The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  “No charge may be brought until the justiciar—”

  I said smoothly, “Unless the offense is committed in the king’s own presence. Groenfil, will you take him or no?” Quickly, please, before my bluff wears thin.

  With surprising calm, Bouris unsheathed his blade.

  “I’m sorry, Rodrigo.” Groenfil dropped his voice as if to confer with Bouris. “My lord ...” He leaned close, suddenly clubbed the earl across the temple with his mailed fist. Bouris reeled. Groenfil pried loose his dagger, held it to Cumber’s throat. “Tursel, your three best men, and be quick.”

  Tursel ran from the room.

  “Rodrigo, have you lost your—”

  “Not now, Larissa.” Groenfil.

  “But he ...” The lady shook her head. “And you ...”

  “May I have him, Roddy?” Tantroth’s voice was a purr. “We have unfinished business. Last year, on the border—”

  “I COMMAND ALL HERE BE SILENT!”

  Though once or twice Bouris groaned, I didn’t fault him for it.

  After a time Tursel threw open the door, ushered in three nervous aides. They seized Bouris of Cumber. Groenfil distanced his blade from the earl’s throat.

  I asked Tursel, “Can they be trusted?”

  “As myself.”

  It would do. “To the captain’s chamber, in the guardhouse under the wall. Guard him well. Not you, Tursel.”

  In uneasy silence, we all took our seats. Tursel said, “I will not serve him. If that be treason, call me traitor.”

  “I call you friend. And release you from his service. As king I have that authority, do I not, Tantroth? My lady?”

  He grunted assent; she merely shrugged.

  In my chamber with Anavar and my brother, I unbound my arm and carefully flexed my shoulder; my wound knitted well. On the morrow, I’d need at most a sling.

  Moodily, Elryc rested his chin in his hands. “What about Bouris?”

  “I can’t leave him; confederates will free him the very day.”

  “I meant, Roddy, what was his design?”

  “I’m not sure.” Whatever obscure path Bouris trod, I could rely on him for nothing, and would be well quit of his domain.

  “At first I thought he meant to separate you from your lords, mocking your empty coffers. But he promptly piqued the lot of them.”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps with his scorn Bouris sought to ally Tantroth.”

  Anavar giggled. “Pardon, my lord, but all men of Caledon insist on seeing wheels within wheels. What if there are none? What if Bouris says what his mind holds and simply lacks guile?”

  Elryc and I exchanged glances.

  “No.”

  “Impossible.” I elaborated, “It’s not our way. Surely he learned something, if not from his father, Raeth, then visiting his cousins. Among nobles, everything said has motive beyond.”

  “Everything?”

  I waved it away. “Unless he’s an utter simpleton.”

  I wandered through the mud to the grave marker in the courtyard.

  So, Rust ... I botched our campaign, and now we flee. Is this our last farewell?

  As ever, silence.

  Do you recall the day our fresh-set standard snapped in the stiff breeze, as hopeful churls and yeomen gathered to our cause? “Travail and blood lie ahead,” you admonished. But not yours, Rust; gladly I’d have spurned Caledon to save that!

  You see how I’ve tried to act the man? I even practice kindness, now and again. Genard no longer flees my company; Tantroth addresses me with as much respect as he’s able. And Groenfil ... he’s not father, nor elder brother. Yet he takes on the role because I need it. And my heart breaks. I need you.

  A clatter of horses, as Kadar’s squadron returned from the inn, Tresa riding openly among them. Wearily, I rose.

  Fare thee well, Rustin of the Keep.

  I strode back to Ebon.

  I had time for but a brief nod to Tresa—“Good-day, my lady,”—before I was caught up in the chaos of departure.

  At last, I ordered Bouris released from the stronghold and set on a mount, then took my place in our bedraggled column. Danzik spurred his undersized gelding to ride nearby. “Vade,” he growled, his disgust evident.

  “Hold, Guiat.” As we set off, I beckoned him closer. “Pardos, take ease, we practice our honor. Danzik—” I switched to his tongue. “I would give you a task.”

  He studied my expression. “I cannot aid you against Hriskil. Surely even a Caled knows that vade.”

  “It won’t hurt Hriskil. Not even iot.” My fingers made the sign for a merest trifle.

  “What, then?”

  I jerked my finger at Bouris, who rode sullenly two rows behind. “Look: three men, watching lest he ... desera.” Escape.

