The Still

Chapter 31

I called a halt to rest the horses, and took the opportunity to dismount, wrapped in my old and dusty cloak. Despite the cold I went behind a shrub, pulled down my breeches, and rubbed ointment on my chafed thighs. Meanwhile two of the soldiers walked the horses; the third rode ahead as a scout, as he’d done since we left camp.

The day’s ride had been long and weary. The route was muddy. We’d pushed south, on roadways, cart trails, and goat tracks, until by my reckoning from the rude map we carried, we were now southeast of Stryx, and would take the next trail west. No matter how far south we’d gone, if we turned west we’d run into the sea soon or late, and could make our way into the town.

“Best if you stand in the stirrups, m’lord.” Genard walked me back to the horses. “That way you don’t rub-”

I was in no mood for advice. “There won’t be ointment enough for you, unless you hold your tongue.”

He subsided, but as we remounted, thinking he was unseen, he made a rude gesture.

Anavar flicked his crop; Genard yelped. “Respect your prince,” said the Eiberian. Without waiting for answer, he spurred to my side. “Rodrigo …” His brow furrowed. “Did you notice Garst this morning?”

“By his absence.” I sniffed, wiped my nose.

“Yes.” Anavar rode for a time in silence. “I looked for him.”

“He’s not your responsibility. Rust will chastise him.”

“I fear …” Anavar seemed uncomfortable. “Lord Prince, he may have fled.”

“Again? Doesn’t he tire of it?”

“You jest, but consider the prospect. If he finds our camp-men of Eiber, I mean …”

“Will they put him to death?”

“It depends on the captain. And on the news he brings.” He watched my face, saw no enlightenment. “Sir, he heard us talk of riding to Stryx.”

“Imps and demons chew his liver!” I set my mouth tight. “We’d best hurry.”

“To what point? I know not where our patrols ride, nor does Garst. If when he left our camp-”

“Anavar, you must choose a side, and call it ‘ours.’ Else you make my head spin.”

“If when he left your-our-Lord of Nature, I know not!” He pounded his pommel, causing his gelding to start with alarm. “I-we-I am of Eiber!”

“That’s true, and today you wear Eiber black. But you ride with Caledon.”

“Because you showed me mercy. You saved me.”

“Would you turn back? You have my leave.”

“And be despised by both camps? To what infamy would you consign me?” It sounded an accusation.

To lighten his woe, I said, “You can always become my vassal, and settle your loyalty.” He looked as if I’d struck him, and I added hastily, “In Caledon, I meant. Not for your lands and holdings in Eiber.”

“Here I have no lands.” He sounded sullen.

“Or holdings, other than your stipend. Have you spent it all?” For my perseverance, I was rewarded with a wan smile.

Genard trotted to my side. “M’lord, a trail.” A narrow footpath, into the western hills.

“Good lad.” I raised my voice. “Hold! We’ll try this one. You, ride ahead and recall the scout.” I waited while the soldier galloped off.

It wasn’t long before the guard returned, with his companion. I said, “This footpath isn’t on the map, but-what in the fiery lake are you doing here?”

Fostrow said, “Scouting, my lord. Someone had to ride ahead.”

“You were to remain in camp! You were of Mar’s guard, and your face is too well known-”

“And think you I’d trust that-that puppy they chose to watch you in town? He’s a boy, and a Cumberan boy at that. He’s never seen the close winding streets, never walked the harbor, never-”

“Never tried my patience like a stubborn old fool!”

He glared. “And who might that be?”

“Gah!” I drew sword, slashed at a nearby branch. “Lord of Nature, why?”

“We waste time, Roddy.”

His look was unyielding, and I put aside my ire. “Too late now to send you back. We may need your guarding; Anavar thinks Garst bolted.” Wearily, I urged Ebon onward. “Did Rust put you up to this?”

“Of course not, my lord.”

I’d never know. “Anavar, do vassals act so in Eiber?”

“Only until they’re hanged, sir.”

Fostrow shot him a glance that boded ill. “One arrogant pup I can abide. Two …”

Anavar was silent, but for the next league or so, a smile played on his lips.

