by Rj Barker
Once I had put on my make-up and motley I found Rufra outside. He was watching Vinwulf fence with some of the other squires. Vinwulf would take his tests for Rider soon and he would pass, easily. He may be difficult and unpleasant, but he knew how to behave when he needed to, if polite and courteous was called for to advance him he could become that, would become it, for as long as he needed to. By Rufra stood Aydor, and behind him was Voniss, holding Aydon in her arms. Anareth hid behind her. She ignored her brother as he went through the motions of swordwork with the guards, instead she watched me when I came close she vanished beneath Voniss’s flaring trousers. I waited a moment and she peeped out. I gave her a small wave and she vanished again.
“Rufra,” I said. He held up a hand, leaning forward as Vinwulf parried an attack expertly then brought his sword round, catching his opposite behind the knee, knocking them to the floor. As his opponent went down a second fighter came at Vinwulf and he ducked under the blow, though how he saw it I do not know, and cut back with his wooden practice sword. Had it been a real sword he would have gutted the man.
“See, Girton,” said Rufra, though he had not turned to acknowledge me. “A few more years and there will be no warrior in the Tired Lands the equal of my son.”
“You may be right,” I said, though I exchanged a look with Aydor that said something completely different, more akin to, “That’s what worries us.” I gave Aydor a shrug of my shoulders. “I came with a request, King Rufra,” I said. “I fear politics at Ceadoc is far more complex than we imagined.”
“You fear that, maybe,” he said, “not I.” He did not take his eyes from his son as he limbered up for his next opponent. “I know it.”
“I think it may be a good idea for me to get to know some of the other players, what about—”
“Suvander,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Since the trouble with Marrel I have lost the support of a few blessed.” He still watched Vinwulf. Gusteffa now capered around the boy, expertly mimicking his sword thrusts. “And I have been thinking about my uncle too. He is a snake but we may be able to buy his support.”
“Buy it?”
“Aye, sometimes it is the best way. The same goes for Leckan ap Syridd.” For all we had drifted apart, our minds still often seemed to work in unison.
“I thought he supported Marrel.”
“So did I, but it appears not. And those blessed who have withdrawn support from me have not declared for Marrel either.”
“So someone else is in the running.”
“They have not declared so, not yet. And the vote is in four days. It worries me.”
“And now you will turn to bribes?”
“If I have to.” I felt more then saw his muscles tense at my tone and wished I could take it back. “Suvander will not see me, personally, but he may see you and Aydor.”
“How much am I to offer him?”
“Money? Nothing, and it would not interest him. Tell him I will renounce my claim to the ap Vthyr lands if he supports me. That should get his interest.”
“And Leckan?”
“You should go to him by yourself. You will have to sneak in, he will not see anyone I have sent. Offer him five thousand bits on my behalf.”
“Five thousand? Maniyadoc cannot afford—”
“We will find it,” he said. He did not sound angry, but neither was there any give in his voice. “You may go now if you wish, Girton,” he said. “Take Aydor away from here, he is like a bear with a sore head today. You would think he never slept.” I saw Aydor look to the sky and shake his head ever so slightly before walking over to join me.
“Come, Girton. It is quite the walk to the Sly Tower where Suvander sits.” He walked straight past me and on toward the entrance to Ceadoc, he was definitely out of sorts. Usually I would put it down to a hangover but Aydor loved to complain of his hangovers, and to exaggerate them, but he said nothing. As he told the two highguard waiting on the door where we wished to go, I watched him. He was worried, but I did not know why. I knew he would not thank me for asking, though I probably would ask if he did not speak soon. Usually I was happy to wander in silence, but with Aydor generally being so loud it seemed somehow unnatural.
“I went into Ceadoc town last night,” I said.
“That explains why you smell so bad.” I must have looked appalled as he quickly added, “A jest, Girton, you do not smell any worse than usual.” A smile, fleeting, barely there. “What did you find in Ceadoc?”
