The Still

Chapter 26

Ebon’s hooves pitched clods of muddy earth into the cattails alongside the trail as I clattered back through our slogging troops toward the cart. My brother perched behind the high seat, near Chela’s bed. “Tursel’s scouts found Tantroth’s ahead,” I told him. “We wait until the way is clear.”

Chela grimaced. “They’ve bound me so tight I can barely breathe.”

For Rustin’s sake, I said peacefully, “You could have stayed behind.”

She snorted. “I’ll be on my feet soon enough. He needs care.”

Hester set aside her reins, glowering. “Faster could I walk to Verein.”

“Nurse, have patience.”

“Your outriders dance with Tantroth’s, valley to vale. Why wait? Soon or late, he’ll learn your whereabouts. Had he force enough to hold every hill and dale in Caledon he’d long since-”

“Peace, woman!” My voice was sharper than I’d intended.

Hoofbeats, from behind. Rustin. His face was grim. “What now, my prince?”

“Another delay.”

“Good. Come walk with me.” He tied Santree to the wheel.

Dutifully, I followed, past the line of supply carts, to a secluded glade. “Not too far, Rust, or we’ll be challenged by our own lookouts.”

He nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. Abruptly, “What say you we leave our escort and ride alone to Soushire?”

I gaped. “Is that me talking, or cautious Rustin?”

Rust lowered his voice. “I like not Captain Tursel. He’s altogether Lord Raeth’s man. And while we dawdle on the trail, Mar has time to patch up his relations with Cumber.”

“So?”

“What if the Earl sends word to seize us?”

“I’m the prize, Rust, and Cumber had me in his grasp. Why send me off with a royal guard, only to-”

Rustin said fiercely, “Cumber’s but raised the cost of his loyalty. What if Duke Mar pays his price? Besides, your Raeth is a pawn in Imbar’s hands.”

“Why do you hate Imbar? He seemed pleasant enough.”

“Fool! Simpleton!” Rustin’s palm lashed out in a slap that echoed through the suddenly silent wood. Shocked beyond words, I rubbed my stinging cheek.

He spun on his heel, bolted back to the camp.

For some moments I sat stunned, my affront swelling to rage. I drew sword, slashed at branches and shoots in wild abandon.

When I was calm enough, I strode back to our wagon, caught Elryc’s wrist. “Where’s Rustin?” My face was a thundercloud.

Rust had led Santree to a clearing, where Tursel sat mounted with his officers, awaiting reports. Rust had one hand on the pommel, as if about to swing himself into the saddle, but he stood motionless, his forehead resting against his stallion’s mane.

I stalked across the clearing, laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I struck you.” His words were slurred.

“Come with me, or I’ll have you dragged.” I tugged at his arm, hoping he wouldn’t put my threat to the test.

Rustin followed, leading Santree.

I led him off the trail, a few yards into the privacy of the wood, and backed him against a tree. “I could hate you,” I said.

Eyes down, he nodded.

“But I don’t. Oft enough you’ve slapped me when I deserved it. Today I didn’t.”

“Agreed.”

“Why, Rust?”

“I lost my temper.”

I shouted, “What passed between you and Imbar!” Santree snorted in alarm.

Rustin’s eyes held something akin to fear. “Roddy …”

“Tell me.” Almost, he tore free, but my grip was iron. “Did Imbar threaten you? Was it about your father?”

“Don’t, I beg you. I’ll make amends. Please!” He managed to break loose, and hoisted himself into the saddle. “It’s nothing. You know how moody I get. Let it go!” He slashed through the brush, and was gone.

Alone once more, I walked slowly back to camp.

Captain Tursel rode to my left, Rustin on my right. Rust appeared to find our proximity as uncomfortable as I, though we both pretended it wasn’t so.

Behind us, a procession of men and wagons struggled up a hastily widened deer path, through dense forest. I’d have liked to ride at the fore of the column, but Tursel’s scouts fanned ahead, probing anew for ambuscade, and I knew better even than to suggest it.

We dragged our way east.

The valley beyond was free of Eiber’s forces, at least for now. Once we descended the heights, we could ride south through the lush broad vale, and come closer to Soushire at last.

