The Still

Chapter 9

“Now what?” Rust slowed his mount, sideslipping to avoid a cart full of sacks and squalling babies, pulled up toward the castle by a gasping townsman.

“Down the hill like the demons themselves were after us.” I sounded as sure as I felt. “From the towers they can watch us almost to Llewelyn’s keep. If we dawdle, they’ll wonder why we were in such an all-fired hurry to get out.” I spurred.

The hill was crowded with refugees. As we rode I peered below to the harbor whenever shrubbery was sparse enough to permit.

Castle Stryx faced west. In the last rays of daylight, Tantroth’s black-sailed fleet lay silhouetted against the pale pink sky of the inlet. Sensibly, the Duke of Eiber had made no attempt to land at the wharves along the waterfront near Llewelyn’s stronghold. Instead, their ships were beached a league south, where their foreguard could get a foothold before Llewelyn’s men fell on them.

I was appalled at the number of townsmen struggling toward the gates. There was ample room within the castle’s outer walls, but if Tantroth succeeded in mounting siege, how long could our stores sustain such a quantity of folk?

“Make way for the guard!” Rustin, sword raised, cleared a path by gesture and voice.

“Look, Ma, it’s the Prince!” A youngster tugged at her mother’s hand; the woman shook her head. “No, not that one, Ma! The one behind!” Her voice pierced, and other faces swiveled to peer at us.

I thrust down my helmet, did my best to look inconspicuous, but word of my passage leaped down the hill.

“Sire, do you join the guard below?” An old man clutched at my bridle. “Will you save the town?”

Never mind the flimsy hovels of the city; how could I save myself? Not if I stopped to parlay with fools. I threw an airy salute, cantered past.

The most difficult stretches were the sharp bends where our road nearly doubled back on itself. There the path was choked with wagons, bullocks, handcarts, mulesters, crying babies, anxious women, sweating peasants. At least we need not fear scrutiny from the ramparts; the road must look like a disturbed anthill.

“Roddy, look!” Rust pointed. For a few paces we had a clear view of the sea road from Llewelyn’s keep past the swordsmith’s, into the town of Stryx. A small troop of cavalry clattered south toward the invaders; one lonely scarlet banner drooped on a standard.

“Are they all we can muster?”

“Those aren’t the first, I’m sure. And my father has to hold the keep, as well.” Rustin sounded defensive. “The stronghold guards this very road to the castle.”

Thanks to the congestion, we were barely halfway down the hill. “Rust, let’s rest at Besiegers’ Pond.” The turnoff was near, and my mind reeled from the crowd of events. Scarce an hour before, we’d broken into the vault, after setting fire to Castle Stryx.

“We haven’t time.”

Ignoring him, I spurred off the road to the familiar path. For lack of choice, my companions followed.

After the mad fear of the townsmen, the wood seemed a peaceful refuge. I picked my way toward the brackish pond, an eagerness arising.

Kerwyn pressed his mount forward. “Sire, if there’s no further need, I’ll turn back.”

“Very well.” I dismounted. “I need a moment to think.” I knelt by the still water. A thirsting mosquito buzzed, settled on my hand; I flicked it off.

Rust frowned. “This is no time to-”

“Do as I say.” In this familiar place of solitude, I felt a strange confidence.

Perhaps, hours or day hence, Tantroth’s soldiers would settle on these banks, while awaiting the fall of my ancestral home. Had I a duty to climb the hill, join my people for what awaited them? How could I be King, and abandon my realm?

“Am I not traitor, that I flee in time of battle?” I’d scarce formed the thought before I realized I’d spoken it aloud.

Rustin sat cross-legged at my side. “No, my lord. Preserve thyself, to succor thy kingdom.” The intimacy of his high speech warmed my courage.

An avid blue-winged dragonfly, flicking in the day’s last grudging rays, drew intricate designs in the humid air.

“Easy to say, to justify my escape. How then shall I be King, and succor my people?”

