The Still (64 page)

I roused myself. “What do you expect, sending a lad with the barbarian speech of Eiber? They won’t speak of Tursel to him.”

“I’ll go, then.”

“No, you might be remembered. You started a brawl, last visit.”

Rust looked indignant, but I snapped my fingers. “That old Ritemaster, where you did the Cleansing. He’d recall us.”

“Yes, your impatience, your vulgar—”

“Still, he might tell us.”

We sought him out, leaving Anavar behind with Willem.

Rust gave him coin, as offering. “Ritemaster, we seek men of Cumber. They were to meet us near.”

“I know of no such.”

I said quietly, “Yes, you do.” I held his gaze. “Should you demand it, we’ll tell you who we are, and why we seek the captain of Cumber.”

He hesitated. “You ride with Eiber.”

“No. Eiber rides with us, as our ward.”

“Our?” He looked from me to Rust.

I reddened, realizing I’d used the royal speech. “Our.”

He was silent a long moment. “In the wood, along the road to Fort. Perhaps half a league.”

“Aye.”

“You’d best leave Shar, sir. Patrols buzz like angry wasps.”

We thanked him. As we rode, I mused on the peasant, Eol. “How many in Mother’s realm are of such station?”

“Enough. Why?”

“They lead a horrid life. Why would they choose it?”

Rust laughed. “Think you they do?”

“It’s worse even than at Hester’s cottage.” I pondered. “What would it take to improve their lot?”

“Peace, for one.”

“Easier said than granted.”

Tursel’s outguard spotted us an hour after, and raced back to the main camp. When we joined, I was weary enough, but afraid to dismount lest I tear my wound, so we pressed on.

Before leaving, though, I thought once more of the churl who’d sheltered us, and had Rust delve into our purse. “Tursel, send a rider back along our trail. It can’t be far, what, Rust, a league? There’s a cluster of huts to the left. Look for one with a split beech near the door.”

Rust said mildly, “We don’t have time ...”

“He’ll catch us in an hour; I must ride slow. Give these coins not to the man Eol, but the towheaded boy. Learn his name. Tell him to remember the King, and join our service when he’s grown.”

“That’s more wealth than the family’s ever seen.”

“No doubt. Hurry, guard.”

We wended our way through the hills.

I called Vessa near. He seemed old and shaken, a husk of his former self. “Well, Speaker. If I call Council, what say you of the regency?”

His eye met mine only for a moment. “I’ll vote to end it.”

“In favor of?”

He stared at the passing earth. “You, Prince Rodrigo.”

“And Uncle Mar’s protection?”

“Was less than he warranted.”

“And his gold?” I was relentless.

“Sire, I meant no ...” I was sounding you out, to report to the regent. No more.” His eyes beseeched me.

I knew the lie, but what point in proving it? I let him go.

It was two hours, not one, before the soldier returned, his mount lathered.

“You gave the coin?”

“No, sire.”

I reined in.

“The hut—I found the tree, and what had been huts. All burned. The families were fired inside. I saw what might have been a boy.”

“Lord of Nature!” I closed my eyes, tasted the bile of rabbit stew. “Did you search—”

“Horsemen in black were moving along the road. Banners. Archers and infantry behind. I gave warning to Shar. Wagons and townsmen were fleeing as I rode out.”

I cried to Rust, “Why the churls?”

“Perhaps for hiding you.”

“Oh.” It was a moan, as if I’d been stabbed anew.

“It’s not your doing, Roddy.” His voice was gentle.

I kicked at Ebon; he trotted faster, jouncing me. “And I would be King. Rust, beat me tonight for what I’ve done to them.”

“Easy, my prince.”

“I killed them. We could as well have hid in the wood.”

Willem cleared his throat. “Roddy ... may I still call you that? Evil accrues to the man who looses it. You were but a candle that showed Tantroth where to strike. The sword was his.”

“I’m not comforted.” My tone was bitter.

Rust leaned close. “You wanted your throne. This comes of it.” His eyes held mine, while I searched his reproach. Strangely, I found none. “War is man’s folly,” he said. “Good cannot come without pain, or hurt. Would you we ceased our quest, and rode back to Hester’s cottage at Fort?”

“Yes. No, I ... don’t know.”

“Here.” He swung off his horse, climbed behind me. “Give me the reins. Lean back, it won’t hurt as much.” Gently, he tugged at my shoulders; I sagged against his weight. “Rest, my prince.”

At last, as Ebon trod steadily, I wept, for Fostrow, for the peasant boy whose name I never knew, for my faded illusions.

