Book Of Words - Master And Fool Part 49

"Folded, with a dark red seal."

Baralis went over to his desk. He picked a faded parchment at random, folded it and, tipping the edge of his sealing block to the flame, dripped bloodred wax onto the crease. Holding it up toward Crope, he asked, "Is this what it looked like?"

Crope nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, master. Yes."

"Good. Come with me."

Jack had reached the end of the tunnels. A glimmer of light sliced through the cracks in the stone, marking the presence of torches on the other side. Jack had no way of knowing if he had taken the same route laid out by Nabber, so he sent a quick prayer to Borc as he placed his hands on the wall: No guards. Please.

A gentle push set the stone in motion. Warmth, light, and freshness flooded in through the breach. Jack was dazzled. Lulled into a half-dream by the warm s.h.i.+ft of his blood in the darkness, it was like being forced out of bed in the middle of the night.

Straightaway, he knew it wasn't the same entrance as before: there was no curtain to mask the movement of the stone. Jack stepped out into a corridor. His foot landed on something soft: a silken rug.

"Argh!"

Jack whipped around to see where the cry had come from, and he came face-to-face with a woman dressed in green satin. They stood and looked at each other for a moment, and then the woman took a screaming breath. "Gua--"

Jack clamped his hand over her mouth. His senses felt as if they were on overload: for the past hour he had lived on the barest minimum of input, and now the real world seemed too brazen for him to bear. Trembling, unsure of what to do, worried that someone would come, Jack dragged the kicking woman into the pa.s.sage. Even as he brought his knife to her throat, he knew he couldn't kill her. Grabbing at the fabric of her dress, he tore a strip good for gagging. The woman's gray eyes were large with terror. There was something about the slant of her cheekbones that reminded him of Tarissa.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "I just want you to be quiet for a while." He had balled a wad of fabric in his fist, ready to stuff into her mouth, but now he reduced the ma.s.s by half-he didn't want to risk suffocating her.

As he worked, Jack was keenly aware of minutes pa.s.sing. Once the gag was in place, he tied the woman's hands behind her back, using the stiff ribbons from her hair. "I'm sorry about this," he said, pulling the knot tight. "But I've got no time to do anything else." The woman simply glared back at him. Jack stepped out into the well-lit corridors of the palace and dragged the stone-clad panel shut. Glancing to either side, he made a brief scan of the pa.s.sageway. It was no more than thirty paces long, with two doors leading off to the right. The rug trailed to an end just beyond the second door, but in the opposite direction it ran straight along until another, more elaborate, rug intercepted it at right angles. Jack felt for the telltale pull in his blood. Weaker now, the incident with the woman and the bright light in the corridor had disturbed the fine balance of his senses.

What was left was just enough to confirm his best guess: Kylock's chamber lay the way of the elaborately woven rug. Jack's heart beat fast as he raced along the pa.s.sage. Kylock was very close now.

Reaching the comer, he slowed down his pace, bringing his body close against the wall. With breath wheezing in his throat and knife shaking in his hand, Jack stuck his head around the corner. Another corridor, a little longer than the last, with only one door to mark its length. A magnificent double door, torches to either side, guards to the side of the torches. An entrance fit for a king.

Jack's glance raked over the two guards. Both men had swords at their waists and halberds in their hands. It wasn't going to be an easy fight.

Or was it?

Closing his eyes, Jack tried to concentrate on the metal of their weapons. His thoughts skimmed through the air to the s.p.a.ce around the door. He felt the quick buzz of loaded particles, perceived the unique vibration of the steel. It was like being in Stillfox's cottage all over again: feeling the substance, entering the substance, changing its nature from within. Jack's thoughts fell into vibration with the metal, and slowly he slipped inside. He tried to draw on his power to warm the metal, but there was no feeling of anger, no sudden rage to use as a spark. Without the push of strong emotions, he had nothing with which to kindle the flame.

