The Still (31 page)

“A real possibility.”

“Don’t play at mockery! You offered your labor like—like a common churl. Shameful! You’re my vassal, and it reflects on me.”

“So would your starving.”

“I forbid it!”

That gave him pause. He stared at me curiously, like some insect crawling on a leaf. “You what?”

“I forbid you to hire yourself out! You’re nobility, of the House of Llewel—well, that explains it, you bear his blood and have no pride, and—”

“Rodrigo.” The menacing note in his voice stopped me cold. “Speak not of my father.”

“I—all right, it’s beside the point. But I won’t consider pretending we’re peasants. That goes for you too, as long as you’re my vassal.”

Another pause. Halting, he said, “My prince, relieve me of my oath of fealty. Let me serve you as friend only.”

“Demons’ spawn!” My spittle sprayed his cheek. “Scum! Bastard son of a vile traitor! Never was I more than dung in your eyes!”

“Roddy I—I don’t know well how to beg.” He flushed. “But beg I do.”

“Get thee from my sight!” I spun his shoulders, shoved him hard on the backbone. “How dare you ask, in the straits I’m in! I hate you as you must hate me!” I panted for breath, aimed a kick at his rump, caught him unawares. With a cry, he fell. “Be no vassal, then!” I aimed another kick, managed to turn aside my rage before it landed. I ran into the night. “You’re nothing to me! Nothing!”

His anguished voice floated after. “Aye, my prince.”

Hours later, in the faint light of the overcast moon, I sat curled in the wagon, head propped against the backboard. Soft steps. Genard, shirt flung over his shoulders, peered up at me. “Oh, there you are. I came out to piss. Why do you cry, m’lord?”

“I’m not ...” A shudder racked me, and I gave it up.

The fool took it for an invitation, perched on the tailboard. “I cry sometimes too, m’lord. Usually over small things, like an empty plate.”

I sniffled. “Don’t weave tales. You were fed every day; Griswold saw to that.”

“I wasn’t born at the castle, m’lord. Before, I was hungry. Besides, Master Griswold gave me enough to cry over, with his strap.”

“I’m sure you earned it.”

“It doesn’t hurt less for that.” A sigh. “After a while, you get used to it. Why do you weep, m’lord?”

“Why ask so many questions, where you’re unwanted?”

“Would you really have me leave? When I cry, I wish someone would come and talk me to happiness.”

“I’m not you!” I wiped my nose. Then, despite myself, “Stay, if you must. I don’t care.”

“All right.” Genard donned his shirt, knotted the strings. “Aren’t you cold? I’ll get us a blanket.” Before I could stop him, he was off.

Moments later he was back, climbing aboard the cart to sit beside me. “Are there stars tonight? It’s fun to sit outside, of a starry night. If Griswold doesn’t catch you. Here, share with me.” Unembarrassed, he offered me half his cover, as if I’d not object to sharing cloth with a stableboy.

I shivered, wrapped myself. He pointed. “The moon tries to break through. Rustin is very upset. And I’m sorry I hit you with the log.”

I gaped.

“But Elryc was my liege, and I had no choice. I had to protect him. I think Rustin may be crying too, but he’s very quiet about it.” He waited for me to speak, gave up. “Should I tell him something from you?”

“To jump in the demons’ lake and burn.”

He drew his breath in a hiss. “Don’t talk like that, m’lord. They’ll hear you.”

I didn’t care what evil I brought on us. “Good.”

He regarded me. “Truly, what ails you must ache. Let’s sit quiet, then.”

I struggled against my need, drew a shuddering breath.

“I understan’, m’lord.” His small hand sought mine. “I’ll stay with you. Too bad we can’t have stars.”

I gave up all pretense of understanding, sat miserable and weary. After a time, the boy clasped his hands between his knees for warmth, leaned his head against my shoulder. Though I stiffened, he seemed not to notice. “You’re the first lord I’ve ever known, to talk to.”

“Do you know one to be silent to?”

My jibe escaped him. “Duke Mar came for his horse, once or twice. Usually he sent a groom. And of course I saw the Queen, but not close. So you and Lor’ Rustin are the first.” His tone was marveling. “An’ you’re so different.”

“Yes, my father was no traitor.”

Genard was silent at first, then said carefully, “I know nothing of such things, m’lord.”

“As little as you know of most things.”

