The Still

Chapter 36

We plunged into the woodlands that concealed the pond and picked our way toward the seacoast road. I dozed in the saddle, my shirt drenched with sweat. I sought Fostrow’s face. I knew I’d oft abused him. I would learn remorse, if I lived long enough.

We made better time on the road. But Rust grew ever more restless. “Roddy, we’re bound to meet Tantroth’s patrol returning.”

“I know. Take to the fields.” I veered eastward, regretting the ease of the road. I stank of death, sweat, and blood, some of it Fostrow’s. Even my hands were sticky.

“Will they chase Tursel all the way to Shar?”

I drowsed, until I realized Anavar’s question was to me. “Unlikely.” Ebon plodded, following Rust’s mount. I let him have his head, hanging on to the pommel. Willem rode behind with Anavar. Neither spoke.

The night oozed past in an agony of torpor, as we climbed east into the hills. We passed a few miserable peasant huts, then more. Finally, as the sky ahead began to blot out stars with the promise of day, I felt the world reel. I clutched Ebon’s mane just in time not to fall. “Rust … let me rest.”

“Another league, my prince.”

I bit back a sob. “I cannot.”

Instantly, Rust jumped to the ground. “Anavar, keep guard.” His hand gripped my knee. “Steady.”

“Help me off.” He did. “Is there anything I can wear save this foul jerkin?”

“I’ve a blanket, no more. You can wrap that over your shoulders.”

“I stink in this.” I pawed at my shirt. Rustin helped me. It stuck to my side, and I cried out.

“Anavar.” Rust’s tone was a lash. “Knock them awake in that hut. Willem, hide the horses.”

I tugged at my jerkin. Something trickled.

I patted my side, and my hand came away red. Rust hissed. “You’re covered with-”

I giggled, recalling Rust and Santree at the crossroads. “The blood’s not mine.”

Rust’s tone was grave. “Yes, my love, it is.”

I pitched into his arms.

“Hold him.”

I clawed at Anavar’s wrists. “Mother, save me! It hurts!”

“Let me sew, Roddy, else you’ll bleed to death.”

“I’m all right. Just a broken rib. Ow, no!”

“Imps and demons!” He reared back, thrust his face into mine. “Stop it!”

I howled.

“Bite the sheath.”

“Rust, stop! I’ve no wound.”

“I see your bone.”

“No one stabbed me.”

“You fell on a sword, I think.”

Desperate, I pulled free from Anavar’s grip. “No more!”

Rust grasped my hair, lifted my head, slapped me hard. “Lie still! I won’t tell you again.”

I wrenched free my arms to cover my eyes, ashamed that Anavar and Willem see me cry. Obediently, I forced myself to lie still, until Rust was done with his torture. Then he wrapped me, cradled my head, brought more water to my lips. “Drink, my prince.”

I couldn’t help but whimper. “You hate me.”

“More water, Anavar.” He waited while the boy filled the dipper. “Drink.”

“Yes, Rust.” I peered through the gloom. “What’s that smell?”

“The hut. Sleep now.”

I blinked away cobwebs. “Where are we?”

“Near Shar’s Cross.”

“What am I lying on, rocks?”

“A churl’s bed. Be civil.”

“Why?”

“He’s by the wall, forming his opinion of his King.”

Time passed. I woke again, ravenously thirsty. “Can I sit?”

“We’ll raise you. Don’t strain.”

In a moment I sat propped in Rust’s protective arm, drinking greedily. Across the dank, low-roofed hut huddled a man in rags. His arm rested on a woman, who crouched below. At his side a grimy boy of nine or so watched our every move.

“Where’s Willem?”

“In the wood, helping Anavar water the horses. Tantroth’s men passed twice in the night.”

I flogged my mind; now was no time to laze. “They didn’t search?”

He shook his head. “Who of royal blood would enter such a dwelling?”

I focused on the churl. “Your name?”

The man opened his mouth, closed it without speaking.

“Who are you?”

The boy piped, “Eol.”

“Your name or his?”

“Fartha. He won’t talk.”

“Why?”

“He afraid.”

“Aren’t you?”

The boy said, “You g’a hurt us?”

“No.”

“See?” He tugged at the silent man’s fingers. Then to me, “Are you really King?”

“Prince. By new moon I’ll be King.”

His eyes grew wide. “Where crown?”

“It’s …” I couldn’t think. “Where, Rust?”

“In safekeeping with Elryc.”

“If he doesn’t steal-I’m sorry. Don’t hit me. I didn’t mean it.”

