The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  With a look akin to awe, he followed.

  Desperately I plunged past Tresa, past Anavar and Bollert, to the head of our line. The road had narrowed, and a cart was caught in mire. I halted a column of Soushire’s troops, bade them push their wagon past the ruts, set Kadar as watchman to hurry us through the defile.

  A twist of the reins, a gouge of unoffending flanks. “Go, boy.” Dutifully, Ebon surged through the gap.

  A branch leaned ever lower over the road.

  Haul on it ’til it breaks, drag it free. Climb onto your patient mount.

  “Tursel.” I caught at his arm, in passing. “Where might we turn and face the Norlanders?”

  “They’re as many as in the meadow. More, now.”

  “We can’t run before them long. Else the men. ...”

  He nodded. Despite our forced cheer, they’d soon give way in their panic, and they’d cast aside arms, shields and life in desperate, bloody fear. “There’s no good place, Roddy. But no widening where Hriskil might spread his men before us.”

  “The clearing where we camped?”

  “Aye, there’s that.” Tursel’s mouth tightened. “I’ll send men ahead to throw up a defense. Raeth needs relief.”

  “Good. I’ll hold us in order.”

  “Groenfil is ...” He shook his head. “If he’d help ...”

  “Cajole him, promise, implore. Get him to the clearing. It’s far enough away that perhaps the Rood would wane.” I raised myself in my saddle, peered past archers clustered around an arms-wagon. A company in black, marching with their horsemen. “I’ll have word with Tantroth.”

  “My lord, you do yourself proud this day.”

  “You too, Tursel?” We had woes enough without his sarcasm. “I ran from battle, but it was one we couldn’t win.”

  “The meadow was a disaster. I speak of now. You ride among the men and rally them with your calm. Would that Lord Rustin could see you.”

  I searched his eyes, found only approval. I swallowed a lump. “Thank you.” I wheeled off, toward our rear.

  Frantic men in a shoving match over a cart, taut fingers drawing to hilts of swords. “Easy, lads.” A smile, forced from calm I knew not I had. “We’ll work together and be all right. Pezar’s just ahead.” Not so, we’d camped a night on our journey westward. But it wouldn’t be all that far, once we were free of the Norlanders. And I doubted we’d find rest before the town.

  After the road was cleared, I brooded in the saddle, while weary men tromped past. Kadar, dusty and damp, found me by the side of the trail. “Stay with the column, my lord.”

  “I have.”

  On the road behind us, a flurry of activity. “Look, Raeth withdraws. He’ll take position by those trees, I warrant. It’s narrow enough to—come along, sire. We’re near alone.” The body of our men had passed us by.

  “I’ll speak with Uncle Raeth.” I stirred. “Fear not, if Hriskil comes close—”

  “A risk you need not take.” Kadar’s tone was reproving.

  “He’ll need relief soon. At the clearing Groenfil will cover our retreat, but ’til then ...” Cumber was old, and the tension was exhausting. “Ah, there he is.” I waved.

  In moments Uncle Raeth and I had our heads together, in the welcome shade of a grove of beeches. Cumber’s men brought arrow-filled sheaves for the archers who’d soon be among us, while Kadar glanced about nervously.

  “They press us sore, Roddy.” Raeth wiped his brow.

  “Can you hold?”

  “As long as the road’s narrow. But ...” A grimace. “In truth, if Hriskil’s willing to pay the cost, he’ll have us. A strong enough charge, and ...” A gesture, that scattered us to the winds. He beckoned to an aide. “Have Imbar send the archers.” To me, “They provide cover while the rest withdraw. Imbar will hold the line as long as he’s able. The rear guard’s rear guard, as it were.”

  I looked about. “How if we add Soushire’s men, or Tantroth’s?”

  “And put them where?” Raeth’s smile was wry. “But that’s Hriskil’s problem as well. The road’s too tight to mount a proper charge, and the woods too thick to skirt it in force.”

  I peered down the road, at Cumber’s men extricating themselves from the Norland menace, running to join us. “Is Imbar skilled enough to hold the trail?”

  “He was a soldier when we met. A boy, and handsome as ...” He sighed. “Not that you’d think it today. Bright as a new-mint pence, to boot.”

  I flushed. “I’m sorry I dislike him.”

