The Still

Chapter 28

The 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?”

“You’d balk at that, whereas Groenfil benefits me, yet costs you naught. I’ve thought the matter through. Where’s your noble young prisoner?”

“Bondsman. Eating with the servants, I presume. If your support is essential, why wouldn’t Margenthar pay you as well as I?”

“Perhaps he would. Will.” A grim smile. “At the moment I hesitate to ask. With Tantroth loose, Mar’s good humor is dwindled.” The smile faded. “And were Margenthar to prevail, I’m too close to Stryx to invite his enmity. Unlike your patron Cumber, who tugs at the tiger’s tail with impunity from his hills.”

“Why say you Cumber is my patron?”

“Oh, nonsense, boy!” Her palm slapped the table. “I knew before you did. We could none of us survive without a close eye on the other.”

I looked longingly at the wine, but held myself together. “If it’s as you say, then Groenfil will know what we agree. How then could I seek”-Rustin stirred, made as if to speak-“his vote?”

Soushire’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, she closed her eyes, mopped her forehead. “Excuse me, young prince. I feel not well.” She heaved herself from her chair, hurried from the room.

Outside the window, dogs began to growl.

I turned to Rust. “What did I-”

“Later.” It was a command. “To our rooms.” His mouth tight, he led the way.

Candles fluttered when I flung open our door. Anavar, sitting cross-legged in a corner, started with alarm.

My voice was a snarl. “Out! I don’t sleep with servants. Find where Genard and Chela stay, and bed there.” I slammed the door the moment he was gone, and turned to Rustin. “Well?”

“We’ll speak as we did in Cumber.” He untied his jerkin, readied himself for bed.

Later, under the covers, he put his lips to my ear. “Roddy, you’ve imperiled us. You should have known better.”

I replayed our conversation as best I could, but could find no error. “What did I do?”

His words were so soft I had to strain to hear. “Until you spoke of Groenfil, Soushire thought hers was the fourth vote. She had no idea you had only two others.”

“Oh.” I slapped my forehead. “I’m a dunce.”

“Agreed.” He put lips to my ear once more. “How do we undo me damage?”

For a long while I thought. Then, at last, I stirred, took breath, said a trifle more loudly, “Do you think it worked?”

Rustin tensed. My fingers went to his mouth, in a seal.

“I know, Rust, but you could see she guessed. We’ll lose Speaker Vessa’s pledge if anyone suspects we have it. Surely you know that.” A pause. Rustin tensed, his eyes locked on mine. I said, “What choice did I have, but to confuse Soushire? She thinks we had but two others.”

At last, Rustin nodded, and I removed my hand.

“But if Soushire refused to support you …” His voice too was audible.

“Then we make Groenfil the fourth, as we said.” A creak. I strained to discern a movement, a hidden breath, but heard no more. “As long as Soushire thinks she’s only the third vote, she won’t price her support so dear. Wait ’til the morrow; you’ll see. Now, let me sleep.” I leaned back, heart pounding.

I had done what I might. Rustin nodded his approval, and nestled close.

I woke to a rainy morn. My head ached, and I snarled at whoever crossed my path. A castle servant brought water. I demanded my own bondsmen; they roused Anavar and Garst. The two tried to help with my ablutions, but had the clumsiness of untrained manservants. The throb of my forehead added to the vigor of my rebukes.

Lady Soushire called us to breakfast; I roused Elryc in the adjoining room, waited impatiently while he dressed.

Downstairs, Soushire greeted us with civility, as if nothing untoward had passed the night before. Pausing midway through a plate stuffed with viands she asked casually, “How long will you stay with us, Lord Rodrigo?”

My tone was dry. “Not long, it would seem.”

“My apologies for last night. I was, ah, indisposed.” She took a brimming forkful of egg bread.

I nodded, not sure what response was suitable.

“As to my vote in Council …”

I held my breath, waited for her to finish.

“… I rather like your suggestion I negotiate with Margenthar.” She downed her drink, signaled for more. “Unless you persuade me to bargain with you instead.”

“Madam, don’t play with us. On what terms may we have your vote?”

“You know my price. The lands and folk of Groenfil, and the title.”

“Beyond reason.” Still, relief washed over me; at least her proposition still stood.

Soushire snorted, refilled her plate. “But not beyond your ability to pay. And I wouldn’t renew the offer but for other troubling questions.”

“Such as?”

“Tantroth.” She chewed moodily. “Why did Llewelyn abandon his keep? Why doesn’t Mar bestir himself to throw out the invaders? Is a deal struck between them? If so, who among them would take the throne?”

“Crown me, and they’ll be answered.”

Mesmerized, Elryc watched our byplay.

“You’re an unproven boy. I’ve risks either way. Further, my vote is pledged to Duke Margenthar.”

“Yours isn’t the only vote I could seek.”

