Book Of Words - Master And Fool Part 20

Tawl tore a strip from his linen undershirt and pressed it against the cut on his cheek. "He won't bother us again tonight."

"Why? Did you get him?"

"Perhaps. I don't know."

"If you can't be sure," said Jack, "what makes you think he won't fire again?"

"Because it's not what he wants."

"So what does he want, then?"

Tawl looked into the distance, searching for the spot where he'd last seen Skaythe. "He wants a contest, Jack. He wants to beat me one on one. That's what he got tonight: me against him, even odds, my skills pitted against his."

"Why?"

"Revenge for his brother. A chance to prove he can beat the man who beat Blayze." Tawl shrugged. "I don't know his motives." He began to move around the camp, putting pots and flasks in his sack.

"So what do you think he's doing now?" Jack's voice was hard. He hadn't liked being kept in the dark about the mysterious archer.

"If he's injured, then he'll lie low until tomorrow when we're well out of the way. If not, then he'll probably follow us south. Either way he'll be planning his next attack."

"But what if you got a real good hit, Tawl?" said Nabber, finally plucking up the courage to rise from his blanket.

"Then I've slowed him down by a few days. Perhaps even weeks. I just don't know." Tawl crossed over to the horses and threw the saddle on the back of the gelding.

Jack was one step behind him. "This man might want some sort of duel with you, but he's not above killing Nabber and me in cold blood. Is he?"

Tawl looked quickly to Nabber. The boy was busy rolling up his blanket. "Look," he said quietly, intending his words for Jack alone, "I think you're right. I think he's out to kill all of us. Now I've got to stop him, but he's good, and he's tracking us as if we were game. The only time he'll come out in the open is to take a shot at me. You and Nabber he'll shoot from the shade. That's why I've got to make myself a target-like tonight. Our only chance of killing him is when he's intent on killing me." Tawl fastened the girth around the gelding's belly. "So that leaves us with no choice: we've got to force him to come out and fight."

"Why didn't you let me take a shot at him?"

"You have a shortbow. He has a longbow. You were making yourself vulnerable for no reason."

"It wasn't because you wanted to play his game, too? Beat him man to man?"

Tawl shook his head. "No. A man who'll shoot a defenseless boy in the dark deserves no such honor. You spot him, Jack, you kill him. That's fine with me. I'll pull you down every time, though, if I think you haven't got a chance in h.e.l.l of hitting him."

Jack smiled. "I see your point." He began strapping the saddlebags in place. "So, I suppose we'll be purchasing our second longbow in Toolay?"

Tawl felt tired but pleased. In his own way, Jack was telling him that he wouldn't be left out of this. It was a good feeling to know that someone else was willing to share the danger.

"You'll need to practice," he said. "If there's an archer in you, I haven't seen him yet"

They both laughed. Tawl reached out and clasped Jack's arm.

Jack returned the grip. "I appreciate you being honest with me."

"And I appreciate all, the help I can get."

The two men stood for a moment, both looking at each other, revising their opinions. For the first time in many weeks, Tawl felt that everything might just turn out all right.

Up came the lamp. Melli's eyes strained to find detail in the brightness. Instinctively she took a step back. Her ankle struck stone. There was nowhere for her to go.

On its way up, the light cast long shadows over the man's face, turning it into a savage mask. He took a step forward.

"It's been such a long time, Melliandra."

Melli took a sharp breath. It wasn't Baralis, it was Kylock. They were perfectly matched in figure and height. Even their coloring was the same. Melli felt a growing sense of dread. At least with Baralis she knew what to expect; he was calculating, cunning, a man of method. But Kylock was a different creature altogether. A dangerously unstable one.

Determined not to show fear, Melli tilted her chin upward and said, "So, have you come to set me free?" Ignoring her, he looked around the room. His dark hair shone sleekly in the lamplight. Dressed in a black kidskin tunic and black silk undershirt, he looked as if he had just come from an official dinner. After a few seconds he nodded softly. "Not doing too well now, are we, Melliandra?"

"I'd be doing a lot worse if I'd married you. Your wife was cold before the wedding night was over."

Melli felt something hard slam against her face. She went toppling backward, banging her head against the wall. Kylock stood over her, wiping his fist on his tunic. "I'd be careful what you say if I were you, Melliandra. Your tongue's too glib by far."

Melli rubbed her aching jaw. She moved to stand up, but Kylock pushed her down.

