Now the man’s dark eyes were slitted and unreadable. “Perhaps. But the question is, does Maximilian know what it means? If he does, then the Order of Persimius will back his claim to the throne. It will not be definite proof of his blood, but it will be enough to show that he is the man who was once prince.”
“Vorstus.” Now Garth leaned forward. “Will you help us free Maximilian?”
“Assuredly, Garth. It is why I have come to Narbon to see you.”
THIRTEEN
CAVOR
Garth had to fight with his parents to be allowed back down the Veins.
“But look at how you felt after last year’s experience, Garth,” Nona said, her worried eyes flickering to Joseph. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Your mother has a point,” Joseph said seriously. “Since you returned from the Veins you’ve become over-serious. Too contemplative. Damn it, Garth! You’re still a boy! Enjoy life while you can!”
“I’m only two months from my seventeenth birthday,” Garth argued. “And well into my apprenticeship. And I’m good—you can’t deny that, father. I want to come.”
“After twenty years’ experience you won’t be so keen,” Joseph muttered, but he was giving way, and Garth could see it.
So could Nona. “Joseph!”
“He’s right, my love. He’s old enough to make up his own mind—and I can’t deny that I enjoyed his company last year. It made the horror more bearable.”
Joseph looked at his son. Garth had shot up another hand-span in the past year, his frame had filled out, and now he was more man than boy. His now-short brown hair added several years to his true age, and at some time during the past year Garth’s hazel eyes had become keener and more intense. Joseph dropped his own gaze, unable to bear the appeal in Garth’s eyes.
“Very well, Garth. You may come. Besides,” he grinned, trying to lighten the mood in the kitchen, “the summons also requires me to attend King Cavor again. No doubt the experience of court will amuse you, Garth. I remember that maid who caused your cheeks to blush bright red the last time we dined there.”
This time Garth’s cheeks remained pale—that too had changed, Joseph thought.
“Good. I look forward to seeing the king again.”
The day before Garth and his father were due to ride north, he hurried down to the wharves after his father had closed the surgery. He had thought Joseph would never finish, and he was worried in case he was late.
But he was just in time. The wharf cranes were still engaged in swinging great nets of supplies on board the ship, and passengers still milled about the wharf itself.
“Vorstus,” he breathed, relieved, as he approached the cloaked monk.
Vorstus swung around, his own face relaxing at the sight of Garth. “I thought you wouldn’t make it, boy!”
“Father kept me behind.” Garth’s eyes anxiously searched the small crowd behind Vorstus. “Is she…?”
“I’m here, Garth,” and Ravenna stepped forward. Both were travelling north on the supply ship, planning to disembark at the small port of Estorn, a day’s ride south of Myrna and the Veins. They didn’t want anyone remarking on their disembarkation at a place where they should have no business.
Garth eyed Ravenna carefully. Someone—Vorstus probably—had finally managed to persuade her to wear some thin-soled sandals, but she looked distinctly uncomfortable in them, and Garth guessed she would take them off the moment the ship was out to sea and clear of prying eyes. She still wore her simple white dress, but now it was covered with a well-cut cloak of red wool. Her hair was firmly plaited and wound about her head. She looked very much like what she was pretending to be—niece to Vorstus, and travelling north to visit family.
But her grey eyes were still mysterious—and ever lighter—and Garth hoped that Vorstus would take care of her.
Ravenna smiled as she saw Garth’s doubts “We’ll be careful, Garth,” and then she surprised and delighted him by leaning forward and hugging him fiercely. “When you get to the Veins, we’ll be there.”
Over the past month or two Vorstus, Ravenna and Garth had carefully discussed how they could rescue Maximilian from his living death. They had a plan, but Garth felt that it was so flimsy the slightest miscalculation would see them all condemned to the Veins with Maximilian.
“Your father will let you come north?” Ravenna asked, leaning back, and Garth nodded.
“Yes, after some arguments. Mother is unhappy, and she tries to overfeed me, but don’t doubt that I’ll be there.” He looked about again. “Is Venetia here?”
