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sleep.
Jack awoke the following morning to the smell of rain. His eyes looked up past
the naked canopy of the oak and the sky confirmed his fears. It was gray and
water laden. Rain would soon fall. He noticed his body was acting differently
from normal. All his muscles seemed to ache, his head felt unsteady, and his
limbs were slow to move. His skin was clammy and drawn, and despite the
obvious cold, he was feeling hot and sweaty. Jack had caught fevers before and
he. recognized what the symptoms meant. What he was unsure of was what to do
about it in a forest leagues from home.
In the castle now the first batch of loaves would be baking, the air would be
heavy with the smell of yeast, there'd be a bowl of pork broth for breakfast
and an hour to waste by the fire. Jack had to laugh.
It was quite ridiculous: how could he ever hope to be a hero when he'd only
been away from home for two days, had already managed to catch a fever, and
would have given the whole thing up for a hearty breakfast and a missing shoe?
Laughter made him feel stronger and he struggled to his feet. Nausea swelled
in his empty stomach. He stumbled and was long regaining his balance. It
occurred to Jack that if Frallit were watching now, the master baker would
think he was drunk and ration his ale for a week. The idea of a week's
rationed ale seemed very appealing at this point-he would have gladly suffered
Frallit's scorn for as little as a cup of soured water.
Jack labored on. He remembered drinking from a spring the night before and
headed toward it. His mind drifted from subject to subject: Bodger and Grift
warned of the dangers of ditch water, and Findra the table maid mocked his
bare foot. He was becoming confused and disorientated: the people from the
castle seemed as real as the trees. He spent what he could have sworn was an
eternity making his way
through the woods only to end up at an oak tree that looked suspiciously like
the one he'd slept under.
Every tree and bush began to look like the last one. He was growing
light-headed; he no longer even remembered what he was supposed to be looking
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for. He desperately needed to lie down, to stop the voices of reproof that
were spinning in his head. A tiny part of him was aware that lying down was
not a good idea. Jack ignored his own warning. He had to stop his body from
reeling. He had to sleep.
He collapsed by the foot of the tree. His last thoughts before he dropped into
unconsciousness were that the rain had started to fall, and he was pleased. It
felt cool and delicious on his hot skin.
Other eyes watched as the rain fell, just as they had watched the boy wander
in circles for most of the morning. The man to whom they belonged paused as he
considered what to do. He knew the boy would die if left there for the rain
and cold to take their toll. Yet, he was not a man given to acts of
compassion.
He lived in the heart of the forest and did not trouble himself with the world
of men. He knew the beast and the tree, and had little interest in that which
did not concern him.
He was compelled to watch, though. He had seen much in his time; he had seen
men murdered, men robbed, men hunting, and men hunted. He watched it all from
his green havens and had never once intervened.
The boy's plight had touched him. He was an innocent, and that was a rare
quality to find in the forest.
But there was more to it than that, for the man had seen people die many times
from cold or hunger. The boy struck a chord within the man; he felt as if
there was something more to this traveler. The man imagined he saw the pale
glow of destiny around the lad. He shook his head, smiling at his own whimsy.
The man thought at great length as he watched the still form of the boy. To
act might threaten his own safety. It might bring unwanted scrutiny upon
himself, and he had spent many years avoiding just such thing. Even as these
thoughts formed, he knew he would ignore them. He walked forward from the deep
trees and made his way toward the boy.
Baralis met with his mercenaries outside of the castle walls. It was a chill
day and he drew his cloak close. He already knew that they had failed, but it
suited him to act as if he did not.
"So, are the boy and the girl in the said place?" he asked Traff, the leader.
"No, lord, they are not. We had both the girl and the boy, but Maybor's men
descended upon us."
Baralis knew the man lied. They had never caught the boy; his dove had watched
the chase. Baralis was not concerned about the liethey were, after all,
mercenaries not priests.
"How many of Maybor's men were there?" he asked slyly, knowing full well there
had been less than ten of them. "Two dozen," said the leader.
"More, I would say," interjected another. The rest of the men grunted in
agreement.
"How many did you lose?" Baralis genuinely did not know this, as he had sent
the dove to watch over the boy and had not been witness to the end of the
exchange.
"We lost two, but we took out double that number of Maybor's."
"Hmm." Baralis was skeptical. "Go away now and conceal yourselves in the said
place. I will call you to pick the fugitives up when I have better
intelligence on them."
The leader made no move to withdraw. "My men were not engaged as fighters. You
said we would just be picking up two young'uns. Two of my men are dead and the
rest are not content."
"What is your point?" Baralis spoke coldly, knowing precisely what the leader
was after.
"We want more money. Eight more golds apiece." Traff rested his hand upon his
sword-a subtle threat.
Baralis was not so easily intimidated. With a sudden sweep he threw open his
cloak. Once he was sure he had the full attention of the gathered men he
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spoke, his voice a harshly coiled whisper. "Do not be foolish enough to get
greedy with me. With just one finger I could send you to an oblivion so deep
your own families would forget you had ever existed." Baralis sought the eye
of each mercenary, and not one of them could return his gaze. Satisfied, he
modified the tone of his voice. "I will call you either later in the day, or
on the morrow. Be sure to be ready. Now go!"
Baralis watched as the men mounted and rode away, the faintest of smiles on
his grim face. He drew his cloak around him once more and headed back to the
castle. He had much to think on. For his plans to succeed, Melliandra's pretty
face must never be seen again at the court of the Four Kingdoms. His mind
travelled east to the dukedom of Bren-the mightiest of the northern powers.
The duke was getting greedy: he wanted more land, more timber, more grain.
Baralis knew he would have to tread carefully to bring about what was planned
between them. People in the Four Kingdoms were nervous of the ambitions of
Bren, yet ironically, that very same nervousness might actually help seal the
pact. It was always easier to neutralize, rather than eliminate, a threat.
Not that he would use that particular tactic with the lovely Melliandra. She
was a threat which required swift elimination.
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