Uneasy, I patted the mane of my horse, urged the beast forward, wishing I were on Ebon. But even with my hair cropped short, and in my peasant garb, too many in Stryx might remember me, especially on my favorite steed. In any event, a peasant boy on so fine a stallion would cause remark. Ebon grazed in a copse on the edge of town, along with Genard’s mare, tended by our two escorts. Behind, Genard clung to my waist.

Abruptly we came on a trio of black-garbed troops, Tantroth’s outer guard. Two remained squatted, playing at dice. The third waited with drawn sword.

“Stay to the side of the road, m’lord.” The stableboy’s whisper was sharp in my ear.

My chest ached. “Nonsense. Act as if we’ve every right to be here.”

Genard adjusted the thong of his sandal. “You sound too much like a prince. I’ve learned about not being noticed, and-”

I twisted round, peered through the drizzle past the huts that lined the narrow trail. Fostrow was nowhere in sight. I muttered, “Why the side of the path?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” With no warning, Genard hurled himself to the ground, scrabbled for a handful of pebbles. He swarmed back into the saddle, panting. “See?” As we neared the guards he tossed a pebble at a thatched roof, grinning idiotically.

“You’re dim-witted. What else should I observe?”

“That’s it, m’lord.”

The sentry frowned at us. Genard jabbed my ribs; I jumped half out of the saddle, spluttering with fury. With a giggle, he tossed pebbles past the guard. “Go on, brother. Catch the stones.” He scratched furiously at his leg.

I hissed, “Stop it!” Genard paid little heed. Instead, he pinched me so it hurt.

The sentry be damned. With an oath, I twisted, managed to get a hand on Genard, hauled him into position to cuff. For a time he endured the blows, then tore himself loose. “All right, m’lord, we’re past them.”

“-don’t you ever dare touch-what?” I peered. “Oh.”

“See, m’lord? You occupy yourself with little things. Give way the road, pay no attention, and they’ll do the same.”

Head low, Anavar brought up the rear. A whisper. “I think he’s right.”

“Must we ride to Vessa playing fools?”

“Sometimes, sir, when my father was angered, I’d go about humming and pretending to be immersed in childish things, until his temper soothed itself. Had you not the art of making yourself invisible in your keep?”

“Not really. Well … I watched the nobles at state dinners, sometimes, when I was thought to be abed. I curled in the corner with some houseboys, playing at jacks. Mother never noticed.”

Our trail met the coast road at last. Thunder rolled over the squat stone houses; lightning flashed on the whitecaps lapping at the shore. Scudding gray clouds consumed the bell tower and the great castle on the hill above. I glanced south, couldn’t see Tantroth’s outpost along the sea road. He’d have one, though, perhaps half a league south. His main force, no doubt, would be manning Llewelyn’s keep.

Genard seized the reins. “Turn here. Don’t you know the way?”

“You distract me.” We threaded through Potseller’s Way, the narrowest of alleys, to the Shoemakers’ Steps. A few shoppers dressed in Tantroth’s black roamed the walkway.

Anavar prodded his mare, came abreast. “Buy something large, sir.”

“Are you daft?”

“Best if we have some business, rather than riding to no purpose.”

“We’ve no time for-”

“He’s right, m’lord. Something not too heavy. Boots, perhaps, wrapped in cloth.”

“Daft.” Grumbling, I stopped at a stall, waited shivering in my saddle, while Anavar and Genard selected cheap boots I wouldn’t wear at my own burial. Overhead, a flash, and a crack of thunder.

A hand squeezed my leg; I gasped, almost hurled myself from the saddle in terror.

“Move yourselves!” Fostrow, his voice hoarse. He’d acquired a large sack, slung over his shoulder. His helmet and sword were nowhere to be seen. “Why do you dawdle?”

I hissed, “They buy boots.” It seemed too much to explain. “We won’t be long. Where’s your breastplate?”

He’d turned his back, and was drifting off. “Under this foul robe. Hurry.”

Finally, the transaction complete, Genard hoisted himself and his sack into the saddle. “On, m’lord, but slowly. We’re looking at wares.”

“Half the stalls are closed,” I growled. “What’s to look at?”

Genard’s brow wrinkled. “When Master Griswold let me wander the market, stalls were packed with goods and buyers, no matter the weather. Was it not so, in your recall?”

I took stock of the forlorn market. “Not many customers but for the soldiers,” I admitted.