In his mind, Jack searched for the old image of Rovas touching Tarissa. It came to him as quickly as always-the smuggler's hand reaching out to encircle Tarissa's waist but this time it didn't ring true. He saw it for what it was: a false product of his own hate. Tarissa would never willingly submit to Rovas' caresses-he knew that now. Time and distance had allowed him to see things more clearly. Tarissa had never been out to snare him: her love had been true. He should have known that the day he left her, when she'd gone down on her knees and begged to come with him....

Jack shook his head. He had been such a fool.

Shame at his own pride swelled like heat within his body. He couldn't be angry with Tarissa and he wouldn't use her image like a firelighter uses a spark.

There were other things to get angry about. Baralis lying in wait to kill him.

Kylock's forces slaughtering thirty women, then leaving their bodies to rot in a ditch.

Melli locked up in a room for half a year, her baby torn away at birth.

The power began to flow through Jack. His stomach contracted and his skull grew tight around his brain. With saliva running like molten metal on his tongue, Jack switched his thoughts to the enemies' blades.

The air around the weapons s.h.i.+mmered, then the cool silver of the steel flared to hot red. There was no transition, no gradual change, the s.h.i.+ft happened in less than a blink of an eye. The guards screamed, both dropping their halberds immediately. Burnt hands dropped down to belt buckles as swords burnt into thighs.

Jack stopped the power. The stench of hot metal, burnt flesh, and scorched fabric wafted up his nose on a wave of warm air. Dazed for a moment, he leant against the wall for support. One of the guards began to run down the corridor in Jack's direction. Jack forced his protesting body into action and leapt out into the man's path.

The guard was an easy target: defenseless, injured, and unprepared, he barely had time to register Jack's blade before it slipped through his ribs to his heart. Jack freed his knife and let the man drop to the floor. The second guard had witnessed the scene and now took flight in the opposite direction. Jack raced after him. Seconds later he pulled the guard down, tackling his legs from behind. A quick thrust into the back of his lungs finished him off.

Jack stood up. He was sweating and heaving like a madman. He felt mad, too: scared out of his wits and exuberant in one.

Looking down the length of the corridor, he decided not to waste time hiding the bodies. Anyone could come along at any moment, and he had to get to Kylock before someone raised the alarm.

As he walked the few steps to the towering double doors, Jack wiped the blood from his knife. He tried to stop his hand from trembling, but although his body obeyed him in most things, it wouldn't obey him in this. So it was a shaking right hand he raised to the latch, and arms weak at the elbows that pushed against the door.

"Follow me. We must get to the n.o.bles' quarters at once." Baralis felt the waves of sorcery roll over him, raising the hairs on his flesh, drying the saliva on his teeth.

"But Jack was in the cellar."

"Well, he isn't there now." And he wasn't escaping, either. He was above them, drawing his special brand of sorcery close to the very heart. Jack had come for Kylock. Every nerve cell in Baralis' body confirmed it.

Marod's prophecy was unraveling before him.

Master and servant began to retrace their steps. Already halfway down to the kitchens, it would cost them precious minutes to make their way up through the palace. Baralis cursed his own stupidity-he should have gone straight to Kylock's chamber from the start. He just hadn't thought. He had a.s.sumed that Jack would try to escape, and had planned to lure him into staying by sending Crope ahead with a little something to catch his eye.

Reaching into his robe, Baralis pulled out the fake letter. Just as he was about to crumple it in his fist, he stopped himself. Perhaps a use might be found for his hasty decoy after all. Even if it only managed to distract Jack's thoughts for a quarter-instant, it was well worth the keeping.

Jack found himself in a small hallway with a flight of steps leading up to a second set of doors. The place was quiet and cool with a torch burning low, and Jack took a moment to calm himself on the stairs.

Strange, but his sense of being led had gone; his blood was no longer pulling him forward and his skin rested slack upon the bone. It was as if their job was done.

On his own now, Jack climbed the stairs, took the second door, and entered Kylock's chambers. A dimly lit reception room met his eyes. Everything looked perfect, as if no one had ever stepped upon the silken carpets, or sat upon the cus.h.i.+oned chairs. Even the papers and charts on the desk looked as if they had never been touched. Everything was placed in neat stacks. There was something about the room, some tiny little discrepancy, that jarred at Jack's senses. Only as he crossed over to the door on the far side did he realize what it was.

