The duke studied me. “What have you in mind?”
“To wield my Power.” Not to visit my forebears, but as when I’d made Tanner and Bollert speak, or Genard dance. Perhaps I might read Hriskil’s thoughts. I knew it was possible; I’d perused the silversmith’s soul, in his interrogation. With luck, the Still might counter Hriskil’s Rood. Reluctantly, I told Tantroth my design. He nodded assent to my plan.
I settled in the back of a cart, my feet jangling, to ride to the battlements. On Ebon I’d have made a more noble figure, but doubted I had the strength to mount.
Elryc and Genard trudged alongside the cart. The dusty road seethed with men. Ahead, the battlement was crowded with defenders. Pardos spurred ahead to find me safe vantage. I didn’t tell him it would be no use; if I were to help at all I must see. To pass the time I said, “Where’s Danzik?”
Elryc said mildly, “Chained to his wagon.”
“I gave orders he was to be treated—”
“By your order he’s alive. The men don’t like it.”
“He’s not responsible for Hriskil’s savagery.”
Elryc’s look was quizzical. “How do you know?”
Our driver tugged at his reins; we were beneath the wall. I eased myself from the cart. “Pardos, a hand up the stair.”
“But—” My bodyguard looked about helplessly.
“Now there, it’s all right. See your Lord Tantroth? He has a special task, and I must help, or he’ll ... give me a shoulder, I seem to be ... winded.” It was more man that. I was sweating, and the bright clear day pulsed red.
On the hill our bowmen awaited their grim work. The Norland army had begun its plodding march across the field. Pikemen streamed around the vile wagon, half buried in a pile of corpses. I was appalled; even now, in midst of battle, guards hauled a bound and kicking figure onto the wagon’s bed.
Tursel stalked across the deck. “It won’t work, Roddy. Groenfil agrees. Call it off.”
I smiled tightly. “It’s the Rood.”
“It’s not the imp-cursed Rood! Had you a modicum of sense you’d—”
“Genard, the ewer.” I reached for it, hissed as a lance seemed to pierce my shoulder. “Set the bowl on that flat stone, pour the stillsilver for me, there’s a good lad.” I peered through an arrow slit.
Wheeled towers lurched across the field. Sweating men hauled catapults into place, midway on the field. A long shot for our bowmen, even from the hill. But a long shot for the catapults too.
“Tursel, is Tantroth ready?”
“I suppose, but—”
“Don’t suppose. Look, and tell me.” My legs quivered. “Genard, a barrel for me to sit. Be quick.”
“Aye, m’lor’. Then I’ll take Elryc to the mill.”
I nodded. It ought be safe there.
With a sigh of relief I eased myself onto Genard’s barrel. “Now ...” I flexed my fingers, extended my palms, closed my eyes.
Tursel growled, “Tantroth’s ready, but Azar wants him behind the line. They quarrel.”
“And the gate?” I tried to think through fog. The captain’s tone irritated me beyond bearing.
“The barricade is cleared as you ordered. The gate hangs shut of itself, without a bar. A breath of wind will swing it open, and if so, Norlanders will pour through and we’ll be lost. Are you satisfied?”
It was the Rood. I bent to my task.
“Hold that shield so. Cover the arrow slit.” Pardos, to his men.
I opened my eyes. “Be quiet. And let me see.”
“A stray arrow and you’ll never see aga—”
“Be silent! I wield the Still of Caledon!”
Mercifully Pardos complied.
Again I extended my palms over the bowl. Even bent forward at the waist, it strained my shoulder beyond abiding. Muttering ugly words, I slipped off the barrel. “Pardos, move it close. Like so.”
Once more I settled myself. My hands closer to my stomach, my shoulder didn’t throb as much. Of their own volition my palms shielded the bowl. I squeezed shut my eyes. My lips moved.
The cave was empty. Perplexed, I looked about for a sign. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
On the wall beside me, a tremendous crash. Debris scraped my cheek. A catapult had found home. Through closed eyelids I watched stolid Norland hordes striding ever closer. At the same time, I saw the gray dusty walls of the cave.
A hooded cobra slithered across the floor with surprising speed. Spellbound, I watched it until an instant before my life was forfeit. I leaped aside just as it struck.