  “He gave you cause.” Uncle’s tone was curt, but his smile was gentle. “Learn to forgive, my boy. Many’s the affront you’ll bear in this long life. Think of your kingdom and its gain, and don’t hold—”

  A whir.

  Raeth pitched to the mossy earth. A feathered shaft quivered from his breast.

  “No!” I threw myself down, to his side.

  His hand fluttered to his chest. “You’d ... best ... call Imbar.”

  “Oh, Uncle!” I swallowed. “You there, fetch Imbar, at the run. Kadar, find Tresa!”

  “I can’t leave—”

  “Do it!” I shoved him on his way.

  From Uncle’s lips, a pink froth. His mouth worked. “Sorry, my boy.” But no sound came.

  I squeezed his hand, drew it to my lips. “Don’t leave us.”

  His hand twitched, and the pressure eased. “Cumber ...” It was but the shape of words.

  “To your bloodline forever, though it cost my crown to preserve it.”

  His eyes faded to something that might have been peace. “Thank—”

  And he was gone.

  I led Ebon down the dusty road. Beside me walked Kadar, shield raised. At my left, Anavar.

  Visions of Rustin beset me.

  My cheeks were wet, and I knew not why.

  “Sir ...” Anavar’s voice was unsure.

  I shook my head.

  We trudged on.

  Tresa rode alongside the wagon that bore her grandfather.

  She’d come flying down the road, moments too late. Instead of him, she’d found me, brimming with inadequate words, useless solace. She’d thrust me aside without heed, knelt by Raeth’s still form.

  Kadar had pulled me, protesting, to safety, but not before I’d summoned me duke of Eiber and put the guarding of our trail in his hands. In the cart, stout, grizzled Baron Imbar knelt by his master, desolate.

  Perhaps Tantroth possessed some skill that Raeth had not, or perhaps the Norlanders merely tired. They fell back, leaving us the road.

  Leading Ebon, I grappled with the enormity of my loss. When I fled Uncle Mar, it was Raeth who’d taken me in, succored me, given me the troops with which to reclaim Stryx. It was he, of all the lords, who’d first believed in me. He, who’d known and loved my father, Josip.

  Where Larissa of Soushire was crude and irritable, Groenfil fierce with boorish rage, Cumber had passed his last winter in the lonely hills of Eiber, upholding my cause.

  Azar found me, striding. “Sire, Lord Tantroth prepares the next withdrawal.”

  “Be it so.”

  Tantroth, gray and gaunt, walked with his men, reins in his hand. Absently, he patted his stallion’s muzzle. “Raeth,” he said, “served you well.”

  I swung down, glad to stretch my legs. “About the field of battle ...”

  “We’d have prevailed,” he said firmly. Then, “But perhaps not.” His brow furrowed. “Orders flew and were revoked. No one knew—”

  “Just so. We’d have been annihilated.”

  “There’s always confusion in war, Rodrigo.”

  “Hriskil himself is near, with the Rood. I felt it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I shrugged. “As can be.”

  He pounded his leg. “What an opportunity! If we can lure him—”

  “Think not of battle this day. We’ll be lucky to reach the pass unscathed.”

  “Hriskil will always have the Rood, my lord. Soon or late we’ll have to f
ace him.”

  “But I have not the Still.” I’d have bitten off my tongue, not to have said it. Too late.

  If he saw opportunity to betray me, he gave no sign of it. “What befell you?”

  “I squandered it, putting Jestrel to the question.” I reddened.

  “Brave men died, that you had no Power to succor them!”

  “Who are you to—yes, my lord Duke.” Raeth was among those my folly had lost. I bowed my head. The shame would be with me long.

  Tantroth grunted. “I ought to seek advantage.”

  I shot him a curious glance.

  “I don’t have the heart for it, this day.” His eyes were tormented. “Raeth’s gone, we’re in retreat, no place to regroup short of Pezar. We came so close, Rodrigo.”

  “It’s not over.”

  “Is it not?”

  “No!” I stopped so abruptly Ebon bumped me with his muzzle. “Look to me, lord Duke!”

  Startled, he did as I commanded.

  “Doubt not, my lord.” My eyes blazed as I swung into the saddle. “This is beginning, not end!” I spurred Ebon. “Eiber shall be ours, and with it, Caledon!”

