The Baker's Boy (61 page)

"Well, the
man turned nasty; said he couldn't replace the ring because it was hundreds of
years old. He gave us one week to dredge the lake and find the ring. We did
what we could, but the ring couldn't be found. For all we knew it could have
been nestled in a fish's belly. The man came back a week later, and when we
told him we hadn't found it he cursed the lake. He swore he would fill it in.
Well, we just laughed at him we never thought he'd do it."

"Seven days
later, four score men come into town. They had mules with them pulling
cartloads of sand from the coast. One whole year it took those men to fill in
the lake. One year they worked, dragging and dumping, filling the lake with
yellow sand. One year to destroy the livelihood of every person in this town.
One year." The man knelt down and scooped a handful of sand, letting the
wind gradually blow it from him.

"Why didn't
anyone stop him?"

"No one dared
to. We just watched like fools as the lake grew smaller and smaller."

"Who did
this?" Tawl felt he already knew the answer. "The archbishop of
Rorn."

A sharp breeze
picked up. It was time they were on their way. Tawl was eager to be gone from
the abandoned town.

Tavalisk dipped
his fingers into the sauce and brought them to his lips. Perfect--just a hint
of garlic, the merest trace of herbs, exactly the right balance to best flatter
the snail. Snails were not found in Rorn; the hard, thin earth could not
support them. Like many things of luxury, rarity made them all the more sought
after and Rorn supported a prosperous snail trade. High prices were paid for the
succulent creatures and snails graced many a wealthy man's table.

Tavalisk picked up
his little silver hook and set about extracting himself a snail from its shell.
He finally hooked the flesh and drew it out. It was a fine specimen, plump and
shiny. His delicious anticipation was ruined by the approach of Gamil.

"What do you
want?" The archbishop chewed on the snail.

"Well, Your
Eminence, a rather interesting letter has come into my hands."

"Is it a
reply from that lord you wrote to on my behalf? What was his name ...
Maybor?"

"Oh, no, Your
Eminence, I have not received his reply yet. This is more important."

"Go on."
Tavalisk threw a snail to his cat and watched with amusement as the creature
tried unsuccessfully to get at the morsel within the shell.

"Well, our
spies in the north intercepted a letter from the duke of Bren to Lord Baralis.
In the letter the duke of Bren asks what is causing the delay of the betrothal
between his daughter and Prince Kylock."

"So, the
marriage is definitely going to go ahead, then. I do not need to tell you,
Gamil, how little I like the idea of those two places joining forces. Bren is
already too powerful for its own good." Tavalisk paused in mid-snail. He
spat the creature out, suddenly unable to eat. When two mighty powers join as
one. It was Marod's prophecy coming true. How did the rest of it go? Something
about a temple, something about the chosen one. When men of honor trade in gold
not grace. It was the knights!-why had it never occurred to him before? The
archbishop poured himself a glass of wine to steady his nerves. What else was
there? The dark empire will rise. He didn't like the sound of a dark empire one
bit. He preferred his world a shady gray-it was better for Rorn's trade.

Baralis was trying
to make it happen! The fiend was trying to forge a huge northern empire!

Tavalisk stood up
and, ignoring Gamil's look of amazement, actually stoked the fire himself. He
was chilled to the bone. It all fit: the knights, Bren, the Four Kingdoms. He'd
always known Baralis was dangerous, but the scale of this was unthinkable.
Nowhere in the prophecy was it mentioned that the dark empire was purely a
northern one! What if Baralis and the duke planned to take over the south as
well? The combined might of the north was awe-inspiring. Were the knights
positioning themselves, too? Tyren was certainly friendly with the duke of
Bren. There were plots everywhere and he was party to none of them!

Tavalisk made a
conscious effort to appear calm-he would not have Gamil think he was worried. He
sat down again and took up his silver fork. "Anything else in the
letter?"

"Nothing in
the letter, Your Eminence, but last time I communicated with our spy at Castle
Harvell, he had no knowledge of the match between Kylock and Catherine."

"So, Gamil,
what are you getting at?"

