The Still (23 page)

Rustin looked abashed; Genard stared at Chela with undisguised admiration. Only the girl appeared unready to give up her quarrel. I moved casually to put Rust again between us.

“May I come out now?” Perspiring, Elryc poked his head from under the canvas. “They don’t sound very dangerous.” He giggled. “Except to you, Roddy.”

I filed it with my long list of reprisals. “Tie yourself in a sack and throw yourself in the river.” I eyed Rustin’s bare chest. “You lost your clothes too?”

He blushed. “Chela offered a chemise, but I couldn’t ...” He peered into the distance, and his eyes lit. “Santree!”

“Never mind him. What’s this—
woman
doing here?”

She hissed, “Looking after Lor’ Rustin, more than his liege cared to!” A flick of her head, to toss back her hair.

“You were to work at the inn!”

“Why? What if Tantroth’s soldiers came? Or Llewelyn’s, who knew me?”

“You could say you knew nothing. They wouldn’t hurt you. More likely, they’d ...” I colored.

“I won’t be a soldiers’ whore!”

“Go elsewhere, then. We have errands of—”

“You stole my Rustin, where should I go, but to him?” Her face dissolved as she threw herself into his arms. “An’ thank Lor’ of Nature I came. He was racing along the road swatting bees, stung half to death!”

Rustin met my eyes, offered an embarrassed shrug.

With a growl I turned away. I glanced up the road, and froze. A horseman, in the colors of Margenthar. “It’s not over.” I scrambled onto the wagon, snatched up the sword. “Your lying whore led the enemy to us!”

The soldier waved and shouted as his charger cantered down the roadway. He was garbed for war, sword bouncing at his side, arm in shield. A helmet shadowed his eyes from the midday sun.

Rustin’s good sword was still strapped to Santree, where Genard had tied him. Rust snatched a dagger from his belt.

“Elryc, Genard, behind the cart!” I had time to mount Ebon, but our attacker bore a shield, and I had none; that would give him advantage to drive me off. On foot, I was at more risk of injury, but with luck I could slash his horse’s legs, bring him down.

“Hold, Rodrigo!” The soldier gestured anew.

My jaw went tight at the hated colors of the Duke. “He’s mine, Rust. Stay back!”

“You can’t bring down a mounted man with—”

“Watch me!” As the man neared I lunged at his steed, sword extended.

Though caught by surprise, the soldier had quick reactions; he bent over the pommel, got his shield between my blade and his mount’s legs. In a flash, his sword was drawn. “No, Prince!”

I aimed a dismembering blow at his midsection; he parried. Again I struck, and again he countered. Despite my orders, Rustin quietly circled, waiting for an opening. From the cart Hester watched, her eyes grim, a protective arm around Elryc. Chela had disappeared behind the wagon.

Rust feinted. The soldier’s steed reared. The man drove his mount in a circle, fending off us both. “Wait, Roddy!”

Rustin lunged, almost managing to drive his dagger into the man’s thigh. For an instant the soldier had opportunity to run Rustin through. He was too dull-witted to take advantage. Instead, he batted Rust with his shield. Rust reeled, his legs unsteady.

While the man’s attention was diverted I slashed viciously at his right arm. The shy of his horse threw off my blow; I succeeded merely in parting the reins. The edge of my blade buried itself in his pommel, wrenched itself from my grip.

At the impact, the soldier whirled, raising his shield for a blow. In desperation I leaped, clung to his forearm, gave a mighty tug. With a cry of despair he flew from the saddle, fell atop me, sword clattering. Half-stunned, I managed to twist myself free, climb atop his chest. I snatched up the sword.

“Kill him, m’lord!” Genard pranced in a frenzy of excitement. “Kill him!”

The man bucked, flinging me into the air. I raised both hands, gripped the blade for the plunge into his chest.

He shrieked, “Mercy, Lord!” It stayed my hand just long enough for him to draw breath. “Always you want to kill me!”

The voice seemed familiar. I hesitated.

“Vicious boy, not a moment did you grant me to plead my case! Go ahead then, end it!”

“Fah! Nothing you say could excuse Margenthar’s—”

“I speak not for the Duke! Please, Lord Prince!”

With an oath I twisted his helmet, nearly cracking his neck in my haste to have it off.

Fostrow, my gaoler.

I gaped. “What do you here?”

“I’ve chased you through hill and dale for two imp-laden nights!”

“To drag me back!”

“To join you!”

That doused the embers of my rage. While they still sizzled and smoked I held his shoulders, uncertain. “Have you lost your wits?”

