The Still

Chapter 34

Anavar of Eiber gave a courteous nod as we mounted. “Good day to you, sir.”

I tied my leather jerkin against the cool morning air, reveling in the sun that promised to warm the crisp autumn day. “Much better, yes. Genard!” I beckoned with my cup. “Have we more warm cider? Find me a beaker, would you?”

“I’m not your-”

“Please.” I was feeling magnanimous, a legacy of the dissipated clouds and the news Tursel brought: Treak’s troops remained camped across the gap, well to our rear. Genard trotted across the clearing with a steaming cup. I stretched, patted Ebon’s flank.

Anavar asked, “May I ride with you?”

“Of course.”

Proudly, he buckled on the sword I’d allowed him, while I watched Rustin direct the striking of our tent. I ought to help, if only to please Rust, but at some point he’d have to learn not to spoil the servants. I compromised by walking Ebon to the tent, and offering Rust a share of cider.

Absently he took the cup. “Which way will we turn at the crossroads? West to the Sands?”

“I suppose. As we move into the hills we’ll find enough rutted cart trails toward Soushire, and from there it’s an easy ride to Cumber.”

“I’ll be glad when we’re gone from this region. That’s enough smoothing, lads, lift it on the wagon. Here, Anavar, are you thirsty?” Rust handed the boy the remains of my drink.

I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it. We were all in decent spirits on this fine morning, and I would do nothing to spoil the mood.

Tursel sent his scouts to probe ahead, and we got under way. The ground was soft, but still we made good time.

Shortly our place in the line of march was crowded: at first Anavar, Rust, and I rode abreast, but after a time Elryc conjured a mount and joined us, which meant Genard was soon alongside, and Fostrow tagged near.

Tursel cantered up and down the line, vigilant. Eventually he paused to join us. “My lord, at this rate we’ll be at the crossroads in-now what?”

Ahead, a clatter of hooves. Spotting us, a forward scout reined in. “Captain!” He ignored me entirely, and my fingers tightened on the pommel. “Outriders at the village cross! Cavalry moving fast.”

I said, “There can’t be.”

“The road from Verein is clogged with Duke Mar’s infantry, my lords! Their scouts set guide flags on our side of the cross. Perhaps fifty men have-”

I licked my lips. “Why would they-”

“Hie! Captain Tursel!” A soldier raced frantically along the trail, frantically waving his helmet.

“Now what?”

“Lord Treak’s men assault our rear guard!”

A mutual attack? Fear stabbed so hard I reeled. “Tursel!”

He’d already wheeled off, discharging a stream of orders.

“Rustin!” It was a plea. “Help me think!”

His voice was calm. “Steady, my prince.” His unwavering eyes met mine, until I managed a weak smile.

Tursel galloped back from his foray. “I’ve pulled in our rear guard; we’ll make a better stand past those trees, where the road narrows.”

I asked, “How long have we?”

“Two hours, perhaps, if Treak organizes his men to strike in force.”

“Is the crossroads ahead a full league from Verein?”

“That, but not much more.”

“Just outside dear Uncle Mar’s safe-conduct, Rust. He’s come to bottle us on this cursed trail. Tursel, send every man you can spare to the crossroads!”

“Sire, it’s madness to split the column when-”

I reared in my saddle. “Gather your men. Attack before the enemy takes hold. If they deny us the crossroads we’re trapped!”

Tursel said, “Better to ready an assault in strength than attack piecemeal and be destroyed. I’ll need an hour, no more.”

“Now, by the imps and demons!” I drew my sword. “Rustin, Anavar, we’ll ride in the second rank. Stay close; we’ll guard each other.”

Elryc pawed at my arm. “Why attack Uncle Mar instead of Treak?’

I blinked, not sure how I knew my course. “Because … Mar’s men were setting flags on our side of the crossroads, but they’re not fully across; half their strength is hurrying to catch up. And men of Tantroth won’t hesitate to slaughter us, royalty or no. In men of Caledon, there’ll be some iota of doubt.” I hoped fervently it was true.

“Mar’s men are sworn to Verein.”