“They say a number of your townsmen fled, when our sails were seen.” Anavar, hunched against the increasing rain. “Homes deserted, ours for the taking.”

“Ours?”

He had the grace to blush. “Sorry, sir.”

From around the corner, coarse oaths. A gang of rough-dressed youths appeared, their voices raucous. One carried a jug slopping dark wine.

Genard nudged my rib. “Trouble. Look down.”

“Why?” I wasn’t about to skulk about my own market to avoid such rabble.

“Don’t catch their-”

Too late.

“You stare, churl?” The oldest, a stocky boy of eighteen, caught my reins. Water dripped from his matted hair. “Would you share our jug?”

My hand crept under my cloak to my dagger, but Genard’s fingers caught my wrist.

“Answer us!”

“Leave him, Farath, you strike him dumb.”

“A fine saddle, Bosat, and a good mount.” Farath’s eye roved. “Stolen, I’ll wager, from our dead of the battle.”

“Let go my rein.” I’d have sounded more authoritative, had I not sneezed.

Farath sneered, “Hah. What if I shout, ‘He has my horse’?”

A cold voice, behind me. “Then you’d lie.” Anavar drew tight his black cloak, stared down at the intruder. “What business have you here?”

Farath’s mouth turned ugly; his glance flicked to Bosat. “And if I ask the same?”

“I am Anavar of Kalb, page to Lord Treak who serves Lord Tantroth.” He lashed his mount forward. “Take your hand from my servant’s horse!”

Genard’s grip tightened. “Head down,” he whispered. Seething, I obeyed.

Farath took a step back, but his fingers kept hold of my bridle. “What if we dump you in a ditch, Eiberian?”

Anavar’s sword whipped clear. “Were not enough boys of Stryx hanged in the square, a month past? Would you join them?”

“Come away, Farath.” Bosat tugged at his companion.

“Together, we’d down him!”

“The Eiberians would post a reward, and some would claim it. Come on!” Grumbling, muttering curses, Farath allowed himself to be persuaded. With sneers, the youths retreated.

Anavar sheathed his sword. “Come along.” Without a look back, he led the way from the square.

I contained myself until we turned the corner to safety. “Your servant? How dare you!”

“Thank me. I saved your life.”

“Faugh. From the likes of them I need no protection. I was about to-”

“Make a scene, attract guards, be noticed. And get yourself taken.” The boy’s tone was sharp.

I frowned, but had no answer.

Anavar looked about uncertainly.

“I know the way, m’lord. Let me guide the reins.” The downpour came harder as Genard led.

I sat shivering. After a time I asked, “What boys were hanged?”

Anavar shifted in his saddle. “They threw rocks.”

“Tell on.” My tone was curt.

“At our guards. Tantroth was angered. It happened too often, and when some were caught, he made an example.”

“Tough louts like those you chased?”

Anavar’s face was set at the stalls, so I couldn’t see. “Younger. Urchins.”

My fingers gripped the pommel, squeezed as if it were Tantroth’s neck. “How many?”

“Five.” At last Anavar turned to face me, his eyes bleak. “Their bodies hung a week, while birds had at them. Sir, I was appalled; many were, even within Tantroth’s ranks. We wouldn’t-”

“Hold your tongue.” My voice was a rasp. I hated Tantroth, his folk, the Eiberian I’d befriended.

“It wasn’t my doing,” he said stubbornly. “Even Lord Treak was dismayed.”

I withdrew into myself, brooding, until Genard nudged me from behind. “Is that not the dwelling, m’lord?” He pointed.

I peered. “Yes.”

“Now what?”

I beckoned to Anavar. “What say that you knock at Vessa’s door and demand audience?”

The boy looked dubious. “Has he guards?”

“Servants, no more. Unless your people put guards over him.”

He studied the doorway. “If they’re of Stryx, I’m safe; few know me. But if one of Lord Treak’s troop sees me …”

For all Rust’s warnings, we hadn’t gone so far as to figure how I would gain entry. All depended on the situation we found. I said, “Genard, knock at the door. Say your master would have word with the Speaker.”

“My master Elryc?” He gaped.

“Your master Anavar.”

“But he’s not … ahh, I understand. What if they’re Eiberian and recognize his name?”

“Run, I suppose.” I shrugged. “I can’t think.”