“You jest. Whom else would you pry loose? The Warthen?”

“Lord Groenfil, for one.”

“Hah. Have you forgotten his sister is Mar’s wife? I can think of nothing on earth that would separate-”

“I can.” Rustin.

Soushire stopped short. “Oh?”

Rust said blandly, “If my lord Prince were to tell Groenfil you mean to negotiate with Mar for his title and lands …”

“Bah. Who would believe you?”

“Groenfil would.” Rust spoke quietly. “When Rodrigo swore so by the True of Caledon.”

I lifted a glass, to hide my exultation. Why hadn’t I thought of such a maneuver?

“Clever.” Soushire drummed her fingers on the tablecloth, considering. “But, no, I don’t think he’d adhere to you even then. Though it might make him more wary of his brother-in-law.” She looked up with a smile. “What you’ve done, lad, is make it more imperative that we strike a bargain. I don’t want to risk the wrath of either Groenfil or Mar, and you can’t afford to do without my vote.”

I said, “Since when are a noble’s lands subject to barter? It’s outrageous.”

Soushire’s tone was curious. “Can one in your position afford principles?”

Elryc stirred. “Consider your own position, my lady.” His voice was thin and reedy. “You alienate Uncle Mar, Groenfil, and the future King. Ask of Roddy something reasonable, that he can give.”

Soushire mopped the last of her plate. “A good point, but I’ve long dreamed of Groenfil, and the moment is auspicious. I don’t intend to vary one iota from the terms I’ve set.”

She hoisted herself from her place. “Let us have your answer soon; if we’re not in agreement, be on your way by nightfall.” Her napkin fell from her fingers. “Then, I’ll put my terms to Mar.” With that, she trudged from the room.

I nibbled at the remainder of my food, finally rose in disgust. “I need to walk.”

Rustin said, “It’s storming.”

“Then I’ll be wet.” I crossed the outer hall.

“The spies …”

“It’s day. At this hour they can’t hide in shadows.” Still, I was glad that Fostrow rose to follow.

The rain was chill. I stalked across the muddy courtyard, found a wall whose overhang offered shelter. I strode along its length.

Clearly, I had to refuse Soushire’s demand. Groenfil might be untrustworthy, even corrupt, but Soushire was hardly better. Why favor one over the other? Besides, it wasn’t for a king to redistribute his vassals’ lands.

My shirt was soggy, and water dripped in my eyes. I wiped them, and stepped into a puddle. Cursing, I stomped my soaked foot, almost lost my boot in the mud.

Time for a deep breath. It seemed to help, so I took another. Rain wasn’t so bad as long as one didn’t mind getting soaked. Once, I’d stood under a small waterfall, and enjoyed it I relaxed my shoulders, let the drenching rain pour over me.

At last I moved on, but this time I strolled, careless of the wet.

I could count on Willem and Cumber. Vessa’s vote was unlikely; Groenfil’s even more so. Therefore, I needed both Soushire and the Warthen of the Sands. Else I would not be crowned by Council, and couldn’t wield the Still.

I climbed steps, brooding. Could I somehow swing the Warthen to my cause? A peculiar fellow, he, but …

I found myself on a low battlement, secured by a stone parapet. I braced myself on the embedded rock, leaned over the edge, stared blindly at Castle Town. Lord of Nature only knew what odious terms the Warthen would propose.

Water dripped from my nose. I watched it trickle down a groove of the stone, to the ground. Near my hand, a deep puddle had formed in a scoop of the rock. Shielded by my body, no droplets struck it. It seemed a lake in minuscule.

I moved; a drop of water struck, sent a ripple coursing. Reflexively, I covered the puddle, protecting it.

Ah, Mother. This puzzle is too deep for me. I’m close to my crown, but fuddled.

My palms spread low over the puddle.

When I must be brilliant, all I can do is stumble about in the rain. More proof I’m unfit to rule.

Mother’s visage floated, stern, silent.

Madam, why didn’t you renounce me when you could? Or else, live to see me through? My thoughts settled into a daze of regrets and yearnings.

Rain.

Time.

Was there a path through the thicket? Was it possible?

A hand grasped my arm. “Roddy!”

Rain.

“Roddy, come awake!” An insistent shake. I blinked.

Elryc peered up at me. “You were in a stupor. I couldn’t wake you.”

My eyes were wild, and I laughed.

“Don’t! You scare me!”

Reluctantly, I closed my hands, let droplets splash into the puddle. “I’m all right, brother.”

“Come inside.”

“Yes, before you catch your death of cold. Hester would be furious.” I rumpled Elryc’s hair, laughed anew. “I know the way. Oh, it’s not certain, but it’s a chance!”

“What?”

“The way to Stryx!”

His eyes darted about. “Have imps stolen your soul? What way?”

I caught him by the shoulders, danced him madly about the parapet. “To the throne!”