“And to Caledon. Tursel, sound the horns. Mounted lancers at the lead; let foot soldiers race to follow.”

“But, sire-”

“Every moment’s a waste!” I raised my sword. “Now, for Caledon!”

“Take a moment for armor!” Rust jabbed at the wagon. “A careless spear thrust-”

Tursel said, “We can’t abandon the wagons. If Treak overruns them …”

“Then so be it. I ride. Who goes at my side?”

“I do!” Anavar spurred to my flank.

“Stay, Roddy, a few moments won’t matter.”

“Now! I command it!” Without waiting for answer, I cantered Ebon to the arms wagon, snatched a javelin. “Tursel, sound the horns!”

With a curse, Tursel clattered down the trail, to the men making haste to evade Lord Treak. In a moment, trumpets blared.

Foolhardy I might be, but not suicidal. I led Fostrow, Anavar, Rust, and a squad of guardsmen through a maze of wagons and provender to the fore of our column, but not so quickly that we’d be alone when we reached the crossroads.

In a few moments, we were twenty. Then, fifty. Our wagons were but half a league from the village; Uncle Mar’s forces couldn’t be far beyond the next hill.

At the rise, one of our outriders flagged us down. “Stay, my lords. The enemy lies ahead.”

“How many?” I made no effort to slow.

“A hundred fifty, perhaps more. They’re cutting trees for barriers.”

“Roddy, fall back. Don’t ride the lead.”

Ignoring Rust’s caution, I searched for words to inspire my troop. Giving Ebon his head, I turned in the saddle. “We’re few against many, but we have a cause, and our army panting after.” Laughs. I grinned. “Verein’s not expecting attack. When we clear the rise I’ll charge at their weakest point. We have but to scatter them, and cause havoc until our troops gain the field.”

“Hail, Prince!” Anavar, doing his best to help.

I spurred Ebon toward the rise. “Look to me.” My voice gained strength. “If you’d see the first to join battle, look to me. If you ask why risk death for my crown, look to me!” We bounced along in a brisk canter. “If you’d know who’ll ride through the knaves of Verein, look to me!”

I risked a glance at Rustin. His gaze bathed me.

I spurred Ebon to a welcome gallop, bellowed over my shoulder, “If you’d be led to victory, look to me!”

We thundered over the rise.

Ahead, the road widened as it crossed a flat pasture. A single felled trunk barred the way. Beyond it, in the grassy meadow, other fallen trees. A cluster of archers, horsemen milling in front of all. Behind them, Verein’s troops trudged up the path from the crossroads. Not far behind, their supply wagons lumbered.

We were barely in time.

“Scatter the archers! Drive the foot soldiers past the cross!”

Fostrow grunted, closing his helmet. “Stay near, Roddy.”

“Follow, if you’d guard me.” No time; already Verein’s outriders gave alarm.

“If you’d see Verein flee in terror, look to me!” My voice rose to a shout. “IF YOU SEEK A KING, LOOK TO ME!”

I dug at Ebon’s flanks. He raced across the pasture at full bent. Wind tore at my jerkin. I set my javelin as our battle-master had taught.

“For Rodrigo!” Rust sounded confident, even joyous. “For Caledon!”

No more time for words.

Driving Santree all out, Rust managed to close to my side. We sailed over the fallen trunk. A soldier reared; my javelin tore through his chest. I wrenched it free.

Fostrow whipped his chestnut mare, two paces behind. “Wait, Roddy! Form a line!”

I tugged gently at the reins, and Ebon slowed enough to let Fostrow close. In a mad gallop, others of our band raced to augment our line.

Behind the fallen trees the archers took aim. We couldn’t charge head-on; the trees were too strong a barrier. But Verein hadn’t finished boxing their archers with pikemen. To our right the way was open.

I waved my javelin. “Flank them!” It meant a dash the width of the field, across the massed archers. Death, for some.

Margenthar’s cavalry spurred to block us. Head down, braced in the saddle, I aimed at their foremost rider. I’d use the javelin as a lance.

The foeman passed to my right, brandishing his sword. A thunk, and the javelin tore from my grasp. Cursing, I pulled loose my short sword. Behind, Rustin slashed at a helmeted trooper.