Rust had no answer.

I raised my hands, brought them palm down to the waters. “Would that I had my Power, and the wisdom it brings.” I closed my eyes, seeking calm.

Rustin snorted. “Modesty, at last.”

Returning to the castle was not the solution; Uncle Mar held Pytor, sought Elryc, and had reduced me to the status of a child. Despite honeyed words, Duke Margenthar had seized power in Caledon.

Behind my shoulder, Genard coughed. “How long will you sit and stare at a lake like an addled Ritemaster?”

I opened one eye. “I could throw you in, and contemplate the ripples.”

“Aye, that’d be like you, m’lord.” But he settled, stirring only to slap an occasional mosquito.

After a time I sighed. My vigil had brought no peace, only the sense of more pressing urgency.

We made our way through the undergrowth to the cut of the road. The folk laboring up the hill moved with heightened anxiety. Perhaps it was that dark was nigh, and terrors swelled with the receding light. Cries and warnings floated up the hillside, from below.

We descended the few remaining bends to the keep that straddled the road. With the last turn, its high outer wall came into view. Soldiers at the battlements brandished long-tipped spears. Below us, beyond the Tradesmen’s Cut, Castle Way ran through a high gate, passed between the inner and outer walls of the keep, and emerged again at the turn just above the seafront.

To save asking entry at the keep, what had started as a cut across a muddy field had over the years become an awkward bypass, used by tradesmen and riders alike. The cut now streamed with townsmen.

A blare of trumpets; sweating villeins turned their carts aside lest they be run over by a returning troop of Llewelyn’s horse. One townsman cursed roundly, raising his fist at the ruckus as the guardsmen shot past. He stood thus a moment, then froze, staring down the road toward Stryx.

My grip tightened on the pommel.

The man whirled to his cart. He tugged at it, glanced over his shoulder, abandoned it to dash toward the sandy shore. Others, on the shortcut, made desperate haste with their loads.

“Rustin, what’s-”

A clatter of hooves.

On the beach, the cartsman threw himself down, as if to bury himself in the sand.

Trumpets sounded. A few foot soldiers scrambled toward the gate of the keep. Some tossed away their weapons as they ran.

Cries of exultation. Shouted commands.

A troop of black-clad horsemen swung into view, slashing at all in their path.

My voice was hoarse. “They’re not ours.”

They made for the gate, hurling spears upward at the defenders as they shut themselves in. Others of their band veered toward the Tradesmen’s Cut, barely fifty paces beyond us.

“Tantroth comes!” Rust gauged the distance to his keep. “Make for the gate!”

I spurred, but reined in on the instant, driving my horse half-mad. “No time, and they can’t open!”

An enemy captain pointed to our party. I glanced about “To the pond!” I wheeled about, raced up the slope. Genard led our retreat, heels stabbing at his mount’s sides. I shouted, “Past the pond, to the keep’s north gate!”

“In the dark?” Rustin spurred to keep pace. I stroked my gelding’s mane. If the cutoff to the pond wasn’t so near, I wouldn’t dare run him upward so.

An arrow flicked through the brush, buried itself in a tree. My back prickled. I bent forward to cut the wind, hoping I wouldn’t receive a shaft in the rear. Passing frantic townsmen, I gained steadily on Genard.

“Hold, Roddy!” Rustin’s mount foamed at the bit. “My mare’s played out.”

I slowed my pace a trifle. It was a mistake. A panting churl seized my leg, jerked me out of the saddle. We landed together in a heap. My mount neighed, reared.

The peasant seized the bridle. He’d have swung himself up but for the lash of Rustin’s whip. He staggered, and fell. I swarmed into the saddle so fast I nearly went off the far side, kicked madly onto the pond trail. At full gallop I plunged into the concealing brush.

Behind, a shriek of dismay.

Rust swung off his foaming mare. “Genard’s down!”