Fostrow trudged past, in his disreputable robe. “Don’t loiter about,” he growled, to the muddy earth. “Go to the door, or move on.”

I grimaced. “Imps and demons gnaw him.” I swung off my saddle. “I’ll go myself. Anavar, stay near. If the Duke’s men take me, intervene and do your best. If Eiberians pass by, lie low. From them I should be safe; they won’t recognize me.”

“This is madness.” He licked his lips.

“Is it not?” I stalked across the road, rapped at the door.

It swung open, and a face peered at me. “Yes?”

“I seek Vessa.”

His eyes probed my ill-fitting clothes, my ragged cloak. “Come three days hence, at the eleventh hour, when-”

“I bring word for his ears only.”

“You?” In his tone, contempt.

“Aye, sir.” I made my fingers twist at my cloak, as would a humble churl. “From a lord.”

“Who?”

“Rustin son of Llewelyn.”

It silenced him, as well it might. Then, “Wait.”

I stood sweating in the hall, ruing my folly. In a few moments the doorkeeper reappeared. “Come.”

Vessa, Speaker of the City, sat at a plain wooden table, an unfinished meal set aside. His wrinkled face bore distaste. “Yes?”

“Sire, he said for your ears only.” I tried to look stubborn.

“Very well.” To the servant, “Leave us.”

In a moment we were alone, the thick chamber door closed. Vessa drummed the table. “Rustin is outlaw, vassal to the fugitive Prince.”

“Rustin is loyal to his King, and no man’s vassal.” I threw off my cloak, spoke as to an equal.

“Lord of Nature!” He half rose, glanced to the window, lowered his voice. “What lunacy brings you here? Out, this instant!”

“I seek your vote in Council.”

“Would you have me cast down for our converse? Mar spoke true; you are addled. Out!”

“Don’t be swayed by my garb.” I fingered my jerkin. “Our troop is in the hills. We’ve men, and horse. Arms.”

“A gift from Raeth of Cumber; tell me something I don’t know. No, don’t bother. Guard! Help!”

His quavering voice didn’t carry far. I lunged across the table, seized his throat. “Hush, old fool, lest you destroy yourself!”

He gaped. Oh, how proud Rustin would be, to see me assault the man whose favor I sought. I released him, awkwardly smoothed his shirt. “Think, Lord Vessa. How long will you keep your office, when Tantroth or Mar hold both city and castle? What need will they have of you?”

“Mar promised-” He bit it off. Again, he looked to the window. “To Margenthar, I could explain your visit. If Tantroth discovers I’ve had Rodrigo in my chamber, that’s another matter. He’s not known for kindness.”

My smile was grim. “True, he’s not. Would you give him Stryx, and Caledon?”

“The choice isn’t mine.”

“But it is.” I drew myself up, all too conscious of my shabby apparel. “Mine is the Still of Caledon. I need but the crown to wield it.”

“And the sense of a sheep.” Unimpressed, he shook his head. “Mar is experienced in war, and diplomacy. Besides, you haven’t the Vessels; Mar seized them. Without the Still, you can do nothing for the realm.”

I studied him, fighting a hopeless despair. At last I threw caution to the winds. “Has Mar paid you?”

“Bah. Insults, again? If he had, would I tell you?”

“What if I paid more?”

His look was one of cold disdain. “You seek to buy my favor? I am Vessa, not a tradesman!”

For an endless time, I held his eyes.

He licked his lips. “How much?”

Outside, a commotion, “Run, boy of Stryx! Get thee hence!” It sounded like Anavar. Perhaps Genard had provoked him beyond bearing. Or perhaps it was a warning meant for me, but my goal was within my grasp.

“If I knew what my uncle-”

The door flew open. “Offer him all your treasure, false Prince!” Chain armor the guard wore, over black garb.

Instantly I lunged past Vessa, flung open the window, launched myself outward.

Hands grasped my waist, hauled me back.

Outside, no sign of Anavar or Fostrow. Across the road, Genard danced from foot to foot in a veritable frenzy.

I spun, broke loose from the restraining hands, whipped out my blade. “Die!”

The room was full of men. One bore a short club. He flung it at my head. A blaze of lights. Blinded, reeling, I lunged with my dagger. Strong hands seized my wrist, wrested the blade from my grasp.

