A Man Betrayed (72 page)

The door swung
open. "Ah, Lord Baralis. I was wondering what had become of you." The
duke beckoned him in. "I thought perhaps my messenger had failed to find
you."

Baralis made no
attempt to fill the ensuing silence with excuses. Let His Grace think whatever
he wanted.

The duke was
standing in the middle of a large reception room. He beckoned Baralis to sit.

"I will
stand, if you don't mind, Your Grace."

The duke shrugged.
"As you please." He walked over to the window and pulled back the
metal shutters. "It is a fine day, is it not, Lord Baralis?"

"Yes. If you
speak purely of the weather." Baralis strolled over to the duke's desk. It
was covered with maps and charts. He recognized the shape of the kingdoms
amongst them.

"I speak of
all things, Lord Baralis." The duke was smiling, his eyes skimming the
lake.
"Everything
is fine today."

Baralis did not
like the way the man sounded. "Perhaps you should tell me what you're so
pleased about, Your Grace. I for one see nothing to inspire such
satisfaction."

"You're a
little sour for a man who is about to receive good news."

"Most things
turn sour when they have been kept waiting too long."

The Hawk spun
around. "Then I shall make you wait no longer. You know why I have
summoned you here?"

",I know why
you have failed to summon me
before
now."

"I admit I
have been somewhat slow in setting a firm date for my daughter's marriage, but
I intend to rectify that, here, today." The duke stepped forward.
"Tell me, Lord Baralis, does two months hence seem fair warning to
you?"

This was the last
thing Baralis had expected. He had come to the meeting with the belief that the
duke would delay him further, either that or attempt to back out of the match
completely. He hid his surprise. "Two months will take us into summer.
That appears to be satisfactory. I will, of course, require written proof of
your intent." Baralis expected the duke to balk at his request, but the
man merely nodded.

"You will
have it within a week. I will set my scribes scribing and my lawyers lawyering.
Do you need anything else?"

Suspicion replaced
surprise. The duke was being too accommodating. "Might I ask Your Grace
what has brought on his sudden urge to name the day?"

"Certainly,
Lord Baralis. Catherine came to me yesterday and begged me to set a date."
The duke smiled smoothly. "What father can refuse a daughter's plea?"

He was lying,
Baralis was sure of it. "How strange she never thought to plead before
now."

"Come now,
Baralis. I would have thought you've had enough experience with women to know
that the one thing they are is unpredictable." The duke was looking rather
pleased with himself.

"When exactly
did you become so indulgent over women?"

The acid-toned
question had a marked effect on the duke. His smile petered to a thin line and
his brows came down to meet his nose. He cut abruptly across the room. "I
have more important things to do with my time than trade barbs with you, Lord
Baralis. I have said my piece, now make your arrangements."

Baralis was not so
easily dismissed. "When can I make the official announcement?"

"I will make
the official announcement, Lord Baralis. The Feast of First Sowing is in four
nights time; I shall do it then."

"That will
leave me no time to consult with the king."

"I can always
put it off, if you wish."

Baralis did not
like this one little bit, but as the duke was well aware, an announcement
without royal clearance was better than no announcement at all. "That will
not be necessary. First Sowing is fine."

"I thought
that would be agreeable to you." The duke gave Baralis a shrewd look.
"You may go now. I trust you will be discreet until I make my decision
public." He turned his back and began to look over the contents of his
desk. Baralis had no choice but to bow and leave.

Maybor thought he
was going mad. He had heard it happened to people who did not eat enough meat,
but each month he personally ate enough pork and venison to supply an entire
village for a year. So he couldn't understand it. Now, if it had been fish, it
would have been a different matter altogether. Fish was the food of women and
priests and he never, ever, ate it unless it was well stuffed with meat.