“Too bad. Hurry.”

“Go for him! My mare’s done!”

I swallowed. Rustin always expected too much. I cantered back to Castle Way.

Genard lay in a pool of blood, his leg pinned under a feebly kicking horse. A dozen black-clad troopers panted up the hill, a handful of terrified townsmen scrambling for safety a few paces before them.

I looked about. The stableboy was dead, so-

“Help, m’lord!” Genard struggled to free himself.

Cursing, I jumped down, grasped his saddle, hauled upward until my head swam. The horse was dead weight, immovable. I strained harder.

Genard slithered out.

The peasants were upon us, clawing for my horse. I hauled my half-sword from the scabbard, slashed at arms, managed somehow to remove him. In one desperate motion I scooped the weeping boy onto the saddle, wheeled, galvanized my steed with a mighty kick. We crashed into the underbrush. “Ride, Rust! To the keep!”

Llewelyn sipped his wine, while his wife, Joenne, watched in unhappy silence. “The keep is our main defense, not the sea road.”

“Still, we must leave before first light.” I finished the last of my beef, a headache throbbing.

Rustin said, “The keep’s seawall splits the beach in twain. Tantroth’s men have to swim around, or climb a steep wall. They’ll do it, or land upcoast, but not while they’re still off-loading their main force.”

Llewelyn nodded agreement. “We’re well stocked, and the walls are thick. We’ve birds to send messages to the castle, and they to us. If worse comes to worse, Margenthar will sortie to our defense.”

I yearned for sleep, but Lord of Nature knew where Hester would roam with my brother. “We must go,” I said again. With Rust’s help, I’d make my way to Hester and find what she’d done with Elryc.

Rust stirred. “What will break the siege, Father?”

“Time, and Nature willing, the weather. Fall is nigh upon us. It’s damp and aguey, especially for men in tents or huddled round campfires. And come winter, their supply ships will be harbor-bound.” Llewelyn warmed his hands at the crackling fire, as if in anticipation of the chill to come.

I squinted through the open portal into a night lit by the blaze of torches. From time to time an unsettling thump rolled across the garden, and a grinding, dragging noise occasionally made itself heard. The unfamiliar sounds grated against my headache, and it was all I could do to be civil.

As if reading my mind, Llewelyn said, “They bring up their siege engines. By morning they’ll invest the north wall. The tide is lowest at the fifth hour, and then they’ll struggle across the seawall.”

I sighed, resisting the folly of rest. “We’d best go soon.” Thank heaven Ebon was waiting in Llewelyn’s stables. Without him I’d feel even more lost.

Rust rose to his feet. “I’ll ready my gear.” He left.

Llewelyn paced. “My son says your relations with the Duke are not cordial.” Llewelyn paused. “But for that, you’d be safest within the Castle walls.”

“What of yourself?”

“Oh, I’d rather be there too, but duty prevents.” He swung to glower at his wife. “And when the sails were sighted, Joenne refused to go, leaving me with more worry. But my loyalty”-his gaze bore into mine-“is to the crown. For the moment, that means the regent.”

I stifled any show of resentment. “Then why do you aid us?”

“Ah. You’re Elena’s child, and she wanted you King. I’m not entirely sure … Margenthar’s intent is not always clear. Just a moment.” Abruptly he strode to the door, looked outside, had a word with the guard.

When he returned to settle himself by the fire I asked, “Think you Uncle Mar is a traitor?”

“A word too easily bandied.” His eyes held mine until I flushed.

“I apologize, Lord Llewelyn.”

A grunt. “Well, you’re excitable, and don’t mean half of what tumbles out your mouth. As to Mar, I have no cause to know he means you ill.” Delicately said; he might guess, or suspect my uncle’s intentions, but because he had no sure knowledge, he need not choose a side.

“Then why not hold us for his custody?” I knew not why I baited him.