Anavar galloped to reach us. He hacked at men who barred his path.

“Ride for Caledon!” My voice was lost in the melee.

A foeman swung at Rustin. Santree screamed and pitched forward. Rust flew headfirst over the saddle. Battle swept me onward. Anavar reined in, dismounted to stand over Rustin of the keep, legs planted wide, sword drawn.

I lay low. Ebon pounded across the turf. Nearing the archers, I whirled my sword, ducked a spear. I sliced at a passing horseman’s wrist. A scream.

Two cavalrymen barred my way, bearing shields and swords. I had only the short sword. If I rode between them I could fend off but one. Scarce thinking, I rose high in the saddle, reared back my sword.

As we neared, I shrieked at the first rider. But, twisting in my stirrups, I let the sword fly instead at his companion’s throat. Soldier and horse tumbled in a gout of blood. I galvanized Ebon into a mighty leap over the fallen horse and rider. We thundered on, leaving the surviving horseman in distant dust.

Verein’s archers were paces distant bows drawn, firing.

Maddened, I charged unarmed. Soldiers clawed their way clear as I raced closer. As Ebon plunged into the mass of foemen I tore a bow from an archer’s hand. I hauled at the reins, whirling Ebon. We raised to strike. His hooves whistled down. From my perch I wielded the bow, slashing at faces and arms, screaming all the while.

One archer, braver than the rest, notched an arrow, raised his bow. Our eyes met. Suddenly his face contorted. He wheeled to flee, was caught in the back by a flung spear. Anavar and two of Tursel’s troop burst into the throng, bloody swords thrusting.

Verein’s horsemen spotted us, gathering to charge. But with each moment more of our men reached the field. Meanwhile our few cavalry hacked at the enemy archers. Abruptly their line sagged. I rose in my saddle, gathering our troops with a wave and a cry.

Suddenly foemen sprinted toward the safety of the crossroads, casting aside their weapons. We gave jubilant chase, cleaving skulls, stabbing at leather shirts with savage abandon.

In moments our way to the cross was clear. I reined in. With a whoop, young Anavar spurred past to pursue the foe. I grabbed his tunic, and was nearly yanked from my saddle. “Hold, boy!”

His face was flushed. “After them, lest they rally!”

I shook his jerkin. “Where’s Rustin?”

“On the field, sir. Guarded by four of Tursel’s foot soldiers.”

I glanced about. The battlefield was ours. I turned Ebon, spurred back the way we’d ridden across the archers’ withering fire. More men than I cared to count lay unmoving. A few survivors paced the field, a somber group.

I pushed past his fallen mount. “Rust?”

Sitting, he looked up, his face pale. His breast was covered with blood. He clutched a crimson knife.

“Lord of Nature!” I hurled myself from my saddle, raced to drop at his side. “Sit still.” I glanced about, my eyes wild. “You there, call a surgeon!” Gently, I swaddled his head in my arms.

Idly, he rested his hand on my boot. “The blood’s not mine. Would that it were.”

I pulled back an arm’s length, gently touched his chest. “You’re sure? I mean-” I took deep breath. “Whose, then?”

He gestured to the blood-drenched steed. “Santree.” The horse lay unmoving, eyes vacant.

“His throat’s been cut!” I looked about. “What villain did this?”

“I. To spare his agony.”

My eyes strayed to the gaping wound in the stallion’s side. “Oh, Rust.”

“I’ve tended him … since I was seven.” His bloody hand strayed to the foam-flecked muzzle, gave it a caress. “What will I do?”

“I don’t know.” The wind carried shouts, from the trail. I stood, looked about. The last of our wagons hurried down the road, past the tree-trunk barriers hastily pulled aside.

Ahead, Tursel’s men had seized the crossroads. Mar’s wagons had hastily turned, waiting for reinforcements from the Verein trail. I ought to help rally men, seize Uncle’s supplies. But Rust sat staring at Santree. At length he said, “Help me stand.”

Immediately half a dozen hands reached. He cast them aside, clutched at mine. I pulled him to his feet.