The thing that was
fueling his fancy was that on two occasions over the past few days he could
swear he'd seen his daughter wandering around the palace. Just this morning,
less than an hour ago, he had been making his way-discreetly, of course-from a
certain lady's chamber. Hearing footsteps, he'd looked around to see a girl
walking in the distance. The sight of the tall slim figure with dark hair
falling to her waist set his heart aflutter. It looked like Melliandra. A
golden-haired man walked behind her. Forgetting discretion, Maybor followed the
two, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl's face. They walked down a series of
corridors and stairs, and finally disappeared behind a heavy bronze door. The
girl never turned around once.

The moment she
disappeared, Maybor began to doubt that she was his daughter at all. Probably
just some young noblewoman who happened to share Melliandra's height and
coloring. He tried to dismiss the incident as folly, but it played on his mind.
Twice he had seen the mysterious girl and each time he could have sworn she was
his daughter. Which, in Maybor's reckoning, made him either a madman or a fool.

Melliandra could
be anywhere in the north. He had written to his son Kedrac asking him to offer
a reward to any man who found her, but so far no one had come forward. Maybor
rubbed his jowls. If only he was there himself. He would personally see to it
that his daughter was found. If nothing else, he was a man who could make
things happen.

Though only in the
kingdoms. And that was, as he saw it, the real reason behind his madness: he
was sick of being stuck in a city where he wielded no real power and where no
one realized just how wealthy and influential he was. It was enough to drive
Borc himself insane! Indeed, if he remembered his scriptures correctly, toward
the end Borc was overcome with visions of his long lost family. Perhaps he had
stayed too long in Bren, as well!

"More meat,
Prisk," he called to his manservant. Thinking for a moment, he added,
"And bring me some fish, tooa meaty one, mind, not a fishy one." A
man could never be too careful in matters concerning his sanity.

Prisk, a skinny
man with a birthmark the size of a cucumber running across his face, stood his
ground and coughed, which was his way of letting his master know that he had
something to say to him.

"What is it,
Prisk?" barked Maybor. "Speak. Don't stand there coughing like a man
with the 'tubes."

"A message
from the duke, my lord. He requests a brief meeting with you in the privacy of
his chambers."

Maybor rose up and
slapped the man in the face. "How dare you not tell me before now?"
He turned his back on the stunned servant. "Fetch me my cloak, the red one
lined with ermine. And cut me a lemon for my breath."

Minutes later,
Maybor was striding through the palace looking like a king. Later perhaps,
after he had seen the duke, he might pay a visit to his ladyfriend; it would be
a shame for such magnificence to go to waste.

As he passed
through the great hall, he spotted someone he hadn't seen for several days:
Baralis. The man was walking along with Shark at his side. When he saw Maybor,
he changed his course. The dog followed him like a shadow.

"Good
morning, Lord Maybor," said Baralis, his voice rich with contempt.
"Attending a coronation, are we?" His eyes swept across Maybor's
cloak.

Shark growled
right on cue. Maybor could hardly believe that Shark, his Shark, was growling
at him. A quick scan around was enough to ensure him that there were too many
people present for Baralis to get up to any funny stuff. "What have you
done with my dog?" he demanded.

"My dog, now,
I think," corrected Baralis. He stroked the dog's ears lovingly. "I
have quite a way with animals, you know."

Maybor wanted to
draw his sword and hack the man's head off. He had loved that dog! True, he had
always been a little afraid of it, but he had grown very fond of it toward the
end. And to watch it rubbing up against Baralis' leg, like a she-cat in heat,
was more than he could stand. "You have bewitched it," he hissed.

"And you,
Lord Maybor," said Baralis with irritating calmness, "trained it to
kill me."

"Prove
it."

Baralis smiled
softly. "The fact that the attempt failed is proof enough for me."

"You think
you're so clever, don't you, Baralis? But it won't be long before you're sent
back to the kingdoms with your tail between your legs. The duke has no
intention of marrying his daughter to Kylock." Maybor was quite sure of
what he said; after all, the duke had been dragging his heels over naming a
date for weeks. Now, with Kylock rapidly closing in on the Halcus capital, he
was less likely to agree to the match than ever.

