A Man Betrayed (47 page)

Jack and Magra
laughed. The atmosphere in the cottage was so much lighter when Rovas wasn't
around. Tarissa went for a cloth to soak up the water and Jack turned back to
kneading the dough for the week's baking. They had no proper oven, so the
freshly prepared dough would be taken to the town to be baked. It was nice to
be here, all working around each other, exchanging jokes and small talk, holk
warming on the fire, tallow burning with a smoky flame. It felt like home.

Jack was struck by
a sudden deep hatred of Rovas. How could he have threatened to throw these two
honest and hard-. working women out of the house unless Tarissa did his
bidding? He was a truly despicable man. Magra and Tarissa deserved better than
someone who sought to control them by casting out a net of dependency and
shared guilt.

Once finished with
the kneading, Jack placed the loaves on a large wooden tray. With a sharp knife
he slashed the top of each one and then covered them with a damp linen cloth.

Magra stepped
forward. "If they're ready, I'll take them into town." She went to
pick up the tray.

"But Rovas
has taken the cart," said Jack. "You can hardly walk all that way on
your own. I'll come with you."

"No, Jack.
You can't risk going into town." It was Tarissa. "Mother will be all
right. She'll find Rovas once she's there and he can bring her home."

"That's my
plan," agreed Magra.

Jack realized that
it
was
indeed a plan, drawn up by both women in advance to give him and
Tarissa a chance to be alone. He took the linen cloth off the tray and removed
half the loaves; he was not going to let Magra carry such a heavy weight all
the way into town. She started to protest, but he stopped her. "I won't
allow you out of the house, otherwise," he said. "Besides, I'm sure I
can bake these into something on the fire. They might be a little flat, a
little burnt, and a little tasteless, but if nothing else we can feed them to
Rovas."

Everyone laughed.
Magra picked up the newly lightened tray whilst Tarissa held the door for her.
"Take care, Mother," she said, laying a kiss upon her cheek. Jack
came and stood beside her, and both watched as the older woman walked up the
muddy path and onto the muddy lane.

"Are you sure
it's safe for her to go alone?" asked Jack as Tarissa closed the door.

"Really,
Jack, you know Mother, she's a lot tougher than she looks. She might have been
a delicate court beauty once, but that was over twenty years ago." Tarissa
slipped her arm through his. "Come on, let's not waste a minute." She
pulled him toward the fire.

Tarissa's words
about her mother started Jack thinking about a subject he hadn't considered for
some time. "Who is your father?" he asked.

Surprise flitted
across Tarissa's face. "Why do you ask now?"

"Why not? Is
it such a big secret?"

Tarissa sighed and
turned her face toward the fire. "He was a very important person."

"Was?"

"He's dead
now." Tarissa spun around. "Please, Jack, let's not spend today
dragging up the past. I won't ask you any questions, so please don't ask me
any." She took his face in her hands and kissed him full on the lips.
"If we must talk about anything, let it be the future."

He kissed her
back. Her saliva acted like a drug, taking his mind from its purpose. Nothing
mattered anymore, only following the slope of her tongue to the softness behind
her teeth.

They made love by
the slow-burning fire. It was nothing like the first time; there was no
terrible frenzy, no feeling that it was salve upon a wound. There was gentleness
and touching--and wonder as he looked upon her form. When finally they fell
apart, sweated skin resisting the separation, it was a feeling of tenderness,
not relief, that united them.

Jack tilted
Tarissa's chin and looked into her eyes. Tears welled at the corners.
"What's the matter?" he asked, immediately thinking he'd done
something wrong.

"Jack, I'm so
worried. I might never see you again." As Tarissa spoke, a heavy tear slid
down her cheek. "Promise me you won't do anything brave or daring. If it
looks dangerous, just get out of there as fast as possible."

"I
promise." His second today. Jack realized that Rovas' words were true:
"Magra
and Tarissa would never forgive me if you didn't come back. "
Surely
then the smuggler could be trusted?

Jack had given
Rovas' plan a lot of thought and there were still things that bothered him.
"Did you ever help Rovas smuggle goods into the garrison?" he asked,
trying to keep his tone light.