"I believe
that Baralis has arranged this marriage without the knowledge or permission of
the king or queen."

This news did
nothing to allay the archbishop's fears. "Hmm, that is interesting.
Baralis has always been a sly one. Unfortunately, I'm sure that such a marriage
will be looked upon most favorably by the queen." Tavalisk stabbed at the
snails with his fork, not stopping until every shell on the tray was destroyed.
"An alliance with Bren would be quite an achievement for her."

"There is
good news, Your Eminence. Marls is seriously considering expelling the knights.
A law has already been drafted."

"And what of
Toolay?" Tavalisk ground the splinters of shell into the snails.

"There have
been confrontations between those who are pro-knights and those who are against
them. The largest crowd was reported to be those calling for their
expulsion."

"Enough of
this matter, Gamil." Tavalisk stood up. He was anxious to secure a copy of
Marod's prophecy and study it further. "I would go for a walk in the
gardens. This news of an alliance between Bren and the Four Kingdoms weighs
heavily on my mind." The archbishop made his way toward the door. "If
you would be so kind as to do me a favor?"

"Certainly,
Your Eminence."

"Pluck the
splinters of shell from the snails and feed them to my cat. I would hate for
them to go to waste."

Baralis sat close
to the fire. It was no use-the warmth he felt on his face could not penetrate
the coldness in his bones. He sipped on his mulled holk, hoping that might
relieve the pain a little. He was weary. It had been a mistake to draw himself
from his body; he had expended too much energy and left himself with so little.
The mind-altering drug was only supposed to be used for a short period of time;
he had stretched for boundaries, gone too far, left his body too long. And now
he was paying the price.

It had all been
for nothing. They had managed to escape from him, and by all accounts what an
escape! Four mercenaries had come back alive, one of them with a leg so badly
broken he would never walk on it again. They told tales of a mighty whirlwind,
a blast from heaven. Baralis had known something was wrong. Hours before they
returned he'd felt the aftermath. It was the baker's boy once more. Baralis had
the feeling he would live to regret not killing the boy when he'd had a chance.

Who was Jack? He'd
come from nowhere and yet had powers at his command that defied reason. There
was something more to this. The boy had secrets to reveal, Baralis had felt it
the moment he entered Jack's mind. Things were concealed, shadowy figures
protected him. Did he have some role to play in what was to come?

Baralis massaged
his hands. The skin would need splitting. Why should a baker's boy have a
capacity for such destruction? Jack had spoken the truth when he said he'd not
been taught. The drawing was crude-he used a bludgeon when a paring knife would
do. But such power! Baralis was envious. Even now he could still feel the
subtle pressure of the aftermath, prickling the hairs on his neck.

There was, of
course, a good side to this: Maybor's men were not likely to capture Melliandra
as long as she traveled with Jack at her side. Perhaps destiny, in the shape of
the boy, was working for him. No. A spark of instinct deep within Baralis
always told him who his enemies were: the baker's boy was his enemy. He was
sure of it. They would meet again, and next time he would destroy him.

Enemies were his
stock in trade. Ambition bred them. Even one-time allies had a tendency to
turn. Maybor had been an ally, without his help King Lesketh would never have
been disabled, but now the man was dangerously close to feeling the full force
of his wrath.

How he hated the
man. He had actually drawn a blade on him! Baralis cursed his frailty. He had
been unable to do anything. Maybor could have snuffed him out in an instant and
they both knew it. Baralis had shown humiliating weakness, and to one whom he
despised above all others.

He counted the
days off on his fingers: less than a week before the deadline of the wager; at
least then he would have some satisfaction at Maybor's expense. Until then he
would concentrate on regaining his strength. Next time Maybor came at him with
a blade he would be ready.

He called for
Crope. The servant came lumbering in, his big hands wrapped around his beloved
box.

"Go to the
village and see if there are any mercenaries hanging around the tavern. I will
need more men. Tell them I will pay them well."

"Yes,
lord."

