Master and Fool (17 page)

"Yes, Your
Eminence."

Tavalisk shot a
suspicious glance at his aide; he did not like the tone of Gamil's voice.
"You may go now. Make sure the messages are sent promptly." The
archbishop waited until Gamil was at the door before he added, "Ah, about
the fish..."

"Would you
like me to take it away, Your Eminence?"

"No, Gamil.
I've taken quite a liking to the feisty little creature, but its water is
rather dirty, and I'd be grateful if you'd clean it."

"You must
leave Bren today," said Maybor, trying but not quite succeeding to keep
his voice low. "Every minute you stay is another minute that Melliandra is
in danger."

"Melliandra's
reputation is of the utmost importance, Tawl," Cravin said, his tone
smoother and more calculating than Maybor's. "She now caries Bren's only
living heir, and for her to be associated with a suspected murderer is nothing
short of disastrous. There are many lords in the city who would help us back
her claim, yet none will come forward if you are by her side. All of Bren
thinks you murdered Catherine, and whilst that may be untrue, I'm sure you'll
agree that the evidence certainly looks damning." Cravin took a step
closer to Tawl, putting his elegantly manicured hand on his arm. "Stay and
you bring Melliandra down with you."

Tawl pulled away.
Cravin had a reptile's touch. He turned his back on both men and walked toward
the fire. They were downstairs in the hideout, Cravin's townhouse, and for the
first time since they had been staying here, the owner had decided to pay them
a visit. Lord Cravin had arrived an hour earlier and had spent most of that
time in private conference with Maybor About fifteen minutes ago they had
called him down.

Even before the
call came, Tawl knew what they would say. Catherine had been dead for five days
now, and on the dawn of the second day, he had been proclaimed her murderer. A
cup with his mark carved upon it had been found at her bedside. There was
poison in it, the same poison that was found on Catherine's lips. There was
also a servant who, when tortured, had confessed to taking gold from a man who looked
like the duke's champion in return for placing the cup and the poisoned wine in
Catherine's chamber. Fifty pieces of gold had even been found in the servant's
room.

Tawl balled his
hands into fists. Cravin was right it did look damning.

Someone had done a
very good job of making it seem as if he'd murdered Catherine. It was different
than the duke's murder, where no one really knew what had happened. Yes,
accusations had been thrown at him, but despite all of Baralis' efforts, no one
could say with conviction that he had done it. There was only suspicion,
nothing more. But this ... Tawl shook his head. Baralis had outdone himself
this time.

"Tawl, today
Kylock's forces are sweeping southeast of the city. Tomorrow, they will be
here." Maybor was trying to speak quietly, so there would be no chance of
Melli overhearing the conversation. "There's little chance they'll miss us
this time."

"Yes,"
agreed Cravin. "The search is door to door, room to room. By midday
tomorrow they will have reached this street " He lowered his voice to the
level of a threat. "We cannot risk Melliandra being caught."

Not in a house
owned by you,
thought Tawl. He didn't say it, though. Instead he said,
"Even if I were to leave, the search would still continue."

Cravin was ready
for him. "You are right. It is not enough for you to leave, you must also
be
seen
to leave. Only then will Kylock call off the search."

Tawl suddenly felt
very tired. He leaned forward, supporting his weight on the mantel. The heat
from the fire had lost its power to warm him. He was cold, colder than he could
ever remember being before. The thought of leaving Melli chilled his very soul.
She was all there was in the world for him. Even if he had never taken an oath,
he would still be here at her side. He lived to keep her safe, yet now it
looked as if the very protection he gave her was just one more danger.

Maybor came and
stood beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Tawl saw him exchange a glance
with Cravin. "Look, Tawl," he said. "I know you've done a lot
for all of us, and we all thank you for it, but now it's time for you to go.
Unless you leave tonight, Melliandra will fall into Baralis' hands."
Maybor shook his head slowly. "And no oath in the world will be able to
save her then."

"You must not
forget your oath, Tawl," said Cravin from behind him. "An oath to
protect the duke's wife, but more importantly, his heirs." Tawl could feel
the man's breath on the back of his neck. "The unborn child must be
protected at all cost."