All the furniture-the chests, the chairs, the benches, and tables-was arranged in lines to form a grid. The armrest of one chair was perfectly aligned with the armrest of another chair on the far side of the room. Table edges mirrored each other, chests were turned lengthwise and placed equal distances apart. Jack had the distinct feeling that if he had a measuring line upon him, he'd find all the lengths and angles exactly the same.

A cold chill ran over his cheeks, and he moved quickly on. A pair of doors waited on the far side of the room, and he picked one at random. The handle was cool as he turned it, so cool it raised gooseb.u.mps upon his hand and forearm. Darkness enveloped him as he stepped inside the room. It clung, it seeped, it shrouded. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Who dares disturb me unannounced?"

For a brief moment, Jack thought the voice was Baralis': the rich and beautifully modulated timbre, the undertone of power. But there was a filigree of difference-a subtle thread of wildness that marked it all its own.

"Name yourself." There was no fear in the voice, simply authority used to being obeyed.

Jack tried to pinpoint the source. The darkness seemed to be created from more than lack of light, it had texture and thickness and movement. Jack imagined himself breathing it in: black smoke curling down to his lungs.

"Are you a demon come to try me? Step forward and take your chance."

Jack was unnerved by Kylock's calmness. He had expected many things, but never relaxed encouragement. His grip on his knife wavered-sweat oiling the s.h.i.+ft. Realizing Kylock had him at a disadvantage, Jack tried hard to search for forms in the darkness. Spots of light danced before his eyes. When they cleared, he thought he saw a half-circle of pale light straight ahead.

"Come. I am not afraid."

Jack was. Power lay in this room. Raw terrible power. As he stepped forward, he began to shape a drawing. It was difficult to know what to focus on, or how much power to use, or where to aim the blow. He might miscalculate and miss Kylock altogether, leaving himself open to an attack. Better by far to use a knife. Instinct warned him to keep something in reserve, though, to hold his power close in case Kylock lashed out.

The pale fan of light was clearer now. Jack willed Kylock to speak again so he could focus in on his position. Nothing. The only sound in the room was the pumping of Jack's heart. Then, from the center of the paleness, came the soft swish of silk on silk.

Jack leapt forward. He felt his knife edge nick soft flesh before he landed hard on his shoulder. Rolling to his feet, he sprang into a defensive position, sweeping his knife wide to form an arc. Noise came from his left, a ragged breath or a softly mocking laugh. Jack cursed the darkness.

Like an answer to a prayer, light slanted across the room. A thin line at first, it broadened into a band. Kylock was nowhere to be seen standing in shadows that had darkened with the light. Jack felt a warn draft of air ripple over his back. Spinning around, he saw a black figure silhouetted in the doorway.

Metal slivered along Jack's tongue. All thoughts of caution were blasted from his mind by the pressure of power inside. "Jack. Crope's got something for you. Crope forgot to give you the second letter." The figure held out a hand. Something white gleamed between the fingers.

Jack swallowed hard, pus.h.i.+ng the power back. His head was flooded with pressure. Pain streaked along his forehead, meeting between his eyes. Blood poured down from his nostrils.

"Another note from Lucy, Jack." Crope waggled a folded piece of paper in front of him..

Jack could just about make out the wax seal. Everything about the letter looked the same as the one he held in the cellar earlier. Two letters from his mother? A noise buzzed . through Jack's head. He ignored it. A rustle of fabric came from behind. He paid it no heed.

The buzzing sound grew louder as he stepped toward the door. It was nothing-probably an effect of biting back the drawing.

Crope's shadow was a black strip running through the light. Jack moved onto it, raising his hand in readiness to accept the letter. The shadow cast by Crope's arm caught his eye; it swayed in time to Crope's movements, but one small part seemed to trail behind. A lace cuff, perhaps? Jack looked up. The sleeves of Crope's unders.h.i.+rt were rolled above his elbows.

Jack felt a cold trickle of sweat run down his spine. There was a hand behind the hand.

