A Man Betrayed (12 page)

So the boy had
made his first move. He should have expected it. Kylock would not be content
living in the shadow of an invalid king and a too-powerful queen. Baralis could
almost be pleased with this youthful show of initiative, as long as the boy
didn't make any more rash moves.

Of course he would
have preferred that in his absence the court be run by the queen. She was a
woman who knew the value of stability, and stability was just what Baralis
needed until the marriage between Kylock and Catherine of Bren was consummated.
Only then should the combined might of Bren and the kingdoms show its teeth.
Now he was worried in case Kylock should take it upon himself to win the war
with the Halcus-a victory that Baralis knew could be won by a determined
leader-and by doing so, draw the eyes of the world northward before the
alliance was in place. A world made nervous by an aggressive new king would
look much more critically upon a proposed alliance between the two mightiest
states in the north.

There was some
consolation to be gained in the fact that the armies of the kingdoms were badly
depleted. Five years of war rendered even the best of soldiers battle weary.
Still, it was a situation that would need careful monitoring. Kylock was his
creature. Murdering the king was simply proof of it. The deed would have been
done once the marriage had taken place. All Kylock did was anticipate the need.
He had been rash, yes, but he'd carried it off! Fooling court and queen into
believing the king's death was a natural progression of his illness. Baralis
couldn't help but feel a little proud. Not a father's pride, rather pride of
ownership. There was much he didn't know about Kylock. The boy had power, he
was certain of it. He was also equally certain he could not use it. The drugs
he provided acted as a suppressant. Kylock took them willingly, thinking they
provided him with insight into the world of darkness. All they did was drive
him nearer to madness. And that was the way Baralis wanted it. So much easier
to control a man whose power of reasoning had been eroded by subtle shifts of
poison about the brain.

The drug inhibited
the swell of sorcery in the mind. Sorcery came from the mind and the gut; it
met and became potent in the mouth. Kylock could draw power from the belly, but
his will could not form the intent. He was like a wheel that could not turn for
want of grease.

It had to be so.
Baralis could not risk the future king's reputation being sullied by rumors of
sorcery.

There was another,
more personal reason for administering the drug. 'Twould be dangerous if Kylock
turned out to be more powerful than himself. It was difficult to gauge these
things, but the signs were there: he was conceived on a night of reckoning,
when fate itself danced its way into his seed. Fate aside, blood alone would
ensure the passing down of sorcery's particular gifts. And Baralis' blood had
ever been potent.

The wind picked up
and there was bite to its bluster. Baralis pulled his collar close about his
neck, seeking to quiet his misgivings along with the cold. Kylock was addicted
to the drug. He would continue to take it in Baralis' absence. There was
nothing to be concerned about; he was merely tired, no more. Endless hours in
the saddle combined with the relentless chill of wind and snow had worn him down.
He was anxious to be over the mountains and into the city. Ambition and
intrigue were his lifeblood, and the long journey eastward had forestalled
both.

By murdering the
king, Kylock may have made his job more difficult, but he was always one to
rise to a challenge.

Melli sat at the
foot of the stairs and waited. She knew it was now well past morning. The light
stealing beneath the doorway grew steadily weaker and would soon be replaced by
the even paler glow of candlelight. Even this late in winter the days were
still short.

She had sat here
for many hours now, knowing the delicate terror of anticipation. At every sign
of movement from above, Melli would grow tense; her hands fluttered nervously,
one to smooth her dress, another to check her blade. Once she was sure the
knife had not slipped from its position between living skin and dead bone, she
would compose herself. It was important not to look afraid. Only they never
came, and so Melli had more time to think the worst.

She wondered what
the delay could mean. She knew the captain had intended her to be taken away in
the morning, and now it seemed his plans were either delayed or changed. Melli
stood and waited.

