The Still

Chapter 33

Retracing our steps was disheartening. no matter how I recast it in my mind, returning to Cumber was defeat. But I dressed to parley with Groenfil, lest my plan bear fruition. Unless I plotted my course with meticulous care, I might find myself crowned, but without my Power. Perhaps Uncle Raeth could devise a way to interest the Warthen in our cause, and save me from an encounter with Groenfil.

We were riding disconsolately when, ahead, a trumpet sounded. Rust stiffened. “The call to arms!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” We spurred together. He drew his sword from its saddle sheath.

The trail was an anthill poked with a stick. Men and horses raced hither and yon.

“Rodrigo, here!” Fostrow waved, beckoning us. He’d collected a dozen of Tursel’s troopers. We cantered to join them.

I called to Fostrow, “Why the alarm?”

“Foes lie ahead. The way is blocked.”

“Who?”

“Their garb is black. Tantroth.”

“Impossible. We’re well behind Stryx Castle, far from the coast. Where’s the attack?”

“Do you hear battle? No one’s attacked.”

Reluctantly, I sheathed my sword. “Let’s look.”

“Be safe with us, my lord. Tursel will report.”

The captain cantered up, his mount lathered. “The trail is barred, sire. Tantroth’s men are well dug in, and it’s not sure how many we face.”

“What is their aim?”

“Obviously, to stop our passage. No other force this way comes. I advise we turn our column, mount a rear guard, and retrace our steps. Just a moment.” Tursel turned in the saddle, shouted orders to a nearby horseman. The guard galloped off.

I said, “Turn back to Verein? We’d hand ourselves to Mar.”

“Two leagues toward Verein-well before the castle-we passed Seasand Cross. A tiny village, remember? A road runs from the Warthen’s border down to the coast where-”

“I know my own realm!”

“Of course, sire. At the crossroads we’ll be able to detour deeper into the hills, or even risk the coast road if you choose. It’s better than camping here.”

I looked to Elryc. He nodded.

I said, “Set it in motion, but first send envoy to ask passage.”

“Very well, but they’ll refuse. They won’t have gone to such trouble for naught.”

“Try, nonetheless.”

“Wait here until I’ve rounded men to guard you.” He went off.

“Come, Rustin, let’s view their line.” I selected a shield, just in case.

We met Tursel halfway. He summoned a dozen of our troop to ride guard. “Look, sire. Archers on the opposite slopes, pikemen in the center. We’d be annihilated if we attack.” We were poised at the edge of the trail that descended into a shallow valley.

“Can the archers be driven off the hill?”

“Perhaps, but at great cost. They’ve but to lower their aim, while we charge uphill. And it leaves our center exposed for Tantroth’s pikemen.”

Rust said, “They chose well their place of battle.”

Tursel said, “Yes. Interesting, given that they know not Caledon.”

Who best knew this land? Soushire? Cumber? Mar? No matter. During Mother’s reign Caledon was no secure camp. Any earl’s man could have roamed it, and drawn plans.

“Our envoy?”

“In their camp, awaiting answer.”

“I like not the look of this, Roddy.” Rustin’s tone was somber.

“Nor I.”

An hour passed, while I swatted flies that buzzed about the horses. “Tursel, make ready our turn of march.”

“I agree,” the captain said. “You men, stay with the Lord Prince. Rodrigo, I bid you wait with the wagons in the center of our column. Here will be confusion.”

“In a moment.” I buttoned my cloak against a chill wind. Clouds raced across the peaks. I turned to Rust “Will rain help us, or them?”

“I’m not sure. Come along, Roddy.”

From the black lines of soldiery entrenched in the valley, a horseman galloped forth.

I tensed. “Do they charge?”

“One man at a time?”

The rider cantered across the open space, climbed the trail we’d sought to descend. “Hail, Caledon.”

Our troops made way. It was the envoy I’d bid Tursel send.

He reached our height. A pause, while he drew breath, and summoned his speech.

“From Lord Treak, cousin to Tantroth, Lord of Eiber, Prince of the Inland Sea-”

“Yes, get on with it.”

“-and heir to Caledon, greetings. Know ye that-”

“Heir to Caledon? To Caledon? Rust, did you hear?”

“Hush.”

“Lord Tantroth graciously allows that Prince Rodrigo of the late House of the land may pass, together with guards and kinsmen numbering no more than twenty, through our lines and thence to the town of Stryx, that he may board ship thereat for exile in a land no nearer than three days sail-”

I rose in the saddle, my sword drawn. “HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”

“Sire, I am but an envoy, sent home with the words of-”

“Roddy, sheath thy blade.” Rust’s hand guided mine. “Wouldst thou smite the envoy for the tidings he bears?”

“Don’t patronize me with high speech, Rust, not when …” I swallowed a sob. “Devils chew his innards! Damn him to the lake!”

“Lord Treak? Tantroth?”

“Every Eiberian born!” With an effort, I contained myself. “Tursel, strengthen our rear guard. Turn the column, and let us be off.” I wheeled Ebon and galloped down the trail.

Smoldering, I hunched forward in my saddle, my cloak held tight against the driving rain.

I was surrounded by creaking wagons, cursing drovers, and my persistent guards, mired in the middle of the column. The trail was muddy and growing worse.

Rustin must have spoken to Fostrow; wherever I turned, one was at my left, the other at my right.

At last, able to stand it no longer, I pushed past Fostrow’s mount. “Wait here.”

The grizzled guardsman blinked reproach. “Where would you be going, lad?”

“It’s ‘prince,’ or ‘sire’!” I spurred Ebon, but abruptly the reins were swept from my grip, and it was all I could do to hang on to the pommel.

“Stay a bit, Roddy.”

“Demons take you, Rust!” I snatched back my reins. “Don’t treat me like-”

Atop the nearest wagon, a tarpaulin rose, and a damp head appeared. “Cork it, Roddy. Listen to reason.” Elryc blinked, adjusted his cover, and disappeared.

I savored his betrayal as one of many to be revenged, until cold raindrops oozing down my neck doused my rage. Rust and Fostrow were right, and there was no shame in letting one’s minions serve. To make amends I asked, “Rust, what if he follows?”

“Lord Treak?” He shrugged. “He’d lose choice of terrain.”

“Would that stay him?” Tantroth’s force had seemed daunting, enough so that I’d cast aside all thoughts of forcing the pass.

“We ride uphill.”

I nodded. If Tantroth probed our rear guard, we’d again turn our column, and defend from height while his troops were forced to climb. For the moment we were safe.

The rain grew to a downpour. For three hours we slogged along a pathway turned into a bog. Guardsmen strained at the wagons; drovers lashed their horses; tempers grew foul.

Finally Tursel called a halt. “Sire, this isn’t ideal resting ground, but if we go on we’ll exhaust ourselves. We’re guarded to the east by that fast-flowing stream, and to the west by the hills. I’ll extend our camp along the trail, and double the outriders to the rear. We’ll have ample warning should Tantroth stir. If you spread your tents there, and there, you’ll be well surrounded.”

“Very well.” I eased myself from the saddle, dropped into an unseen puddle. “Demons’ lake!” Inside my boot, my stockings squished. “Damn Lord Treak. Imps take Uncle Mar. Demons take you al-” Cheerfully, Rust reached down and clamped a wet hand across my mouth. It was all I could do not to bite him.