  PART TWO

  Thirteen

  WE THREADED THROUGH the passes, slowly enough to maintain good order. I sent Soushire’s yeomen ahead to augment the feeble force we’d left behind at Pezar.

  At the clearing in which we’d been beset by fire arrows; Groenfil set what barrier he might, to give us respite from the Norlanders. But we judged—Groenfil, Tursel and I—that we dared not camp there the night, lest Hriskil fall on us.

  “Sol pur sol, Hriskil modre domu Caledi,” Danzik told me with satisfaction, learning of Raeth’s death. One by one, Hriskil kills the Caled lords.

  “You’re still prisoner.” I rattled a chain that secured him to the cart. “Hriskil found you not worth saving.”

  Danzik grinned through gap teeth. Foul as his insults were, he never resented receiving one.

  After my lesson I walked with Tresa of Cumber.

  “Your men built us a casket, Roddy. With your leave, I would take Grandfather home.”

  “Of course.” As if nonchalantly, I squeezed her hand. “I’d attend the mourning at Cumber, but the army awaits.”

  Reeling from exhaustion, we plodded on toward Pezar.

  “I know.” Tresa’s glance shot to me, and away. My scar, no doubt. “I’m sorry I rebuffed you. It was—I felt—” She blinked. “He was kind to me. Always.”

  I suppressed a smile. “Except at dinner.”

  “Well, yes.” The corners of her mouth turned up. Uncle Raeth’s mealtime candor had been startling, until one got used to it. “What now, Roddy?’

  “The pass at Pezar.” We must hold it, or be destroyed.

  “And then?”

  “I can’t think past that. I’ve lost my two most trusted counselors, and dearest friends.” If I spoke of it more, I would be undone. “What of you?”

  “I’ll ready Cumber for Bouris.” Her tone was placid. Bouris, her uncle and Raeth’s son, would inherit. Perhaps he’d make place for Tresa. If not ...

  I asked, “Would you care to live at Stryx?”

  “If you’re there.”

  My heart thumped so hard I couldn’t speak.

  “I’ll send word, if I may.”

  “Do more!”

  She started, at my urgency.

  “Tresa, when you write ...” I sought refuge in the high speech. “Madam, speak thy entire heart to me, and I swear thee, I shall speak mine. It would be as if ...” I took deep breath, forced reluctant words. “As if I were not denied thy presence.” As if I were not alone.

  Perhaps she understood. “I’m ... in a daze.” Abruptly, she halted. “Thank you for all, sire. I spoke with Tursel, made sure he’ll serve you.”

  I waited.

  “Imbar will also.”

  I could only gape.

  “Nothing remains for him at Cumber, he says. Bouris loathes him.”

  “He’s soft, and no warrior. A battlefield’s no place for—”

  “Roddy.” She drew close. “If he wants a death such as Grandfather’s, would you deny him?”

  Learn to forgive, my boy. “No. Of course not.” I would need schooling. Imbar would be my guide.

  “Fare thee well.”

  Pezar without Raeth was a dismal, sorry town.

  Earl Groenfil sat with head in hands, on the three-legged stool in my tent. “I stand by my words, Rodrigo. You abandoned us.”

  Defiant, as on the road. But why did he fail to meet my eye? “You’re right.” I surprised even myself. “No doubt it seemed cowardly. But it wasn’t from fear.”

  He flushed. “I didn’t truly mean ... my temper was hot.”

  “My lord Earl.” I made my tone gentle. “I reproach you not. But consider, if you will, what drove your rage.”

  “Your act. Don’t evade the burden.” A pause. “They pressed us. I felt befogged.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I did!” He raised his eyes. “You’re saying?”

  “It was the Rood, my lord. I sensed it; perhaps the Still aided me. It drove us all mad. Our tactics were a muddle; we failed even to protect our flank. Even Uncle Raeth was snappish. And so I called off the attack; they’d baited a trap, they had the Rood, and we were driven to confusion and despair.”

  “Hriskil can do that?”

  “When he wields it. Think you the Norlanders gain all their victories by force of arms?”

  “That, and overwhelming numbers.” For a time, Groenfil brooded, while I sat in patient silence. Then, “Rodrigo, how might we best him?”

