As he spoke, he
motioned to his men to surround her. Melli waited in the middle of the stream
as she was encircled by seven men. All now had their swords drawn. She stroked
her horse and tried to control the wild beating of her heart-she would not
demean herself by showing fear.

"Take her
down and bind her." Hands pulled cruelly at her legs and body, some
lingering unnecessarily over her breasts and thighs. She was pulled down and
carried to the bank, where she was thrown hard to the ground. The smell of dead
leaves and earth assailed her nostrils.

"She's a
pretty one," said the man who appeared to be in charge.

"Aye, and
she's well filled out under that cloak," commented one of the others who
had just handled her. Melli grew frightened. The men had sheathed their swords
and were looking to their leader.

"I'm sure he
wouldn't mind if we had a little fun with her," he said, grinning to his
company and moving toward Melli. He knelt beside her and untied her cloak. She
lashed out at him. "You bitch!" The leader slapped her cruelly on her
face, the force of the blow sending her head reeling. The men cheered.

One of them
shouted, "Give it her rough, Traff, and hurry up about it so we can all
have a go."

The leader grabbed
the bodice of Melli's dress and tore it from her. Her pale breasts were exposed
to the men. She tried desperately to cover her chest, but the leader was
pressing down on her, forcing his lips on hers and roughly handling her
breasts. The man was fumbling with his belt buckle with one hand while pushing
up her skirts with the other. Melli was screaming hysterically, trying to fight
him off.

Suddenly, the
pounding of hooves could be heard. The leader stood up quickly, worry creasing
his brow. Melli used this opportunity to pull her dress together as best she
could.

"To your
mounts," cried the leader, flashing a look of contempt at Melli.
"Draw your swords."

A group of
horsemen were bearing down on them. Melli could tell from a distance they were
her father's menthe silver and red was clearly visible. Relief flooded through
her. She noticed the men were now paying her little attention as they waited
tensely for the approach of the horsemen, and she slipped under the cover of
some nearby bushes.

The two parties
met. Her father's men had drawn their swords and the sound of clashing blades
filled the air. The adversaries seemed to be evenly matched at first. They
thrust mercilessly at each other, eager for blood.

To Melli, the
fight she watched bore no resemblance to the dainty exchanges that were
demonstrated at court. The swords were yielded with no finesse; the men sliced
and hacked with savage frenzy, caring not if they injured man or horse. The
fight grew long and bloody. The dull, heavy swords cut through leather and into
flesh. Melli thought she spied her brother amongst her father's men, wielding
his sword in the fray. She could watch the fighting no longer.

Unheeded, she
crept silently away. On her hands and knees she crawled, the dry growth of
winter brushing against her tender belly. As she went, she could hear the
sounds of combat, the grunts and cries of the men, the squeal of frightened
horses and the ringing of blades.

Melli headed
downstream until she found a place that was easy to cross on foot. She waded
into the stream, welcoming the sensation of cold water on her legs; it helped
cleanse the stain of unwanted hands.

When she reached
the other side, she found a small glade and fell to the ground. She was
shaking, and tears soon followed. She wept for a long time. Leaving home, being
robbed, the chase and the capture and finally the fight-it had all proven too
much of a strain on her emotions. She cried quietly, hugging the remains of her
dress close to her body. She didn't really care anymore if her father's men
found her as long as the first men did not. Melli swore she would rather be
killed than ever touched again.

After a while she
grew calm. She could no longer hear the sound of fighting, but couldn't
remember when it had ceased.

She pulled the
cord from her hair and tied her dress together as best she could. She no longer
had a cloak; she'd left it at the scene of the fight. She doubted that she
could survive the night without it. Her head turned quickly as she heard the
snapping of twigs and rustle of leaves that announced someone's approach. She
would not run anymore. She stood up and held her head high, prepared to return
to the castle.

It was her horse!
He must have left the stream after she had been pulled from him. Running to the
tired creature, she flung her arms around its neck. Melli kissed the old horse
many times, and then her eye was caught by its back. Somehow it had managed to
keep possession of her precious supplies! Quickly she untied the sack, letting
it fall to the ground. She would use one of the blankets as a cloak. She drew a
blanket around herself, beginning to feel much better: she was warm; she had
her horse and her supplies.