"I think I'll have you stay where you are for the moment." He spoke like a painter posing a model.

Stretching forward, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Yes, just there."

Melli tasted blood in her mouth. She didn't dare move. Kylock's eyes were blank and unfocused. He looked like he'd been drinking.

In a movement so swift, Melli thought he was going to strike her, he came and knelt at her side. He saw her flinch and smiled. "Not so sure of yourself now, eh?"

His breath held no trace of alcohol, but there was an unnatural sweetness to it. There were a few specks of white powder on the corner of his lip.

"You know what I think?" he said.

"No. Why don't you tell me?" Without realizing, Melli had slid both her arms around her stomach. She wanted desperately to lash out at Kylock, both physically and verbally, but she stopped herself. She had her baby to think of now.

"I think you deserve better than this." His hand came up, but this time he stroked her cheek.

Melli preferred the slapping. "Is that why you came here?" she said, slowly edging her cheek away from his touch. Kylock was very close now. The skin on his face was very pale. There were dark circles under his eyes. "I came to see how they were treating you."

"Well, as you can see, they are treating me badly." Melli wasn't really sure who he was referring to: Baralis, the guards, perhaps both.

"Hmm." Kylock's hand moved down from her cheek to her throat. His fingertips were as soft as a baby's.

Melli wrapped her arms more tightly across her stomach, and then asked the only question worth asking: "Why come here now? I've been here weeks, you could have seen me at any point."

Kylock smiled softly, curving his beautifully sculpted lips upward. "Baralis wants you executed tomorrow." Very still. She kept herself very still. Not a single muscle on her face betrayed her. She didn't blink, didn't tremble, didn't form any expression at all. She still breathed, though. Long, deep breaths.

"Yes, they're going to come for you in the morning. The water they give you will be drugged to make you . . . " Kylock took pleasure choosing the right phrase, "more compliant. Then they will put a blade through your heart. You'll never have to leave this room, it will all happen here." He smiled as if doing her a great courtesy.

"When the two guards have finished, they will lock the door and descend the stairs, only to be slaughtered before they reach the last step. After that's done, the lady who supervises your comforts will also meet an unfortunate end. And that will leave no one to tell of what happened."

All the time he was speaking, Kylock's hand was on her throat. Now that he had finished, he moved it lower. Down to her breast and then along to her belly. "That's the plan, anyway."

Melli made no attempt to move away from him. She let his hand rest where it was. Her mind had seized on the tone of Kylock's voice as he spoke his last sentence. Was it reluctance she detected? Inching her little finger forward to touch his, she tested him. "Is the plan, or was the plan?"

He pulled back from her. With his other hand he raised the lantern, bringing it close to her face. "No rouge on your lips, I see."

Melli's heart was beating fast. The lantern was so close she could feel it hot against her cheek. Despite all her efforts, she felt the beginnings of panic. She didn't know what Kylock wanted from her. Couldn't understand the shift in conversation. "No," she said, feeling as if she were stumbling in the dark. "Not on mine."

Kylock brought the lantern closer. The flame was now less than an eyelash length from her face. "You've never painted yourself like a wh.o.r.e, have you?"

Melli felt her skin burn. She could take it no longer. She raised up her fist and sent it smashing into Kylock's arm. Kylock lost his grip on the lantern. It flew into the air. Melli heard it clatter against the stone. The light wavered. Kylock's fist punched into her jaw. All the bones in her neck cracked at once. Kylock fell on top of her, tearing at her clothes.

She screamed.

He placed his hand right under her jaw and slammed her head into the back of the wall.

Pain burst into her skull. The world shot out of focus. Still she screamed.

She felt Kylock's fingers probing under her bodice. She fought him, but her hands weren't responding the way they should. She felt like she was drunk. He got a grip of the fabric and ripped the bodice from her.

Through eyes that saw everything as blurred, Melli became aware of a bright glow behind Kylock's shoulder. The rushes on the floor had caught on fire.

Either sensing the heat or smoke, Kylock pulled away from her. Standing up, he kicked the thin layer of rushes with his boot, sending them to the far side of the room. The wooden bench was near Melli's foot and so was removed from the danger. Everything else was stone. Kylock stamped at the rushes around the edge of the blaze. The flames licked at his shins. Spinning around for something to dampen them with, he stopped in his tracks.