“What choice had I?” He groaned. “Let me up; my spine is on a rock.”

“Good.” I jounced his stomach; he gasped with pain. “Explain, churl!”

“Know you not your uncle’s ways? Think you I could knock at his chamber, say I let you dump me in a clothing chest? Oww! If you’d break my back, have done with it!”

Reluctantly, I shifted.

“He’d have hanged me on the spot. He warned as much, when he set me to guard you. Even while I was suffocating in that cursed wardrobe I knew better than to cry for help.” Fostrow glowered, as if his dilemma were my fault. “By the time I worked myself loose, the castle was in an uproar. Smoke in the cellars, Tantroth’s troops charging toward Llewelyn’s keep.” He shook his head. “Easy enough it was to mount, and slip out in the confusion.”

My grip tightened on the sword. “You left earlier, by the Duke’s order. Else, you couldn’t have gained entry to Llewelyn’s keep to follow us.”

Fostrow’s face grew red. “Think you I don’t know the path through Besiegers’ Pond? Was I not raised under the castle walls?”

I caught Rustin’s eye, exchanged glances. He shrugged.

“Youngsire, why are you so suspicious?” Fostrow loosed a hand enough to pat my leg. “A townsman saw you and the two boys slip onto the pond trail. The dead mare with an arrow through its throat was marker; I recognized the charger from our stable.”

I growled,
“My
stable. You come from Verein.”

He said with dignity, “I was
sent
to Verein. I
come
from Stryx.”

“And you’re here to drag me back.” I raised Rustin’s dagger.

“Stay, Roddy.” Elryc, his tone urgent.

I glared at his interference. “He’d carry you off to Pytor’s cell!”

“I would not!” Fostrow was indignant.

“Hear him out.”

“His tales get wilder and—”

“I climbed down the ravine, but you’d disappeared into the keep. I couldn’t go to the gate, lest you’d have them shoot me before I could explain. So I waited half a league up the road you must surely take. All night I paced, cursing the imps and demons of the dark. It was full dawn before I risked going off the road to piss, and while I was behind a bush your party galloped past in a flash. I mounted and followed, but ...” His face puckered. For a moment I thought he was going to cry.

The danger seemed past, and he was unarmed. I slipped off his stomach, helped him to a sitting position.

“Ill luck rode my shoulder. My horse caught a stone in her foot, and I was an hour dislodging it. At Whiecliff they said you were but two hours ahead, so I had no chance to eat. Then Nell lost her shoe, and I had to walk her the rest of the way into Seawatch. I found the smith, but I was hours persuading the scoundrel to reshoe her. His mind has a warp, like a mishammered sword.”

Rustin leaned over, brushed dirt from the man’s back. “How did you find us?”

“How not, youngsire? Folk at Whiecliff said you’d inquired about an old lady’s wagon and followed her path; think you such a procession would go unnoticed? Wherever I went I had merely to ask for a cart followed by three boys.”

“I’m no boy.” Reluctantly, I sheathed the sword. “Go back whence you came. I’ll have none of you.”

“Back to what, Prince Rodrigo?” Fostrow’s tone was injured. “The Duke won’t have me, and Tantroth holds the coast. All I know is to soldier.”

“Then serve my uncle at Cumber. Begone.”

“Think you I serve for coin, like Eiber’s black-clad troops?” He drew himself up. “I’m of Caledon!”

“Fah! You swore fealty to my uncle, and abandon him without remorse.”

“It’s a sore point,” he admitted. “But I’ve pondered it. Does my oath require me to go meekly to my own hanging? Would you expect such of me, my lord?”

“A vow is a vow.”

“Easy to say, for one who demands fealty and need not give it.” His tone was a rebuke. He rubbed his back, winced. “My lord, if Margenthar isn’t Caledon, then you are. I offer my service. I ask only that you feed and clothe me, and provide me arms.”

I glanced from Rustin to Elryc. “Can you imagine such gall? Not two days ago, he held me prisoner.”

Elryc overrode me, with unexpected eagerness. “Fostrow, I’m the Prince’s brother, and heir in the event of his mishap. If he’ll not have you, gladly I offer you vass—”

“Hold! I didn’t refuse! Fostrow, how can I know you won’t betray me?”

His tongue roved his cheek, as if searching for a lost crumb. “Why, I guess you can’t, my lord. Who can look inside another’s soul? But I’ll swear an oath on whatever Rite you ask.”

I hesitated, half-certain I was committing folly. But Elryc waited, to snatch any morsel I disdained. “Very well, then.”