“After Tantroth decamps, Mar will have enough on his mind without naming me enemy for aiding you.” He stood to pace. “Still, I’d rather see you gone. The cortege that escorted Pytor to Verein passed within our walls. The little lad wailed for his nanny, and none gave him comfort. If Mar meant him well, I can’t see why he didn’t send old Hester along. Elryc needed her no longer.”

“Thank you.” My voice was soft.

He faced me. “Between you and Margenthar, I’d have you as King, Lord Rodrigo. Especially when you’re grown. But I can’t commit against the Duke, living close under his walls. I wish you well, but won’t take part in your quarrel.”

“I understand, sir. I’d better find Rust.”

“Tell him, Llewelyn.” Joenne’s soft voice.

“Wife, stay out-”

“He’ll know soon or late, and be your enemy. Soften the blow with truth!”

Llewelyn paced anew. “To be candid, boy, I don’t want Rustin going with you. Not that I wish you ill, but the kingdom’s unsettled, and he’s too young to gallop off and enrage the Duke of Stryx in the bargain. I’d order him to forego his journey, but unfortunately, he swore fealty …” A shrug. “By honor he cannot gainsay his word.”

“So you’ll let him go?”

“I’m not bound by his honor. Rust went to his chamber for clothes, but will stay there. Two men guard his door.”

“Sons of demons!” White-faced, I could say no more.

“Rodrigo, I bear you no ill will. Gladly I’ll give you horses, weapons, even two of my men as outriders, as far as you would take them. But Rustin is my son whom I love, so I will protect him.” Though his face was stony, his words were unsteady. “Hate me if you must.”

“Gladly!” I snatched up the bundle that held my crown and stalked into the night.

Did Llewelyn think he could pick and choose among the aids he proffered-giving me steeds but locking away Rustin-and keep my goodwill? He would see me King, but only after I matured to his liking? Hah! When I was King, his head would roll.

Yet, how was I to become King, if none save Rust would stand with me, and his way was barred?

Fuming, I crossed to the stable. Inside, I searched for Ebon’s stall. I hadn’t seen him since the trumpets sounded Mother’s death. Gladly, I fed him an apple, wiped his slobber on my breeks.

In the next stall, Genard, on tiptoe, stroked the muzzle of a strong young stallion as he adjusted the cinches. I couldn’t see how he’d climb the beast, to say nothing of riding him.

I said, “I’ll have Llewelyn send you back to Griswold when the siege lifts.”

“No, I ride with you.”

“Servants do as they’re told.”

The stableboy shouted, “I’m liegeman to Lord Elryc! I go with him!”

I was exhausted, and in no mood for nonsense. “Will you ever shut your mouth? No one gives a plowman’s hoe whether you’re bondsman or churl!”

Before aught could stop him, the boy jumped the gate, pawed through my gear, seized my crown from its dirty wrap. “Deserve you this, lying Prince? Hah!” He pitched the crown across the stall; it bounced off a rough-hewn beam. “I should have given it to the Duke!”

I scrambled to my feet.

My head ached. Outside, the hated troops of Eiber made ready for siege. My brothers were gone, Uncle Mar despised me, Llewelyn betrayed me. And now, a jeering stableboy flung my crown at a wall.

Oblivious to my white rage, Genard babbled on. “You knew I was Elryc’s man when you took me! Think you I’ll rot in Stryx, when Elryc-when he-” Genard’s lip trembled. He blinked, for once without words.

I glanced about. In the aisle, a coil of rope hung on a hook. It would do.

I seized Genard by the neck, hauled him to the door. “Guard!” No one was about. I dragged the unresisting stableboy into the night. On the battlements, torches flickered. “Guardsmen!” Very well, if none would help, I’d hang him myself. I dragged the boy to a tree with a low-hanging limb.

From behind, a soft familiar voice. “Let him go; you choke him.”

“This piece of dung bent the crown of Caledon!”

Rust sighed, gripped my forearm. “Let him be.” He worked at loosening my grip on Genard.