Melli hadn't moved. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and torso were bare. The curve of her belly was highlighted by the flames. Kylock stared at her. He stared at her swollen stomach. As Melli watched, she saw his expression change. The blind look of rage crystallized into madness. In that instant she felt fear so concentrated that it pushed the air from her lungs. She felt it rush through her lips like her last chance of hope.

Kylock's gaze rose to her eyes. Behind him the fire began to dim, m.u.f.fled by the stone and frustrated by the lack of fuel. The room became thick with smoke. The vacuum in Melli's lungs was like a hunger. She needed to breathe, but was afraid of drawing in a substance more deadly than smoke. The back of her skull was bleeding. She felt the blood trickle down her neck. Her eyes were watering.

The smoke was black and speckled with soft burnt flakes. Kylock raised his hands and took a step toward her. Melli opened her lips and took in the smoke. For a second her body resisted her and she started to choke, but she fought it, breathing in more and more. The smoke was bitter at first. Hot and acrid, it burnt her lungs. But then Kylock's hands were upon her, and what had been her poison became her savior.

The world fell away and left Melli in the dark.

By the time Skaythe dragged himself into the trees, his tunic was soaked in blood. He had taken the arrow high on his left shoulder blade, and the tip had pierced his bone. He had crawled to safety on his stomach, using his right arm to pull himself forward.

His horse was tethered to a slender ash tree and she whinnied softly as she caught his scent. "Ssh, Kali," he murmured.

The trees still carried most of their foliage and the leaves cut out much of the moonlight. Skaythe preferred it that way. He always worked better in the dark. Grasping hold of a nearby tree trunk, he hauled himself off the ground. Pain coursed down his side. He felt physically sick and had to stop himself from vomiting by holding back his head and gulping hard. His left hand made a fist just as his right did Good. That meant the muscles in his arm would be all right.

After a moment the nausea pa.s.sed, leaving nothing but a sharp taste in his mouth. He stood up all the way and then rested against the trunk for support. Making a soft clicking noise with his tongue, he urged his horse forward. The filly came as near as her reins permitted, and Skaythe was able to take the saddlebag from her back.

More pain and nausea followed as his shoulders bore the weight of the bag. He found what he needed: ointment, sharp knife, linen bandages, and a small flask of hard liquor. He took the liquor first, drinking all but a mouthful in one go. It burned a path down his throat and then glowed like an ember in his belly. He had to work quickly now: liquor like this didn't leave much time between dulling your senses and robbing you of your wits. The last of the liquor he poured onto half the bandage and then cleaned the area around the wound, the bottom portion of the arrow shaft, the blade of his knife, and his fingers.

He had already broken the shaft halfway down, and about a hand's length of wood now projected from his shoulder blade. Taking the knife, he cut into the wound, opening the flesh to either side of the arrowhead. The knight had used a standard V -shaped blade. Just the sort of head you'd expect a man of honor to use. Not barbed, not razored, not beveled. Skaythe shrugged. He had pointed a barbed, serrated head the knight's way.

Once he'd freed the flesh on each side of the V, Skaythe took the remaining shaft in his hand, willed his body to stay relaxed, and pulled the arrowhead free.

The pain was hot, white, and clawing. It shot down his arm and across to his heart. Urine splashed down his leg. Even though he had made s.p.a.ce for the V, the edges still gouged flesh as they went. He didn't scream. He never screamed-even as a child.

Once the head was out, Skaythe slumped back against the tree. Taking the other half of the bandage, he pressed it hard against the wound. His blood was black in the moonlight. He was weakening fast. The liquor was reaching the point where it robbed him of his wits.

As he held the cloth to his shoulder blade he cursed Tawl with all the hate of a man defeated. The knight had taken a chance--he had deliberately aimed his arrow to the left. Tawl had bet that he would jump, and then taken a further bet on which way he was likely to go. Skaythe had thought he was leaping to safety, but he had been leaping straight into the arrow's path. If the knight had aimed his arrow straight at the heart, then he would have emerged without a scratch. But no, he had pointed his sights at thin air, and by doing so drawn blood instead.

Skaythe shook his head grimly. The blood was slow to stop.

There was one consolation to be drawn from tonight's match, however. Tawl had been lucky, that was all. Skaythe knew all about luck, and he knew that, without exception, it always ran out in the end. A man who was lucky one day would likely be cursed the next. So when he met Tawl again, the odds would be in his favor.