Baralis.

Jack pivoted, leaping back from the doorway and the light. Letting his body fall to the floor, he scrambled desperately into the shadows near the wall. As he moved, he called up the drawing-soft now, it was slow to build. Teeth clenched, fists clenched, Jack forced the power to come back. Thought played no part in his actions. Reflexes were all that he had.

Movement came from the door. Crope's shadow moved out of sight and was instantly replaced by another.

"Come in and join the party, Baralis."

Kylock's words were the last thing Jack heard before he let the drawing out.

Baralis was ready for Jack's a.s.sault. Whilst Crope stood distracting him at the door, Baralis had taken stock of the situation and formed a drawing ready to be sent.

He stepped into the room.

Air crackled and condensed. Baralis saw the thickening, felt the sharp pressure pain in his eardrums. His own drawing rose up like a mirror image, not even a split second behind. An instant was stretched to its limits. Directly ahead of him, Baralis saw Kylock step forward from the shadow. To the right, Jack was hunched against a wall. Baralis moved toward him. Even as he made himself a target, he fixed his own sights upon Jack. And he was quicker, better, and craftier than the baker's boy would ever be.

Baralis unleashed his power. With mouth open and tongue ringing, he watched in horror as Jack's drawing flared wide. A sickening sensation rose up from his gut. Jack wasn't targeting him-he had no target. He was blasting everything before him.

Kylock!

Baralis s.h.i.+fted his drawing in midcast, shaping a barrier to defend the king. Altering the nature of the sorcery at such an instant was dangerous beyond measure, but he had no choice. Without Kylock he had nothing. Baralis fas.h.i.+oned the s.h.i.+eld, speeding it toward Kylock, using all his powers of mind and will to force it ahead of Jack's blast. Something ripped inside his chest. Pain needled close to his heart.

Baralis cursed Jack. He was a fool! Only an untrained simpleton would send such a crude and directionless drawing. He should have targeted it first. He should have aimed it straight at him!

The first surge of Jack's drawing hit. Baralis was thrashed by light and air. He was knocked back and his head smashed into the doorframe. On and on the power came. It was relentless-a solid block of force. There was not enough power left within him to s.h.i.+eld himself as well as Kylock. What had happened two nights back had left him too weak. Drugs could only do so much, and he had nothing but the barest glimmer in reserve.

With the very last finger of power that was left to him, Baralis secured the s.h.i.+eld around Kylock, protecting his own creation, gritting himself for the blow.

Jack was hardly aware of what was happening. In the s.p.a.ce of two seconds, a world of change had raced by. The drawing flowed through him, fast and terrible and filled with light. Kylock was in the center of the room, standing upright against the blast. Baralis was pinned against the doorframe. Jack could sense him trying to s.h.i.+eld himself. He perceived the lines of power, intertwining cords, like ligaments, that cut across the room. Somehow Kylock was still protected by Baralis' power-the mesh was still intact.

In that instant, Jack realized that he had been wrong about one important thing. He would never be able to destroy Kylock without destroying Baralis first. The man would not give up his one chance for glory lightly. It was time to kill the master of the beast. All that was left-all that Jack had in body and soul-he directed toward Baralis.

His spine cracked like a whip as he forced the drawing to bend. Fighting against the broad blade of power, Jack whittled it down it to an arrow-point of light. And sent it straight for Baralis.

A sharp schism ripped through the air. Baralis' body was lifted up and thrown against the wall. Bones cracked, skull cracked, blood shot from ears and mouth. A terrible scream sounded. Jack saw the lines of power fade to light traces in the dark The mesh that had been Kylock's protection was less than an arm's length from Baralis' chest when it withered into shade.

Air gusted around the room like a gale. Jack couldn't breathe. A convulsion tore through his belly-a void that sucked him in. Weakened beyond telling, he capped the power's flow. The light and air closed in on itself, thinning, fading, and then dying to nothing. A soft hiss sounded as it went. Baralis slumped to the floor, his body landing in a heap of unnatural angles, jagged with broken bones.