My free hand shot to my waist, in an instant my dagger glinted in the firelight “Stay back!”

“You’d slash me?” Slowly, deliberately, Rust placed his hand atop mine. “Do it then.” I made a threatening gesture; his grip loosened. He shut his eyes. “Best I not see it, lest I flinch.”

I hurled Genard into the dust, kicked him, spun to Rustin. “Villein! Coward knave! You’re all against me, sworn or no! Imps take you, your house, your lickspittle father, your mother! Demons drink your peasant blood and-”

Not gently, but with less fury than I expected, he caught my knife hand, twisted my arm, threw me to the ground. Instead of a blow, he rolled me onto my belly, sat athwart my back, pinning me to the grass while I raged weeping and cursing, trying to grasp the fallen knife.

After a time I lay still, helpless. Rustin stroked the back of my neck. “It’s no shame to cry, my prince. Nor to rage at events. But you have friends, Genard and I among them, who risk their lives for you.”

“Get off, you toad!”

“Not yet.” His strong hands massaged my shoulders. “It’s but the eye of the storm.”

“Damn you!” I couldn’t gain purchase to free myself. I kicked, tore grass, pounded the earth in frustration, until at last I lay spent and sobbing in the dirt. Only then did Rustin climb off my back, gather me into a rough sort of hug.

I sniffled. “Why did you stop?”

“For the guilt you’d bear, if I did not.”

For a moment I sat quietly, welcome of the embrace. “Rust, what do you think of me?”

He sighed. “That you’re ill raised, and not yet fit to be King.”

The words slashed like a razor. I recoiled, realized I’d asked for truth. “Why do you stay with me?”

A silence that stretched interminably. At last he flashed a curious smile, got to his feet, looked down at me where I lay sprawled. “Why should I not?”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s late, and we must ride before light.”

I tried to shake off my daze. “You were locked in your room.”

“Lower your voice, lest they hear. Go wash off the dust, change your clothes. I’ve made arrangements; Chela will tell you.” He squeezed the back of my neck. “I stay with you because I wish, and because I’m your vassal.” He loped toward the house. Before disappearing behind a wall he called over his shoulder, “And because I like you.”

For some reason, despite his ruthless and unprovoked assault, a burden lifted. With a long shuddering breath I picked myself up, dusted my jerkin. I became aware of a pair of eyes watching, intent. “What do you want?”

Genard rubbed his throat “M’lord, may I …” He approached with caution. He saw my scowl, blurted, “Elryc told me-was it an oath you gave, when you said you’d save him?”

“What business of yours, crown breaker?”

He moved closer, perhaps sensing from my listless tone that I had no energy to renew my assault. “Please, m’lord?”

The easiest way to get rid of him was to answer. “I said Uncle Mar and his minions-helpers-shall not harm him while I draw breath.”

“You swore?”

“I told him in Truth. It’s the same. My Power depends on keeping True.”

“Well, then.” Genard nodded, as if he’d made a point. “He told me the words. ‘Elryc, Lord of Caledon, I pledge myself to thee as vassal.’ Somethin’ like that. Until our deaths, and I’ll serve him with honor and shall have no other liege.” His eyes shone. “I’m Elryc’s man. That’s why I have to go along.”

“He was playing with you.”

Genard shook his head.

“Or being kind. Elryc wouldn’t take a stableboy as vassal; it’s absurd.” I made a gesture of dismissal. “Don’t worry yourself. Go home.”

“That’s for him to say!” His head came up proudly. “Could Duke Mar dismiss Lord Rustin as your vassal?”

“Of course not but …” I sighed. Chivalry had its rules. Though Elryc was eleven and a fool, it was a profound breach of etiquette to interfere in his relations with a vassal.

I tried another tack. “Even if you’re sworn, that’s no reason to tag along. Lord knows when we’ll see the castle again-” The argument supported Genard’s position instead of my own, so I dropped it. “You’ll only slow us. Besides, you have no mount.”