Behind us a horse snorted; two soldiers rode side by side.

I peered past Rustin, through the wood. Somewhere over the hill lurked troops of Tantroth, Duke of Eiber, whose force spread deadly tendrils through our land. I stirred in the saddle, hot with impatience to drive Tantroth into the sea. Imps and demons chew his entrails for his impudence in attacking Caledon.

Absently, my fingers strayed to my cheek. I tried to feel anger, discovered pity instead. “Rust …” My hand went to his arm. “Too long we’ve known each other to-”

A shriek. I whirled. A guardsman pitched to the ground, an arrow lodged in his temple. As I watched, a shaft shattered on his companion’s shield, while another buried itself in his mount’s throat. The soldier went down, flailing against the weight of his dying steed.

Screams. Calls to arms, shouts of confusion. Tursel cursed, wheeled his mount, galloped back down the trail screaming orders.

Rustin grabbed my bridle, spun us about, bent himself over Santree’s neck. Sword flashing, he charged through our ranks.

Following his example, I bent low, hugged Ebon’s mane. I gasped, “Where?”

“Our wagon!”

On our right flank, a horde of black-clad men poured from the wood onto our straggling and disorganized column. How strange to see men all dressed alike, fighting as one.

“Pikemen, here!” One of our guard, sounding a rally.

A withering volley of arrows dropped a score of Tursel’s men in their tracks. Screams, moans. The clash of pikes and staves.

“Elryc!” I peered into the untended wagon, in the center of the melee. My brother and Hester were nowhere to be seen.

Two black-clad men darted from the brush, ducked under Rustin’s steel. One seized Santree’s bridle. The other raised sword to hack at his legs.

My sword leaped from its scabbard faster than thought. A wild slash. The first assailant was down, his arm near severed. Rust reared Santree. The bay’s flailing hooves caught the second attacker’s sword, knocked it from his hands.

Rust and I charged, blades raised high. Rust’s may have descended first, by a fraction of an instant. I felt the snap of contact, a sudden give. Blood spurted; the man fell away, writhing.

“Stay together!” Rustin.

“I know!” Arrows whistled, too close.

Some of our guard gathered behind Hester’s wagon, seeking shelter from the deadly salvo.

“Where’s my brother?”

“Who knows? Flee!” Two of them dashed up the hill.

“No!” I jumped off Ebon, almost lost my footing. “Stay and fight!”

Rust shouted, “Ride to safety, Roddy!”

“I won’t leave men to die!” Dismounting, I turned Ebon from the arrows, whacked his flank with the flat of my sword. He bolted into the wood. “Come on!” I ran toward the nearest guards.

“Get down, boy!”

Santree galloped past, riderless. Panting, Rustin caught up to me. “You idiot!”

I gasped to the nearest soldier, “Where’s the enemy?”

“Their archers are formed along that hedgerow.” I squinted. Some fifty bowmen knelt in rows, directed by a master of archers with his raised staff.

I turned to one who wore a corporal’s feather. “Where’s their guard? Have they set pikes?”

A strangled shriek; a young blond soldier fell, clawing the arrow in his chest.

The corporal blanched. “The archers need no guard. We haven’t men to charge them.”

“You’ve ten guardsmen right here.”

“Into a hail of arrows? You’re daft.”

They loosed another volley. Up and down our line, more men fell.

“We’ve spears and pikes, and they’ve set no pikewall. We can wreak havoc, give our men time to rally.”

“Do as you want, boy. I’m not risking my-”

Enraged, I clutched his jerkin, slammed him against the wagon. My voice rose to a shout. “You’d have your King charge alone? Well, then! Live with shame!” I whirled, raised my sword.

Rustin squawked, “Roddy, don’t!”

Three arrows slammed into the wagon, inches from my head. My arm burned.

I ducked behind the wheel, cringing, until my resolve from the brook swirled to my consciousness.

Coward I might be, but coward I would not act.

“Imps and demons upon them! For Caledon!” I clawed my way atop the cart. At my feet, a tarpaulin moved. I snatched it aside, sword raised to plunge. Elryc, clutching a dagger, hugged Chela in protective embrace. I laughed, a strange wild sound, and let loose the canvas.