And he would meet Tawl again.

Tomorrow he would find someone to st.i.tch up the wound. After that he'd probably need to rest for a few days, to give the skin time to heal. In the short term he might lose track of the knight, but ultimately he knew where Tawl was heading, knew where he would return to, and with just one sending from Baralis, Skaythe could find him in the dark.

Sixteen.

The wind was lively and smelled of fish. The morning came early and bright. The white buildings of Toolay trailed golden shadows in the sunrise, and the sea played songs for the cliffs.

They had traveled all night and were weary, but somehow the sight of the little city perched high above the ocean acted like breakfast and tonic in one. Jack knew he wasn't the only one to feel it; Nabber's face lit up and he muttered a long and happy sentence in which the words prospecting and at last were repeated several times. Even Tawl seemed pleased. He couldn't smile much, though. The cut on his cheek might be stretched open by a smile.

"Goat's milk and ale," he said, urging his horse forward. "Goat's milk and ale?" Jack kicked his heels into his gelding's flank. He wasn't about to let Tawl get to the city first.

Tawl's eyes twinkled brighter than the sea. "That's what they serve a man for breakfast here."

There was a little furtive rivalry in the air. Jack could clearly see Tawl building up for a gallop. "What do they serve the women, then?"

"I've seen the women here, Jack," said Nabber. "And by the looks of them, they get just the ale."

With that, Tawl's horse sped ahead, leaving Nabber's m.u.f.fled cries of complaint in its wake. Jack chased after them. It felt good to be here, right now, with the sun warming his face and the wind salting his lips, riding through dust left by friends.

Friends they might be, but he was still going to beat them. Jack dug his heels deeper and gave Barley his reins. Tawl's horse was more powerful, but it had to carry two. Barley found reserves of strength and was soon on their tail. Nabber kept his head low, whilst his voice bellowed like a foghorn: "This is the last time I'll ever get on a horse with you, Tawl!"

Jack smiled as Barley pa.s.sed them. "I don't blame you, Nabber," he yelled. "It's only worth riding with the best." He didn't risk turning to look at them. First, because he didn't want Tawl to see him smile, and second, he was terrified. He'd never ridden this fast before. Beneath him, Barley had turned from a sweet and gentle creature to a warhorse on the charge. All Jack could do was hang on and hope for leniency.

On his way to victory, Barley demonstrated latent talents for jumping over ditches, picking paths through rocks, and delaying his swerves around trees until the last possible moment.

Finally, horse and rider made it onto the high road. Seeing carts, people, and other horses had a profound effect on Barley and, like a naughty child in front of visitors, he became a model of good behavior. He slowed his pace to a trot and even stepped to the side to let people in a hurry pa.s.s. Jack was so grateful that he'd stopped galloping that he didn't have the heart to chide him. He merely whispered in his ear, "If you've any more tricks up your sleeve, save them for your next master."

"Hey! Jack!" Tawl and Nabber drew level with him. Tawl reached over and patted Barley's flank. "If I'd known he was that good, I would have picked him for myself."

Jack had the distinct feeling that if it wasn't for the newly scabbed cut on his face, Tawl would be laughing out loud by now. "Come on, then," he said, urging Barley forward. "We can't keep the goats waiting."

The city of Toolay was bustling. Merchants, farmers, barrow-boys, and fishermen crowded the narrow, winding streets. People were shouting their wares, calling greetings to acquaintances, haggling, harping, and gossiping. Jack liked the place immediately, his only reservation being that there were a lot of geese roaming the streets. Having been chased by a pack of the vicious, honking birds last spring, the only acceptable goose to him was now a roast one.

Suddenly feeling hungry, Jack was glad when Tawl picked a nearby tavern to stop at. The Lobster's Legs was small and cozy. The tavern-keeper, a hearty red fowled man named Blaxer, greeted them warmly, sending out a boy to look after their horses and personally warming the goat's milk himself. His exceedingly handsome son brought them a breakfast of hot oatmeal and cold lobster, and then offered to prepare them a room.

Jack hoped Tawl would agree. They hadn't slept at all last night, and the idea of sleeping in a comfortable, safe bed rather than on hard ground out in the open was pleasing to say the least Tawl looked quickly at Nabber The boy stifled a theatrical yawn.

"Very well. We'll stay the night here and leave for Rom in the morning."