“Me, slow you?” Withering scorn. “I can ride any horse in the stable, and with my little weight, I’ll be watching over my shoulder for you!” His tone changed. “Please, m’lord! I’m sorry about-I won’t be any trouble, I swear!”

I yawned. Had I had a decent night’s sleep since Mother died? Genard was persistent, and we needed a servant. “Very well, you may fetch and carry for us. I’ll have Llewelyn provide you a horse.”

“Yes, m’lord.” His mission accomplished, he retreated. “Did I break the crown? I’m sorry.”

“I’d have hanged you, if not for Rust. Touch my crown again and I’ll gut you; by the Truth I so swear!”

“Aye, m’lord!” He fled.

I turned back toward the house, got no more than a few paces before a figure approached from the darkness.

I peered. “Who’s-oh!” Chela, the servant girl.

She beckoned urgently, drew me into the shadows. “Lord Rustin says he’ll ride with you!”

“I know. How did he escape?”

“Out the window, the moment his door closed from inside. In room, out window, bang, just like that!” She giggled. “Then he found me to give you word.”

“What’s his plan?”

“He says don’t alien-don’t make his father mad. Say good-bye, leave as you would have.”

“And?”

“We’ll wait for him at the two-trunked tree, just past the curve in the road.”

My mind whirled. “Where?”

She giggled. “I’ll show you. Just say you want a servant to help with the cooking.”

“You’re the last one I’d …” I stopped myself. “Chela, we’ll ride hard, and I know not where. Stay behind.”

“Rust wants me to show you the waiting place.” She shrugged. “Then we see.”

“How will he get out?”

“Through the small door in north wall. Same as you.”

“It’s guarded.”

“Remember when Llewelyn beat Lord Rust?” She sniffed. “He keeps family quarrels private. He thinks Rust safe in his room, so he won’t mention it to the guards outside. Rust will ride up to the north gate and order it opened.”

It might work, but … “Imps take Llewelyn!”

Her eyes widened. “Shh, not in Llewelyn’s house. Bad luck.”

Foolish peasant superstitions. Everyone knew demons went where they chose, and no ill speech could summon them. I sighed. “This had better work. If the guards hold him for his father …”

Her eyes flashed. “No one stops Lord Rustin, if he doesn’t want to stay. And if they do”-she drew an imaginary sword-“he’s still going with you!”

“How soon can we leave?” I yearned to leave the keep that had seemed a refuge, and now was sour with intrigue.

“Get your horse ready.”

When I returned to the hall Llewelyn and Joenne showed no sign that anything untoward had passed. I bowed, the stiff, short bow that a guest might give to his host regardless of lower rank. “I would leave now.”

Llewelyn paced, by the fire. “Alone?”

I shrugged. “Genard will come along. And if I could borrow a servant girl? She’ll need a horse.”

“One less to feed.” It was of no consequence to him.

A few moments later, at the north gate, I shifted on my saddle, anxious to get our stratagem under way. Genard patted his mount, whispering soothing words.

Llewelyn had insisted on providing us with an extra nag, loaded with blankets and cookware for camping in the hills. “As I said, Lord Prince, I mean you no ill.” I nodded my thanks, my feelings firmly in check. The beast would do for Chela to ride back to the keep. I hadn’t told her, but I’d no intention of letting her tag along.

The mare’s cookware clanked like a tinner’s cart, and Llewelyn fussed with her strappings until I was ready to burst. Finally he tied the reins to Genard’s saddle, gave the signal. “Is the north road still clear?”

“Aye, sire.” A guardsman.

“Archers on the wall, stand ready in case foes lurk in the darkness. Open! Hail and farewell, Prince of Caledon. May the Lord of Nature keep you safe.”

Genard, the girl, and I galloped into the night.

Behind us, the gate swung closed before we’d gone a dozen paces.