“Over there, by those trees.” He pointed to a copse of elders.

I wrapped Ebon’s reins round my arm. Obediently, I followed Rust to the seclusion of the grove. “Tursel can’t hold the crossroads long. Mar’s troops are coming.”

“I know.”

“What do you want, Rust?’

He stared at me a long moment. Slowly, he let his head fall to my shoulder, and began to weep.

Astounded, I stood dumb like a log. After a moment I patted his back. “It’s all right, Rust. All will be well.” I made soothing noises, as had Nurse Hester when I’d scraped a knee, eons past.

“I couldn’t …” Rustin struggled for calm. “Not with the guards watching.”

“Of course. Don’t worry. I understand.” With an effort, I quelled my babble.

After a while, when my jerkin was damp, Rust looked up shamefaced.

I essayed a light smile. “We’ll get you another horse.”

He blinked. His eyes sought mine as if perplexed.

“I mean, you can have any-the best we-” This was Santree. Belatedly, I pictured Ebon lying in his own blood. My eyes stung with the horror of it. “I’m so sorry!” Again I’d acted the fool, when he’d turned to me-to Roddy the oaf-for comfort. Impulsively I wrapped myself round him in a fierce hug. “Rust, forgive me. Please!” I squeezed harder, biting back tears. “I know you’ll miss him, really I do!”

And Rust was crying again, and we wept together, and for a bittersweet moment I worried not about being seen in his arms.

But even if we’d been of a mind to linger among the elders, Tursel wouldn’t hear of it. He galloped at us as we mounted Ebon, Rust clinging from behind. “My lords, have your senses fled? Our rear guard’s just topping the hill. Get yourself past the crossroads; we’re still in peril!”

I nodded assent, and spurred Ebon gently. Rust clung to my waist. As we joined the column struggling uphill past the crossroads he asked, “So it’s back to Cumber, another route?”

“No.” My voice hardened. “To Groenfil.” Imps take my fears about the Power; Still or no, I would be King.

“He’s your uncle’s man. He’ll confirm your designs to the Duke.”

I gestured at the dead and wounded of Verein. “Let Mar know what we seek. If our meet with Groenfil sows dissension among them, all the better. As to Mar, demons cast him in the lake.”

It silenced him, as well it might. I thought of dour, sallow Groenfil, and the plan of which I dared not speak.

Under a blazing sun my brother sat horseback, outside the bare walls of Groenfil. No tree higher than a sapling could be seen. Outside the stronghold itself the buildings were all squat affairs, with heavy roofs.

Elryc waited patiently at my side. Others of our guard were near, but I’d insisted on leading the column.

The gates to town and castle were barred. After days of trodding dusty cowpaths and fording rivulets, I was bone-tired.

“Will he open?”

“I know not,” I said again.

“If he does, it will be soon.” At my raised eyebrow, Elryc added, “Why infuriate us, if he’s to let us in?”

“I’m in no mood to riddle Lord Groenfil.”

“Try. It’s the craft of state.”

I bit back a mean reply; my brother was right. If only I were King, safe in the comfort of Stryx. “Fetch Tursel.”

In a moment the captain stood before me, wiping sweat from his helmet. “Yes, my lord?”

“Send another envoy. Have him say-” I hesitated, and threw caution to the winds. “We won’t enter the town, invited or no. But Groenfil will meet his liege prince under safe-conduct before sunset, or all Duke Mar’s might won’t save his remains from the crows picking his eyes.”

“My lord?”

“Have it said.” I gestured dismissal.

For a moment I regretted my rash words, but decided I’d done no harm. Groenfil was either a committed enemy, or not. If so, best it be shown. If not, we still had a chance. Still, I knew his consent to a meeting wouldn’t signify surrender, but merely prudence, in a noble seeking shelter from storm.

In an hour, my boldness was rewarded. Earl Groenfil rode from his holding with impressive retinue, banners flying.

We met under my canopy.

His servants bore welcome refreshment. Groenfil, a dark man with a pinched face, poured two goblets of dark wine. He offered me choice of glass. He took the other and drained it before I touched a drop, demonstrating his good faith.

