The Still (24 page)

“I only love that sword. It’s the first I chose myself.”

“Oh, come on, I won’t nick it.” I waved it, lunged against a pretended foe. “Is it fitting that I go without?”

His voice was toneless. “As you desire, my lord.” Slowly, his fingers unlaced the scabbard. “Guard it well.”

I buckled it onto the rope of my belt. “Shall we walk, while they set our meal? Hester says the forest’s safe here.”

“No.” Rustin stalked up the knoll to the wagon. He’d undergone one of the mysterious lightning changes that despoiled his moods.

He shared a plate with Chela, to spite me. I tore at meat that ached my teeth, chomped viciously at an apple. Rustin seemed oblivious. Elryc squatted alongside me with his meal.

I kept my voice low. “How did you get out of the castle?”

“I told you Hester turned me into a bird. She has great Power.”

I raised a fist to club him, decided not to demean myself in front of the others. “The truth.”

He sniffled. “Ask Nurse, if you don’t believe me.”

Later, as we rode, I took occasion to draw alongside the cart. Elryc dozed at Hester’s side, his head lolling against her shoulder. My voice low so he wouldn’t wake, I strove to sound casual. “How did you bring Elryc out of the castle?”

Her eyes swiveled to mine, expressionless. Then, like a snake, her hand shot out at me, made a sign. I shied so violently I almost fell from my saddle. She hissed, “Ask not, Princeling!”

I muttered a curse, spurred Ebon several paces ahead, rode with head down, clutching the pommel, until I ceased to shake. Lucky we were to have survived her. I wondered if Mother knew our nurse was a witch. Had I submitted my brother to more peril than he faced from Duke Margenthar?

At evening, grumbling, Hester called a halt near a bubbling brook. “I hoped to reach Fort by tonight, or at least Shar’s Cross. But we need to rest the drays. Rustin, Roddy, unhitch them, hobble them to pasture.”

Dutifully, Rust obeyed. It wasn’t my place to do the work of a stableboy, but Genard had taken charge of Ebon, Santree, and Nell, so without making an issue of it I held the team’s reins while Rust tended to their needs.

I couldn’t tolerate another night near Rustin and his whore. The tent in the wagon was rightfully mine, as the whole purpose of our voyage was to preserve our House. Yet I didn’t feel up to requisitioning the canvas from Hester. I made a place near Genard in the back of the wagon, slept again in the open.

At first light Hester shook me awake, demanded I hitch the drays. I rolled over back to sleep, but she snatched my blanket, leaving me shivering in the morning mist. “Elryc runs a fever. We’ll hurry to the village.”

Elryc always ran a fever of one sort or another; his eternal sniffle was sentinel to his erratic health. Grumbling, I prodded Genard awake, made him do the more wearisome tasks. I thought of kicking Rustin out of the soft blanket he shared with his whore, but that wasn’t safe; at times he could turn on me with violence. Still, the work should have been his. After all, it was he who’d unhitched the team.

When we were under way Fostrow rode alongside me. “I don’t know this country, laddie. Between Stryx and Verein, I could tell you every rock, yet northward ...”

I grunted, but he seemed unaware I wasn’t enjoying his chatter.

“Where, exactly, do we ride?”

I shrugged, turned it into a scratch. It wouldn’t do for him to know I was as ignorant as he. “To Fort. A village near the Cumber hills.” I made my tone condescending. “You know of Cumber?”

“Aye, who doesn’t? The land rests uneasy between Caledon and the Norland, with only great hills and steep passes to keep the barbarians at bay. That old fart held it as fiefdom of the Queen.”

My voice was cold. “That old fart is my great-uncle Raeth, Earl of Cumber.” The guardsman’s view was accurate, but he was but a minion.

“Sorry, my lord. The way he doddered around Stryx Castle, peering at everything, with that silly valet hovering ...” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

A time passed. I drowsed, lulled by Ebon’s steady plod, and the squeak of the wheels.

“When Elryc—excuse me, Lord Elryc—is escorted safely to Fort, what will you do after?”

“Do?”

“About the crown. About Tantroth.”

“What concern is it of yours?”

His brow wrinkled. “Why, I’ve sworn to you, Rodrigo. I should like to know—”

“You’ll go where you’re told.” I spurred Ebon, caught up to Rustin, who rode Santree alongside Chela’s nag. “Ride ahead with me, Rust.”

“Hester won’t like—”

“Demons take her. Come.” I galloped down the path, and after a moment Rust followed. We were soon lost from the others amid leafy turnings.