Baralis actually
laughed. "Oh, Lord Maybor, you are woefully misinformed. Particularly for
a man whose title is king's envoy." Baralis brought his hand to his chin,
as if deep in thought. "But then, you are envoy to a
dead
king.
Lesketh did spend the best part of winter in his grave."

Maybor was rapidly
losing his temper. He spoke between gritted teeth, spittle escaping with his
words. "What is your point, Baralis?"

"My point,
Lord Maybor, is that the duke and I have already decided upon a date for the
wedding. If you weren't so busy training dogs and dressing up like royalty,
then you might have discovered that for yourself."

"How dare
you!"

Baralis swooped
close. "No. How dare you, Lord Maybor? Any more attempts on my life like
the last one, and I will smite you down where you stand." He pulled away,
eyes flashing with hatred. "And after our last little encounter in this
hall, you know that is no idle threat."

Both men stood
glaring at each other for a moment. Baralis finally turned away. Tapping Shark
gently on her neck, he said, "Come my precious, let us leave this place.
Your old master has things to do-like acquaint himself with current events, for
one thing." He inclined his head to Maybor and then cut a path toward the
kitchens. Shark matched him step for step.

Maybor watched
them go. He hated Baralis with a loathing so deep he felt it in his bones and
in his blood. The man was a demon.

Smoothing down his
robe, Maybor looked around the hall. No one was close enough to have heard what
was said. A young maid with a milk yoke across her shoulders, and a pleasing
plumpness about her waist, caught his eye and smiled. He turned away. He had
too much on his mind for even the briefest of flirtations. For one thing, he
was late for the duke. Though he now felt less inclined to be prompt than he
had five minutes ago. If what Baralis had said was true, then he and the duke
had decided upon the wedding date and the arrangements without once consulting
him. It was an outrage! As king's envoy he should have been party to all
meetings concerning the match. Maybor flew up the stairs. He would have a few
choice words to say to His Grace. Madman he might be, but he was nobody's fool.

Arriving at the
entrance to the duke's chamber, Maybor was greeted by a plainly dressed guard.
The man waved him through to a discreet flight of stairs. Maybor could not help
but appreciate the arrangement, as the staircase meant the duke's chamber was
actually on a separate, higher level than the entrance. Good for both security
and
privacy. When he finally got out of this Borc-forsaken city, he would have
something similar built in his Eastlands estate.

The door at the
top was heavy and imposing, and as it was unguarded, Maybor opened it for
himself. He found himself in a large reception room. The duke, who had been
standing by his desk studying various papers, came forward to meet him.

"Aah, Lord
Maybor. I am gratified that you could come on such short notice." He threw
a glance back to his desk. "And I am well pleased that you came when you
did; you have saved me from certain boredom. I enjoy reading contracts about as
much as I enjoy having leeches pulled." The duke grasped his hand firmly.
"Well met, friend. Sit and I will pour us some wine. You have a taste for
lobanfern red I believe?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned and started
pouring wine into cups.

Maybor was thrown
a little off balance. First of all, he had expected to be met by a second set
of guards, not the duke himself, and second, he couldn't understand why the man
had greeted him as if he were a long lost friend.

"There you
are, Maybor," said the duke, handing him a brimming cup. "I think a
toast is in order, don't you?"

"It depends
upon what we're toasting."

The duke smiled
and raised his cup toward Maybor's. "Let us toast to the future. For it
looks better today than it has in many weeks."

Maybor pulled his
cup away. "So it is true that you have set a date for the wedding?"

The duke just
managed to save his wine from spilling onto the floor. "Who told you
this?" he demanded. "Baralis."

"When?"

Maybor did not
like answering questions like a common servant. "That's not important. I
want to know exactly when you and he came to this agreement."

"Baralis and
I came to no agreement. I merely informed him of my intentions. He had no say
in the matter."

Maybor grunted. It
was just like Baralis to exaggerate the part he played in events. "Why was
I not informed at the same time as he?"