The Baker's Boy (58 page)

Cries could be
heard; they had been spotted. The wind caught Melli's shawl and dragged it from
her back. She tried to hold on, but it was too late-the shawl blew away. The
rain soaked her dress, but she paid no heed. Her hair came unpinned, but it did
not matter. All she could think of was getting away; she could not bear to be
caught again. They pushed ahead, their pursuers fast approaching.

Melli looked back:
the horsemen were in view nowspears poised, ready to strike. She glanced toward
Jack. His grim expression confirmed her fears; the men were sent not to capture
but to kill, to slaughter them like wild animals.

An arrow whirred
past her cheek, missing by a finger's breadth. She stood, dazed with shock for
an instant before Jack dragged her forward. With horror, she realized that he
had been hit, a shaft was embedded in his shoulder. He did not cry out, but his
face registered the pain of the blow. The horsemen charged forward. They
desperately scrambled up a muddy hillock-Melli felt a sharp pain in her arm.
She screamed with panic as she saw the arrow sticking out of her forearm. She
felt the strength ebb from her body and willed herself not to faint. Blood
gushed forth, soaking her dress, and tears prickled in her eyes. Jack, seeing
what had happened to her, lifted her to the top of the rise. She leaned on him
for support, and to her amazement he turned and faced the horsemen.

His face was ashen
with pain and anger. Arrows shot past them, Melli felt one graze her ear. She
raised her arm to check for blood, and as she did so she felt a shifting of the
air. Time seemed to slow down; the wind calmed for a fleeting moment; the
mercenaries' horses reared in fear. The air shimmered and thickened and blasted
into the horsemen, knocking them from their horses. Leaves took flight from the
forest floor, tender saplings were uprooted, and branches snapped from trees.

The mercenaries
were thrust back. One man's neck was broken as he was flung against a tree
trunk, another man was impaled on his own spear. Melli looked on, as a horse
fell on one man; the creature tried frantically to stand once more and in doing
so kicked the man's skull in. She grabbed hold of Jack's arm for comfort: his
flesh was cold and rigid. She pulled at him to come away, but he did not move.
Frightened, she shook him. "Jack, come on, let's get away from here."
There was no response. He stood, staring ahead, his face slick with sweat.
"Jack, please, wake up." She shook him with all her might, ignoring
the pain in her arm.

He turned to look
at her. Relief flooded through Melli. "Come on, Jack, let's go."
There was no comprehension in his eyes, no sign that he recognized or even
understood her.

She led him away,
eager to be gone. She could not resist looking back, though-men and horses lay
dead or bleeding on the ground below. One man was crawling away, his left leg
trailing after him, useless. The air was still now: no wind, just the
relentless pour of rain. Melli shivered, not wanting to think about what had
happened, or why she and Jack had remained unaffected.

Taking hold of
Jack's arm, she began to guide him down the side of the slope. By the time they
reached the bottom, Jack's tunic was soaked with blood. Melli decided to head
toward the eastern road-they both needed help and shelter and would find
neither in the forest. She knew it was a risk, but the road was their only
chance of finding someone willing to aid them.

Tavalisk was
dressing in his most dazzling robes. Expelling the knights had proven such a
popular move that the city had organized a parade in his honor. The people of
Rorn loved spectacle and expected their leaders to look magnificent on such
occasions. Once, many years before, Vesney, the first minister at the time, had
turned up for a parade wearing only a plain brown robe, no adornments, no
jewelry, not even a hat. The people of Rorn took this as a grave insult. They
had put on their best clothes. The fact that the first minister had not put on
his showed how little he valued their approval. The crowd had turned into an
indignant mob, pulling the unfortunate Vesney from his horse and beating him to
death.

The irony was that
Vesney had thought the people would appreciate his gesture. He thought he was
showing them that he was a frugal man, who would not spend their taxes unwisely
on the frivolous trappings of power. Tavalisk knew better. The people of Rorn
required little else from their leaders: they needed to be dazzled by wealth
and pageantry and then bask in reflected glory. Rorn was the richest city in
the Known Lands: its people liked their leaders to be an embodiment of that
fact.