Ravenna smiled and let Garth go. “No. She would not come to town…but she said she would stand at the edge of the marsh and wave to me. I will see her.”
Vorstus took Ravenna’s arm. “Come, girl. The ship’s mate is waving us aboard.”
Garth hesitated, then held out his hand. “Good luck, Vorstus.”
Vorstus gripped it. “And you, my boy. Now, come, Ravenna.” He hurried the girl towards the ship, and she turned to look at Garth one last time.
He looked lost and lonely on the rapidly emptying wharf, waving as they hurried up the gangplank.
“Maximilian,” she whispered. “We’re coming.”
Whether or not she had waved her daughter goodbye from the coast, Garth did not know, but Venetia was standing by the doorway to her hut as he and his father rode by the next morning. She waved briefly, and Joseph raised his eyebrows at his son.
“You have made a friend, it seems, son.”
But Garth, waving back, grinned at his father. His spirits were high this morning. At last they were doing something. “Perhaps she waves at you, father. Perhaps she has missed not seeing you this past year.”
Joseph harrumphed in embarrassment, and turned back to the road.
The beautiful minareted city of Ruen captivated Garth as it had a year earlier. It was as bustling and as important as he remembered, and he could not stop the broad grin as they rode through the almost choked streets towards their lodgings, with the sound of the city’s bells cascading about their ears.
Perhaps soon Maximilian would reign here in place of Cavor.
“Remembering that bright-eyed maid, Garth?” Joseph winked, and Garth smiled at his father.
“I’m sure she has no reason to remember me, father.”
Joseph laughed at the wicked light in Garth’s face, and wondered if this year the maid would have a reason to remember the physician’s apprentice.
They settled quickly into their lodgings, ate a hearty meal, then spent a pleasant evening wandering about the city streets, laughing at the tumblers and standing for over an hour listening to a particularly talented minstrel.
As the minstrel’s soaring voice lapsed into silence, Joseph wiped an eye then turned away. “It’s been many a long year since I heard a minstrel that beautiful, son.”
They began to walk slowly through the streets, heading in the general direction of their lodging house.
“Do you miss life in Ruen much, father?”
Joseph thought about that a long time. “Some aspects, yes, although your mother prefers life in Narbon.”
They were quiet for some time.
“Tell me about Maximilian,” Garth eventually said softly, his eyes on the street before him.
Joseph glanced at him. “I wondered when you’d ask me about him again. But ever since you came through Ruen last year you’ve had Maximilian on your mind. You’ve never spoken of him, but a father knows.”
He was silent a moment, remembering. “Maximilian? He was a bright lad, fun-loving, always laughing. Courageous—and that would be the death of him eventually, spurring his horse away from the main hunting party like that. He and I spent many an hour playing hoopball—yes, your old father knows how to play hoopball!—and often just talking.”
His voice wavered, and Joseph cleared his throat. “Sorry. I rarely let myself think on Maximilian. To remember his stupid loss…” He turned his head away.
; Garth struggled with himself. “Father, there’s something I should tell—”
“Baxtor, you old rogue!” A hearty laugh boomed along the street and a man hurried from beneath the overhang of an ale-house. “I’ve not seen you in years!”
The moment passed, and Garth shut his mouth and watched as his father embraced an old friend.
The red-walled palace was as grandiose and as domineering as Garth remembered. Again they walked the pleasant paths through the gardens and were shown into the palace itself.
But this time the servant hurried them along a side corridor away from the Throne Room.
“Cavor’s private apartments,” Joseph murmured to Garth. “He must be sicker than I realised if he keeps to his bed.”
But Cavor was up and staring out the window as they entered. Both instantly fell to their knees, their heads bowed.
“Joseph, I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you again!” Cavor’s voice sounded cheerful and full of vitality.
“Sire, I trust your arm does not bother you too much.” Joseph raised his head, and Garth followed, looking into the king’s face.
He looked as vital as he sounded, and a wide smile beamed from his face. “And you’ve brought your son—Garth, isn’t it? Well, welcome. Come sit with me by the window.”