  Danzik craned, swiveled back to me. His eyes widened. “You want me guard a Caled lord?”

  “It would amuse you. He has nothing to do with Hriskil,” I added, hoping it was true.

  “If he ...” Danzik pantomimed running away and taught me new words.

  “Stop him. Don’t kill him.”

  “Hurt?” Danzik looked hopeful.

  “If there’s no other way.”

  After a moment, “Qay.”

  I dismissed the guards, translated my orders that Bouris understand. Cumber stiffened in outrage, but said nothing. Danzik dropped back to ride at his side. Legs dangling under his steed, the Norlander dwarfed the sullen earl.

  Tresa shot me a disbelieving glance. “You what?”

  “Arrested his person. He rides back there, with Danzik.”

  A long silence. “I wish you had not.”

  I asked, “Why?”

  “Who’d defend Cumber better than he who holds it?”

  “Tursel appointed—”

  “Yes, my lord. But Bouris had a powerful self-interest.”

  I grunted. Perhaps, but he might have protected his self-interest by a covenant with Hriskil.

  “Roddy, where do we ride?”

  “To Groenfil, and thence to Stryx.” We hoped to draw Hriskil’s force past Cumber and play catch-my-lady in the hills, until the moment was right for battle. I smiled, glad Tresa’s palfrey was to my right, where she had no view of my scar. “Without knowing our destination, you cast your lot with ours?”

  “Yes.” Her tone was placid. Then, “I’d not endure siege by Hriskil.”

  “You may see worse.”

  “I’ll see you.” Her tone was light.

  What a site for the words my lips formed. In a column slogging through drying mud, Danzik the Norlander and Bouris the imprisoned earl behind me, Anavar and Tursel in the row ahead. A mild wind blowing my hair awry, sweat drenching my flanks at the audacity I measured. But I’d stumbled once before and meant now to have it out.

  “Tresa?” I licked my lips. “Would you consider—I mean, I’ve nothing to offer—you’ve more estate than I at the moment ... but after things are settled ...” Desperately, I tried to pull myself together. “Consider bec—coming my—” Violently, I cleared my throat. “I—I want—I mean, love ... oh, Tresa, help me, I can’t do this alone!”

  “Do what, Roddy? Rule?”

  “Put two words together! Surely you know what words I seek!”

  Quizzically, she rubbed a finger against her lips. “ ‘Marry me’?”

  “Yes! Will you?”

  “I might, if you ask.”

  My cheeks were crimson. “I just did!”

  “Hardly, sire.” Her gaze was straight before her, as if not daring to ascertain the effect of her obstinacy.

  Well, marriage would hold worse. I gritted my teeth. “Tresa of Cumber, I ask—ask—” I bowed my head, concentrated on the pommel. “Not now. I must hold myself for the Still. After, though, I ask thy hand in marriage.” My palm shot up. “Wait, not yet. I’ll do my best to love you, through what life will bring. You’ll teach me, along with ... the other.” Earth, swallow me up. I thought I’d known humiliation before, but I had not, until this mome
nt. “And I swear, I’ll have done with this awful scar that disgusts you. You won’t have to look upon it.”

  Her voice was gentle. “How might you do that, Roddy?”

  “A Return. Somehow I’ll gather the funds. The Warthen of the Sands, his Power ... I’ll have Return to the cell in Verein, I’ll avoid Uncle Mar’s dagger ...” In this moment, a man ought not to sound desperate. “I promise you, it will be gone, or we won’t marry. If you say aye.”

  Ebon plodded along, a step, perhaps as many as two. I could stand it no longer. “Well?”

  “Aye.”

  Ahead, Anavar dug his heels into Edmund’s flanks. “Elryc! Lord Elryc.” Whipping Edmund’s flank he raced down the road, his voice fading. “He did it!”

  When I got my hands on him, I’d thrash him within an inch of his life. He’d rue the day he met me, the day he spied on—

  Tresa’s fingers hid a smile that her eyes betrayed.

  Hmpff. Anavar would never know the agent of his pardon.

  Tresa looked reflective. “And we’ll need consent, of course.”

  Lord of Nature. Bouris would never ...

  “From the king.”

  “I’ll ask, the moment—arggh! See, my lady, what you do to me?”

  Weary days, upon the road. The Norlanders surrounded Cumber, but did not take it. On the battlements, Cumber’s loyal guard braced for assault that was mysteriously delayed.