Hissss! It raised its head, stared through me with black unblinking eyes.
I licked dry lips as the viper whipped across the rock. I backed away. My spine crashed into the wall behind. The snake coiled. Summoning my strength, I dropped, rolled across the floor, fetched up in a pile of sticks. The snake lashed itself after me.
The Norland host wheeled, archers and pikemen making for the hill, wagons rolling to our battlement.
“Get thee gone!”
The cobra paid no heed. I snatched up a stick, threw it at the snake’s eyes. Its flattened head weaved, avoiding my missile.
A heavy hardwood log awaited the fire. With effort I raised it high, hurled it.
The cobra slithered aside. As the threat passed, it came for me, tongue flicking. I snatched up another stick, this one forked. We circled the firepit, seeking advantage.
Arrows flicked from the parapet’s arrow slit.
The snake struck. With my stick I fended it off. It coiled and struck again. I rammed the stick down, caught its head between the forks. The viper thrashed free.
The Norland towers rumbled near.
My eyes were glued shut. “Say to Tantroth, the time is now. I contend with Hriskil.” Again we circled, wary. I jabbed the forked stick. “Do you hear? Tursel! Pardos!”
“The signal is given, my lord.”
With two minds, I watched the snake and the field. Tantroth, a goodly number of paces behind the wall, set his lance. He raised his hand. A moment, and it shot down.
Four abreast, lances set, the cavalry of Eiber galloped past the Mill Road toward our closed gate.
The snake struck. Its fangs caught the shin of my boot. The leather tore.
Tantroth, Azar, Sandin lashed their mounts.
I caught the snake, but too far from the head. It twisted, lunged, broke free.
At the last possible moment our guards threw open the gates.
Tantroth’s horsemen charged onto the field. Lances set, they thundered toward the Norland line.
The cobra threw itself across the firepit. Its tail lashed my calf. I staggered, threw up my staff just in time to deflect the snake’s aim. I smashed the snake in mid-body. It rolled aside.
Wield the Rood, Hriskil. Take your attention from me. Just for a moment.
The Norland pikemen wheeled, to present their front to Tantroth’s charge. His massed horse tore through their line. He waved a signal; his men regathered and charged across the field.
As if desperate, the cobra flipped about, coiled itself, lunged.
“Aiye!” Fangs brushed my cheek. I backed toward the wall. The snake sought advantage.
Hriskil’s men rushed our wall.
Tantroth reached the first of the siege towers. He dug at foemen with his lance, while Azar and his men slung ropes. They spurred. The tower crashed. On to another, while squads of horsemen elsewhere did the same. One by one the towers toppled.
A few of our riders carried torches. They worked their way to the fallen towers.
On the wall, shouts, cries of pain. Clanking steel. The thunk of arrows.
The cobra coiled itself, weaving. Panting, sweating, I followed its head. Its motion never ceased.
Tantroth, back to the gate. I couldn’t hold much longer.
Lances extended, our Eiber cavalry charged the Norland catapults. Hriskil’s soldiers broke and ran. Tantroth threw aside his lance, drew his sword. His men followed suit. A slash; a fo
eman rolled headless across the field.
The duke shouted something I couldn’t hear. A dozen of his horsemen gathered, charged across the field, farther and farther from the safety of our wall. Others raced after.
The viper struck. In the very nick of time I wrenched the staff in front of my eyes. The hooded head smashed it into my face. Blinded, dazed, I fell back.
Tantroth reached the wagon of corpses. His cavalry surrounded it. They pulled it onto its side. Two torches flew through the air, three, four. The hated cart began to blaze.
My fingers twitched over the bowl. Tantroth of Eiber, I summon thee!
He jerked, stared at the battlement.
Get thee to the gate.
The snake lunged. I stumbled, rolled slowly to the wall.
Tantroth shook himself, as if to wake. He shouted, and his men began to gather. Once more they raced across the field, this time toward our battlement.
I tore my thoughts back to the cave.
For eons the cobra and I feinted and parried. Twice I caught him with the fork. At last he, too, seemed to be tiring.
The fork of my stick splintered. I wielded it as a club to smash the cobra’s spine. It evaded my hammer blows.
“Rodrigo.”