I chose fruit and berries, and handed him a plate. We ate together. After amenities, we excused our servants and followers. Even Elryc I sent away, with a promise that I’d tell him all.

Rustin, ever vigilant, sat in the corner. His eyes never left Groenfil.

“So, Rodrigo. Why summon me with harsh speech? I was arranging suitable welcome for-”

“The demons’ lake with such foolery!” I rode over his shock. “I’ve no soft words for you. Mar tried to kill us and failed. Are you his man?”

“Rodrigo-”

“Are you his?” My voice was ice.

“Margenthar wed Renna, my sister.”

I waved it aside. It counted, but not for all.

“Times are troubled, Rodrigo. One seeks allies.”

“Strange that you spurn me.”

Groenfil took a cluster of grapes, set it aside, chose a larger. He said carefully, “I spurned you neither by word nor deed. Am I sheltered snug in my keep, my gates barred to you?”

“No.” I forced myself to choose a fruit I was too agitated to swallow. “You know why I’ve come, my lord.”

At least he didn’t dissemble. “To seek my pledge, to make yourself King.” A grim smile. “Almost, I believe you merit a throne. Yesterday I’d not have said as much.” He was silent awhile. Then, “If you’d be our King, prove you know my cost.”

“You’d lose alliance with Mar.”

He nodded.

“And risk defeat with my House.”

“True.”

“What else?”

“Why, Roddy.” His smile was mocking. “You were doing so well.”

“Is this a game?”

“Isn’t life itself?”

I bowed, acknowledging his thrust. “Very well. You’d lose … what? The power to bargain?”

He looked about, saw a bench. “By your leave?” His tone was courteous, but no more than as any guest to his host. “What could I possibly want to bargain?”

I hated riddling, and his manner raised my hackles. Still, much was at stake. I said, “Gold? Power?”

“Naught else?”

I turned my head so he could not see my flood of relief. “Land.”

His smile returned. “Well, then. Offer me what Mar cannot.”

“You have no thought for the realm?” I asked bitterly. “Or my rights as Elena’s heir?”

“None,” he said.

Good; it would make my task easier. I made my tone ingenuous. “Why, my lord Groenfil, what cannot Mar obtain for you?”

Our eyes met. “Soushire.”

I turned away, waited until the tension was palpable. “Very well,” I said.

Rustin shot to his feet. “My prince, speak with me alone.”

“Not now, Rust.”

“Roddy, I beg you!”

We strode through camp, while Tursel’s guards followed. Earl Groenfil had retired to his keep; our meet would resume shortly.

“How could you show such daring and sense on the field, yet sell your soul to this-this greedy lordling? Can the Rodrigo who led us to the crossroads and this unscrupulous Roddy be one?”

Inwardly, I smiled. “Calm yourself, before you-”

“Can’t you see how you debase yourself? What of the True? You risk your Powers!” Rust stumbled over a stone and, irked, kicked it so hard it clattered down the street. “I hate you!” Then he grimaced. “No, my Lord of Nature, that’s not so. But I hate what you do!”

“All because I agreed with-”

“You allied yourself with Groenfil against Soushire, and Soushire against Groenfil! It’s detestable. Contemptible. Despicable.”

“Steady. You’ll run out of epithets.”

His eyes were dangerous. “You mock me?”

“You mock me all the time.”

“Not in matters of … truth. Honor.” His tone was anguished. “Roddy, how could you?”

“I’ve done nothing yet.”

“You’ve all but agreed to help Groenfil wrest control of Soushire from the Lady.”

I said gently, “Rust, come close. No, don’t glare.” I gripped his shoulders, waited until he calmed himself enough to hear. “Do you recall your fury when I bargained with Lady Soushire? I’d have explained, to ease your mind. You told me if I had not good cause, my folly would long haunt me, and you’d no need to chide me. Isn’t it so?”

After a moment he nodded.

“Let it be, you said, for the peace between us. But, Rust, I’m in your charge. I’ll explain, if you require it.”

Briefly, his head rested against mine. “My prince, I want so to trust you.” His words were barely audible.

I said carefully, “I think-really I do-that I’ve made no vow to break the True.”