As the hours went
by and her limbs grew stiff with stillness and cold, Melli wondered what had
become of Jack. In the weeks they'd spent with each other, she had come to rely
on him. She had watched him gradually changing, growing more sure of himself,
and at the same time more distant. She was quite confident that he'd survive on
his own. In fact, he would probably do better now that he didn't have her to
worry about.

The lock turned,
and Melli's thoughts snapped back to herself. She stood up and faced the door.
Her heart quickened and her stomach reeled. The door opened and two men were
silhouetted in its frame. One was tall and well proportioned: the captain. The
other was slight and oddly shaped. "There she is," said the captain,
making no move to enter the room. "I told you she was a beauty."

"Bring her up
into the light." The voice of the second man was thin and high, lacking in
emotion.

The captain made a
snort of protest, but complied with the man's wishes. He descended the steps
and grabbed Melli by the wrist. Twisting her arm to ensure compliance, he
forced her up the stairs. She was led past the man in the doorway and into the
light.

She had to squint
at first. The light was too bright.

The captain
slapped her hard on the cheek. "Stop squinting, girl!" he ordered.

Melli did not have
time to wonder at this curious command, as the second man moved close and began
prodding her with a long, thin finger. She shrank back in distaste. The man was
badly disfigured. One side of his face was slack; there was no muscle to fill
out the cheek. His left eyelid drooped nearly shut, and his half-mouth rested
in a flaccid sneer.

"Too
skinny," he said, the lips on his good side curling up slightly. He shook
his head. "Too skinny."

The captain looked
at the man with barely disguised distaste. "You're mistaken, sir. There is
meat to the bones." The man made a doubting sound with tooth and spittle
as he circled Melli. She noticed that his left arm lay limp at his side; the
fingers curled close to the palm. His left leg dragged as he walked.

He continued
prodding her with his good hand. A finger came up to her cheek, and its long,
yellow nails drew a furrow in her skin. "Not as young as you
promised," he said.

The captain
shrugged. "She is young enough, Fiscel, and you know it."

The man ignored
this comment and slipped his fingernail between Melli's lips. Melli was forced
to open her mouth as his nail pressed against the tender flesh. She tasted her
own blood. He ran his finger along her teeth and pulled her lips back to see
the gums.

Apparently
satisfied with what he saw, he turned his attention to her body. Melli felt the
guilty pressure of the knife at her side. Detection of the hidden weapon seemed
imminent. Through the fabric of her dress, the man named Fiscel squeezed the
swell of her breast. This indignity was too much for Melli to bear and she
raised her arm to strike him. With surprising speed Fiscel caught her arm, and
with unexpected strength he forced it to her side. He made a strange sound in
his throat, and it took Melli a moment to realize he was laughing. His face was
close to hers. She smelled the sick-sweet odor of his breath. It occurred to
Melli that if she could divert his attention long enough, he might not resume
his prodding of her body, and her knife might go undetected.

She decided to
become her own saleswoman. "I am, I assure you, sir, well rounded. There
is no bone on me that is without its fair measure of meat. I see no need to
poke me as if I were a newly set cheese."

The captain, who
was becoming impatient with all the proddings and examinations, seemed pleased
at this statement. "See, Fiscel. I told you she has the bearing of a
noblewoman."

Melli took this
opportunity to step away from her inspector. To her delight, Fiscel let her go
and turned his attention to the captain.

"I will take
her," he said. "Though she is a disappointment to me."

The captain seemed
unaffected by this pronouncement; he leaned back against the wall, placing a
foot on an empty beer barrel. With his oiled mustache and softly beaten
leathers, he was a picture of dashing elegance. He was well aware of the
contrast between himself and the other man, and Melli saw that he was using his
physical superiority as part threat, part bargaining tool. "I'm afraid I
have you at a disadvantage, sir," he said.

"What
disadvantage is that?"

"When you
first arrived and were taking a glass of mulled wine, I took the liberty of
having one of my men, inspect your ... how should I put it? ... your wares. He
told me you had two other girls, and that, although young, they were lacking in
beauty and bearing." The captain permitted himself to look a little smug.