Jack felt himself falling, only he was already on the floor. Down and down he went, his body collapsing around him, pulled under by the void. Pain washed over him, blurring his vision to darkness and weighing his eyelids down. The last thing he saw was Baralis raising a shaking hand toward Kylock. His mouth worked for a moment and then two tortured words came out: "My son."

The hand dropped to the floor as Jack let in the dark.

Thirty-seven.

Jack blinked into waking. There was no coming round period, no time to take stock before his eyes were open. Kylock was standing above him, a letter in his hand. "Aah, awake at last I see. Tell me, were your dreams all you expected?" He looked calm, but there was a hint of madness in his voice and an artificial gleam in the corner of his eye. Jack tried to rally his thoughts, tried to recall all that had happened to bring him here. Baralis. His gaze shot to the wall by the door. Baralis' body was nowhere to be seen. How much time had pa.s.sed? How long had he lain here vulnerable to Kylock's scrutiny?

Kylock made a short clicking sound in his throat. "So you're Lesketh's b.a.s.t.a.r.d, eh?"

Jack raised his arm to his tunic. Pain shot from his shoulder to his stomach.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Kylock curled the letter up in his fist. "Such a touching little note from mother to son." His voice rose higher as he spoke. Abruptly he turned on his heel.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Jack tested the power inside. There was nothing left: the drawing that had destroyed Baralis had used up all his strength. Cautiously, he felt for his knife.

Two noises distracted him at the same time. The first was a dragging noise, the sound of something being sc.r.a.ped across the floor. It came from the other room, and Jack knew without a doubt it was Crope hauling Baralis' body away. The second noise came from Kylock himself: a low, hacking laugh, almost a cough.

Kylock's shoulders were shaking. His knuckles were white where he gripped the letter. His fingertips were raw flesh and blood. "And I--I am Baralis' b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Whilst the king took his pleasures where he found them, my mother wh.o.r.ed with his chancellor." Kylock's laugh was bitter now. He swung around to face Jack, his eyes very bright. "Baralis. Who would have thought it? Who would have guessed?"

Jack felt his skin crawling. Slowly, gradually, power was building within Kylock.

"You have what is mine!" he cried. "Your father should have been my father. Your face should have been mine." Spittle flew from his lips. The two tendons on the side of his neck were raised like cords of rope. "My hands, my lips, my teeth-all yours."

Jack flinched. He backed against the wall. His mouth felt as dry as parchment. Kylock was losing control. Desperate for the knife now, Jack spread out his search. Nothing. He risked a sideways glance-the knife gleamed to the right of his hand, just beyond his reach.

Moving in close, Kylock began shaking his head. "You think you're going to walk out of this room and take your proof to the world. Show me up for what I am. Well, I swear to you that's not going to happen. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

As Kylock spoke, Jack became aware of heat building on his cheeks. At first he thought it was a blood-flush, like the ones that had led him to Kylock, but it didn't stop at simple warming. It began to burn. Terror bubbled in Jack's throat. His every instinct warned him to run away, yet he was too terrified to move.

"King's son." Kylock was a finger-length from his face now. "Mother a common servant who made her money whoring on the side."

Listening to Kylock's words, something snapped inside Jack. His mother wasn't a wh.o.r.e--he knew that now-and this monster before him had no right to say it. Springing up, Jack went straight for Kylock's throat. A wall of blistering heat knocked him back. His nose and forehead were scorched; he smelled the quick singeing of his hair. And his hands. Falling back against the wall, his hands blazed with pain. Red and throbbing, he brought them to his face. His eyes were aching and he could barely see the burns on his palms. "Those should have been my hands," said Kylock.

Anger whipped through Jack. He was sick of listening to the ravings of a madman. "I don't care," he cried. "I don't want what you've got. I don't give a d.a.m.n about being a king."

Even as he spoke, Jack felt the linings of his nose and throat drying out. Air scorched his lungs. The blazing wave of moments earlier had gone, only to be replaced by a steady buildup of heat. Everything was hot to the touch: the floor, the walls, his clothes. The chain mail next to his skin was a blistering, scorching sheath.