The archbishop was
being sewn into a tunic of bright yellow silk. He was amusing himself by
looking down the dress of the seamstress as she stitched up the sides. There
was a brief knock and Gamil entered.

"Ah, Gamil. I
was just thinking about you. I was wondering when you will bring my little Comi
to visit me." Tavalisk had recently acquired a cat. The sly creature had
captured his interest and so he'd given his dog to Gamil-the archbishop only
had room for one favorite. Now he had the strong suspicion that his aide had
either killed the dog or set it out on the streets. His suspicions were
confirmed by the guilty look on Gamil's face.

"I will bring
him as soon as he has recovered from his illness, Your Eminence."

"See that you
do, Gamil. I will remind you to do so in a few days." The archbishop
smiled agreeably to his aide. "It warms my heart to think my dear Comi is
with someone who I know will take good care of him." He turned to the seamstress.
"Not so tight, girl. I do not wish to look like a sausage about to burst
its skin. There will be a feast later and I will need room for digestion."
Tavalisk gave his attention back to his aide. "So, Gamil, what news have
you for me today?"

"Word has
reached Marls about your expulsion of the knights."

"And how is
that unfortunate city taking the news?"

"There have
been demonstrations in the streets, Your Eminence. The people of Marls are
calling on their authorities to follow your example. Marls has no love for the
Knights of Valdis."

"Excellent,
Gamil. Though the news is no surprise to me, it has long been rumored that the
knights brought the plague to the city."

"Your
Eminence demonstrated great forethought by starting that particular
rumor."

"Yes, it is
always a wise move to have one's rivals at each other's throats. I only wish I
could claim the credit for starting the confounded plague in the first
place."

"I will be
expecting to hear reports on what Toolay thinks of your edict within a week. If
I am not mistaken, they should have heard about the news by now."

"Toolay's
reaction will be most interesting. They have long associations with the
knighthood. However, they, like most cities today, live in fear: fear of
invasion, fear of the plague, fear of losing trade. Yes, I will watch Toolay
carefully." Tavalisk moved forward to pick at a pile of grapes, and doing
so stepped on the hand of the seamstress who was hemming his cloak.
"Talking of that delightful fishing port, any news of our knight?"

"Well, Your
Eminence, he was last spotted some days ago approaching the city in the company
of the small boy who had been following him."

The archbishop
admired his reflection in the mirror. "Are we still holding the
prostitute?"

"Yes, Your
Eminence, but with all due respect it could be a long time before the knight
returns to Rorn."

"Ah, Gamil,
you have a woefully short memory. Only seconds ago you praised me for my
forethought. I intend to keep the girl for as long as it takes: months, years,
who knows? What I do know is that eventually she will be useful, and Rorn will
not mourn the loss of one less whore in the meantime."

"If there is
nothing more, I will take my leave, Your Eminence. I, too, must ready myself
for the parade."

"I wouldn't
bother to change if I were you, Gamil. You always look so becoming in
brown."

Tawl awoke to the
sound of shouting. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and went over to the window
to investigate. In the street below there was a crowd of people chanting and
waving banners. Tawl stood horrified as he realized what the people were
crying.

"Ban the
knights, expel them from our city."

He watched as a
banner depicting the knights' symbol-a circle within a circle-was set afire.
There was laughing and cheering at the sight. Gradually the crowd made its way
down the street, heading toward the center of the city.

Tawl could hardly
believe what he had seen and heard. For the first time he was forced to
acknowledge the full extent of hostility toward his order. How had this
happened?

Hatred where there
once was respect. What had caused people to turn against them so completely?

"Boy!"
He shook Nabber awake. "I will breakfast alone. Do not move from this room
until I have returned."

"What about
me, what shall I eat?"

"Do not
pester me now. I will be back before long." Tawl left the room and made
his way down to the dining room. He was going to find out what had caused the
demonstration.

The eating hall
was busy with people eating and drinking. He picked a table that was already
occupied. The stranger looked rather apprehensive as Tawl sat down and began to
gather his things together.

"No, sir,
please do not go on my account. I have no wish to disturb you." Hearing
him speak, the man appeared to relax a little.