Not now. The viper coiled. It lunged, but without the blinding speed of before.
“King!” Fingers grasped my forearm.
Get thee gone! Without hands, I thrust away the intrusion, protected my bowl.
A yelp. “Roddy, please!” Elryc. “Open your eyes. It’s done.”
Stalking, I bared my teeth at the snake. It hissed. It launched itself into its rolling gait, but toward the mouth of the cave. I darted to intercept it.
“My lord!”
The voice distracted me a crucial instant. The snake slithered outside, into dark.
Fingers pried at mine. Wearily, I unlocked my grip on the bowl and opened my eyes. Deep red marks scored my palms where they’d pressed into the rounded edge. Bright lances of pain gouged my shoulder.
“What ...” I cleared my throat, tried anew. “Why’d you summon me?”
“My lord King.” Groenfil. His tone was ... odd. “Sire, look upon the field. If it please you.”
I raised my head, peered through the arrowguard.
Wooden towers blazed in the dry grass. Smashed catapults burned. In the distance, Hriskil’s men were melting into the wood.
“It’s done, sire. We won.”
“Did we?” I tried to lift myself, failed. It brought a stab of pain. I looked down at my crimson bandage. “I’m ... torn.” With each moment, the hurt grew. “Water.”
Someone brought a skin. I couldn’t hold it to my mouth; my chest and shoulder blazed. They squeezed it while I gulped cool liquid. “Elryc?”
“I’m here.” He pressed through the throng.
“Best get me to my bed.”
“Yes, Roddy.”
Solicitous and awed, they helped me down the stair. I teetered at the edge of a deep black well. “Lie me down.” They did, in the cart.
Eons later, we were at my tent.
“Let me.” Groenfil’s voice was gruff. He and Tantroth carried me within, laid me gently on my bed. “You need be re-sewn.”
Salt tears leaked from the edge of my eyes. “Don’t tell them, I beg you.”
“What?”
“That I’m a coward.”
Groenfil closed my hand, lifted it gently, pressed his lips to it. “My liege.”
The surgeon did his grisly work, and left me clutching a soft cushion to allay my misery. Sleep was beyond me; I drank icy spring water—my thirst was insatiable—and called for Danzik.
They brought him in chains. Scratching his beard, he studied me from beneath bushy eyebrows. “You die soon.” Satisfaction in his tone. My bodyguards knew none of the Norland tongue, else they’d garotte him on the spot.
I forced my thoughts into Norlandic. “That pleases you?”
A grin. “Quix iot.” Perhaps a little. Always, we came back to the phrase. He rattled his chains. “Pir?” Why?
“They blame you.” I sought words I didn’t have. “The wagon. The Eiberians.”
He shrugged his indifference. “War.”
“Was it,” I asked casually, “your idea?”
“Hriskil. Done it before. Always drives from city.”
I stirred and immediately regretted it. My forehead grew clammy. “Why do you return?” That wasn’t quite right, but ...
He scowled. “Vade.” Oath, or soul. To them, it was the same word. “Not right Hriskil be angry. Said not right I give oath. No ransom ever. I die in Caled camp, he not weep.”
I coughed, and the world went red. “You’d better go.” After they led him out, I recalled I ought do something about his chains, but it seemed too much trouble.
A loud voice. “How is he?” Anavar.
“Sleeping.” My brother’s voice dripped scorn. “You’re drunk.”
They regarded each other warily. Ignored, I watched through half-closed eyes.
“Yes, what of it?” Anavar sat, or fell, on the trunk.
“Hear you!” Elryc grasped the Eiberian’s crumpled tunic, held it tight. “You owe Roddy your very life! Was Tursel not about to slit your throat when he intervened?”
“Yes, but—”
“And Roddy raised you from servant to baron?”
No reply.
“He gave you honorable refuge from his enemy Tantroth. Yet now not once, twice, you vexed the duke. He needs not much provocation to be gone, and then where’s Roddy’s cause?”
“I—I didn’t mean ...”
“You snarl at a lord, an elder, ally of your guardian and liege? And when rebuked, you guzzle wine while he saves Caledon!”
