The Still (66 page)

I was glad to see my ward blush clear to the roots of his hair. Carefully, favoring my wound, I redonned my jerkin. Tresa chatted amiably, until my composure was renewed. At length, jovial, I was able to bid her farewell, and scarce realized I’d promised to spend the next days in bed.

“Lady Soushire is due this night, but it’s two days to the Sands no matter how fast the rider.” Rust spoke in soothing tones that only irked me the more.

“Every hour I lie here is time for ill to befall us.” I threw aside the curtain. “What if Vessa dies of age, or someone poisons—”

“We only settled here this morn.” He sighed. “Shall I call Anavar to amuse you?”

“Hah. He’d ask more silver.” I brooded. “At least we won’t wait long for answer from Mar.” Our envoy had only to ride to Groenfil, not past it to Verein. Disconsolate, I lay back, wishing it were night. If days must pass, let them do so quickly.

Rust perched, elbows on the windowsill, gazing dreamily. “Your uncle is a true romantic.”

“Mar?” I couldn’t believe I’d heard aright.

“No, you dolt, Uncle Cumber. What a fabulous view he created. That laundry wench below looks like an ant with clothes. Come see.”

“Lean any farther and you’ll topple. Besides, who cares about your ants?”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his reply. “Yes?”

“Imbar.”

Rust’s voice went lifeless. “Come in.”

“Ah, our two young lords; how enchanting a sight. Pardon me if I take a seat.” The old valet wiped his brow. “At my age five flights are an ordeal.”

“What do you wish?” My tone was bland.

“My earl asks if you’re well enough to join him in the garden at once. The Lady Tresa bids you take the stairs slowly.”

I shot to my feet. “What’s befallen us?”

“He’ll speak of it himself.”

I hurried out. Imbar’s hand fell on Rust’s arm. “A word with you, my lord.”

He stiffened. “I go with Rodrigo.”

“The Prince will come to no harm. I wish only a moment.”

I couldn’t wait, with news below. “Hear him, Rust. Join me after.” I raced down the stairs.

Uncle Raeth waited in the garden, but so did Vessa, Chamberlain Willem, and Groenfil. Tresa knelt by a bed of chrysanthemums. I paused in the doorway. No servants were about, no refreshments on the table. Was I betrayed? My voice was harsh. “What say you?”

Cumber chewed at his lip. “He looks well, doesn’t he, Willem? See what a few hours rest—”

“Imps take you, speak!”

Raeth looked shocked, but my ire spurred him. “We agreed you must be told at once. Mar has left Groenfil. He’s headed here, at full gallop.”

I gulped. “Can we withstand him?”

“Easily, were he alone.” Cumber gestured past the low wall, and the groves beyond. “But Tantroth of Eiber races west through Fort. The scouts say he’ll reach us by morn.”

The clouds reeled, and I found myself in a chair, ashen.

Earl Groenfil frowned. “This is how you’d lead us? Perhaps we should reconsider.”

“Let him be!” Tresa strode across the terrace. “He’s hurt, and just rushed down the stairs. You bully him!”

At first I was grateful. Yet, how must I appear, swooning like a maid, while a lady brushed me protectively behind her skirts? Sweating, I made an effort to stand. “I’m well, Lady Tresa. No, be still, I beg you.” I turned to Cumber. “What force does Tantroth bring?”

“Tursel’s sending more scouts. We’ve only first reports, and they’re grim enough.” The old Earl’s face softened. “Sit, Roddy. We won’t hold it against you.”

“I’m well. What word of Tantroth?”

“A huge force, perhaps a thousand horse, many thousands more on foot. There, sit Tresa, put the bench behind him.”

Someone fanned my face. Tresa patted my hand. “It’s only his wound.”

“No.” I found my voice. “It’s fear. I confess it.”

All looked on me, astonished.

“But once, in a glade, I made a vow. Fear, I cannot elude. But I won’t be coward. I shall not run from fear, if it cost my life.” Once more, I struggled to my feet. “If you would not have me thus, I free you from your vows. But know you that I am Rodrigo, Prince, and shall fight to the death for my people, and Caledon.” The solitude of the great hall wasn’t far; only through the pair of stout doors. I could reach it.

At the entryway, I paused. “Bring me your decision.”

Inside, a few more steps brought me to the bench where Cumber dined. I threw myself on it, lay my head in my arms. I’m sorry, Mother. Better they learn now that I’m unworthy. Perhaps Elryc ...

Soft fingers brushed my neck. “You’ll make a fine king.” Tresa.

“Bah. By dissolving in tears?”

“By showing your true face. Think you that any on the terrace felt not what you expressed?”

“It’s man’s duty to cast aside terror.”

