The Still (49 page)

She leaned forward, gripped my wrist. “I leave Elryc in your charge. Swear by the True of Caledon that you will protect him and tend his needs.”

“I’ve already sworn—”

“To him, perhaps, but not to me!” Her visage brooked no refusal.

I gave the oath, sitting on Ebon alongside the wagon.

“Elryc wants affection, as well as food and drink. Will you give him that?” Her tone was wistful.

I swallowed. “It’s not much in my nature. I’ll try.”

“Be kind to Genard also. There’s good in him.”

My lips were dry. “Is this farewell?”

“For a time. I’ll be back, with Pytor.” She beckoned me close. “Take care to don clean clothes.” Her fingers tidied my hair as if I were a child. “And listen to Rustin. He has sense, for a boy. Now, that Tursel ...” Her glance flickered, to make sure we weren’t overheard. “Trust his loyalty, but not his wit.”

“Is he Raeth’s man, or mine?”

“He doesn’t know himself, I think. For now, it’s the same.”

Anavar was near, so I changed the subject. “Will you ride alone?”

“I’ve spoken to Tursel; he’ll lend a few soldiers to help speed my way. When we near Verein they’ll turn back.”

I nodded.

“Take care for Elryc!” It was a plea from her heart.

Dismounting, I tied Ebon to the rail, swung aboard the cart. “Nurse ...” For a moment, I yearned to put my head in her lap.

“Oh, Roddy.” Her hand darted out, pulled back. She cleared her throat. “You’re a babe no longer.” She busied herself with bags and boxes. “Go. Make yourself King.”

T
HE CASTLE WAS SET
on a hill, as strong places usually are. Its walls were immensely thick and well fortified for so small a place. I’d never been to Soushire before, and had expected greater.

From the hill opposite, I scrutinized the fluttering banners, trying to remember from my heraldry whether the Lady of Soushire hinted, in her displays, of her alliances.

In Council she had acquiesced to Margenthar’s regency once Uncle Mar proved he had the votes. I wasn’t sure what Mar had given her for a sop, but, knowing Uncle, it was something she coveted.

On the other hand, Uncle Mar was on the verge of losing Stryx. Would she keep faith in his promises?

I sighed. Politics were too complex.

Rust and I—and Elryc, who kept tugging at my arm, demanding to take part—chose an honor guard large enough to put up a show of defense if need be.

As we rode down to Soushire, Garst crouched on the supply cart, his shuddering breaths still relapsing into occasional sobs. Whatever beating Fostrow had given him was less than he deserved. Why be merciful, if the beneficiary felt naught but resentment? At least Anavar seemed cool to Garst’s distress.

Our approach to the castle was somewhat less than orderly; the stateliness of our column was marred by the carts overflowing with our wounded, and the few prisoners of Tantroth I’d prevented Tursel from murdering.

Rustin muttered, “Wave, Roddy. She’s in front, in the green cloak.” Obediently I waved to the plump Duchess, surrounded by her retinue.

Soushire’s speech of welcome and my gracious reply were as short as ritual allowed. Her chamberlain indicated which fallow fields our military was to occupy, and our honored few trooped inside.

I presumed her invitation to the castle included my entire personal party, and brought Elryc, Rust, Chela, Genard, and Fostrow into the keep. For good measure I included my two new bondsmen, who’d at least be useful as message runners. If bedchambers were lacking, they could sleep on benches in the hall.

In our small and dingy chambers Rustin and I bathed, scrubbing each other’s backs in an intimacy I was beginning to find agreeable. One needed to be touched, from time to time. To live otherwise was too lonely, too remote. After, we dressed in our better regalia, and awaited a summons to dinner.

Rust sat on the bed next to me, his lips at my ear. “Assume we are overheard in anything we say.”

“Of course.” I raised my voice. “If you can hear us, tell the Lady we’re grateful for her hospitality.”

Rustin frowned, shook his head. “Why reveal to them we’re aware of being overheard?”

“So Soushire won’t think me a fool.” I gestured at the dank stone. “Too much is at stake for her not to spy. To think else would be to assume
her
a dunce, and I do her the compliment of believing otherwise.”

Rustin was saved from further reply by a servant, calling us downstairs.

The meal was a formal banquet, in a great hall marred by insufficient light, and a rather oppressive aroma of past cooking. During the introductions, we exchanged the intricate bows that acknowledged station, place, and subservience.