"Yes, I used
to stand guard near the tunnel entrance, keeping watch for the patrol."
Tarissa wiped the tears from her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"That's how
I'll make my escape. Did you ever enter the tunnel?"

"No, but I
know it leads somewhere in the officers' quarters." Tarissa began to pull
on her clothes. "You know there's a huge rock above the entrance?"

Jack nodded. He
was pleased with what Tarissa said: it confirmed all that he had been told by
Rovas.

"Will Rovas
be there to help you out?" she asked.

"No,"
said Jack. "He said I could manage it on my own and that guards patrol the
area regularly. So it would be too dangerous to wait around."

"For Rovas,
maybe---that man couldn't hide in a blackened barn--but for me it would be
easy. I used to do it all the time. I'd hide up a tree until I saw the rock
moving, then I'd slide down and help push it out of the way. If the patrol was
passing I'd hoot like an owl, so Rovas would know it was best to wait."

"You're not
coming," said Jack. "It's too dangerous."

"Oh, yes I
am. I won't even tell Rovas. I'll just be there to help with the rock. I'll
find my own way back."

"No, you
won't."

"Yes, I will,
and you can't stop me." She was quite determined now.

Although Jack
didn't like the idea, he couldn't help admiring Tarissa for her bravery. The
thought that she was willing to risk her own safety for him was heartwarming.
He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her close. Tarissa squawked indignantly.
She was in the middle of pulling on her drawers and landed in an unladylike
heap in his lap. Jack burst out laughing; he couldn't stop himself. Tarissa
slapped him, not at all gently, and scrambled to her feet. "Well, I'm
coming and that's final. I'll have no man tell me what I can and can't
do."

How could he
prevent her? In some ways Tarissa was like Melli: stubborn to a fault. Part of
Jack was pleased at her resolution. It was nice to think she would be waiting
for him. "Well, it seems I have no choice but to agree."

Tarissa came and
flung her arms around him.

"But,"
he said, disentangling himself and pushing her back so he could look directly
in her eyes, "you must make me the same promise that I made you: no
unnecessary daring, no bravery. First sign of danger and you're gone."

"I
promise."

Jack held her arms
tightly and wondered how he could strengthen the promise; it seemed too flimsy
to guard the safety of one so precious. "Do you swear on your father's
memory?"

Tarissa gave him a
deep, unreadable look, and answered, "I do."

Tavalisk was
eating otters. Sea otters, to be exact. Such adorable furry creatures and so
tender when caught fresh from the womb. These ones had been caught by a master:
no club marks to mar their fragile skulls. They must have been smothered, and
carefully at that. The rocky coastline just north of Toolay was the only place
these rare creatures existed. According to the men that caught them, their
numbers grew less each passing year. The archbishop didn't believe a word; it
was all a ploy to up the cost. Take these six beauties here: nearly a gold
apiece at current market prices. It was nothing short of outrageous! Still,
little was wasted. He intended to have a fine collar made from their pelts.

Oh, but they were
succulent, though. All one had to do was hold a bone in the mouth and suck; the
flesh came off more quickly than a cleric's robe in a brothel. All things considered,
it was rather a strange-tasting meat: a little salty, a little fishy, a little
piquant on the tongue. In fact, it wasn't really to his liking; but it was
expensive. Sometimes that was all that counted.

There was a knock
at the door and in walked Gamil. He was carrying a wax-sealed letter.
"This has just arrived by fast messenger, Your Eminence. It's come all the
way from Bren."

As Gamil leaned
over him to hand him the letter, Tavalisk took hold of his assistant's robe and
used it to wipe the grease from his hands. Gamil had little choice but to
ignore the indignity.

"Aah,"
said Tavalisk, breaking the seal. "It's from our friend Lord Maybor. My
letter must have been forwarded to him in Bren." He raced through the
spidery script. "The man writes like a blind monk. Hmm, he's still in our
corner, though he is urging caution, he says-" Tavalisk read from the
letter "`. . . there are ways to rid ourselves of the dark villain without
opposing the match.' He's obviously afraid that if he comes out openly against
the marriage, then his lands and position will be endangered, which of course
they will. Kylock as sovereign could hardly let one of his subjects brazenly
flout his wishes."