“Why, Roddy, whoever told you that?” She pressed my head to her bosom. “If only Josip had lived.”

Greedily, I embraced her comfort, more welcome even than Rust’s. At length, footsteps neared. I raised my head, making no effort to hide my dampened cheeks. Willem watched gravely, Groenfil at his side. Vessa blinked in the gloom of the chamber, as did Cumber.

It was Groenfil who spoke. “There was naught to discuss. We’ll crown you now.”

Cumber shrugged. “Besides, it’s too late to reason with Mar; he’d only double his offer—sorry, a bad jest.” He struck flint, lit a candle. “Ah, you’re so like Josip, boy. So earnest.” The candle flickered.

“Now, Raeth.” A dry voice, from the stairs. “You’ll upset him.”

“Too late for that, Imbar.” Cumber sounded cross. “Where have you been?”

“I had word with my lord Rustin.”

Rust’s face was flushed. “You’ll crown Roddy? Today?”

“There’s urgent need.” Willem.

I shook my head. “We’ll wait for Lady Soushire.” Was I
determined
to throw away my monarchy? I puzzled at my stubbornness.

“Are you—”

“And we’ll allow Mar to attend. He’ll be near enough.” Beneath the walls raising engines of siege, no doubt. “Why look askance, Willem? Would you I risked the Still of Caledon, for a few hours pause? We’ll await the Lady.”

“What if Tantroth takes her? It’s a near thing, her arrival.”

I swung to Uncle Raeth. “Send Tursel with a hundred horse, to hurry Soushire before Tantroth blocks the road.”

Raeth said mildly, “Tursel’s returned to my service, now he’s home again. I don’t think it’s wise—”

I slapped the plank table with open palm, tried not to flinch at the fiery blaze of pain. “Who commands Caledon, sir?”

Our eyes met. At length Cumber smiled uneasily. “What have we got ourselves into, eh, Imbar? Steel he has, and quickly unsheathed. Well, see that Tursel’s told, and soon. If he must be off, I want him back before the noose draws tight.”

Imbar grunted, and was gone.

Tresa put hands on hips. “Are you content? Give Rodrigo a few hours rest.”

“Not up those stairs.” Wanly, I smiled at my uncle. “It’s a lovely room, but not today, I beg you. Someplace nearer.”

I woke with a start. “What hour is it? Was I drugged?”

“Ninth hour by the candle,” said Anavar, sitting by my bedside. “Genard reports that on the ramparts, they see torches nearing.”

“From where?” I stumbled to my feet.

“The south, where Groenfil took his guard to delay Margenthar. But also north, and—”

“Where’s Rust?”

“Out, and I know not where.”

“What of Tantroth?”

“Either it’s his torches that bob in the north, or Tursel’s, escorting Lady Soushire. Sir, where go you?”

In the courtyard, Uncle Cumber stood grimly, a cloak flung over his shoulders, issuing orders to a handful of runners. Townspeople poured through the gates, pushing carts, lugging bundles, hauling wailing tykes. Horses snorted; dogs barked and snapped. Raeth saw me, nodded, but said naught. Elryc ran to my side.

We climbed to the battlements.

“Who goes? Oh, it’s you.” A burly guardsman stood firm in our path. “My lords, it’s not safe. An arrow in the night—”

“Bah.” I thrust him aside, succeeding only by the weight of my rank.

Anavar cautioned, “Slow, sir, or you’ll tear your stitches.”

On the battlement, I peered through an arrowport, while grizzled soldiers watched with amusement. I turned to the nearest. “Where are the riders with torches?”

He pointed. I could see nothing.

Carefully, clutching my side, I hoisted myself atop a keg of oil. “Ahhh.” For a moment I watched the lights dance ever so slowly closer.

Anavar found himself a high place, and squinted. “That will be Tursel.”

“How do you know?”

“There’s only—what, a dozen?—torches. Tantroth would light the sky.”

Suddenly I yearned for Rust. I forced a calm. “Unless he rode in stealth.” I smiled down at Elryc. “See, all is well.”

“Oh, Roddy, don’t be an ass.”

He sounded so disconsolate I almost forgot my dread. “What say you?”

“If not tonight he’ll be on us the morrow. What difference?”

“By morrow I’ll be King.”

“Will that provide an army? An escape from the castle?”

“Bah. If that were what I sought we could ride now.” I waved at the donjon, the thick, solid walls. “We’re safe.”

“For how long?” He turned away without answer, and trudged to the keep.

From the south, a clatter of horses. Two guardsmen cantered through the gate. “Make ready! Groenfil returns!”