In a moment my hands were bound.

“Thank you, thank you!” Vessa gabbled. “The rogue burst in, waved his knife at my throat, and I could do nothing. I cried for help; ask my servant!”

“You cried out, yet your man went about his work? Do you train your servants so?” The captain spat. “Guard this old buffoon, until my lord Tantroth speaks his fate.”

“Let me go!” I twisted my wrists, to no avail.

“Take this boy to Tantroth. He’s impatient to see the Princeling.” The captain’s lips curled in a sneer. “Can six of you guard a bound youngsire?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then bring up the horses.”

Half a dozen of Tantroth’s troops assembled in the road. Two helped me mount a russet mare, holding the reins beyond my reach.

A familiar voice. “You see? I told you he’d come!” Among the soldiers, my bondsman Garst pranced with excitement

I made my look stony, beyond contempt.

“I told you!”

My captors urged their mounts into a slow trot, and I was borne with them. I debated leaping from the saddle, but I might only break a leg for my pains. I touched my tender scalp, winced from the pain it brought.

“Where are you taking me?”

The lieutenant disdained to answer, but the rider at my side said, “To the keep, to await Lord Tantroth’s pleasure.” We clattered over damp cobblestones toward the square of crossed roads, where sat most of the city’s alehouses.

“Hold, sir!” A cloaked rider hurried to overtake us. “Hold!”

The lieutenant raised a hand, and our troop slowed.

The young courier said, “My lord Tantroth bids you ride by the shore road, that none may observe the former Prince. And send to the keep all who know of his capture.”

“Who may you be?”

The rider drew himself up. “Anavar, first son of the Earl of Kalb, serving his lordship at the keep. Have any townsmen seen your captive, sir?”

The lieutenant looked about. “Not on this street.”

“Could you cover his face? I suppose not. Hurry to the shore, sir, lest he be observed.”

With an oath, the lieutenant grabbed the reins of my mount. “Back, lads.” We cantered back the way we’d gone. I tried to catch Anavar’s eye, but he rode in front, at the lieutenant’s side. We turned onto the shore road, where it turned at the southern edge of town. Ahead, between us and the keep, Tantroth’s black-sailed fleet lay moored.

A peasant boy played by the roadside, hopping over a fallen branch. As we passed he thrust the branch between the forelegs of the lieutenant’s steed.

“Get away, you-” A guardsmen raised his whip, spurred at the boy.

As the lieutenant’s horse stumbled, Anavar threw the Eiberian from his saddle. Letting go my reins, the man fell heavily, rolled over once, and was still.

Behind me, a shout. “Beware, it’s an-aiyee!”

I whirled; Fostrow wrenched his blade from a guard’s gut, whirled to slash at another. As the man fell in a spray of blood, Fostrow seized the reins of his mount, caught one foot in the stirrup, stood hopping as the horse skittered.

Genard ducked under a blow, raced to my side, swarmed up my leg, mounted himself behind me. “The reins, the reins!” His voice was shrill in my ear.

I reached forward, but my bound wrists were too clumsy. Anavar sidestepped his mount, caught my dangling reins, handed them to Genard.

“Geeah!” Genard’s heels galvanized my mare as he hauled her about. “Lie low, m’lord!” Together we leaned over the frightened mare’s neck and swept through the confusion.

Helpless, I clutched the pommel and looked backward to the melee. Fostrow wasn’t yet in his saddle. The last two guards bore down upon him, but one was in the way of the other. Anavar raced to their struggle.

Fostrow ducked one blow, unable either to mount or free his leg.

I gasped, “Wait, Genard.” The boy slowed.

Behind us, the guard loomed over Fostrow. He raised his sword for a triumphant blow. From behind, Anavar’s hand caught the man’s jerkin. His steed reared, but the guard recovered his balance. With a cry of rage he turned, to receive Anavar’s dagger full in the heart.

Fostrow threw himself on his captured horse with such vehemence he almost fell off the far side. Frantically, he righted himself. Anavar maneuvered to avoid the blows of the remaining guard. With a howl, Fostrow spurred toward him, sword raised.

The guard fled.

I hung dizzily to the pommel as we raced toward the hills.

“We can’t slow, Roddy. Lord of Nature knows how many Tantroth sent after us.” Fostrow ignored my glare. “You think we’ve eluded them, but would you gamble the crown on it?”