“Trouble.”
“How many died?”
“Three.”
“A quiet night for you then.” Another barely there smile and we headed down a dark tunnel. Aydor had to bend slightly to walk without banging his head. “Don’t suppose you fancy adding to that total, do you?”
“Are you serious?” I said. He shook his head.
“No, ignore me. Rufra has been talking of marriage again, that is all.” Aydor’s sullenness made sense now. He talked of Hessally, his daughter and the most important thing in his world.
“I know how it feels to be angry with the king,” I said. “Wanting him dead is going a bit far though.” He did not laugh.
“I would never wish Rufra dead, though sometimes I wish other members of his family would fall off a mount on to their heads.”
“Ah, Vinwulf. Rufra still wants her to marry Vinwulf?” Aydor nodded but did not look at me. “Hessally is not stupid, Aydor. She would not have her head turned by the prince.”
“You would hope,” he said, opening a door and leading me through into another tunnel. “But Vinwulf is clever as well as cruel and you know he can turn on the charm when he wants to. Before we left he had her half-convinced he had changed, and now Rufra starts again with his suggestions.”
“You can fend those off though. You have done so before.”
“Yes, but I am not sure he trusts me any more, Girton.” He seemed to shrink a little.
“Of course he does.”
“Really? Since he heard of those blessed deserting him for some mystery contender, well, he has not looked straight at me since.”
“He would never think that you …”
“If he would never think that, then why is he sending you with me to talk to Suvander? I am hardly in danger there with Ceadoc’s truce in place.”
“In my experience the truce seems meaningless. Maybe that is why he sends me with you?”
“Maybe,” he said. When we reached the next door he drove a huge hand into it, sending it crashing against the stone frame. It was so unexpected it made me jump and even the faces of the dead gods carved into the frame looked surprised. “I think it is this place, Girton, Ceadoc, that puts me on edge, pits us against each other. I cannot understand why Rufra wants it. Can you imagine having to live here? It is an invitation to madness.” He rubbed his hand where it had smacked against the door.
“I think he hopes to change it, from the inside. To cleanse the place.”
“It cannot be cleansed, Girton.” He shivered and it was strange to see him so serious. “Can’t you feel it? The castle is soaked in blood and nothing good can happen here. It will bring us only misery if we stay.”
“Rufra will—”
“He is only a man, Girton. This castle, it is ancient. It has stood against everything and it has only ever grown. It was a mistake coming here.” He opened another door and led us out to the courtyard of the Sly Tower.
The Sly Tower was one of the newer parts of Ceadoc, though it was still old enough that no one could remember who had built it, or how. It was named the Sly Tower because it leaned, alarmingly, to the left. Giant cracks ran up the four storeys of the building but they were plainly very old: there were no signs of rubble around the base and sparse and sickly looking trees grew from them. The Sly Tower was famous and there were many thoughts on what had caused the building to lean—siege machinery; poor building—but when I looked at it I found it hard to see anything but the image of one of the dead g
ods: maybe tired and wounded from battle, taking a moment to rest against the stonework and bending it under their weight.
Suvander’s guards stood around the entrance to the tower. They were dressed smartly enough, their shields painted with a white circle that Rufra’s uncle had adopted rather than keep the flying lizard and be associated with his nephew. But there was something in them that put me on edge. They had the faces of men and women starved of water, skin drawn too tight over their bones, which made them look mean and pinch-faced.
“What do you want?” The man who shouted as he came over must have been a captain. His armour was decorated with a white circle made of tiny white plates on his chest enamel and his wide helmet was crested with two metal horns, a metal sun suspended between them.
“We have come to see Suvander ap Vthyr,” said Aydor with a perfect bow. He was another who could turn on the courtly manners whenever he wished. “I am Aydor ap Mennix, son of King Doran ap Mennix and Queen Adran. My companion is Girton Club-Foot, Death’s Jester and Heartblade to Rufra ap Vthyr, king of Maniyadoc and the Long Tides and nephew to Suvander ap Vthyr.”
