A Man Betrayed Read Online Free Page A

with more than muscle to lend them strength.
    Melli wondered if
she had offended Jack by withdrawing her hand. She couldn't tell. He was so
difficult to read, and the time they'd spent together had only made him more
so. She couldn't begin to guess what he thought of her. That he cared for her
safety was the only thing she knew for certain. The force with which he had
pushed her away from the two men was proof of that.
    Still, what did he
think of her? A court lady, daughter of Lord Maybor. A noblewoman standing next
to a baker's apprentice.
    Sometimes Jack was
tormented in his sleep. With eyes closed and face slick with sweat, he would
toss restlessly on his bedroll, calling words she seldom caught the meaning of.
    Just over two
weeks back, within the shelter of an evergreen wood, he'd had his worst night
of all.
    Melli had awoken,
she knew not why. It was one of those rare nights when the wind had ceased and
the cold stopped biting. Instinctively she looked over to Jack. She could tell
right away he was having a nightmare. His cheeks were hollow and the tendons on
his neck were raised and taut. He became agitated, pushing his cloak and
blanket from his body. "No!" he murmured. "No."
    Melli sat up,
deciding she would go over and wake him. Before she could stand, a chilling
sound broke the silence of the wood.
    "Stop!"
cried Jack.
    With that cry, the
nature of the night and the universe seemed to change. It became more vivid,
more intimate, and then more terrible. The torment and the sense of urgency
conveyed in that one word made Melli's blood run cold. Jack was silent once
more and drifted into a more restful sleep. No such sleep for her that night.
The moonlight had withdrawn upon Jack's call and now came the darkness. Melli
lay awake through the artificial stillness of the night, afraid that if she
fell asleep and then woke in the morning, the world might have changed whilst
she slept.
    She shuddered and
wrapped her cloak closer. Jack was back in his corner, slicing the wet bark
from the logs. The but was too small to have a fire, and with the shutters
closed there would be no ventilation, but he prepared one anyway. He didn't
like to be idle.
    Melli unplugged
the knot hole for the tenth time that day. She told herself it was to check on
the progress of the storm. But the storm was coming from the east, and Melli's
gaze was to the west. Almost blinded by the whiteness, Melli searched for
movement from the direction where the second man had headed.
    Tavalisk lifted
the cloth from the cheese and inhaled deeply. Perfect. Amateurs might first
check the look of the cheese, seeing if the blue veining was substantial but
still delicate. He knew better. It was the smell that told one all one needed
to know. Blue cheese should have no mincing, milk-maid odor. No, this most regal
of cheeses should smell like a king. Preferably a dead one. Unfortunately not
everyone appreciated the smell of delicate decay wrought by the millions of
spores that burrowed their way through the virgin cheese.
    Yes, mused the
archbishop, the smell was everything. Sharp, tantalizing, challenging, never
subtle. It should rise to one's nostrils like a whip to the back: unwanted at
first, and then, as one grows accustomed to its particular pleasures, welcomed
for all the delights it could bestow.
    Tavalisk was a
surgeon at his table as he cut into the cheese. With his little silver knife he
freed himself a sizable wedge. Once its rind was breached the odor from the
cheese became even more intense. It was almost dizzying. The archbishop was, at
such times, as close to religious ecstasy as he was ever likely to get.
    A knock sounded
upon the door.
    "Enter,
Gamil." Tavalisk now found that he could tell which of his various aides
were awaiting his pleasure just by the sound of their knocking. Needless to
say, Gamil had the most annoying knock of all: timid and impatient in one.
    "Good day to
Your Eminence," offered Gamil, a little less humbly than usual.
    "What