I looked back to our scout, who brought up the rear. “The way I feel, yes.” We’d pressed onward ever since we’d rejoined our scouts at the edge of town, and it was all I could do not to fall out of the saddle.

Anavar sat dejected on his horse, staring at nothing.

I snarled, “Did you hear that scoundrel-what’s the matter?”

Anavar rubbed his horse’s mane. “I lost my dagger.”

I snorted, “Is that all?”

The Eiberian said, “It’s how I lost it.”

“In battle? That’s honorable.”

“Not for me.”

I stared.

“I warned you, sir, I would not raise a hand against my lord Tantroth.” He pursed his lips. “I killed his man.”

“But he would have-”

“It matters not. Surely even you can see that.”

“Even I?” I reached across, grasped his jerkin. “How say you?”

With staggering insolence he slapped away my hand. “I would not be touched, sir.”

My mouth worked in voiceless fury. If not for my dizziness, I’d have flung him to the ground. “I should beat you!”

Anavar’s eyes met mine. “As you choose, my lord. Better I had accepted Tursel’s death when I was felled.”

“What’s this?” Fostrow’s tone was sharp. “At each other’s throats, and for what?”

“For honor!” Anavar spoke before I was able.

“Faugh. For weariness, and relief from fear. And hunger. There’s flat bread left, and a bit of the dried meat.” He reached into his saddlebag. “Eat, before you-”

“Let Prince Rodrigo partake!” Anavar spurred ahead.

Not to be outdone, I snapped, “I’ll starve first!”

Fostrow’s voice was mild. “What was that about?”

“He stabbed a guard of Eiber, and has regrets.”

“As well he should. You comforted him?”

“I would have.” I rode in silence.

Fostrow sighed. “Go after him, Roddy.”

“Is that a command?”

“If it were in my power, yes.” Fostrow searched my expression. “He’s your man, and in pain.”

“I’m in pain!” I seized his arm. “This knot over my eyes, my wrists … Where’s your compassion for your lord?”

“His pain is greater. He’s dishonored his oath.”

“By his own choice. He could have remained in camp with Captain Tursel and Rust.” And if so, I’d be screaming on the rack, or endungeoned. “Imps and demons take you!” I kicked, and dutifully, the horse responded.

I found Anavar not far ahead, resting on his mare, by a babbling rivulet. I knew not what to say.

“Will you beat me?”

“Have no fear.”

“I have none. Will you?” It was a challenge.

“Punish yourself, if you did wrong to Tantroth. Don’t demand it of me.”

“I speak of my incivility to you.”

“You speak of Tantroth!” I grasped his chin, turned it toward me, saw the tears I’d heard in his voice. “On the shore road you saved Fostrow, who was rescuing me.”

“I know.”

“It pleases you not?”

“That I betrayed my kinsmen?”

I lapsed silent, thought long. “Anavar … Stay my ward, or be released. Go home to your father, or serve Tantroth even against my cause. I give you leave to choose your life.”

With a cry, he buried himself in his own arms.

I sat helpless. Rustin had the art of comfort. I did not.

After a time his voice came, strained. “Lord Prince, what should I do?”

I didn’t want the burden of his choice. Yet his gallantry, his bravery, had saved me. I said, as if I knew truth, “You’ll remain my ward. After, when Caledon is restored, I’ll treat with your father, with Tantroth himself if need be, for your safe release. Until then …” I hesitated, grasping for something within reason. “You may harm your own people only to save me, or my brother, or Lord Rustin my guardian. For no other end. This, I command.”

His voice was muffled. “Thank you, sir.”

“As to tonight … your bruises haven’t so faded that you would forget my foul temper. I don’t know that I could restrain myself to beat you lightly as befits a boy; my cruelty is too great. Therefore do not taunt me, most especially when Rustin isn’t near to stay my hand.”

“I heed you.”

“Anavar, it will be for your father, for your liege, to judge your loyalty to them, when time comes. For me, I deem you honorable and would so say to any man. Take that unto your conscience.”

His hand crept out, found mine.

I shivered. “We’ve both scorned dinner, and I’ll warrant we both starve.”

He raised his face, with a shy smile. “I’ll eat if you will.”

“Done.”