“Yes, I know little, I’m not high and wise, like your friend Rust. What sport is it to hurt me, sire? It’s too easily done.”

I turned, stared down at his head nestled against my shoulder. Who was he to tweak me?

“Never I dreamed I’d be more than a stablehand. I know nothing of fine words, or writing them. I have no clothes, have to bed down with horses. Is that why I offend you?”

I grunted, unsure how to respond. What had the world come to, when a groom’s boy could interrogate a prince?

“I’m sorry, m’lord. I’ll try to be better, now I’m Elryc’s man.”

I let close my eyes, dozed.

“What is it like to have a friend?”

“You anger me, boy.”

“I never had one. Kerwyn, if you could call him that, but he’s a man, and cares not a whit for me. Are friends what you are to Rust?”

Lord of Nature, give me strength to resist, lest I throttle him. “And what am I to Rustin?”

He gazed upward. “You know not? Ah ...” A nod, as if he’d found an answer. “So that’s why you cry.”

“Tell me.” I couldn’t help myself.

His voice held wonder. “Everything. Sun and moon.”

I snorted. “Chela is that. Not I.”

“You jest.” He snuggled close. “It’s awfully cold. Shouldn’t we go inside?”

“No!”

“All right, I’ll stay too, then.” He hugged himself, shivered. “Good night, Prince Rodrigo.”

I frowned down at the barnacle that had attached itself to me, found the prospect of a night in the wagon less forlorn. I grunted again, let myself relax into sleep.

D
URING THE DAY, HESTER
pretended I wasn’t visible. she busied herself with Elryc or fussed over the carpenter who showed up in a wagon with three grinning half-grown louts and a wife to cook his dinner, which was seldom more than boiled potatoes or thick vegetable soup. He and his young dismembered the corpse of our roof, worked the sawn trunks with which they’d replace it into beams of the needed size. Their constant scraping and planing got on my nerves; to escape it, I saddled Ebon and rode I knew not where. Out of sheer boredom with the woods and fields, I wandered into town.

Fort wasn’t much of a place, but from its open square I had a decent view of the snowy peak that towered over the valley. Careful to keep far from the mill, I wandered the dusty street, but found nothing of interest. Even the market square was virtually deserted; farmers only brought their produce on the seventh day after each new moon.

The stream frothed on the rocks as it burbled through town. In places it pooled deep; I tasted of the water. It slaked my thirst, but left my hand numb from the cold. It must descend from the high reaches of the mountain.

I’d acquired a following of peasant children, who giggled and poked each other like the village louts they were. They acted as if they’d never before seen a person of quality, with proper inlaid halter and saddle. At first I was pleased at their awe, but after a while they grew tiresome, so I spurred Ebon, and cantered off to the leafy trail that led to the Place of Rites.

A tired mule hitched to the rail flicked its ears at the flies, while an old man in a dirty dark robe swept leaves from the steps. He gave a courteous bow. “Welcome, stranger. I am Aren.” Walking with some difficulty, he came closer, eyed my gear. “You’re one of the lads from Stryx, youngsire?”

“Aye.” The less said, the better. For a moment I wondered how he had known, but of course, Hester would have made some explanation, and in a hamlet so small, word would spread to everyone in a day.

“We conduct Rites every five-day.” A flick of his broom. “Unless you have special need?”

“Thank you, I need no rituals.” My disdain was more evident than I’d intended.

“Ah, a scoffer.” Aren seemed not offended. “We all pass through such an age. Tell me, lad, what purpose do you think Rites serve?”

Who was he to question me? “To mark the season, to comfort the bereaved’—”

“You merely recite. Tell me what you think.”

His unwarranted rebuke stung me into truth. “Mumbo jumbo for old men who take comfort in the familiar, who think Lord of Nature cares what—”

“They can be that.” His admission surprised me into silence, but he continued, “That’s not their true purpose.”

I tugged the rein, turned Ebon. “I’m sure. Good afternoon.”

“Stay your fine horse a moment. In fact, get down, and let me give you a drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Sweet juice.” He smiled. “Crushed red berries from our garden, sugared and cold.”

By the imps and demons, he had me; Hester’s fare sustained life, but did little else. “All right.” I tied the reins. “Thank you.”

Aren led me along a path that ran by the stream. A cord lay across the path. One end was tied to a tree, the other disappeared in the water. He knelt, pulled on the rope, fished out a sturdy stoneware jug.