"Oh, and
Crope, I am interested in finding out the name of Lord Maybor's latest
dalliance." Maybe he would extract a small measure of revenge before the
week was out. Maybor was a notorious lecher. It would prove most distracting to
banish the heat from his loins.

Lilly was reeling
her big fish in. She had thought herself lucky to be bedded by Kedrac, but now
she had her eye on a grander prize: his father, Lord Maybor. The wealthiest man
in the country desired her.

She knew well how
to play the game; she had failed to turn up at his apartments when he asked-it
did not do to appear too eager. The following day she had designed to cross his
path in the gardens. The great lord had begged that she visit his chambers and
had even slipped a silver bracelet upon her wrist. She'd said she would
consider his proposal and mentioned her preference for gold.

She was ready to
move up in the world once more. Lilly had started out as a milkmaid. Bedding
with the master dairyman had ensured that she did not roughen her hands
carrying straw for the cows to eat. Instead, she had spent her days forming
freshly churned butter into pats, and the constant greasing of her palms left
them as soft as velvet. Soft enough for her to be a lady's maid.

To be a lady's
maid was her ambition. A lady's maid had the highest status of any female
servant. They were allowed, and even expected, to wear pretty clothes and have
their hair styled in ribbons. They accompanied their mistresses for walks in
the grounds and were greatly admired by all the young men at court. Lilly knew
that Lord Maybor had the power to make her one. He could force his daughter, or
some other female relative, to take up her services. She flushed with
excitement. She would not be a mere chambermaid much longer. Better things were
in store for her now that she had managed to capture the eye of one so high and
mighty.

She'd had her fair
share of dalliances with minor lords-each one had seduced and gifted her, and
one or two had even offered to keep her in a tavern at town. That was not what
she wanted. She knew how fickle men's desires were; one day they could not live
without you, the next you were an unwanted hindrance. No, she wanted more than
to be kept. She knew she was close to getting it-a man was at his most generous
when swayed by unfulfilled ardor, and Lord Maybor was a man who could afford to
be most generous.

Lilly spared
little thought for his son. Kedrac, as an unlanded lord, did not enjoy high
status at court, and he would not have been able to secure the position she
wanted. Besides, she thought wickedly, he had been useless in bed. She hoped
that his father would prove more skilled.

Lord Maybor! There
would only have been one man she would have preferred more-the king's
chancellor, Lord Baralis. Lilly shrugged. She might not have the most powerful
man in court in her pocket, but she had the richest.

She pushed back
the golden curls from her forehead and admired her reflection in Lady
Helliarna's mirror. She looked perfect, her only complaint was that her waist
was a little thick, but she knew many men regarded a plumpness in the belly as
an extra curve, and so was not too worried. She dashed out of the chamber and
down into the gardens; she expected Lord Maybor would be taking his afternoon
walk.

She was not
disappointed. She spotted him in the distance conferring with someone and
hesitated for a moment before she approached, checking that the other man was
not his son, Kedrac. As soon as he noticed her, he took leave of his companion
and came toward her.

"My sweetest
Lilly." He caught his breath for a moment. "I was sure that you would
have visited me last evening. I was disappointed when you did not come."
He took her hand and kissed it. As he let it go, he placed something cold and
heavy into it. Lilly restrained her desire to see what it was and slipped the
object, unseen, into her bodice.

"My lord, I
cannot help but feel that I am unworthy of you." She bent her head low and
fluttered her eyelashes in a way she knew to be most becoming. "I am only
a chambermaid. I am not fit to dally with great lords."

"You dallied
with my son." Lord Maybor seemed a little unsympathetic to her plea.

"Ah, but we
both know you are far greater than he." She had said the right thing, for
the lord nodded his head judiciously.

"What do you
want from me, my pretty poppet? I would rather you speak out than be forced to
bandy words with you." It was not quite what Lilly had hoped for, but she
was not about to let such an offer pass her by.

"I feel I am
good enough to be a lady's maid; my hands are soft and I am gently
spoken." Lilly made her eyes as big as saucers and bit her full bottom lip
with a becoming show of modesty.