She decided it was
high time to eat. With relish she tucked into the dried pork and drybread-never
had a meal tasted so good.

Lord Maybor was in
a terrible rage, and his eldest son Kedrac was feeling the full strength of it.
"You imbecile, how could you let her get away?" Maybor threw his cup
across the chamber, where it hit his precious mirror, shattering the glass.
"How could you let this happen?"

"It was the
armed men, we had to fight them," retorted his son.

"What armed
men? What fight?" Maybor raged. "What were you doing fighting armed
men when you were supposed to be looking for your sister?"

"The men had
her, that's how we found her. We heard her screaming."

"What men
were these?"

"I'm not
sure, father. They had no colors. I think they were mercenaries."

"By Borc!
What is this?" Maybor felt the pressure of blood pumping in the veins of
his neck. "What were mercenaries doing with my daughter?" His eyes
scanned the room looking for something else to hurl: he felt the need for
destruction.

"Father, they
may have just come across her in the woods and decided to have a little fun
with her."

"What do you
mean?" Maybor's voice was as cold as ice.

Kedrac could not
meet his father's eyes. "I think they tried to rape her. I can't be sure,
but from the sound of her screams ... and then later we found her cloak."
He watched as his father's face became ashen.

"Did you
capture any of these men?"

"No, Father.
We killed two of them and wounded another three, but they escaped deep into the
woods."

"And the
bodies?"

"We searched
the two that we killed, and the only thing we found of interest was that each
man had eight gold pieces." Maybor thought for a moment, growing calmer.

"Eight gold
pieces, eh? These men have been paid to do a job, and handsomely at that. Are
you sure no one besides you and my men know that Melliandra is missing?"

"Father, we
have been most discreet. I myself asked around the town about her and made as
if it was a casual inquiry. As for your men, you know they are loyal to
you."

Maybor nodded his
head; what Kedrac was saying was the truth. Still, he had a feeling someone had
paid the mercenaries to find his daughter. "Kedrac, you must go back into
the forest tomorrow, take a tracker and the hounds. She must be found at all
cost."

"Yes,
Father." Kedrac took his leave.

When he had gone,
Maybor went over and inspected the shattered mirror. He'd paid over one hundred
gold pieces for it ten years back.

He was sure that
the mercenaries were in the pay of Baralis. The king's chancellor had no men of
his own, so that would fit. How had that scheming viper come to know of this?
Maybor struck the shattered mirror with his fist. The sharp glass drew blood,
but he didn't notice. Baralis had sent mercenaries to capture and rape his
daughter.

Jack was beginning
to feel the first signs of a fever. He was soaked to the skin and his bones
felt the chill of water and air. He had no food or dry clothing, and somewhere
in the chase he had lost one of his shoes.

Jack had spent the
rest of the day walking around the forest, hoping to catch sight of Melli. At one
point he heard the clash of blades in the distance. He felt it would be unsafe
to draw too close to the sound of fighting, so he veered off in another
direction, his route taking him ever deeper into the heart of the wood.

His clothes were
slow to dry in the frosty air, and he found himself shivering violently. His
ankle was still tender and he walked with a limp. He tried to find berries or
nuts to eat, but winter was drawing nigh and the forest had little bounty to
offer.

Tired, hungry, and
feeling the cold deeply, Jack had made a meager bed for the night. He curled up
at the base of a great oak, hoping for some small protection from the wind.

He covered himself
with fallen branches and leaves and fell into a restless sleep.

Jack awoke the
following morning to the smell of rain. His eyes looked up past the naked
canopy of the oak and the sky confirmed his fears. It was gray and water laden.
Rain would soon fall. He noticed his body was acting differently from normal.
All his muscles seemed to ache, his head felt unsteady, and his limbs were slow
to move. His skin was clammy and drawn, and despite the obvious cold, he was
feeling hot and sweaty. Jack had caught fevers before and he. recognized what
the symptoms meant. What he was unsure of was what to do about it in a forest
leagues from home.