“Not so far, Roddy.” Rustin slowed.

“Afraid? Hester says the wood is benign.”

“And what of Elryc, if marauders overtake the cart?”

Reluctantly, I reined in. “You think too much. It spoils the fun.” I slipped out of the saddle, held the straps loosely while Ebon nuzzled the grass.

The wood was silent, except for the rustle of trees and the gentle buzz of insects. Rustin studied my face.

I blurted, “Rust, will you marry Chela?” Aghast, I waited for his anger at my intrusion. Until the words had flown from my mouth, I had no idea that I would ask.

“Of course not!” He seemed shocked at the very thought.

“Good. She isn’t suitable.” I giggled. “And Llewelyn would have fits.”

“Aye.” His face darkened. “May all go well for them at the keep.”

“The walls are stout.”

“You’ve never seen siege engines at work, Roddy.”

“Neither have you.” Sometimes his assumed superiority was nettlesome. To divert him, I changed the subject. “Tell me truth. Did you arrange for Chela to ride after us?”

“Lord of Nature, no!” He reddened. “I had no idea, when things began between us, that it would carry this far.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Besides, I’m—not ready to marry.” He prodded the turf with the toe of a boot, as if testing. “Not ... for a long while.”

I nodded wisely. “You’ll want your title first, when Llewelyn’s time is past. With that you’ll make a better marriage.”

He said nothing. I sat, to lean against a tree. “Rust, how is it we wander down an abandoned goat track, so far from home? What plans should I make?”

He leaned back, shoulder to shoulder with me, closed his eyes. “It’s for you to decide. You’re Prince of Caledon.”

“What
can
I do?”

He ticked off options. “Stay with Hester, at Fort. Or go on to Cumber, where surely the Earl will take you in.”

“Not Cumber. I won’t exchange one keeper for another.” I brooded. “Hester is a madwoman, and I shouldn’t leave Elryc in her charge. But if I stay she’ll make a madman of me too. Is there nothing else?”

“Aye, my lord. Set your standard, and try to raise an army to free Caledon.”

Tents unfurled, hooves galloped, swords rang amid the flutter of pennants. Slowly, my glorious vision faded. “I haven’t funds to support an army, even if they’ll come at my call. I’m not yet crowned.” I chewed at a knuckle. “Though, I have the crown in my saddlebag. What if I don it, and call myself King?”

“Self-crowned, would you wield the Still?”

“No, but Uncle Mar stole the Vessels; I’ll never find them. The Still’s useless.” I thought again of Rustin, rolling with Chela in the sultry night, felt an unexpected stir. “Rust, it doesn’t matter. My body won’t let me wait much longer.”

“Oh, my prince.” His eyes opened, turned to mine. His knuckles stroked my cheek.

The tenderness startled me; I reached to thrust him away, found my eyes brimming. He gathered my head onto his chest, sat quite still, had the sense to say nothing while I stifled my sobs. Only the gentle stroke of his fingers revealed he was awake.

T
HE INN AT SHAR’S
cross was a stout-ribbed structure, whose great oaken beams buried themselves in fly-specked walls. I slurped at fragrant lentil soup, glad of its warmth, greedy for the nourishment after days on end of tough jerky, dried peas, apples, tea.

The town of Shar was more substantial than I’d expected. From their stalls hugging the roadway, drayer, carter, cooper, clothier, bootmaker, scribe, coinchanger, candler, smith, and leatherer all cast hopeful eye on the passing traveler.

The inn had but half a dozen rooms, and two of those taken when we’d arrived.

Hester had disappeared with Elryc into the chamber the two would share. Rustin, the stableboy, Chela, Fostrow, and I would have to sort ourselves into two other chambers, which were all she’d pay for, and that only for the one night, “So my Elryc may sleep with walls about him.”

It wasn’t fitting, but I was helpless in the matter. My own coin was lost to the wasps and mosquitoes. Genard lived on our charity, and Fostrow claimed likewise, though I suspected he lied. Chela flounced her hips and dared me to search, when I asked what she had.

As to Rust, I knew he had sense to bring what he owned, but I dared not ask. Borrowing his sword had called forth a reaction totally unwarranted in its intensity. Despite our interlude under the tree, his eyes hardened and his lips went grim every time his eyes chanced to fall on my blade. Almost, I considered doing without, to end the unpleasantness.

It wasn’t meet, that a king should share a bed with two, even three of his vassals. Camping under the stars was one thing; we all shared Lord of Nature’s hard earth. While I sat brooding, Rustin’s hand strayed to Chela’s leg.