“I won’t, Roddy.” His lips brushed my scalp. “Now you’re awake, take this.” He handed me a warm bowl.

“What is it?”

“Broth, flavored with potato and rabbit.”

“Ugh.”

“You lost much blood.”

I gulped the stew, as glad of the liquid as the nourishment. “Rust …” My voice was hesitant. “How is it that Fostrow bleeds and dies, yet I bleed and live?”

“His wound was worse.”

“Am I favored?”

“By whom? Have you endowed Fortune’s Well with silver?”

“I rode all night, and he bled in moments.”

“His leg was half-severed. You had but a gash in the side.” He roughed my hair, gently at first, then with anger. “You could have died, you dimwit! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know.”

“You were soaked.”

“Sweat, I thought. How oft have you told me I sweat too much?”

“Never. Only that you bathed too little.” His eyes glistened. “My life is hard with you. But don’t make me live without.”

Across the room, the boy’s wide eyes stared.

“You, child.” I beckoned. “Would you serve a king?” He nodded. “Fetch more water.” I handed him the bowl. “Don’t spill it, and I’ll let you touch my sword.”

In a moment the lad returned, bearing the water with great care. Eagerly I downed it. Would my thirst never be sated? When I was done I groped for my sword, found it near my side. With an effort I pulled the haft a few inches from the scabbard, let the lad’s fingers trace the jeweled design.

I asked, “When do we ride?”

“I’m not sure. I may send Anavar to find our troop. Tursel must be fuming.”

“Or saying the Rites of our Passing.” The captain would be beside himself. Our force was divided not in twain, but in three. Elryc waited with the wagons, Tursel and the survivors of our raid lurked near Shar, and Avatar, Rust, Willem, and I hid in a fetid hut. I stirred. “Help me sit. I have to piss.”

“Use the pot.”

“Are my ribs bound? Good. Let me walk outside.”

“You’re a dolt.” Still, he didn’t push me down.

“You there. Eol, is it? Take my arm.” The swarthy man darted over, eyes down. He let me throw an arm over his shoulders. With Rust tending my injured side, we shuffled to the door. It was great labor, and I gritted my teeth against pain and waves of dizziness. Outside, I blinked. “When was morn?”

“It’s long past noon.”

“Then we’ll ride. You’ll help me up.” I loosed my breeches.

“I’ll decide that.”

I was silent, until I’d wrung the last drop from my aching bladder. “No, I will. It’s a matter of state.”

“Not if-”

“Would you that Tursel took himself home to Cumber? We ride.”

Very soon I regretted the decision. The churl and his silent wife watched as I swayed in my saddle, jaw clenched. Rust ran back through the trees, swung onto his mare. “The road’s clear. Let’s go.” He took Ebon’s reins, led us in a slow walk.

We passed under a leafy canopy that gave way to patches of afternoon haze, while I nursed my ribs. Willem paced to my right, looking very much as if he regretted his impulse.

“How fat is our treasury, Chamberlain?” Deliberately, I made my voice sharp.

“Eh? No more than-I’ve paid as Mar directed, Roddy. After all, he was regent.”

“Are coins left for my stipend?”

He peered at my face. “You jape at me. I’m sorry if I seem … Know you my gamble, trailing you out the gate?”

I said, “Know you mine?”

A long pause. “There were tales, whispered where Stire wouldn’t overhear. You charmed Raeth of Cumber, we heard. There were doings with Soushire. The Warthen wouldn’t see you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yes. Elena would be proud.” He said it so simply, without guile, that I knew he’d spoken without thought.

“Would she?” I swallowed the hint of a lump.

“Yes. She wanted you fit to be King, and had no idea how to make you thus, except by my chastisement.” He eyed me. “You’ve grown, within.”

“Does it show?”

“Yes, Rodrigo. Though to hear you howl last night, one wouldn’t know.”

I flushed. “It hurt so.”

“Apparently.” Then, to the trees, “When you fled the castle, I’d not thought you capable of leading men to battle.”

“I wasn’t.” I dropped my voice. “Rust taught me.”

“Ahh, I’m appreciated.” A familiar tone, from the horse ahead.

Suddenly I didn’t feel it time for jest. “Yes. More than you know.”

Willem returned to my abandoned query. “It’s mostly gone, the gold. If I’d known, I could have brought what little remained, but the night guard sent for Stire, and …”

“We were well out of there.”

I brooded, as we neared the outskirts of Shar’s Cross. We paced slowly down the center of the rutted road. In a moment we passed the inn where we’d waited for Elryc to live or die. My side smarted, and I said little.

Rust sent Anavar inside, to ask if Tursel had been seen.