“And?” said the man.
“It is considered proper,” said Aydor politely, “to tell us your name and introduce us to your blessed.”
“He has no interest in anything the pretender can offer.”
Aydor stared up into the sky and let out something between a growl and a sigh.
“You have not checked,” he said, “and we have walked a long way in this miserable heat and through that miserable castle. I am thirsty and I am bad-tempered because of it, Captain,” he said. “Now though the truce of Ceadoc bans outright aggression, my friend Girton,” he motioned toward me, “has found it does not ban duels. So, unless you wish me to work out my bad temper on you then,” his voice began to rise and he attracted interest from some of the other troops, “you will introduce yourself and inform your blessed we attend on him.” By the time he finished he was shouting.
The captain walked up to him. He was not as tall as Aydor but he had the hard, scarred face of a fighting man.
“You don’t scare me, fat bear,” he said. Both Suvander’s troops and the highguard stationed on the walls around the tower were watching now.
“You’re not scared?” said Aydor, suddenly conversational.
“No,” said the captain.
“So, is that a formal challenge?”
“If you wa—” Before he could finish, Aydor rammed his fist into the man’s gut, bending him double with a great “huush” of expelled air. As the man came down, Aydor brought his knee up into his face with such force it lifted him off his knees and flung him backwards so he landed on his back with his hands outstretched, his face covered in blood and quite unconscious.
“Right,” shouted Aydor. “Who’s next in command?”
Laughter greeted that, an unpleasant cynical laugh that was accompanied by a slow hand clap as Suvander ap Vthyr walked out of the shelter of the Sly Tower.
“Well done, Aydor ap Mennix, well done. Captain Havol has always been a bit disrespectful toward his betters. Maybe he will think twice before acting in such a way before the blessed now.” Suvander turned. “You and you,” he said, pointing at two of his men, “go pour water over Havol, or whatever it is you do to bring a man round.” He turned back to us and his Heartblade, Colleon, appeared behind him. “Strange: I had always expected any violence from my nephew to be at his hand.” He pointed at me. “Not the king-without-a-land’s.”
“I hate to be predictable,” said Aydor, and he rubbed his fist. “I hate punching armour too. All the little plates pinch the skin.” As he spoke, I noticed Colleon studied us intently.
“I have healer priests, if you need them,” said Suvander.
“I’ll live,” said Aydor.
“Then let us go in,” said Suvander, “as you said you were thirsty and it would be rude of me not to provide a drink.” As I walked past Colleon, he stared at me. There was something there that I did not like, it was not hatred, or any negative emotion. More interest, as if I were some exotic jewel he had heard of and longed to see, and now he had he could not take his eyes from me. I found it disconcerting. I glanced at his weapons and noticed they were subtly different to the ones I was used to seeing. He wore no scabbard, for a start, and his long blade, rather than coming to a point, ended in a blunt square tip. His short blade was the complete opposite, it was round and pointed, more of a spike than a stabsword. I wondered if the man would challenge me, but that was something I could not control so I turned from him and put him out of my mind.
The inside of the Sly Tower was easily the most comfortable of the towers I had visited. It was decked out with tapestries, and long flowing woollen blankets in many colours had been suspended from a ceiling about twice the height of me. The wool was drawn back but I saw how it could be let down again and the large space easily cut up into smaller rooms for entertaining. In the centre of the room a jester worked. He was not dancing, only doing tricks and acrobatics. He was good, if not gifted. He pretended he had not seen me enter. Maybe it helped him concentrate to pretend Death’s Jester was not in the room. Suvander sat himself in a throne and Colleon stood behind him. One of many serving children brought us chairs and we sat. Before we could speak Suvander lifted a finger to stop us.