"Forgive me
for my discourtesy, but looking as you do, you must not be surprised at my
reaction."

"It is not
always best to judge a man's intentions by his size. Even a small man can carry
a long knife." Tawl quoted a well-known travelers' proverb. Tawl was a
good head above most men in height and was well used to his size making men
nervous.

"You have put
me in my place, young man. I would buy you a drink." He called the tavern
girl and ordered the traditional morning refreshment of Toolay: ale mixed with
goat's milk.

"Did you
happen to see the crowds that were gathered on the dock road?" Tawl winced
as he drank from his cupbrought up in the marshlands, he had no love of goat's
milk.

"Aye, that I
did. It's a bad business." The man shook his head wearily. "It's that
slippery archbishop's fault. He's only gone and expelled the knights from
Rorn."

"When did he
do that?" asked Tawl nonchalantly.

"Just got
word of it today. There's people around who'd like to see the same thing happen
here."

"The
protesters?"

The stranger
glanced nervously around the room. "More powerful people as well."

"I thought
Toolay had long been on friendly terms with Valdis."

"No one in
the south is friendly with Valdis since Tyren took over. The man wants to
control all the trade routes to the north and east. He's using strongarm
tactics one minute and calling us heretics the next." The man took a long
draught. "Toolay owes a great debt to the knights. Almost a hundred years
ago they helped us fight off an invasion from the barbarians who came from over
the water. No one has forgotten that, but it comes down to priorities, lad.
Toolay lives for trade. Threaten our trade and you threaten our livelihood. We
export a fortune in embroidery and cold-water fish to Rorn. Upset Rorn and we
stand to lose money. Valdis has little taste for fish or finery." The
stranger looked at Tawl suspiciously. "Where are you from, boy?"

"I am
originally from the Great Marshes." Tawl took a hearty swig of his ale and
then looked the man squarely in the eye.

"Well, lad, I
must be on my way. There are fish to be cleaned and salted-though even that's
more expensive thanks to the knights. Bought up all the salt pans, they
did."

The stranger stood
up, sighing heavily. "There's trouble simmering, but Valdis isn't the only
one with a spoon in the pot. Rorn and Bren aren't above stirring the mix."
He bowed politely. "I wish you joy of the day, and fish in fortune and
famine." Tawl returned the blessing and watched him leave. Feeling
restless, he decided to wander into town and see what the marchers were up to.

Toolay was a
bright and busy place in the early moming. Facing easterly as it did, the city
benefited from the sun's first tentative rays. Tawl made his way toward the
marketplace and could soon hear the sound of chanting and shouting. He followed
the noise and eventually came upon a crowd of people. The men whom he had seen
from his window were there, and many more. There were also a small group of
people who were for the knights; these unfortunate men were heckled and pelted
with fish heads. The crowd was angry, crying out harshly:

"Down with
the knights."

"The knights
bring the plague."

"They steal
our trade."

"Valdis is
rotten to the core."

Tawl could take no
more. Hanging his head low, he returned to the inn. It seemed that none of the
people he'd met since being freed from Rorn's dungeons had a good word to say
about Valdis. Tyren's name was on everyone's lips, and he was branded a
charlatan with each breath. It had been so long since he was last at Valdis,
could he really say with conviction that he knew what was going on there? It
had been almost a reflex action to deny the rumors in Rorn. The city was
corrupt, and the archbishop took care to create a strong antiknight sentiment
amongst the people. But Toolay was different. Its people were pious and hard
working, and as the stranger in the tavern had pointed out, it owed a great
debt to Valdis.

For the first
time, Tawl was forced to admit there must be some truth in the rumors. But
Tyren? He couldn't believe it. Tyren had all but saved his life, and had
certainly saved his soul. He was the one who first brought him to Valdis and
acted as his protector when others called him too lowborn to be a knight. Tyren
defended him, saying the knights needed the strength and vitality of new blood,
peasant blood. Tawl admired him for the courage he'd shown. Challenging the
very foundations of the knighthood hadn't been easy, but Tyren hadn't rested
until the knights agreed to let any man, regardless of birth, try out for the
circles.