The Still (62 page)

“And?”

“Full of Tantroth’s men, but no special guard. The town is theirs, you’ll recall.”

“Rust, you’ll wait here.”

“And the gates at Castle Way are open. Though it takes no more than a moment to swing them shut. As they will if a band of horsemen charges down the coast road.”

“You’ll stay behind with Anavar and three others in case—”

“And miss my Rodrigo leading us in battle? No.”

“Rustin, I won’t have you contend with Llewelyn!”

“Why, my lord Prince!” His eyes were bright, almost feverish. “We’re already adversaries. I’m loyal to Caledon, and he is not.”

That decided me. “You’ll remain.”

“No.” He drew himself up. “I’m not subject to your dominion.”

I was desperate. “Fostrow, Tursel! Seize him. Bind his hands if you must!”

Rust’s sword glinted in the late day’s sun. “Who seizes me dies!” Behind him, Anavar gaped.

“Hold! Fostrow, back.” I swung down from my saddle. Sword still in scabbard, I came close. “Strike me, if you will.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Of course.”

“Yet I’ll break your arm if you move to disarm me.”

“Come.” I led him, protesting, away from the uneasy troop.

A few paces away, where foam crashed into the mossy remains of a jetty, I let go his arm. “Rustin ...”

“I’ll fight for you, Roddy.” His tone had a manic gaiety. “Honor demands no less. Don’t ask.”

“Rust, I’m not man yet.” My voice caught. “I need you. I need you sane.”

He thrust me away, mouth set. I stared full into his face.

At length he approached, slipped sword in sheath. “Roddy?” Briefly, his fingers brushed my damp curls. Then, for the second time in our lives, his head stooped to my shoulder, and he wept.

Seven went ahead, Fostrow among them. Concealing their swords in packs and cloaks, they trudged wearily toward Llewelyn’s keep, as if returning from patrol. One youth hid a bow, and a pitch-dipped arrow.

The dust of forty horsemen would raise alarm, especially if no patrol of that number had been sent our way. It was our forerunners’ task to hold open the gates to the keep. A flaming arrow into the dusk was to be our signal.

We waited in the ruins with growing unease. Rust would ride with us; I could not prevent it. But he’d sworn on his very soul to turn away from Llewelyn, should they meet. As for Anavar, I bade him return to our force in the hills, to avoid war with his own.

“Sir, I’ll raise my sword only to protect you, as we enjoined. Let me do that much.”

“No, I won’t have you consumed with guilt. And besides, you’re drunk.”

He flushed. “It passes.”

“I won’t—”

He shouted, “Let me choose my fate!”

My mouth opened, and shut. “Done,” I grated. “But hope I’m taken, else in camp I’ll take leather to you for insolence.”

“Sir, I—”

“Be silent, youngsire.”

Tursel’s fingers nervously traced the hilt of his sword. “I don’t know the town as well as you. How soon ’til our men are in place?”

“A few moments. When the arrow flies, ride as if demons pursue us.”

“Aye. Our men can’t hold the gate long.”

I tried to quell my unease. What if Tantroth strengthened the evening guard? What if Mar divined my plan, sent word ahead to trap me? The worst fate I could imagine was to fall in my uncle’s hands.

What if the arrow wouldn’t light?

“Remember, men.” Perhaps Tursel spoke also to me. “We seek only Vessa. No time for looting, or hunting those who’d run. No doubt the old man’s in a safe room.”

“On the first floor, I’d wager,” Rust added. “Behind the family quarters, west of the kitchen ...”

Anavar tapped my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lord Prince.”

“You’ll still be beaten.”

“If ... I fall, I wanted you to know.”

I looked away, ashamed.

“Look!”

A fiery trail gleamed bright in the dusk.

“Together, for Caledon!” I lashed Ebon’s flank.

We charged down the cobbled road, scattering townswomen with baskets, tradesmen closing their shops. Rustin drew sword, kept pace at my left.

The coast road wasn’t all that wide. As we passed, a few folk pressed themselves into doorways, or jumped into reeking ditches to avoid our hooves. I glanced rightward. Behind the narrow streets of Stryx loomed our castle. Ahead, the massive keep. To the left, the sea crashed against the break.

We burst past Fullers’ Inn, where Rust and I had oft taken drink. Then, along the shore, a familiar stone hut. “Look, Rust! Need another sword?” Months or days ago, when I was a foolish youth, Rust and I had visited the sword-smith. His burly young prentice gaped as we raced past.

The squared walls of the keep loomed. Over the thunder of hooves I caught shouts, cries of pain. I whirled my blade, “For Caledon!”