  My heart quickened. I said gravely, “We’ve no chance without your aid.”

  A grudging nod. “Deftly done, sire. Very well, I repent my hasty words. I won’t leave you.”

  “Thank you.” A short bow, to mask my relief. “We’ll not do battle until I’m prepared. I’ll ask my forebears—” I hesitated. How much of the Still’s working did he know, and what damage could I cause myself by telling him more? A deep breath. “I’ll take their counsel on how to counter him. With my Power, perhaps we’ll prevail.”

  “Roddy ...” Groenfil studied me. “If we must ride to our deaths, I want it to be in truth. If you can’t forestall the Rood, you’ll tell us, that I may save loyal men from annihilation?”

  “Yes. By the True I swear it.”

  I had changed. Nary a chill swept me, as recklessly I committed my kingdom.

  “Groenfil means it, I think.” In my secluded tent, Elryc toyed with my blanket. “I’ve the feeling he’s less devious than most.”

  “But if not ...”

  “Roddy, if any of them abandon us, we’re undone. Soushire, Tantroth, Groenfil ...”

  “I like it not.” I scratched an itch. “I need silken words that don’t suit me.”

  My brother suppressed a smile.

  I said, “Well, they don’t. Shall I pretend otherwise?”

  “No. You’re as you are.”

  I frowned, weighing if it was an insult. With a sigh, I put it aside. If I took umbrage at all who called attention to my nature, I’d have no companions. Grudgingly, I let myself smile. Laugh first at yourself, Rustin had once said. Then others won’t.

  “You’re lighthearted today.”

  “No. Tresa’s gone, Raeth is dead, and we’re thrown back to Pezar.” I grimaced.

  “You’ve reconciled with Groenfil, Larissa’s words were near civil when we broke fast, and you’re the talk of the campfires.”

  My ears perked up. “Oh?”

  “Yesterday, on the trail. I’m proud of you, Roddy.”

  Any insults were forgotten. “Why?”

  “You risked yourself among them. You worked to clear the road, carried Raeth yourself to the wagon, held your temper with Groenfil and Soushire. They’d never seen you so.”

  For a moment I let myself bask in his approval. Then, “Tursel’s scouts say Hriskil’s troops dog our steps.”


  Elryc nodded. “It’s sure they’ll seek battle. Gathered together, we might be destroyed. Else Hriskil must chase us from castle to keep.”

  I said hotly, “Would you rather we disbanded? What chance have we then to—”

  “Of course not. It’s just ... our opportunity is also his.”

  After a moment, I nodded. “Good counsel.”

  Elryc nodded, as if taking that for granted. “Roddy, when you talk to Mother, ask if Bollert’s power might be of use.”

  “Against Hriskil? Are you daft? He’s a commoner.”

  Elryc rolled his eyes. “You’re as you are, but sometimes I wish you weren’t.”

  This time, I knew it was insult.

  Two days we waited, while Hriskil assembled before us.

  Danzik was gleeful. “Soon you’ll be dust.”

  I grappled with his graceless tongue. “If you were dead, you won’t—wouldn’t see it.”

  “Oh, please, mighty king, don’t slay me!” A contemptuous laugh, that belied his words. “Think you I fear death at your hands?”

  “Why not?”

  A moment’s reflection. “My capture earned death. I’ll be lucky if Hriskil doesn’t provide it.”

  “The Eiberians think as you.” I wrinkled my nose. “Barbarians, the lot of you. You torture prisoners, fight without quarter, raze cities ...”

  “And we win.” His eyes glowed. “Truly, Rez, I’ll miss you. I’ll light candle in your memory.”

  I smiled, patted his knee. “My friend, you amuse me. Perhaps, for your sake, I’ll spare Hriskil’s life.”

  His guffaw rang through the camp.

  Tresa made safe journey home, and buried my uncle. She wrote that she chose a spot near Rustin and Pytor. I wept.

  The next day I wrote her a long missive. As always my spelling was weak, my lines muddled. I cared not.

  Rustin, what do I make of myself?

  A king.

  Why do I feel more ... gentle?

  You forgive yourself. And so you forgive others.

  Are you real? Do you truly hear me?

  Silence.

  Rust?

  Nothing.

  “What is it, my lord?” Anavar looked wary.