A long silence. Then, “Urk.” Anavar bolted to the flap. Outside, the sound of retching. In a while he returned, wiping his mouth. Shakily, he sat on the trunk. “You’re unjust. I set aside my grievances, come to inquire—”
“What grievances?”
“Before the whole camp, he kicked me into the dirt. And in view of Tantroth of Eiber he humiliated—”
“You can’t hope to replace Rustin in his heart, unless—”
“I don’t! I won’t be his bed-friend!”
“I never supposed that. Besides, he’s grown beyond that.”
A long silence. At last Anavar said, “Unless what?”
Elryc glanced at the bed, lowered his voice. “Think you he didn’t wound Rustin to the heart? Rustin had the grace to forgive, over and again. Have you that?”
Anavar’s gaze fell. “I would.”
“As he forgives you?”
“How has he—”
“Your days in the alehouse ... did he summon you?”
“No.”
“Send a squad of guards to haul you home? Reduce the stipend you toss to the winesellers?”
“No!” Anavar’s voice was subdued. “I beg you, enough!” He slipped from the tent.
Elryc sat on the trunk, staring at the carpet. After a moment, he said to no one in particular, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
I opened my eyes fully. “How could I not?”
“It’s all true.”
I said carefully, “The part about Rustin ...”
“Anavar so envies your love. Did you not know?”
I turned my head to the tent. The answer shamed me.
Twenty-one
“GENARD, I WOULD GO outdoors.”
“Aye, m’lor’.” He helped me to my feet, wrinkling his nose; I realized I smelled foul. Rustin would be most annoyed. “Afterwards, a basin of water.”
In the distance, a commotion. If it was Hriskil, he was welcome to the camp. To Caledon.
I sat sweating.
“Is he up?” Tursel. “Ahh. Sire, you ought to come see ...” His glance appraised me, a horse at market. “Stay, I’ll bring them. Boy! This way!”
My guards surrounded a ragged peasant lad, Bollert’s age, or my own. He wore a soil
ed gray blouse, as churls might don for market. He led a brown stallion, too fine to be his. The horse had a rider, slumped over the pommel, an arrow protruding from his ribs. Blood had soaked through his jerkin, his leggings, the stallion’s flank.
“Well?” I couldn’t keep impatience from my tone.
“He killed—”
“Did not!” The boy’s voice was shrill. To me, “Fulmon tol’ me to find king, in Pezar. Would give me coin.” He shot a look of indignation at his captors. “I wanted take him to ritemaster. He said he’d seek healer in Pezar.”
Too late. No healer could follow where Fulmon had gone.
I said wearily, “What was his hurry?”
“This, m’lor’.” The boy reached into the saddlebag. My guards tensed, but he only brought out a cloth, wrapped around a parchment. “Fulmon rides for Cumber. Letters an’ orders an’ such. Been passin’ our cottage now an’ again since I was a boy. When he stopped, thought he wanted water. Never thought he’d ask help. Didn’t see arrow.”
Tursel growled, “More likely this churl killed the courier.”
“Why I come here then? For coin? When I had his stallion an’ saddle an’ good boots? Coin in pocket too, prolly.” His look added, more than I’m likely to get here.
I asked, “What’s in the letter?”
“Dunno.” Which meant he couldn’t read.
“Give it here. Who shot Fulmon?”
“Dunno. Was leaning over saddle when he came to cottage. Wasn’t bleeding much, said he could make Pezar if I led horse.”
The seal looked intact. I broke it. My heart gave a thump.
“To my dearest Rodrigo, king, from Tresa of Cumber, greetings. I’ve no time to dally. I leave within the hour for Certha.”
I looked up. “Where’s Certha?”
Tursel said, “Three hours ride from Cumber. A village in the hills.”
“Why would she—” I compressed my lips.
“I’ve decided to visit my old nurse who lives there; it’s been years since I’ve seen her. A pity I’ll miss the festivities; I just learned Duke Margenthar arrives this afternoon, to confer with my uncle Bouris. He’ll arrive before dark. Bouris is quite busy readying a feast, so I won’t bother him with news of my journey, but I wanted you to know.
“I’ve no time for more. I pray this finds you in good health. Fulmon, who brings this, is an old friend. Don’t hesitate to ask what you would know. I am, as always, your ally and servant Tresa of Cumber.”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 29