I fidgeted. There was no combination of sleepers I found tolerable, save that I have my own chamber, as befit my station. Before I could devise a way to suggest it, Rust overthrew my plans. “Genard can sleep with me, my liege. As can Chela. You and Fostrow will have more room, two to a bed.”

I slammed down my mug, beer sloshing on my hand. “How if I proclaim myself, and ask lodging in the name of my House, since you’re too stingy to buy it?”

Rustin’s voice went quiet, as the forest before a fearsome storm. “I have few coins, my prince. You’d have me toss them to an innkeeper, instead of providing food?”

I tossed my head. “Do as you wish, vassal.”

He tore viciously at his bread, attacked it. Then, “Innkeeper!” He waited until the man appeared. “You have one room unused, yes? Set the bed for my companion, here. The soldier and the boy will share, and the girl and I will have the other.”

He pulled his purse from inside his breeches, held it below the edge of the table, counted out the pence. I couldn’t tell what remained. “Good night!” Taking Chela by the hand, he stalked off. She ran along, docile, turning only to flash me a grin of malice.

Tossing and turning on my straw during the night, I heard every creak of the joists, the windows, perhaps of the straw in the next room. I knew to a certainty that Rust would sport with his housegirl.

I willed myself to fall asleep, fidgeted until the straw was matted and stony. Finally, I slipped on my breeks, padded shirtless down the stairs to the silent eating room, sat alone in front of the embers at the hearth, rocking, hugging myself. I smelled of dried sweat; my hair was awry, my eyes glued half-shut. And I had a thirst.

Someone had left a wide-mouthed mug, nearly full of beer or water. I licked my lips, reached for it, hesitated not knowing why. Slowly, as if of their own volition, my fingers opened, and I placed my palm atop the mouth of the mug. Were the liquid an inch higher, I could stroke it with the palm of my hand, caress it with my fingertips.

I rested my left hand atop my right, pressed as if trying to meld my palm with the rim of the glass. Why, Mother, couldn’t you trust me with the Vessels? Now, while Rustin rutted with Chela, I suffered humiliation and agonies of self-denial, and for ... what? I’d lost the kingdom to Uncle Mar, if not Tantroth. I had but a haphazard crew of ragged followers who cared not one whit for me.

Slowly, I rocked my torso, head bowed, holding my hands still over the glass. Forward, back. Ah, Mother. Would that you were not under the cold earth.

After a time, I woke with a start. Slowly, I peeled my aching wrist from the mug, rubbed the indent left by its rim. Wearily, I stood, looked down into the still liquid of the glass. Then, I crept up the cold rough steps to my solitary room, closed the door.

“I won’t put Elryc into a cart; he’d be cold when we took him out!” Hester glared as if it were my fault. “There’s nothing for it but to stay, ’til he’s himself.”

A light rain tapped on the windowpane. “He can’t be
that
ill. Just yesterday—”

“Your brother burns like the demons’ lake.” Her swollen knuckles tightened, over the rough plank table. “I can’t be away from him. See for yourself.” She stood, grimaced, hobbled toward the stair.

“Come along,” I said to Rust. It was more order than request. Somberly, he followed.

Elryc lay dozing atop a straw mattress. My nose wrinkled; the chamber held the dank odor of sickness. “Give me to drink, Nurse.” His voice was the high pipe of a child, with a thready weakness that startled me.

“How are you, brother?” I took the glass from Hester, raised his head from the pillow.

He slurped. Water ran down his chin, across his puny chest. “Roddy, did you hear them last night? Demons, on the windowsill!”

“Nonsense.” My tone was gruff. “A fever vision.”

“Two of them, with black horns.” He coughed, from deep in his chest, cried out in anguish. “Oh, it hurts.”

“Good.” Hester prodded his leg. “Cough more, boy. It keeps you alive.”

I waved it away. “What foolishness is this? Let him rest in peace.”

“Cough!”

“Hester, take some air, regain your sense. I’ll—”

Her fingers clawed at my hair, wrenched me from the bedside. “What know you, ignorant lout? Let him cough out the demons, lest they seize his lungs! Begone.” She swept me to the door. “And take your overgrown shadow along!” She hurried Rustin along in front of her, slammed the door in our faces.

Rust shrugged, a smile flickering. “Did she ever marry? I pity the man whose wife has such a tongue.”

“If so, he killed himself.” I trotted down the stairs, out into the cool rain. “Come, let’s see what delights the town has to offer.”