Back at the Place of Rites, he bade me sit on the steps, went inside, emerged with two cups. The juice was icy cold, and delicious. I downed mine faster than I’d intended, and he refilled my cup. “Highborn or low, all boys like sweet, I think. Now, about the Rites.”

I steeled myself for a lecture, probably about the secret cult of this place.

“Have you ever wondered about stars, or what makes mountains rise? About air turning to water, and falling on your head? Think you men haven’t asked such questions through the ages?”

“I suppose you have the answers here in this—”

“The Rites are a ritual, codified attempt to express and hand down what we think we’ve learned. Those who make them more deceive themselves.”

“Foolish learning, that must be expressed in chants and waving of tapers.”

“Imagine a Ritemaster had a foolish disciple, who watched him wave his taper for emphasis, while making a point. Later, when the disciple wants to recall the point, he waves the taper in a similar manner, so as not to deviate from what his master taught him. He cannot distinguish wheat from chaff.”

I smiled; it was refreshing to hear honesty from one of his calling. “But you can?”

“We try.”

“Well, I’ve attended Rites enough, and I can’t detect any hidden wisdom. Of course, I’m not as learned as you.”

“You mock, youngsire. I waste my juice.” He stood. “Let Elena Queen be an example. She had no such manner.”

“How would you know what the Queen—”

“I could see it in her eyes!” He made as if to sweep me away with his broom. “Ah, now you look surprised. Well, I met her. And say you one word against milady and I’ll throw you in the brook!”

“I wasn’t about to.”

“Yes, I met her.” He settled himself.

I said cautiously, “That’s no basis to say what’s in her mind. Surely when you visited Stryx she didn’t invite you to her private Rites.”

“I’ve never in my life been to Stryx.” An impatient sweep. “Didn’t your father beat you properly? You have the insolence of a—bah. Wait.” He disappeared into the ramshackle building.

I unhitched Ebon, in case the demented old man emerged with a stick.

The door swept open. “Here.” A closed fist. He opened it, peered down, grimaced, plucked something from his hand, rubbed it vigorously on his robe. “Look, but don’t touch.”

“A ring.” Red stones, set in gold. Aren’s old eyes sparkled, as if in response to the jewel.

“If you were never in Stryx ...”

“She was here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Moth—the Queen come to such a backwoods?”

“Old Dame Hester was once high in her esteem. The Lady accompanied her here, to see where her nurse was spawned.”

“In a nest of demons.” But I spoke to myself. “How came you by the ring?”

“She gave it to me, from her own finger.” He frowned at my expression. “You doubt? For hours she and I discussed the mysteries, and she was enthralled. So much she wanted to know, to pass on to the son she knew she’d have.”

“Enough of your nonsense. No one can know whether an unborn babe—”

“She knew!” He glared. “What ken have I of the Still or the Powers it confers? She was certain, unto the russet of his hair, though he wasn’t yet conceived.”

I shivered, resisted an urge to brush back my locks. Could my Power do all that?

His gaze softened; he thrust the ring back inside his robe. “So much she wished she could know, to pass to her boy. Oft I’ve wondered how much she taught him. It’s said he’s haughty and ill-mannered. Of course, that may just be his time of life. We change; thank Lord of Nature for that.”

“Yes.” I was careful to look elsewhere.

“You’re of Stryx, youngsire. Did you know milady?”

“Not really. Only in passing.” I looked him in the eyes, knowing I wouldn’t offend the True.

“Ah well.” Again, he took up his broom. “Come again, when you have more patience. Perhaps there’ll be fresh juice.”

“Ritemaster ...” I swallowed my pride. “Sir, may I see again the ring?”

Garnets, blood red, on a gold circlet. Mother had a dozen such, and I’d thought nothing of them, but suddenly this seemed the most precious jewel ever I’d seen. Without thinking what I was doing, I stroked my lip with it, thought for a moment I felt a caress. I asked, “Would you part with it?”

“If you labored a lifetime, you’d not earn what that ring means to me. Besides, they say you folk fled destitute from Tantroth’s attack. How could you pay for such a bauble, without even a roof over your head?” He held out his palm.

Reluctantly I handed back the ring. “I can’t.” Why, Mother, did you give such a treasure to a disheveled man of Rites, when to your own son, naught but lectures and admonitions?

“I have my work to do, but you’re welcome to help.”

I beat a hasty retreat, made my way back to the cottage.