We ducked under the canopy. Earl Groenfil sat waiting. “So, my lord.”

I waited. There was subtle advantage in his admitting the value of our treaty.

He seemed in no hurry. “Word’s arrived of a skirmish near Verein.” His tone was laconic.

“Men were lost, who were better spent fighting Tantroth of Eiber.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure my brother-in-law wanted only to parley.”

“By blocking the-” No. I wouldn’t be baited. “Perhaps another day it won’t be my escort camped before your gates, but his.”

“Yes.” Abruptly he was serious. “That’s why I won’t cross him.”

“Oh?” A pang stabbed at my ribs.

“I must have the autonomy of my lands, yet Caledon needs a strong monarch to repel Eiber.” He paused. “But, you see, that man might be Mar.”

“So, then?”

“I’ll support the winner between you.”

“Bah. Think you either he or I will let you straddle a pike fence while winter settles on the land?”

“Probably not.” Groenfil’s smile was cool. “I need only determine the likely victor.”

Rust said harshly, “He stands before you.”

“Naturally you’d say so, son of Llewelyn.” Groenfil’s tone was mild. “You’re his vassal.”

“I am not.” Rust stood proud. “They said you were canny, my earl. I thought you’d see the obvious.”

“Which is?” A cool wind stirred the flaps of the canopy.

“That Rodrigo’s already won.”

“Ahh, pardon.” Groenfil leaned back, clasping his hands behind his neck. “I should have known a handful of men in ragged tents, who’ve no treasury, no lands to call their own, are the victors. Though they wander from castle to fief begging victuals … yes, it grows clearer.”

Rust drew breath with a hiss, and for a moment his back arched like a cat. “Seek you the gilt paint, or the worthy metal beneath? Look what my prince has done!”

“You said you weren’t his vassal.”

“Yet Rodrigo is my prince.” He crossed the tent, to set proud hand on my shoulder. I sat unflinching.

“What miracles has he wrought?”

“He escaped from Margenthar’s restraint, and though penniless and nearly alone, secured the support of Cumber, among others.”

I almost snorted. Elryc and Fostrow had abandoned me at Hester’s cottage. Even Rust left without a glance behind. Now he made me sound the hero.

“Yes, I’m sure Raeth’s candles sputtered in the night.” Groenfil’s tone was sardonic.

“While you cowered behind closed gates, Prince Rodrigo bearded Vessa in Tantroth’s city.”

Outside, the breeze grew stronger. Groenfil merely smiled. “To no avail.”

“In yesterday’s skirmish, he quelled Duke Mar’s forces, while holding Lord Treak of Eiber at bay.”

Groenfil raised an eyebrow. “Is your friend always so vehement, Rodrigo? He could alienate those he seeks to persuade.”

“He doesn’t like your toying with me,” I said.

Groenfil regarded us both. After a time, he sighed. “When you came, I was of a mind to send you in chains to my sister’s husband. He’d enjoy the gift.”

“No doubt.”

“Your summons brought me out. Oh, not from fear, I assure you. But a lad capable of such a challenge deserved scrutiny.”

“And so?”

Groenfil paused. “I won’t commit to you, though my mind could be changed. As you know, I have … requirements. First Soushire’s lands, to end our feud once and for all.”

“And?”

“Mar’s favor has value to me. Else I wouldn’t have given him my sister Renna. I won’t betray her. Should you prevail, Mar isn’t to be killed or dispossessed.”

“Ask for the Norlands, as well!” I gestured my disgust.

“We both know you’ve persuaded Cumber, and Soushire. Lord of Nature knows how much gold that took. Willem will follow the tide. Perhaps you’ve his promise as well.” He smiled. “But who else? Mar? The Warthen?”

“No,” I said bitterly, “I need you to be crowned, you know it and you mean to take full advantage.”

Rust looked shocked, and gave a minute shake of his head.

I said, “Ease thyself, Lord Rustin. We but speak what is known to us both.” Perhaps it was my high speech that soothed him. He quieted.

I turned to the Earl. “With the Warthen’s realm closed to me and Vessa dead, I need your vote, but there are demands I won’t countenance. Goad me not too far.”