Tavalisk read on.
"Maybor is basically asking me if there is any way I can use my influences
to have Baralis killed: `You are a great man, with contacts throughout the
Known Lands, you must know someone in Bren who could do the deed."' The
archbishop broke into a high, tinkling laugh. "No. No, my dear Maybor. I'm
not falling for that one. There'll be snow on the drylands before I do another
man's dirty work for him."

"I don't
understand, Your Eminence," said Gamil.

"I am
surrounded by fools!" Although he sounded annoyed, Tavalisk was really
rather pleased by the statement: rather fools than foxes. "Maybor is a
self-serving coward. He probably has some personal vendetta against Baralis and
thinks he can use me to settle it for him." The archbishop picked up an
otter's rib and dipped it in sauce. He brought it to his lips, bit on it, and
then began to wave it at Gamil as he spoke. "Now, I dislike Baralis as
much as the next man, but the time isn't right to assassinate him yet. There
are other factors to be taken into consideration first."

"Such as,
Your Eminence?"

"The Knights
of Valdis for one. Kill Baralis now and the pot will be taken off the boil;
I'll lose my one chance of finally putting Tyren in his place." The
archbishop was about to mention his plan to become head of the Church, but then
thought better of it. He wasn't sure how much he could trust his aide.
"Anyway, as a man of the cloth, it wouldn't be right for me to sanction
murder." Was that a snort he heard from Gamil?

"So what does
Your Eminence intend to do with Lord Maybor?"

Tavalisk ran his
tongue along the bone then sucked upon the tip. "Lord Maybor will soon
come to realize that he's involved in something more important than a mere
petty rivalry. At such a time he will need the support of his friends. Write
him a letter stating that when he finds the courage to follow his convictions,
then I'll be ready with the gold to back them."

"Very good,
Your Eminence. Is there anything else?"

"Yes,
actually, there is. I've been wondering about our other friend, the knight.
It's been a long time since I heard news of him. If memory serves me correctly,
didn't the Old Man send out two of his cronies to track him down?"

"Yes, Your
Eminence. I had the traitor interrogated in order to find out what the Old Man
was up to, but he died on me."

Tavalisk paused in
tearing a leg from the otter. "That was rather careless of you, Gamil. I
wondered why you'd kept silent about the whole thing."

"I beg Your
Eminence's apologies. I am not as skilled at these things as you are."

"Well, at
least you recognize that fact. Go on." Off came the leg, tendons flapping
in futile protest. Thigh meat was not as appetizing as rib.

"The last we
heard about the knight, he was due to fight the duke's champion. I haven't been
able to ascertain yet whether he won or lost, but by all accounts he was in
pretty bad shape, so it's highly probable that the outcome was not favorable.
If he's not already dead, then his days are surely numbered. The Old Man is not
famous for his missions of mercy, and his two cronies would most certainly have
arrived in Bren by now."

"Yes, I'm
sure they have." Tavalisk had lost interest in the otters and pushed the
platter aside. "Before you leave, Gamil, I wonder if you can do me one
small favor."

"Certainly,
Your Eminence."

"I'd be
grateful if you could just run over to the market district for me. These sea
otters are tender, but I think they might be off. Be so kind as to get me a
refund. Tell the stall-holder I intend to keep their pelts as punishment for
selling shoddy goods. Obviously I'm willing to accept any further gifts he may
feel the need to bestow upon me once the subject of informing the magistrates
is mentioned."

Gamil bowed.
"Your Eminence is master of the judicious threat."

Tawl had to get
out of the palace. He needed to be alone to think, to walk the dark streets and
look up at the stars. Feeling better than he had in days, he rose from his
straw pallet. Tawl's first instinct was that of a knight after combat: mentally
he checked every muscle, every tendon, every cell in his body for damage.
Running through the procedure he'd learned at Valdis, he started at the heart
and worked his way outward. Following the lines of the major arteries, his
consciousness swept along with his blood.

Straight away he
met a blockage. The blood vessels in his upper chest were damaged, some were blocked.
Blayze's knife had severed them, the cauterizing iron had sealed them.