I
T WAS A DAY AND
a night before we found Elryc and our wagons. Though we’d lost a score of men in the foray to the keep, our combined force was again strong enough, almost, to quell my nagging fears.

My skin was hot, and they made me ride in a wagon while my flesh knit. Rust hovered like a mother hen.

I bade Tursel lead us to Groenfil’s realm. We had business unfinished. Chamberlain Willem was given a guard of honor, and made welcome in our camp. Vessa was treated with respect I doubted he deserved. Tursel posted extra rear guard, and seemed worried.

Elryc rode propped against the side of the wagon, chewing a piece of straw. He listened twice to my tale of Stryx Castle, asking whom I’d seen, what changes were apparent. After, he furrowed his brow while he thought.

Suddenly he blurted, “Roddy, don’t leave me.” His face puckered.

“I came back, brother. Just as I prom—”

“No, after. As King.” He grabbed my hand. “You’re changing, don’t you feel it? Don’t forget me.”

“Changing how?”

“Becoming a man. The way you just spoke ... it made me shiver. Don’t shut me from your counsel.”

I held out my hand. “I swore to seek your advice, and even setting that aside, you’re my brother whom I love.”

He collapsed into my chest.

After a time I said, “I was cruel to Pytor too, wasn’t I?”

Elryc hesitated. “He only wants to be near you.”

“I shunned him, complained to Mother, made him feel the baby.”

“We taunted you too, Roddy.”

“And I threw stones.” I shrugged. “We all do that as children, but with Pytor, it was more. The whine in his voice ... it drove me mad.”

“He’ll forgive you.”

I was grateful for his certainty.

We stopped some hours at a stream outside Groenfil town, to refresh, mend, and elaborate what was left of our finery. I was weak, sometimes dizzy. Tursel argued strongly for pressing ahead, but only when we presented our best did I allow us to appear again before the Earl’s walls.

Groenfil met us immediately, outside the city. We offered perfunctory greetings, and his bow was noticeably deeper, though still not offering the homage of noble to King. “So. What have you done to stir Tantroth? He’s taken Shar’s Cross, roams the hills, assembles a force to assail Stryx Castle itself.”

Was it possible Groenfil didn’t know? With quickening heart I beckoned Rust close, whispered, “Bring Vessa.”

We of Caledon pride ourselves in our intrigue, but it gave immense pleasure to see Groenfil’s jaw drop when the old Speaker pushed aside the flap. We took wine and chatted amiably until I suggested he might retire. When Vessa was gone, the Earl and I faced each other across a narrow plank table. My wound ached. The sides of the tent flapped in a sudden breeze.

“My congratulations, Prince; you’ve four votes. Now, how to proceed? I’m sure fat Lady Soushire will bring her garlic to any place you choose. But Margenthar won’t permit a proxy vote on such an important matter as your crown. Do you think he’ll give you leave to consult Chamberlain Willem in the castle?”

To Rust, I merely nodded. He left with a smile, and returned with the Chamberlain.

Groenfil rose to his feet. “We’ll speak further, sir.” A bow, short and perfunctory. Outside, the wind snapped angrily at our banners.

I called after him, “Certainly. By morn’s light. In the meanwhile, I imagine you’ll be pleased to lend us fodder and supplies for our troop?”

Though he gave no answer, apparently it pleased him. Two hours later, when the wind had died, wagons rumbled into our camp, filled with provender. The supplies were welcome, but I’d pressed Groenfil for more cause than that. Our parleys, his provisions, all coaxed him further from Margenthar. Uncle Mar would soon or late learn that Groenfil recognized my cause, and would assume the Earl was plotting to desert him. Their rift would leave Groenfil more pliant.

I spent the night dozing uneasily. In the morning, Tursel strode into my tent, with nary a gesture of leave. “Pardon, Prince. Word from the rear guard. Hundreds of armed men pour down the trail we followed.”

Suddenly my knees were weak. “Tantroth’s army, so soon? By extending his supply lines doesn’t he risk—”

“Not Tantroth. Margenthar.” Tursel’s mouth was grim. “An excursion in force. He’s heading here, as fast as his wagons allow.”

Rust grunted. “With a supply train, he’s committing to more than a raid.”

I said, “He brought his wagons to trap us at the cross.”

“Yes, but Tantroth was near. Mar was wary of being sucked into battle, lightly equipped.”

“Rust, what shall we do?”

“Why, meet with Groenfil. He’s waiting under the canopy.”

“Does he know yet of Mar?”