“A moment,” he said, and I felt he enjoyed that small moment of power. “I will have food and drink brought. It would not do to appear impolite before Aydor ap Mennix.” He smiled; it was a predatory smile. “We have seen how that ends, eh?” That smile was the mirror of his brother, Neander: cold. His face was a mirror also, a mountain landscape, though he had some skin condition that caused redness and ridges of hard-looking dried skin that did not affect his brother.
“Rufra sends his apologies for not attending personally, but he did not feel you would welcome him,” said Aydor.
“He is right.” His eyes sparkled at that bit of mischief and his slaves brought us food and drink: hard bread and weak perry.
“But he has heard that you have removed your support from Marrel ap Marrel and wonders what it would take to win your support to his cause.”
“I wondered what my nephew would offer me when he heard.” He nibbled on a crust of bread.
“As high king he will be able to—”
“Such offers are meaningless, if he never becomes high king.” He glanced at us over the crust of his bread before returning to it. “What can he offer me now?”
“You are not a man to beat around the bush, it seems,” said Aydor.
“It is a stark land we live in. Everything here is precious, even time, Aydor ap Mennix.”
“Indeed.”
“So do not waste my time, or maybe Torelc will find you, eh?”
“Very well.” Aydor took a long slug of the watered-down perry and then poured himself another cup. “You should sack whoever supplied your drink,” he said. “That is only my opinion, Suvander ap Vthyr, it is not Rufra’s offer.”
“Which is?” Suvander leaned forward.
Aydor took another drink from the cup, poured more.
“I have a great thirst,” he said.
“What is the offer, ap Mennix?”
Aydor stared at him, leaning forward he gave Suvander his gap-toothed grin.
“King Rufra,” he said—Suvander’s teeth clenched at the title—“offers to renounce all claim to the ap Vthyr lands, making you the legal blessed of those lands.”
“But I already am,” he said, and leaned back.
Aydor produced a sheet of vellum and took a moment to study it.
“This is the sworn word of Cearis Vthyr, sister of yours and aunt to King Rufra ap Vthyr, and it swears Rufra ap Vthyr was the truly intended blessed of the ap Vthyr lands, as said by his grandfather and your father, Arnlath ap Vthyr.”
“A bit of writing will not get him my land,” said Suvander, though he reached for the vellum.
Aydor moved it away.
�
�I think not.”
“It is the only copy?” Suvander’s eyes sparkled again.
“The only copy I have,” said Aydor.
“I could have Colleon take it from you,” said Suvander. Behind him the dark-skinned man put his hand on the hilt of his blade. I stood. Aydor placed his hand on my leg.
“As you well know, Suvander, Festival backs Rufra,” said Aydor, despite the threat emanating from Colleon, his voice did not waver. “And if Girton and I do not return they will no longer visit your lands.” Suvander nodded, made some signal at Colleon, who removed his hand from his blade and relaxed.
“What you really propose,” said Suvander, “is that if I do not back my nephew he will use my sister’s words as an excuse to attack me.”
“Well,” said Aydor with a shrug, “I suppose that is one way of looking at it. It had not occurred to me.”
“You are a poor liar, ap Mennix.”
Aydor managed to look comically hurt.
“He called me a liar, Girton,” he said.
“But nonetheless I will think about my nephew’s offer. There is one thing, though. If I do not back him, then surely whoever becomes high king will reward my loyalty? He will not be able to move against me in that case. His famed soldiers may well be too busy.”
Aydor stood. “You should remember, Suvander, that Rufra ap Vthyr is yet to lose any battle he has chosen to fight.”
“Indeed,” said Suvander, “that is true, but then he usually has an army with him. I believe he only brought a few Riders to Ceadoc.” He stood. “Good day, Aydor ap Mennix.” Then he turned to me. “Good day, Girton Club-Foot. Look after your king.” He grinned, but there was only threat there. When we walked away from the Sly Tower, Suvander watched our every step.
“I think I handled that badly,” said Aydor. “I am no diplomat.” He looked crestfallen.