“For Rodrigo!”

A dozen guards struggled to swing shut the sturdy gates. Three barred their way. I dug my heels into Ebon. Behind me, riders leveled their spears. The cobbles flashed past.

A shield rose to obstruct me, a sword poised behind. I slashed down with all my might. The shield dropped, an arm with it. I closed my ears to an agonized scream.

Ebon snorted, rearing to strike.

Our column thundered past the gates. “To the villa!” Rustin’s call penetrated the clamor.

Behind me, at the gate, Fostrow hacked at a desperate defender, sweat dripping from his brow. Blood drenched his jerkin. “Did you walk to join us, my lord? A pleasant stroll?”

I hauled on the reins. Ebon roared, crashed into the Eiberian’s ribs. The man dropped without a sound.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Fostrow panted. “But we’ve four dead.”

“More, by now.” I peered into the setting sun’s haze. “Where’s Rustin?”

“Stay with him, or with me!”

Shouts from above. A squad of Eiberians raced along the lower rampart. I cursed. As they hurtled down the stairs I cantered alongside, sword raised high. I caught one man in the chest, another in the leg. I slammed my sword hilt into a frantic face, watched the soldier topple. Then the rest of the squad was upon us. Fostrow and I fell back to the courtyard where our men formed a shield around the entry to the villa.

“Where’s Rust?”

“Inside!”

I slipped off Ebon and raced to the door where once we’d greeted Lady Joenne. Within was carnage. Bowls of stew lay overturned on a table drenched with blood. A guard lay wailing, cradling his innards. Bodies lay about. Some still twitched.

I glanced outside. Our men braced as troops in black fell upon them from both sides.

In the next room, shouting.

A slim form hurtled past; Anavar planted himself in front of me, sword drawn. I thrust him aside, plunged into the chamber. Rustin was nowhere to be seen. Men of Eiber retreated through a far door. I glanced about. Where was the kitchen passage?

The last Eiberians retreated to the far doorway. A bearded face I thought I recognized. Eyes that met mine, turned away quickly. Was it Llewelyn?

From a hall, Rustin appeared. “This way! Move!”

I tore after him, Anavar at my heels. In near dark I tripped, went sprawling. “Ow!”

Something sharp jabbed my side.

As one, Rust and Anavar hauled me to my feet. I stepped across the body I’d stumbled over, peered into the room.

An Eiberian guard slumped on a stool, a knife in his chest. He stared dully as blood trickled. Behind him, a henchman lay unmoving. Vessa cowered against the far wall.

I stood straighter. “Come with us, Speaker.”

“I couldn’t support you—Tantroth had the city. I had no escape—please don’t kill me!”

“Come quickly, if you want to live.”

The old man tottered to his feet.

Hand pressed to my side, I ran through the passage, leaping over the Eiberian corpse. “Tursel, we have him! Sound the call!” Behind me, Rust and Anavar guided the Speaker. I raced to the front of the villa, plunged into the dusk. “Tursel!”

“He’s rallying the guard.” Fostrow limped slowly to the entry, breathing hard. His leg was bloody.

“Ebon!” I whistled shrilly. As I knew he would, he cantered to me. I swung into the saddle, wheeled to the courtyard.

Tursel loomed in the deepening dusk. “Everyone out! We’ll charge the far gate, where they least expect it!” The north gate, from which Rust and I had escaped to the hills when Tantroth besieged the keep. Now, Eiber’s ships lined the shore. We’d have to ride gauntlet. No matter.

We milled about the courtyard as arrows streaked from above, fired by Tantroth’s folk on the ramparts. I shouted, “Caledon, ride!”

Fewer than twenty, we surged toward the north gate. “Rust! Anavar!” I searched our ranks. Both were among us. Old Vessa gripped a stallion’s mane.

Anavar’s sword was red, and his eyes wild. I snapped, “Stay with Fostrow, he’ll guard you.”

“I’m man enough—where is he?”

I stood in the stirrups. Ahead, our men clashed with the gatesmen. “Fostrow!” Cursing, I swung Ebon, cantered back toward the villa.

He sat on the entry stairs.

“Where’s your horse? Move yourself!”

Around him, blood pooled. “I can’t, Roddy.” He had his helmet off. “Demons take me, it hurts.” His face was pasty.

“No!” My cry echoed in the dusk. I slid from the saddle. “Where?”

“My leg. The tubes are cut.”

“Bind it!”

“It’s past that. Go.”

“Not while you live.” I wheeled. “RUST!”