Joseph risked a glance at his son. Sit with the king? Rarely was anyone allowed to sit in the royal presence. But Cavor waved them towards a table placed so that it caught a gentle breeze wafting through the open window. Spring was warm this year, and Garth caught the fragrance of both garden and the street markets beyond the palace walls. It was a heady but surprisingly pleasant mixture.
They sat as Cavor himself sank into a chair. Now that they were closer, and Cavor sitting in the natural light, Garth could see that thin lines ringed his eyes and ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth.
And there were shadows lurking in his eyes, as if his sleep had been deprived recently.
“Are you well, sire?” Joseph asked carefully, and Garth saw his father shared his suspicions.
“Well enough, Joseph. Nevertheless, I am pleased to see you.”
“Your arm, sire?” Joseph murmured.
“Ah,” Cavor flicked his fingers through the air as if at some trifling matter, then his hand fell and his face darkened. “Joseph, I have lain awake through many nights waiting for your visit. I almost sent for you a month past, but…” his voice faded, and he finished on a whisper. “But that would have been giving in.”
Concerned, Joseph rose to his feet. “Sire, let me see.”
Not bothering to attempt to conceal his pain now, Cavor shrugged off his jacket. Its loose fit had concealed the fact that the king’s right arm was swathed in a massive bandage—larger than Garth remembered from the previous year. Stained with a yellow effluent, it gave off a sickening stench.
Now Garth knew why the king had sat by the window. The scent from garden and market had concealed the scent of his own decay.
“Sire!” Joseph muttered, appalled. “You should have sent for me.” His deft hands quickly unwound the bandage, and he snapped his fingers at Garth for some surgical scissors. “Hurry, boy!”
Garth was already at his father’s side with the scissors extended, and forceps to follow that. Carefully Joseph lifted the final layer of dressings, then both he and Garth stiffened in shock at what lay beneath.
Cavor had turned his head to the left so he did not have to witness their horror.
Garth took a deep breath and managed to avoid taking a step back only through a supreme effort.
Large weeping blisters littered Cavor’s biceps. Much of the flesh was raw, some hanging in thin, blackened tatters from his arm. It looked almost as if he had been burnt.
Ravenna was right, Garth thought numbly. The ink links both marks, both men. Slowly Garth raised his eyes to Cavor’s averted face. Was it only the ink that made this mark fester to match Maximilian’s? How deeply did betrayal and guilt link the two men? For the first time Garth wondered at Cavor’s involvement in Maximilian’s abduction and incarceration. He’d surely had the most to gain from the prince’s disappearance.
“Sire?” Joseph whispered. “What has the incompetent Oberon Fisk done to you this time? Has he tried…has he tried to sear the infection out?”
Cavor shook his head wearily. “No, Joseph. Weeks ago the abscess covering the mark burst, and it has looked like this ever since.”
“How do you live with the pain?” Joseph had reached into his bag and was now gently wiping cloth saturated with herbal disinfectants across the king’s arm. Garth quickly handed his father a clean cloth and stowed the stained and unclean cloth in an isolated side pocket of his father’s bag.
Cavor sighed. “I have grown used to it, Joseph.” He smiled wryly, trying to make light of his disability. “Kingship is never pain-free.” He paused. “I wish to the gods that Maximilian had grown to shoulder this burden and left me free to administer my estates and live a contented country life.”
At that last statement, Garth glanced at the king sharply again. Cavor’s voice had been tight, forced. Insincere.
Having cleaned the wound as best he could, Joseph wrapped his hands about the king’s arm. Garth could see the glimmer of distaste cross his father’s face as the evil feel of the infection flooded into his body through his hands. Garth shivered, anticipating Joseph’s request that he Touch Cavor as well.
“Ah,” Cavor relaxed a little, closing his eyes. “Joseph, you are a wonder worker.” He sat quietly, then opened his eyes. “I have come to a decision. You are wasted in Narbon, Joseph. I will that you move to court.”