"We could all
leave tonight," said Tawl, whipping around to face Cravin. "I could
take Melliandra from the city after dark."

Once again Cravin
was ready. "No. She cannot be moved. She is not well, the risk to the baby
is too great." Maybor waved an arm, stopping Cravin from speaking further.
"Just go away for a little while, Tawl," he said gently. "Just
until the uproar over Catherine's death dies down. Come back later-in a month,
say."

"In less than
ten days time the armies of Highwall and Annis will be setting camp outside the
city." Tawl was losing his temper. "War is coming, and Bren will be
the battlefield. It's madness to keep Melli here."

"No,
Tawl," said Cravin. "What's madness is you staying here knowing full
well that your presence endangers Melliandra. Now, I know you're no longer a
knight, but I thought at least I could rely on your sense of honor."

"Honor!
You
know nothing of honor." Tawl swept all the candles from the mantel.
"All you care about are politics and your own precious neck."
Trembling from head to foot, Tawl wanted nothing more than to beat the life
from Cravin. "You should be thankful of Valdis' codes of honor at this
moment, Cravin," he murmured. "For if I hadn't learnt them well,
you'd be a dead man now."

The two men stared
at each other for a minute, then Tawl had the satisfaction of seeing Cravin
back away. Maybor stepped in to fill the gap. His tone was conciliatory.
"Tawl, I know you are honorable, and I am relying on you to do what is
right. Forget about Lord Cravin and the baby, just think about Melliandra. We
can't allow her to fall into Baralis' hands."

Tawl sighed
heavily, his anger toward Cravin leaving him as quickly as it came. What Maybor
said was right: Baralis must never be allowed to capture Melli. Kylock's forces
would be here tomorrow. Only this morning Nabber had come back from the market
with horrible tales of the searches-houses were being burned, people tortured,
anything that might lead to Tawl's capture. The whole city was looking for him.

And then there was
Blayze's brother, Skaythe. The man had accosted Nabber not far from the
hideout, and it wouldn't be long before he tracked them down. From Nabber's
account of the incident, Skaythe sounded like a man bent on revenge. Tawl knew
Blayze's brother wanted to see him dead, so by leaving the city he would
eliminate yet another threat. Skaythe would either give up his search
altogether, or leave the city in pursuit of him.

"If I were to
leave, how would you protect Melliandra in my absence?"

"I will set
my own men to watch the district. At the first sign of any danger, I will see
to it that she is moved to another place." Cravin gave Tawl a hostile
look. "Once you go, the danger will be greatly reduced. The search parties
will be called off and the city will get back to normal. Keeping Melliandra
safe shouldn't be too difficult, then. After all, she's been here three months
without being discovered."

Much though he
hated to admit it, Cravin had a point. Melli was safe here, or she would be as
long as tomorrow's search didn't go ahead. It was just so hard to think of
Melli being here without him. Tawl found himself wishing he'd never taken the
duke's oath. He felt as if he was trapped by it. Melli and the baby would be
safer in his absence, and so he was oath-bound to leave them. He knew it was the
rational thing to do, but his heart and his soul cried out to stay.

Nine years ago he
had left the little cottage by the marsh to go to Valdis, only to return three
years later and find his sisters long dead. It was the defining failure of his
life; it guided all his actions and made him who he was. Every day he was
forced to struggle with the memory, and every day he realized anew that he
could never make it right. It haunted his dreams, his days, his mornings, and
his nights. And Tawl knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if the same
thing happened to Melli. There was only so much guilt a man could bear.

Yet tomorrow Melli
might be captured or killed, and it would be his presence that brought Kylock's
minions to the door. The search could not be allowed to continue. If guards
broke into the house, Tawl knew he would defend WE with his life: but that was
it, he only had one life, and once that was gone, Melli was on her own.

"I will go
now," said Tawl. He had to-for Melli, for the baby, for the oath he'd
sworn to the duke. Loyalty took many forms, and the hardest part of all was
knowing when to walk away.