Fiscel waved his
good arm dismissively. "Captain, your low tricks are as misguided as they
are predictable. Those two girls are no concern of yours, and their charms, or
lack of them, have no bearing on this deal." The flesh-trader-for Melli
now knew without a doubt that he was one-was obviously well used to verbal
parrying. "I am in half a mind to leave the girl. She is pretty, yes, but
no longer young and has a violent disposition."

"The girl is
not yet past her eighteenth year, and violence when called spirit is often
attractive in a woman." The captain had now given up his nonchalant pose.
Melli almost felt sorry for him. He was in the presence of one who would surely
outwit him.

"The girl
might be thought young here in the north," said Fiscel, "but in the
Far South, she would be considered an old maid. She is many years past first
blood."

Melli strove to
hide her embarrassment at the mention of such an intimate subject by a man. In
all her life, she'd never heard a man make any references to a woman's cycle,
and she thought it a subject they had no knowledge of.

"Fiscel, you
and I both know that not all your dealings are done in the Far South. I have
heard that you do business in places as near as Annis and Bren. This girl is
still young in the eyes of such cities." The captain was allowing his
temper to show. "The girl is beautiful, nobly born, fine figured, and she
knows courtly manners. Do not try to tell me that she is an old maid barely
worth your attention."

"You say she
is a virgin?"

"You have my
word."

Fiscel made a
peculiar doubting noise, which had the effect of spraying the limp side of his
lips with spittle. "The girl is no great find. She is skinny, dark-eyed,
and small breasted. I will give you a hundred less than you're asking."

"The girl is
pale-skinned, blue-eyed, and well-hipped. I will take no less than my original
price."

Melli was
beginning to feel most indignant at being talked about so callously. Although
she disliked the fleshtrader's comments, she could see there was some truth to
them.

"The girl is
simply not worth three hundred golds," said Fiscel. "Her hair is too
dark, her chin is too forward, and she is too tall. Why, her very height alone
will cut down the number of potential buyers-men insist on being taller than
their women."

Melli had the
distinct feeling that Fiscel could come up with belittling things to say about
her until winter's end. She took some comfort in the fact that he would
probably be no less insulting if he were face to face with the greatest
beauties of the day.

"I will take
two fifty, no less." Apparently, the good captain had succumbed to this
last tirade; either that, or he'd run out of good points with which to counter
the insults.

"Take two
twenty-five and you have a deal." Fiscel smiled: a dreadful sight, as only
half his face complied with his wishes.

The captain rolled
the fine points of his mustache and did not bother to conceal his repulsion.
"Two forty."

"Two
thirty."

"Done."

Fiscel held out
his long-nailed hand to clasp on the deal. The captain brushed the surrounding
air, but did not touch it. He glanced over at Melli, a strange look not without
regret. "You have got yourself a good deal, Fiscel."

The flesh-trader
shrugged. "She will do." He unclasped his belt, and for one awful moment,
Melli wondered if he was going to flog or rape her. He did neither. Instead he
twisted the broad leather belt until a split in the inner lining became
apparent, dipped his fingers into the split, and drew out two fifty-gold bars.
These he handed to the captain, who duly tested them with a scrape of his
knife. Fiscel replaced the belt. "You will receive the rest once I have
confirmed your word."

"Word?"

"Your word
that she is a virgin. Just as you tested the gold, I must test the girl."

The captain did
not look pleased, but Melli really didn't give a damn. What test was this? Her
face flushed with anger, but she forced herself to be calm. Maybe if she were
left alone with Fiscel, she would have a chance to use her knife.

"It is
nothing to be concerned with, captain," he was saying. "I will take
her to the inn with me, and once certain delicacies have been ascertained, I
will pay my due. I will, of course, expect a complete refund if the girl has
been used." Fiscel's good eye narrowed sharply. "Perhaps, if such an
unhappy situation arises, I might be persuaded to take the girl off your hands
for the odd thirty golds."