“Caledon! Cumber! Attack!” My voice was shrill. I vaulted from the wagon, snatched a shield from a corpse, charged down the hill toward the hedgerow. Someone screamed, a savage, exultant yell.

“Roddy, slow!”

The warning only sped me faster. My sword flashed overhead, as if eager for blood. I catapulted over a fallen log, had just time to raise my shield. Two arrows buried themselves in it, jarring my arm to the bone.

“Caledon!” Again my wild shout

At the hedgerow, Eiber’s master of archers raised his staff. In a moment it swooped down. I threw myself headfirst to the ground as a score of arrows whirred overhead. Behind me, shouts grew louder. I scrambled to my feet, charged on.

Sword in hand, Rustin raced down the hill, his long legs closing the gap. On his face was fear, anger, resolve.

I had just time to flash him a feral grin, and we were upon them. My sword slashed left, right, left. Bowmen scattered.

Screaming men. Swooping arrows. I parried a club with my shield, drove home the sword.

“Behind you!”

I whirled. A pike. I twisted my spine, just managed to evade the jab. I dropped my sword, grabbed the shaft, yanked as I turned it on my hip. The wielder stumbled, let go his pike. I snatched my sword, scrambled after.

Down the line, the master of archers wheeled a squad of his men. Coolly, he bade them nock, aim their deadly shafts at his own men we fought, and at us.

“No!” A plea of terror, as I cut down a boy hardly older than Genard. His eyes widened, and went dull forever.

The master hesitated an instant too long. A dozen of our spearmen crashed into his line. The bowmaster disappeared under the onslaught. I caught a glimpse of the corporal who’d cowered with me at Hester’s wheel; he hacked at the enemy with savage blows.

In moments it was over, the archers smashed.

Panting for breath, I groped for the spear, used it as a leaning pole. Rustin, his mouth set, turned his back to mine, in guard.

The clatter of hooves: Tursel, with five of his men. “Are you hurt, sire?”

Too winded to speak, I shook my head.

“Stay with him!” Alone, he rode off. Two of his guardsmen dismounted; the other pair kept watch from their saddles.

“What news?” It was the first I could speak.

“They fall back!” The soldier chewed his cheek. “The captain had us abandon our supply carts, rally to the center of our column. He sent squadrons into the wood.”

“How many attackers?” Rustin.

“Eiber? Who knows? Two hundred, perhaps.”

“Our casualties?”

The man’s face hardened. “Many.”

“Have we lost our supplies?”

The man’s teeth bared in a grin. “Not likely. If we hold the field, Eiber will be hard-pressed to-down!” His hand swept round to my shoulder, pulled me earthward. A spear whizzed past my cheek. Shouts, hoofbeats.

I hugged the ground, eyes shut, expecting to be skewered in the next moment. My knees were drawn up tight, as if protecting my belly. I tried not to gag from fear.

Moments passed; I forced open my eyes. Rustin stood over me, sword drawn, glancing this way and that.

My lips curled in loathing. I was but a coward, after all. Cursing, I stumbled to my feet

“Stay down!”

“No. Where are the soldiers?”

“They chased three of Tantroth’s men into the bush.”

I took my place at Rustin’s back, sword drawn, shield raised. Eiber’s arrows still stuck from its padding.

“There you are! Imps and demons take you!”

I whirled at the new voice, tensed for death.

Fostrow rushed into the glade. “You’re hurt! Let’s see!” He snatched up my arm.

“Let go. I’m-” My voice died at the sight of my blood-soaked sleeve.

Anxiously, he tore at the cloth. “Thank Lord of Nature I found you. I’ve been looking all-”

“It’s just a scratch. Brambles.”

“An arrow, at the wagon.” Rustin. “Didn’t you know?”

“Really?” I giggled, frowned, pulled myself together. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“I should have been with you. Never again will I leave-”

My voice tightened. “I’m no infant. And if I’m so precious, why weren’t you with us when they attacked?”

Fostrow’s mouth was grim. “That’s not a jest I like, sire.”

“Answer!”