Maybor patted him
on the back. "It's for the best, Tawl. Lord Cravin and I will look after
Melli "

"And
Nabber," added Tawl. He put more store in Nabber's ability to look after
Melli than either of the selfserving lords before him.

Maybor nodded.
"It will be so."

Crossing the room,
Tawl paused by the door and turned to look at Cravin. "If one hair on
Melli's head is harmed, I swear by Borc I will see you dead for it."

Closing the door
behind him, he raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Nabber was
waiting for him at the top. Tawl ignored him at first and began stuffing his
belongings into a sack. His sword and his knives took up most of the space.

"How did it
go with old Cravin and Maybor?" asked Nabber, growing impatient with being
overlooked.

Tawl swung around.
"Nabber, I am going away for a while-don't worry, I won't be far away.
Look after Melli for me while I'm gone."

"But,
Tawl-"

"No
questions. Just do as I say." Tawl clasped Nabber's hand. "I promise
I will be back."

Nabber nodded
rather solemnly. "I understand, Tawl." He probably did, as well.
Taking up his sack, Tawl slung it over his shoulder. "Take care, Nabber.
Tell Melli my thoughts will always be with her."

"Aren't you
gonna say good-bye?" Nabber indicated Melli's door.

Tawl shook his
head. She would only beg him to stay. And once he heard her voice, nothing on
earth could make him leave. No, he wouldn't say good-bye: her safety mattered
more than his own personal fears. Melli was different than his sisters-older,
wiser, stronger-she would be safe without him. She had to be.

Just before he
made his way down the stairs, Tawl crept up to her door. Not a sound came from
the other side. Turning away, he raised a hand in parting to Nabber and quietly
left the house.

Jack was in the
south of the city. Of all the districts that he had walked around, he felt
drawn to the south side the most. In the deep purple shadows of twilight, it was
a maze of narrow streets and darkened alleys. Taverns, brothels, and bakeshops
crowded around tiny squares. The smell of the abattoir and the tanners combined
with the smoke from the charcoal burners and the fumes from the dyemakers to
create an especially challenging test for the lungs.

Foul air aside,
Jack was actually enjoying being in the city. He didn't have to hide his face
here-no one cared about a Halcus war criminal in Bren-and for the first time in
his life he felt free to do as he pleased. No Frallit, no Rovas, no Stillfox:
he was his own man, and as he walked the streets of Bren, he was beginning to
appreciate the joy of it.

It was a good
feeling to walk down a darkened alleyway and know that if he was jumped by a
robber, a cutthroat, or a pimp he would be able to deal with them. Thanks to
Rovas he could handle himself well now. The thought of a surprise attack held
no fear for him. As long as he had a blade and a little room to work in, he
could deal with most challengers.

He only wished he
had a similar confidence in his sorcery. After the incident in the bakers'
lodge in Annis, he knew he could draw sorcery at will, but there was still a
part of Jack that was frightened of using it. Even now, he was afraid of doing
the wrong thing, of mistiming the drawing, of becoming too involved with
whatever he was trying to change, or, worst of all, of drawing too much. He
knew he was powerful-what had happened at the garrison had proven that beyond
question-but he had had little faith in his ability to control that power. Like
a giant picking daisies, he felt too blundering and big-handed to do the job
with the delicacy it required.

There was nothing
tangible to hold and see: no blade to dodge, no handle to grasp, no blood to
judge the blow. It was all in the mind; the attack had to be planned and shaped
in the thoughts, and by the time you could taste the metal on your tongue it
was all over and done with.

The dangers were
as real as with swordplay, yet because there were no thrusting blades and no
opponent's skill to gauge, it didn't seem as threatening. When a man has his
knife to your throat, instinct warns you to proceed carefully. With sorcery it
was different. The dangers were to the mind as much as the body, and sometimes
it was difficult to judge the line between safety and self-destruction. More
than once Jack had nearly lost himself to the lure of inanimate objects. It was
so easy to fall in time with them, to be influenced by them, and then to forget
to pull away. Pulling away was hard. It was like coming to sit by a warm and
cozy fire and then forcing yourself outside into the cold.