“No!” He clutched me. “Damn you, lad, run!”

“Not without you.” I sank to his side.

With a weary groan, Fostrow leaned his grizzled head against mine. “Don’t you understand? That’s what we’re
for.”

“Roddy!” Rust galloped across the courtyard. “Out!
Right now!”

“I’m ... tired.” With an effort, the old guardsman focused on my face. “That’s what we do, we soldiers. We give lives for our lords. Doesn’t seem fair, sometimes.”

I could have wept, and hated that which stopped me. “I’ll bind you. We’ll find a horse.”

“Need to lie down.” It was a mumble. Fostrow let himself sink to the planks; I barely stopped his head from bumping. “Listen to ... your mother, boy. She’s a ... good queen. Even Mar says so.”

“Yes, Fostrow.”

“Now, Roddy!” Forceful hands hauled me away.

I shook free. “Don’t die! I’ll take you—”

A clatter of hooves, as black horsemen swept across the courtyard.

“It’s wars kill us, son.”

My hand swept Fostrow’s sweaty brow.

“Fight only ...”

“What?”

Fostrow blinked, seemed to concentrate. “...
just
wars.”

“NOW!”
Rustin tore me from the huddled form, whose chest still rose and fell. He grasped my boot, raised it to the stirrup. “Move or die!”

Numbly, I swung into the saddle. Rust tore loose his empty scabbard and gave Ebon a mighty thwack. “Go!” Ebon shot toward the gate. I clung to the pommel. Rust galloped behind.

We raced through the gate onto the north road. Behind us, the cries of war faded.

The beach was rocky. The black fleet of Eiber lay offshore, riding on the swells. We were within bowshot of the ships, but who would keep archers aboard boats moored for the season? We were safe from that quarter.

What I hadn’t expected was the rows of tents in the field to our right. The Eiberian camps had been roused by the clamor of battle in the keep. A few quick-witted officers had devised a roadblock, but they’d barely dragged wagons and brush into place.

Tursel waved shoreward. We scrambled through sand and stones. A horse went down; the rider screamed; a mate stopped long enough to hoist him behind. We raced on, and plunged into the hills.

Ebon pounded methodically along the trail. I rode dazed in the saddle, side aching. When the tents had faded from sight I spotted a familiar trail. “Tursel, hold!”

He swung his head, saw no one pursuing. Reluctantly, he slowed. “What, Lord Prince?”

“Call a halt.”

“They’ll be on us ere long.”

“But not yet.” I pulled Ebon to a standstill.

“What now?”

I fought to think through a haze. “That path. I think it leads to Besiegers’ Pond.”

“So?”

“Above is the castle.”

“What of it?”

“I’ll go. Rust, come along if you wish.”

“Roddy, we’ve no time for nonsense!”

“Oh, there’s sense to it.” My teeth chattered, as if from cold. “Tursel, take your troop and cut west at the fork. Lead our pursuers to the hills.”

“But why—”

“I’ll meet you at Shar’s Cross.”

“No. Lord Rustin, take the Prince’s reins. You, Thiel, guard his left.”

I rose in my saddle.
“By the True and my crown, touch me not!”

“Roddy—”

“Tursel of Cumber, lead our troop to the hills. Move! Anavar, come along.”

“Me, sir?” His voice was a squeak.

“Yes, I’ll need another.” I lashed Ebon, and he leaped from the pack. “All you men, go to the hills. Your King commands it.” I cantered into the thick wood.

Muttered curses, and Rustin emerged from the branches. Behind him, the crackle of hooves on downed wood. Anavar shot out of the brush. He reined in at my side.

If I’d not known the trail as a boy, I could never have followed it on this moonless eve. As before, I had to dismount and lead Ebon through the worst thickets. A stitch in my side made my task no easier. Finally, we emerged at the still pond.

“Roddy, I’m no use unless you explain what we do.”

I patted Rust’s shoulder. “The trail leads to Castle Way, at the turn.”

“Don’t teach me geography!” He was at the end of his patience. “Where do we ride?”

“Why, to the castle gates.” I counted on the likelihood Tantroth would post no guards so close to the walls.

It was dark when we reached the turn. Below gleamed the torches of the keep. It looked like an anthill disturbed; men ran hither and about. Horns blared. As we watched, a great body of men gathered, and rode off to the north.

I turned Ebon up the bill. Anavar said nervously, “What are we about sir?”

“We go within.” As we reached the last bend I pulled off my sword, dropped it alongside the road. “Do likewise, both of you. We’re boys caught out in the night.”

Rustin growled, “Roddy, enough of this folly.”