Chela came out of hiding to watch the solemn oath I administered a few moments later, and Fostrow became my man. Though Rustin seemed glad of his presence, I made note not to let him ride close behind me, armed. Genard introduced himself, with ludicrous dignity, as Elryc’s liegeman. Fostrow gravely gave his hand.

With acid realism, Hester prodded us onward. “We haven’t food for so large a party; you boys eat like horses. Even when we reach a village, we’ll be pressed for coin to support ourselves.” She glared at me, as if in blame.

I paced Ebon to match the roll of the cart. “I have enough.” With another sworn vassal, I felt magnanimous. “A year’s stipend will buy—” I patted the remaining saddlebag, jerked the reins so hard Ebon reared. “Rust! It’s gone!”

“What is?”

“My coin was in the bag we left in the clearing!” I slammed my forehead with the edge of a fist. “Hester, we have to go back.”

She made no move to brake the cart. “Go, then. Catch up to us, if you survive.”

“Hester!”

She wheeled on me, her face set in stone.
“You
were fool enough to leave the road, it was
you
who loosed your saddlebags when you camped. Flaunt the forest once more, if you dare.”

“But it’s day.” I appealed to her frown.

“Was there gold in your purse?”

“Twenty pieces.” Also silver, and coppers.

“Powers mingle with land, and gold, and the folk who rule. Now the forest has the gold, and would keep it. The insects were but a growl. Do you want to face white-hot rage?”

“Genard, ride back, would you? The bags are next to the bush with the pink flowers. While you’re there, pick up our cloth—”

Rustin leaned over, gripped my arm. “Help me be proud of you, Roddy.”

Genard rode on as if he hadn’t heard.

“Let go.” I massaged my arm. We rode in sullen silence.

We camped the night at the edge of the road. I gnawed at dried beef, resentful that Rustin had insisted I share our precious stores. I didn’t begrudge feeding him; after all, he was my friend. Besides, he’d brought food of his own to share. But our supplies would hardly last another day, with Chela, the soldier, and Genard devouring them.

Hester and Elryc slept in the wagon under the tent. Genard stretched across a bed of boxes in the back of the cart. Stolidly, Fostrow unpacked his gear, made a bed of a worn cloth.

To my disgust, Rustin and Chela shared a blanket. I twisted and turned on the dewy grass, trying to make myself comfortable, listening for the inevitable sounds of their intertwining. Though there were none, my imagination was inflamed, and I grappled with indecent passions. I brooded on the misfortune of Chela’s presence, until finally I was able to sleep.

The day began in sultry mist, under a steady drip from the canopy above. It was not so wet as to force us to seek shelter, but clammy and dank enough so our clothes hung uncomfortably on us. Elryc arose sullen and restless, his face flushed.

The road climbed steadily. By midday, in the hills, the oppressive heat had dissipated. Even Hester’s dark mutterings took on a less irritated tone. “From the last ford, this was old Cumber land, and bears no ill will to our House.”

Our
House? The old nurse spoke as if she too bore the blood of Varon and his heirs. I snorted with contempt

When we stopped to make a meal and rest the horses, Rustin noticed my blotched jerkin, made a great fuss over the scabs given by Hester’s whip. He led me to a small stream, gently patted my lacerated back with a cold cloth. I forbore to remind him his own bear hug had reopened my wound.

“Have faith, my prince. This must be a great trial.”

“The cuts? They’ll heal in a couple of days.”

“The whole affair. Abandoning your home, your worry lest Tantroth prevail, finding yourself without weapon or coin.”

I stopped to consider. Actually, I hadn’t thought of it so; freeing myself from Uncle’s surveillance was a joy, regardless of the consequences. And I hadn’t thought much about Tantroth, once I was beyond reach of his arrows. But I gave a great sigh. “Yes.”

He embraced me, careful of my back. “I’m with you.”

I loosed myself. “Elryc too, and Hester. Between you, enough will find work so I don’t starve.”

The look he gave was unfathomable. “Is that your concern, my prince?”

“That and lack of a weapon. All I have is that paltry half-sword on the cart. Could I have the use of yours?”

He seemed aghast. “The blade Fallon made, that I had to await so long?”

“Good heft on it, no?’ I reached for his waist, withdrew it carefully from its scabbard.

“What weapon would be mine, Roddy?”

“The half-sword, until we find you a better. I’m head of our House, and should have a decent blade. Besides, we have Fostrow to defend us. You won’t need one.” I decapitated a few stalks of hay. “Yes, Fallon did good work. Please, Rust. After all, what’s a vassal for?”