No sight of our force, the boy reported.

I roused myself. “What do you expect, sending a lad with the barbarian speech of Eiber? They won’t speak of Tursel to him.”

“I’ll go, then.”

“No, you might be remembered. You started a brawl, last visit.”

Rust looked indignant, but I snapped my fingers. “That old Ritemaster, where you did the Cleansing. He’d recall us.”

“Yes, your impatience, your vulgar-”

“Still, he might tell us.”

We sought him out, leaving Anavar behind with Willem.

Rust gave him coin, as offering. “Ritemaster, we seek men of Cumber. They were to meet us near.”

“I know of no such.”

I said quietly, “Yes, you do.” I held his gaze. “Should you demand it, we’ll tell you who we are, and why we seek the captain of Cumber.”

He hesitated. “You ride with Eiber.”

“No. Eiber rides with us, as our ward.”

“Our?” He looked from me to Rust.

I reddened, realizing I’d used the royal speech. “Our.”

He was silent a long moment. “In the wood, along the road to Fort. Perhaps half a league.”

“Aye.”

“You’d best leave Shar, sir. Patrols buzz like angry wasps.”

We thanked him. As we rode, I mused on the peasant, Eol. “How many in Mother’s realm are of such station?”

“Enough. Why?”

“They lead a horrid life. Why would they choose it?”

Rust laughed. “Think you they do?”

“It’s worse even than at Hester’s cottage.” I pondered. “What would it take to improve their lot?”

“Peace, for one.”

“Easier said than granted.”

Tursel’s outguard spotted us an hour after, and raced back to the main camp. When we joined, I was weary enough, but afraid to dismount lest I tear my wound, so we pressed on.

Before leaving, though, I thought once more of the churl who’d sheltered us, and had Rust delve into our purse. “Tursel, send a rider back along our trail. It can’t be far, what, Rust, a league? There’s a cluster of huts to the left. Look for one with a split beech near the door.”

Rust said mildly, “We don’t have time …”

“He’ll catch us in an hour; I must ride slow. Give these coins not to the man Eol, but the towheaded boy. Learn his name. Tell him to remember the King, and join our service when he’s grown.”

“That’s more wealth than the family’s ever seen.”

“No doubt. Hurry, guard.”

We wended our way through the hills.

I called Vessa near. He seemed old and shaken, a husk of his former self. “Well, Speaker. If I call Council, what say you of the regency?”

His eye met mine only for a moment. “I’ll vote to end it.”

“In favor of?”

He stared at the passing earth. “You, Prince Rodrigo.”

“And Uncle Mar’s protection?”

“Was less than he warranted.”

“And his gold?” I was relentless.

“Sire, I meant no …” I was sounding you out, to report to the regent. No more.” His eyes beseeched me.

I knew the lie, but what point in proving it? I let him go.

It was two hours, not one, before the soldier returned, his mount lathered.

“You gave the coin?”

“No, sire.”

I reined in.

“The hut-I found the tree, and what had been huts. All burned. The families were fired inside. I saw what might have been a boy.”

“Lord of Nature!” I closed my eyes, tasted the bile of rabbit stew. “Did you search-”

“Horsemen in black were moving along the road. Banners. Archers and infantry behind. I gave warning to Shar. Wagons and townsmen were fleeing as I rode out.”

I cried to Rust, “Why the churls?”

“Perhaps for hiding you.”

“Oh.” It was a moan, as if I’d been stabbed anew.

“It’s not your doing, Roddy.” His voice was gentle.

I kicked at Ebon; he trotted faster, jouncing me. “And I would be King. Rust, beat me tonight for what I’ve done to them.”

“Easy, my prince.”

“I killed them. We could as well have hid in the wood.”

Willem cleared his throat. “Roddy … may I still call you that? Evil accrues to the man who looses it. You were but a candle that showed Tantroth where to strike. The sword was his.”

“I’m not comforted.” My tone was bitter.

Rust leaned close. “You wanted your throne. This comes of it.” His eyes held mine, while I searched his reproach. Strangely, I found none. “War is man’s folly,” he said. “Good cannot come without pain, or hurt. Would you we ceased our quest, and rode back to Hester’s cottage at Fort?”

“Yes. No, I … don’t know.”

“Here.” He swung off his horse, climbed behind me. “Give me the reins. Lean back, it won’t hurt as much.” Gently, he tugged at my shoulders; I sagged against his weight. “Rest, my prince.”

At last, as Ebon trod steadily, I wept, for Fostrow, for the peasant boy whose name I never knew, for my faded illusions.