The Baker's Boy Read Free

into
his thumb. Automatically, he raised his finger to his face and suckled the
small wound closed. He shuddered suddenly, half remembering a fragment of an
old rhyme, something about the taste of blood. He struggled for the memory and
lost. Baralis shrugged. He would eat, then take a brief nap, until the better
part of the night was over with.
    Many hours later,
just before the break of dawn, Baralis once more slipped into the queen's
chamber. He had to be especially careful-many castle attendants were up and
about, baking bread in the kitchens, milking cows in the dairy, starting fires.
He was not too concerned, though, as this last task would not take too long.
    He was a little
worried when he saw the queen was in exactly the same position as when he had
left her, but closer inspection revealed that she was breathing strongly. The
memory of the previous evening was playing in his loins, and he had an urge to
mount her again, but calculation mastered desire and he willed himself to do
what must be done.
    He dreaded
performing a Searching. He had only done one once before, and the memory still
haunted him to this day. He had been a young buck, arrogant in his abilities,
way ahead of his peers. Great things were hoped for him-and hadn't they been
proved right? He had a ravening thirst for knowledge and ability. He had been
proud, yes, but then, were not all great men proud? Everything he read about he
tried, desperate to accomplish and move on, move forward to greater
achievements. He had the quickest mind in his class, outpacing and eventually
outgrowing his teachers. He'd rushed forward with the speed of a charging boar,
the pride of his masters and the envy of his friends.
    One day when he
was thirteen summers old, he came across a musty, old manuscript in the back of
the library. Hands shaking with nervous excitement, he unraveled the fragile
parchment. He was at first a little disappointed. It contained the usual
instructions--drawing of light and fire, healing colds. Then at the end a
ritual called a Searching was mentioned. A Searching, it explained, was a means
to tell if a woman was with child.
    He read it
greedily. Searching had never been mentioned by his teachers; perhaps it was
something they could not do, or even better, something they didn't know of.
Eager to attain a skill which he supposed his masters not to have, he slid the
manuscript up his sleeve and took it home with him.
    Some days later he
was ready to try his new ability, but who to try it on? The women in the
village would not let him lay his hands upon them. That left his mother, and it
was certain she would not be with child. However, having no other choice, he
resigned himself to using his mother as a guinea pig.
    Early the
following morning, he stole into his parents' bedroom, careful to ensure his
father had left for the fields. It was a source of shame to him that his father
was a common farmer, but he took solace in the fact that his mother was of
better stock: she was a salt merchant's daughter. He loved his mother deeply
and was proud of her obvious good breeding; she was respected in the village
and was consulted by the elders on everything from matters of harvest to
matchmaking.
    Baralis' mother
had awoken when her son came into the room. He turned to leave but she beckoned
him in. "Come, Barsi, what do you want?" She wiped the sleep from her
eyes and smiled with tender indulgence.
    "I was about
to try a new skill I learnt," he muttered guiltily.
    His mother made
the error of mistaking guilt for modesty. "Barsi, my sweet, this new
trick, can you do it while I am awake?" Her face was a picture of love and
trust. Baralis momentarily felt misgiving.
    "Yes, Mother,
but I think I might be better trying it on someone else."
    "Copper pots!
What nonsense. Try it on me now-as long as it doesn't turn my hair green, I
don't mind." His mother settled herself comfortably amid the pillows and
patted the bedside.
    "It won't do
you any harm, Mother, it's a