Anavar and I peered over the wall, to the road below. At first, in the fading embers of dusk, we saw nothing. Then, in no great haste, Earl Groenfil’s men appeared, in good order. A company of horse led the way, scouting for ambush. Behind them trod a long column of foot soldiers. They seemed weary but none the worse for wear.

The archers marched together, notable by their lack of arms; their bows and missiles would be hauled in a wagon. Groenfil’s spearmen marched separately. A few horsemen galloped back and forth, carrying orders to tighten march, help free a mired wagon, or look sharp.

Behind the infantry rode the Earl, amid a troop of cavalry, distinguished by the plume of his helmet. I’d have to order him to dress circumspectly, so not to become a target.

I sought a torch, waited for Groenfil, gave formal words of thanks to him for all to hear. Then I climbed the battlements again. More torches, to the south. Margenthar’s outriders advanced toward the gates, not far behind the last of Groenfil’s guard.

My arm over Anavar’s shoulder, I trudged to our chambers.

A
LONE WITH ANAVAR, I SAT, HEAD IN HANDS.

He knelt before me. “Father says demons breed fear in the night. By day, all will seem—”

“Is it so plain to see?” My voice was unsteady.

“I feel the same, my lord.”

“Oh, Anavar.” I drew him close.

The door crashed open. Rustin stopped short. Then he leered. “Enjoying yourselves? Don’t mind me.”

My hand darted from the boy’s face, as if burned. What must Rust have thought, seeing him kneel before me?

Rust’s voice was thick. “I see it’s
my
touch you loathe, not his.” He lurched to the window, thrust open the shutters. “Give us air.”

I said softly, “Rustin’s drunk. Pay no heed. Leave us.”

Rust drew sword. I started in alarm, but he tossed it aside to unhitch his leather scabbard. “Yes, leave us.” A mighty blow thwacked Anavar’s calves. “Go!” Rust thrust him to the door, slammed it hard.

I sat quietly. “Will you use that on me?”

He stood weaving. “Which of us would it give more pleasure?” He turned to the window, sucked in breaths of night air.

With great effort, I put aside my own troubles, my wealth of grievances. “Rust, what troubles you?” Cautiously, I joined him at the shutters.

He thrust me away. “I won’t be touched.”

“Very well.” We stared moodily into the night. “Look at the torches scurrying below. They’re—”

“I hate this place,” he said.

“Our rooms?”

“Cumber.”

“Why?”

He gave no answer. I thought to put a hand on his shoulder, but didn’t dare.

“An odious town,” he said. “Greedy winesellers, a filthy market. Even the air is too chill.” Angrily, he slammed the shutters closed. Then he turned to me, and I hated the malice in his eyes. “He’s pretty, your Eiberian. A fine catch.”

Lord of Nature knew what I’d have said, or done, had there not come a soft knock at the door.

Rust seized his sword. “Pray it’s Imbar.” He stalked to the door.

Tresa peered in, her face flushed.

“Oh, it’s you.” I realized how ungracious I sounded, and made a valiant effort to quell my displeasure. “What now, my lady?”

“Tursel’s returned, just in time to scatter Mar’s outguard and gain the gates. He’s brought Lady Soushire!”

“Ahh.” My black clouds lifted a trifle.

“Come see her,” Tresa urged. “Are you well enough? Your face is flushed. I’ll help you downstairs.”

“I won’t be touched,” I said. Behind me, Rustin snickered.

Tresa sniffed. “Well,
do
pardon me. The King acclaimed, and all that.”

“No, my lady, I didn’t mean ...” I gave it up. “I’ll lean on you.”

Rustin fell on the bed. “Snuff the candles.” His eyes closed.

Tresa and I paused after the first flight. Her arm was warm on my flank, and inviting. To break the uneasy silence I said, “Rustin’s in a foul mood. If you’d been Imbar ...” I managed another flight. “I wonder why he hates the valet so.”

Tresa stopped short, studied my gaze. “You truly don’t know? I thought for your crown, you had ...” Abruptly she sat on the stair. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it?”

She brushed her skirt. “Not now. Your lords and ladies await.” She guided me down the steps, ignoring my protest.

In the great hall, Groenfil, with studied politeness, handed Lady Soushire a flagon of mulled wine. “Ah, sire.” He bowed to me. “You missed the telling of Captain Tursel’s exploits at the gate.”

The soldier looked pained. “The enemy hadn’t arrived in force. Not quite.”

Lady Soushire heaved her bulk out of an intricately carved chair alongside Vessa, who sat like one awaiting death. “Raeth, your captain is too modest. It’s thanks to him I’m not caught between Duke Mar and Tantroth.” She turned to me. “You’ve done all you said, Rodrigo. I’m here to carry out my part of the bargain.”