He sucked in his breath. “You don’t know?” His brow furrowed. “When we set forth this morn, Tursel’s aide bade me ride with the rear carts. I said I was sworn to protect you. Tursel himself intercepted me, said he’d confirmed his order with you, and you agreed.”

Rustin and I exchanged a glance.

In the wood, a cry. My shield went up. As if trained for the maneuver, we took up our places, our backs to the center.

Nothing.

Lord of Nature knew how long we stood so, while my eyes darted from left to right, and I strained at every sound.

The fight petered out, to the moans of wounded, the clatter of horses bringing up the wagons.

At last, cautiously, we lowered our swords. I pushed aside brush, walked swiftly back up the hill with Rustin, Fostrow hovering.

Our battalion was reassembling along the trail. Squads of Tursel’s men combed the bush for wounded. Ours, they carried with care, to emptied carts. Those of Eiber, they dragged by the heels.

“We need to wash that clean.” Fostrow gestured to my arm.

“Aye, mother.”

The guardsman snorted. “I’ll find water. Don’t leave the wagon.”

A half-dozen soldiers passed, hauling three black-clad youths. One, his forehead bloody, had a dazed look. Another’s tunic was soaked with blood, the third’s arm hung as if broken. The last seemed quite young.

“Where are they taking them?” I followed the procession, and Rustin followed me.

The soldiers led the Eiberians to a glade where their dead companions lay. Tursel, clustered with his officers, looked up, nodded. A soldier ambled toward the new arrivals, lifted an injured youth by the hair. With one swift motion he drew his knife, sliced the young man’s throat, let go the head.

I gasped.

The second boy’s eyes widened in terror. As Tursel’s soldier stalked him, he scrabbled backward, legs kicking for purchase on the blood-soaked turf.

Incredulous, I watched as if in a trance. The soldier caught the young fighter by the arm, his blade poised.

The boy’s anguished cry broke my spell.

“Hold!” I strode forward. “Let him go!”

Tursel glanced up, raised his hand to stay the execution. “Lord Prince, go back to the wagons. A stray arrow might still-”

“Release them!” My words gritted through clenched teeth.

The boy’s eyes swiveled between us as we spoke. His companion’s gaze was locked on their mate’s bloody throat.

Tursel said, “They’re assassins. No flag of battle, they issued no challenge. Get on with it, Herat.”

With an oath, I struck the knife from the soldier’s hand. “What manner of man are you, to slaughter captives?”

Tursel was patient. “Sire, think. We have no base. You know we can’t carry Tantroth’s wounded where we roam; we’ve barely enough room in the carts for our own.”

“Send them to Cumber!”

“Lord Cumber has naught to do with your quest. You fled his castle in the night!” His eyes caught mine, in warning.

“Then let them go.”

“To limp back to Tantroth, and fight us again when they’re fit? No. Herat, proceed.” Tursel turned to go.

I took a deep breath. “I forbid it.”

Tursel stood quite still, his back to me. Then, absently, he turned. His voice was yet calm. “My lord, time is short; I have to ready a camp before dark. I won’t free enemy soldiers to attack again, and we can’t carry them. Will you answer for them?”

I knelt by the cowering boy, whose forehead dripped blood. “Do you swear adherence to me as my bondsman, now and evermore? Be quick.”

“Yes!” His young voice held a desperate note.

“And you?”

The second youth nodded.

With contempt, Herat planted a foot in the boy’s back, shoved. The Eiberian toppled with a cry of pain.

Tursel said, “Leave these two. Tend to the others.”

“Aye, sir.” Herat plodded across the field.

It took me a moment to fathom their meaning. I raised my voice. “I forbid it, for all of them.”

Tursel frowned. “All? May we speak in private, sire?”

Nodding, not trusting myself to answer, I followed him aside.

“My lord …” For a moment he looked abashed. “Do you know much of war?”

“I know to fight with honor!”

“Easily said, sire.” He folded his arms, studied the ground. “Cumber’s high reaches face the Norland passes, and oft bands of their raiders swoop down from the hills.”

“So?”

“How many more would we contend with, if we let any flee home?”

“You kill them all? Are your own men never captured?”