Rust said, “He’ll know soon enough. There are no secrets in Caledon.”

I was amazed at my sudden confidence. “I’ll see Groenfil now, while there’s chance he hasn’t heard. Wait here; I may need you.”

As briskly as I could with bound ribs, I strode into our conclave. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good day, Prince.” We bowed; he took his seat.

“Thank you for the provisions. My men—”

He said, “Shall we come to the point?”

An odd but refreshing approach to the dance of diplomacy. “Very well.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. And what I don’t.” He made a tent of his hands. “When Mar proposed a regency I approved, though I disliked seeing so much power gathered in his hands.”

I nodded.

“Of course, in his view, that was the whole point But you were clearly too young and too callow to be King.”

I folded my arms.

“Not for the reasons you think. You’d never have kept us from each other’s throats, you see. I want Soushire, and Cumber wants autonomy, and Mar wants to speak for the crown, and the Warthen trifles with selling his power of Return to the Norlanders. None of us can allow the others too great a success. Your late mother had her hands full.”

I looked at him with dawning respect.

“The regency,” he said, “can be dissolved by the Council that created it. We were seven, so one would think four votes can dismiss Margenthar.” He made a show of counting. “Willem, Soushire, Cumber ... but Vessa? Who controls the city to appoint a Speaker: Mar? Tantroth? Certainly not you.”

“Ahh.”

“That’s what I know. As to the rest ...” He leaned forward, intent. “What, exactly, is Caledon’s Power, and how does it operate? They say you must speak True, before and while you wield it. Have you?”

“I believe so.”

“And the other requirements, which make you blush so?”

“Kept.” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ve heard the third requisite of your Still is that you be lawful King. Is it thus?”

“Yes.”

“I asked our Ritemaster and he knows not. Will you pledge to me by your True, that you’re certain Vessa’s clouded fourth vote will bestow on you the Still?”

I hesitated, and plunged into the chasm. “No.”

“Will you swear it does not?”

“I think it shall. By all that’s fair and just, it should. I cannot swear that I know.” But with Vessa’s vote I must give Groenfil’s lands to Soushire, to keep True.

“What of the Rite by which you summon your Power? Does it require ... accouterments?”

“The Vessels.” I’d thought it a family secret. “They’re taken.”

“By whom?”

“Uncle Mar.”

“And without them?”

“I have no Power.” I saw my crown fading into mist and added hopefully, “As King, I’ll reclaim the Vessels.” It sounded a forlorn boast.

“Mar will be delighted to hand them to you.”

“Of course he won’t. But neither Mar nor his Bayard can wield the True. They’re ... no longer eligible. So it’s me or none.”

Groenfil nodded. “Truth for truth. Well traded.” For a moment he seemed uneasy. He stood, stretched, selected a fruit his own servants had brought the night past. “I asked for a sign, and you brought it. Your ragamuffin force secured not only Vessa, but Willem. I am persuaded: You are one to be King.”

My heart leaped.

“My vote will assure your legitimacy. I believe I mentioned its price.” He stood, as cold wind swirled about our legs. “Oh, a few other trifles. Ten crownweights of gold. I’ll wait ’til you have your treasury; your oath on the True will suffice. My precedence over Lord Margenthar in affairs of state; arrange the protocol as you must, so long as it irks him. But most importantly, Soushire.”

“No.”

“Very well.” He stood. “I bid you good day. Please leave my lands.”

“Be seated!” My voice was a lash. “We did not give you leave.”

His knees bent, but resolutely, he straightened. “You are not my liege lord, sir.”

“Be seated, or our first crowned act will be to have you flogged!”

A sudden breeze stirred the canopy. “Without me, you risk your Power. Do you treasure it so little?”

“More than you imagine.” My eyes blazed into his. “I will be King and crowned; with my other votes you cannot bar that. You may only cost me the Still, and make me blood enemy ’til death.”

Outside, Ebon neighed, and someone soothed him. The tent walls flapped. It was all I could do to stop my voice from shaking. “You will sit, or I shall walk from the tent, and never shall we speak again.”

Slowly, as if battling himself, he sank to his chair. The wind quieted.

“Now. The gold, I refuse. Absolutely, without quibble or haggle. No. We’ll need our strength to rebuild Caledon.” I stood to pace. “Precedence over Mar? Gladly. And I forget not your caveat regarding Renna, your sister. She will live safe, and so will Mar, unless he provokes me further after I am enthroned.” I shook my head, shedding disgust. Gladly would I run Mar through with arrow or spear.