As heir to Caledon, I should outrank all but the Duchess, as she was in her own domain and was owed the elaborate courtesy due a host. Yet, her people tendered me the polite bow due any noble guest, instead of the deeper, more formal bow due royalty. I pretended not to notice. Lady Soushire, after all, risked Uncle Mar’s wrath by allowing us within. Castle Town was much nearer to Stryx than was Cumber, and the fat old Duchess had to take care.

A bored minstrel played too familiar airs on a lute while dinner progressed. The Lady was a greedy eater, albeit a sloppy one; her robe was soon stained with soup and crumbs. She didn’t seem to mind, and constantly fed morsels to a great mastiff hound that lay at her feet.

As time passed, wine flowed and the conversation grew louder. I was careful to water my wine.

The heavyset Lady was no match for Uncle Raeth in subtlety; as soon as the last course was cleared and the lesser guests dismissed, she charged into the fray with scant preliminary. “You may wonder why I took you in, given your uncertain status and your, ah, strained relations with Stryx.”

“Your hospitality is known throughout the realm.” I hoped my irony wasn’t overdone.

She ignored my barb. “You’re here because I have something you want, and you’re in a position to reciprocate.”

Rustin overrode my reply. “What have you that my lord Rodrigo desires, madam?”

I leaned back, content to let Rust joust on my behalf.

Again, Soushire drove straight to the point. “A vote in Council. What else?”

Even Rustin seemed a little taken back at her lack of delicacy. “And what would you desire, my lady?”

Soushire twirled her fork, her attention on her empty plate. “Groenfil.”

I blurted, “Pardon?”

“Groenfil. All of it.” She looked up, a gleam in her shrewd eye. “The lands, the title, the revenues. As your vassal, of course. The keep, too, and your assistance getting it.”

“Good heavens. Why?”

Soushire looked perplexed. “What an odd question.” Idly, she tapped her fork. “Which do you ask: why I want it, what justification I give, or why you should agree?”

I said, “They’re all the same.”

“Hardly. I covet Groenfil’s lands because they’re rich and adjoin mine. My justification is the Groenfil-Soushire marriage.”

“That was thirty years ago.”

“Forty-two, but the contract was valid and remains so. The lands were to be combined under their firstborn child.”

“Who was born dead.”

“Who died three days after birth, but not before a will was made leaving his goods to his father, that is, my grandfather.”

“But the title hadn’t been transferred to the child.” The old quarrel was well known throughout Caledon.

Soushire slammed her fist on the table; my glass jumped. “It should have been!” Her dog jumped to its feet, growled ominously. “It’s all right, Bakko.” She took a deep breath, and the dog calmed.

Rustin said, “Pardon, madam, but that’s preposterous. A generation has passed.”

“It will serve, however, as my justification. Now, what was the third question?” The lady scowled. “Ah, yes: why you should agree. I’ll trade my vote for your pledge of Groenfil. I assume you’re close to four Council votes, but still lacking one. Cumber must be with you, since he sent his troops, and who else? The Warthen? He’s Mar’s oldest ally, and more avaricious even than I. The Speaker? He’s old and conservative, and—”

Rustin and I exchanged glances. “I can’t tell you,” I said.

Soushire studied me closely; I tried not to blench at a whiff of garlic. “Do you know what you’re up to? Do you grasp games of state?”

“I learn.” I reached across to Rustin’s undiluted wine, took a long swallow; I needed it.

“How many votes have you?” Soushire sat back, folded her hands across her belly, as I looked helplessly at Rustin.

“Our thanks for an excellent dinner, madam.” Rust scraped back his chair. “Shall we walk in the cool night air, my prince? Perhaps it would help clear our heads.” We stood.

“Oh, walk, by all means,” said Soushire. “I’ll want a response soon. How long did you string Cumber along, a week? Can’t have that; you must be gone before Mar gets wind of your visit.”

“He’ll know we were here. News travels.”

“But you’ll be elsewhere, when he hears.”

At the door, Fostrow came to his feet. “Where do we go?”

“You weren’t invited,” I told him.

“For a walk, is it? In the dark, even I won’t be enough. I’ll call our honor guard.”

“You will
not.
Rust and I just want a few words.”

Fostrow peered outside to where Tursel’s guardsmen lounged, snapped his fingers.

I sighed. Servants.