“Occasionally, though the Norlanders prefer falling on fat farms to facing seasoned warriors. Our men are butchered, if caught. It gives every man incentive to fight without quarter. When we return the favor, the raiders fear us and hesitate to attack.”

For a moment I considered it, before my sense took command. “I won’t have it, Tursel. Obey me, or be dismissed.”

“Aye, sire.”

“Rodrigo!” At the interruption, we both turned. Fostrow’s face was grim. “You were to wait by the wagon!”

“Am I your vassal, or you mine?”

“Ask rather how I’m to protect you, when you vanish?” He beckoned for my arm, emptied a flask of water upon it.

“Are we done, sire?” Tursel.

“For now. Tend to their wounds, and keep them alive.”

Tursel nodded, left us, trailing an air of exasperation.

Fostrow muttered under his breath. I raised an eyebrow. He repeated, “Ask him why I was banished from your side.”

Across the clearing Tursel heard, and bristled. “Ask what you will, sire, but in private. Not before Duke Margenthar’s stray lout.” He stalked off.

Fostrow’s arm went to his sword. “Stray-”

My hand closed on his, held the sword in its scabbard. “Do you tend my scratches, or make war?”

He glared at the path along which Tursel had vanished. “While you’re at it, Prince Rodrigo, ask how a gaggle of our scouts could miss so large an enemy force lying in the brush alongside the trail. This valley was supposed clear, I recall.”

“A good point, that.” Rustin tapped finger to teeth. “Yes, you might ask that, Roddy.”

“Get on with it, Fostrow. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“From the wound?”

“Not mine, his.” I pointed to the lad with the slit throat. His two companions hunched in misery, among the greedy flies.

Rustin raised an eyebrow. “What will you do with them?”

“Let them go, I suppose.”

At last, Fostrow finished binding my arm.

“They’re wounded.”

“Their misfortune.”

“Aye, my prince. They’re your bondsmen, so you owe them protection.”

“That was just to stop Herat from-can’t I get out of it?”

He cleared his throat. “A moment ago you spoke of honor.”

“Damn honor!”

Rustin came close, raised a gentle hand to stroke my hair. “You asked me,” he said softly, “to teach you manhood?”

My face red, I snapped, “Imps take the lot of you!” I pulled free of Fostrow, strode to the bleeding boy. “Your name!”

“Anavar, my lord.” He had a thick Eiberian accent.

“Do you want me to free you?”

“Lord, no!”

It was what I least expected. “Why?”

“They’ll kill us.” He pointed to Herat.

“I’ll give you safe-conduct from our camp.”

“Then Lord Tantroth or our captain will hang us.”

“Why?”

“How else would we gain safe-conduct, but by swearing you allegiance?”

I grunted my exasperation. “And you, with the bloody shoulder. Would you be free?”

“More than anything, sire.” His accent was even stronger than Anavar’s. “Yet I swore my bond. If I go back to my troop, it’s my death.”

“I’ll remit-”

“Please, sire!” His eyes locked on mine. “Please!”

“May you burn in the demons’-” With an effort I controlled myself. “All right, I’ll do what I must. Fostrow, can you bind their wounds?”

The guardsman scowled. “Hester’s skills are greater.”

“Take these fools to her wagon, then. No, just a moment.” I looked to the larger of the two. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen summers, sir.”

“What are you called?”

“Garst, my lord.”

“Are you highborn?”

He reddened. “No, sire.”

I turned. “On your feet, Anavar. Are you of noble birth?”

The youngster struggled to his feet “Aye, sire. I’m heir to the earldom of Kalb.”

“Never heard of the place. What are you doing in Caledon? You’re no more than a child.”

Anavar flushed. “I’m full fourteen, sire. A page to my lord Treak, who is cousin to the Duke of Eiber himself.” He straightened with pride, wiped an ooze of blood from his eyes. “My father said-”

“I don’t want to hear it. Keep them out of mischief, Fostrow, lest someone cut their throats. Go with the soldier, both of you.”

Anavar held his ground. “May we know whom we serve, sire? Are you a noble?”

I drew myself up. “I’m Prince Rodrigo, heir to the throne of Caledon.”

His look of awe was worth the battle.