“I understand. And Vessa’s not dead, by the way. Merely unseated and captive.”

“What? Mar said-” I struggled to recall. Mar hadn’t claimed outright that Vessa was killed, merely that his office was vacant. How clumsy of Groenfil to tell me.

Perhaps demons helped him and read my mind. “I told you what Mar would not, to demonstrate good faith. Because I ask more of you.” He leaned forward. “Bring me proof you’re fit to be King.”

I gaped. “Do you jest?”

His hand slapped the table, overturning the bowl of fruit. “Roddy, you were a vile brat when we visited your mother. Yet you’ve changed. Mark me, if you gain your crown I’ll pay no more taxes than before, and damn your soldiers who come to collect them. Still …” He stood to pace. “A king too strong is a tyrant, and one too weak leads to-” He swept his arms. “Chaos. A throne in contention, and enemies coursing the realm.”

I swallowed, and forced myself to face him.

“Almost you persuade me, Rodrigo. But I would be sure. Mar has guile, but in perilous times that’s not enough. Perhaps you could free Caledon.”

“Join me.” Hope swelled.

“I await a sign. Make one.”

“Out of my tent!” I kicked aside a stool. “You play games of quest while a kingdom crumbles? May demons seize you!”

Groenfil paused at the flap. “Don’t forget Soushire’s lands. I must have those.” And he was gone, into a whistling wind.

I raged the tent, throwing aside all that was in my way. Rustin disappeared, but in a moment he was back with a cool flask of water. “My prince, quench your fires.”

“Bah. That son of a horned toad, that demon spawn, that-”

“Yes, Roddy. Drink.”

Almost, I flung it in his face, but he had a look that made me not dare. Grumbling, I took a gulp. It was welcome. I drained the flask. “Are you satisfied?”

“Almost. Sit, and speak of what you gained today.”

“His undying enmity.” I threw myself on a couch. “Look how the tent flaps crack in the wind.” It was the first I’d seen of the Power of Groenfil, and made me uneasy.

“He’s also seen you won’t abase yourself for a crown. That’s of value.”

“He’ll follow Mar, if my uncle offers more.”

“Yet he has concern for the realm. That surprises me.”

“With Tantroth roaming the hills, Groenfil’s no safer than any of us. ‘I want a sign.’ Have you ever heard such nonsense?” I brooded. “I survived, and am here. What more does he want?” I brushed away Rustin’s caress. “Not now; I’m more of a mind to bite than be fondled.”

I poured icy water in a bowl, washed my hands. “It’s lunacy to seek Groenfil’s help. Whatever I offer, he’ll ask double.” I dried my fingers on a wiping cloth, staring moodily at the basin.

“What were the limits of which you spoke? The demands you wouldn’t countenance?”

“Eh? The honor of Caledon. Anything that would destroy my monarchy before it began. We went through that with Uncle Raeth.” I rubbed my frozen fingers.

“Yet you pledged Groenfil’s fief to the garlic-eating Lady.”

“I had … no choice.” Though I had a plan, that might yet come to fruition. Absently, I opened my hands over the bowl. The water was chill, yet it seemed to bring warmth.

“So. What sign will you bring my lord Earl?”

“He’s heard too many cradle tales.” For a long moment I was lost in reverie. “Devils take him. Better I should …” Abruptly I withdrew my hands, stared at my palms.

After a moment Rusk asked, “Yes, my prince?”

I strode to the flap. “You, guard! Find your captain and bring him! Make haste! Rust, pack your gear; we’re leaving.” Feverishly, I paced under the canopy.

“Roddy, what is your thought? You seem deranged.”

“I won’t speak of it. Not in sight of Groenfil’s walls.” I paced in growing agitation. Had we fodder? Enough food? Under the circumstances I couldn’t ask Groenfil for provisions. “Ah, Tursel, there you are. We break camp within the hour.”

“My lord? What’s passed, that-”

“Within the hour, did you hear? Don’t gawk, get thee hence. Haven’t we tents to strike, men to rouse? Go!”

“Where do we head?”

“The way we came!”