It was not a request, and both Joseph and Garth knew it.
“No!” Garth cried. They must go to the Veins!
Joseph glared at him angrily, then turned to the king, wiping his face clean of any expression. “My King, I am flattered that you so crave my attentions. But I have responsibilities in Narbon, and Nona, my wife, enjoys it so much, and—”
“And nothing, Joseph!” the king snarled, and Joseph physically rocked at the expression on Cavor’s face. “You will move back to the palace. Your place is as the royal physician as it was years ago—and Garth seems to have the talent to be trained as a royal physician as well—despite his curious reluctance to do so.”
“My apologies, sire,” Garth said, bowing as gracefully as he could. “It’s just that my friends are in Narbon. And—” he thought quickly, “and my father and I are on our way to the Veins for our compulsory three weeks’ service. Sire, I learn so much in the Veins that I would not like to miss out on the experience. Perhaps once my father and I have completed our duty we can return to the palace.”
And perhaps not he thought, keeping his face as expressionless as his father’s. Perhaps not.
Joseph did not know why Garth was so keen to get to the Veins, but perhaps it was not such a bad idea. Cavor might well forget about them once they had left. Three weeks was a long time to sustain a royal whim.
“I don’t know what you can learn down the Veins that you can’t learn here,” Cavor snapped.
“Well,” Joseph began, but Garth broke in, visited by sudden inspiration.
“Sire, the prisoners—curse their venomous souls—are subject to curious fungal diseases in the Veins. Perhaps…perhaps, sire, your arm has been infected with such as that.”
“I’ve never been near the Veins!” Cavor all but shouted, and both Joseph and Garth recoiled at the strange light in his eyes.
“No, of course not,” Garth hurried on, his previous suspicion of the king now flaring into near certainty, “but fungal spores are carried by the wind easily enough, sire, and who knows? On a day when the northerlies blew perhaps you were unlucky enough to have caught such a spore.”
“My son has a point,” Joseph murmured deferentially. Where had Garth learned to lie that well? “I would like one further chance to examine the fungal diseases of the Veins. It might help me discover a final remedy for your a
rm.”
Cavor subsided. “Three weeks, you say? Well, your Touch healed my arm for close on two months the last time you came through, so perhaps I can spare you for three weeks. And it would be worth it if you discovered a final cure for this damn mark.”
To one side Garth visibly relaxed, and Joseph risked a glance his way.
“But I shall send for your lady wife and your household goods while you are gone, Joseph. When you return your home shall be here.”
Joseph inclined his head in a show of acceptance, mentally cursing. Damn!
Cavor watched him carefully. “Perhaps after a week or so of the Veins, Joseph, you will regret your decision to see out your service. I shall provide you with a letter which will enable you to return early, should you so wish.”
“As you will,” Joseph murmured, then stepped back, and indicated that Garth should Touch the king.
Garth delicately laid his hands on the king, and only narrowly avoided flinching as he felt the foul corruption of the infected flesh flood through his fingers and palms. Joseph nodded quietly as he saw and recognised his son’s struggle.
Garth closed his eyes and tried to loose as much healing through his hands as he could—but it was hard, very hard, because the arm he wanted to do this to currently laboured down the Veins, and some part of him wanted to harbour his energy for that battle ahead.
He hoped he would never have to return to Ruen until Maximilian sat the throne.
But here he stood with his hands on the current and, according to the Manteceros, legal king and it presented a dilemma that Garth had avoided thinking about until now.
What to do about Cavor? In a boyish way, Garth had somehow assumed he would rescue Maximilian from the Veins, and the country would welcome him back with open arms and parades through the centre of Ruen.
But would Cavor welcome him back? No, Garth did not think so. Not at all. So what could he do?
Garth started slightly, realising the power of his Touch was faltering along with his concentration, and he put the question to the back of his mind. Maximilian and Vorstus would know what to do. He frowned, bending his attention to his task, and let the Touch flow unhindered through his hands.
Beyond the Hanging Wall Page 12