I made the guardsmen—except Fostrow, who ignored me—walk behind us a score of paces, so we could converse in private. Their torches sent dancing shadows in our path.

I said, “She takes your breath away.”

“She
is
direct.”

“I can’t possibly give her Groenfil.”

“It’s good you didn’t consider it.”

“I did.” My blush was concealed by the night. “It’s worse than Cumber’s demand that I remit taxes. I’d have the kingdom in turmoil.”

“Is that your only reason?”

“Need I others?”

“There’s the matter of justice.”

I grimaced. “Groenfil’s the most corrupt earldom in Caledon. Mother always had to fight for her crown revenues.”

“Is that reason to unseat him?”

“Of course not.” How could an earl be thrown off his lands at a sovereign’s whim? Who next: a duke? Perhaps then a king. No, the right of a noble house to its holdings and churls was paramount. I strode along the stone walk, between two high walls. “What does Soushire want? That we provide her a conquering army?”

“She hasn’t made it clear yet.”

“Demons take them all.” Abruptly a shadow flitted across a parapet. I made a sign to propitiate imps and demons. What had come over me, casting curses in the dark of night? “Let’s go inside.” I glanced about the night, summoned a Rite of Banishing.

“What will you tell her?”

Something seized me from behind. I squawked.

“Quiet, you fool!” Fostrow, a hoarse whisper. “They’re following you.”

My heart thudded. “Make the five-sided square for protection, and recite—”

He shook me. “Two, perhaps three men, on the wall above. They’re shod in something soft, not boots.”

My voice was unsteady. “You’re sure it’s men?”

“What women would skulk in the night, overhead? Are you daft?”

I hadn’t summoned imps, by my foolishness. I took deep breaths, subdued my panic. For some reason my legs were shaky. “Are they armed?”

“I can’t see enough to tell. No, stay; the overhang gives protection.”

“What’s their purpose?”

“I’m not sure. Most likely, to spy, but ...” He shrugged.

My skin prickled. “Take me inside!”

“Steady, my prince.” Rustin.

“It’s dark, and I want—” I made myself sound calm, by brute effort. “All right. What do we do?”

“Wait.” Fostrow strode back toward the guardsmen. The buzz of voices, while he conferred. Rust quietly drew his sword, and I fervently wished I’d worn my own.

Our escort moved forward in a pack. Suddenly the overhang was bright with torchlight.

Fostrow. “Lord Rustin, sheath your blade. Best we not look like a war party.”

“If Roddy’s in danger—”

“You’ll know in time to draw. You boys stay among us; we’ll shield you as we walk. Together, now. Ready, all? Go!”

We surged out between the walls. Almost, I stumbled, but caught myself. Moving so fast it was almost laughable, we scurried to the gaping castle door. Only when I was safe inside did the prickling in my back begin to ease.

Fostrow beckoned the guardsmen; they rushed back outside to seek the stalkers. He turned to me. “I doubt they’ll find anyone; our watchers knew well the lay of the place.”

“Why that quickstep march?”

“We shielded you in case they meant to attack, but it’s more likely they spied on your deliberations.”

“Soushire?”

Rustin said, “It’s her castle, but Mar’s agents could be within. Or a myriad of others. Lord Cumber. Tantroth. Even Groenfil.”

We returned to the banquet hall. Soushire was where we’d left her, at the head of her table.

“Ah, Rodrigo. A pleasant walk? You seem pale. Prince Elryc says you’ve brought an Eiberian noble to our house.”

I gaped. “A what? Oh, you mean Anavar. He’s pledged to me.”

“Let me see him.”

“No, that would ... no.”

Soushire raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you play at diplomacy? Know you not to please your adversary in the simple things, and withhold only the great?”

I flushed at the rebuke. “Are we adversaries, madam?”

“We may become so.” She studied me, her eyes cold, and the dog stirred. “Unless you realize you need me more than I need you.”

“How so?”

“If we fail to ally, all I lose is Groenfil, and I live well without it. You, on the other hand, will have nothing, and are finished.”

My hand tightened on the edge of the table, but remained still. “Only if your vote is indispensable.”

“It is.”

I waited.

“You see, I know the other councilors, and can’t imagine how you’d assemble four votes without mine. I also know, by your arrival on my doorstep, that you think the same.” For a moment she frowned, then belched loudly. “Your pardon.”

Her rudeness emboldened me. “If that’s so, my lady, why ask for so little as Groenfil? Why not half of Caledon?”