  Nor did Hriskil race after us, which troubled me night after night in my frayed and borrowed tent; I knew Caledon was not his while my army survived. Why, then, did he tarry? Even now, we rallied yeomen from the villages and fields, and melded them into our impoverished ranks. I did my part, donning royal cloak and coronet, planting standard in earth while Groenfil, Tantroth, even Anavar gave the call.

  Lady Soushire looked to her comfort but otherwise said little. With ease, she turned aside my probes. Groenfil conferred with her by night, but I knew better than to ask the subject of their discourse.

  The further from Eiber, the moodier grew Tantroth, and the more perfunctory his courtesy. I assured him we’d strike north as soon as our strength allowed, but my assurances fell on deaf ears.

  At last we reached Groenfil’s lands, and the refuge of his keep. He introduced me to his sons Franca and Horst, who held the castle in his absence. Each was the image of his father, down to the dour expression he habitually wore. I was glad of his warm smile on greeting them, that melted the chill from their gaze.

  After a day and a night a full thousand adherents augmented our force.

  We rejoiced with a banquet of roast boar. We were still at table when word came that Cumber had fallen. Perhaps Hriskil had set the Rood on the defenders, and they’d quarreled.

  Tursel woke me while the moon rode high to tell me Hriskil’s army was again on the march. They pursued us to Groenfil’s domain. I considered battle, but why risk dashing my resupplied force against a Norland rock? Stryx awaited us, and reinforcements.

  Before dawn, I paced Groenfil’s courtyard while we made ready for a dash to Stryx. At first light we were off. In our march, untrained recruits replaced many of the grizzled veterans, who deserved rest, and were assigned to Groenfil’s battlements. Groenfil himself looked tired; he’d conferred most of the night with his sons.

  Through hills and vales we would pick our way to the seacoast. We’d long since smashed the Norland forces around Stryx, but Tursel’s wary scouts ranged far ahead, probing for foes.

  Behind us, a commotion. A clatter of hooves. Anavar whirled, drawing sword, but it was only Danzik, galloping away along an overgrown trail. I muttered silent curses. Let him go; honor had held him longer than I’d expected. But a quarter hour later, he was back, leading an empty-saddled horse, a bundle across his pommel. He maneuvered his overworked mount into line, threw the bundle at my feet with a thud.

  It was Bouris, his face bloody. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Ran. To piss, he said. No vade, your Caleds.”

  “Get him mounted.”

  “Wake him first.” Danzik unknotted his waterskin. “An’ need bigger horse. Can’t perse lordling on ... on pony.” He regarded his undersized mount with disgust.

  “Pardos, arrange it at next rest.”

  My bodyguard grunted. “What faithful stalwart shall I unhorse for your ... Norland friend?”

  “Come now, Pardos. We find our friends where we may.” Though I sounded lighthearted, I fretted. When Danzik’s true allegiance burst forth, what harm would it occasion?

  That night we camped in an overgrown field. Tresa dined with Lady Soushire. Weary of Anavar, disconsolate at the thought of my cramped quarters, I sought out Danzik at a campfire. “How does Hriskil sleep, Guiat? Tell me of his tent.”

  He studied me, apparently deciding the information had no military value. “Grand.” Widespread arms emphasized the term. “Rope bed, silver-top table. Much ... preci than yours.”

  Fancier? I filed the word with so many others.

  “You only ... youngsire.” Danzik used the Caled word. “He king of all Norland. Need preci tent.” Then, slyly. “King of Norland, Eiber, Caledon.”

  “Not Caledon. Quix pron,” I added wearily. Perhaps soon.

  “Pron,” he agreed. “Come.” He patted a log across from where he sat. “I teach you Norland words to ask Hriskil for your life.”

  “Don’t be hateful.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Rez, soon this—” His wave encompassed the fire, the camp, the army. “—must end. You valous, brave. It not enough.” Oddly, his voice held a note of ... solace? Regret?

  “I’ll not beg Hriskil for life.”

  “No, kings are proud.” A sigh. “We’ll talk of happy things. Farang. Means ...” He made an obscene gesture.

  “I know farang. Farang vos mata.”

  “Ru vos.” And yours. “Corti. That means, when you make a girl put ...”

  An hour later I freed myself, to toss restlessly the night.

  Twenty-five

  PAST HAMLETS AND FIELDS I knew of old, we made our way toward the coast road. A summer past, my fledgling force had charged through the crossroads Danzik guarded, to seize Stryx. Danzik too must have recognized our environs, but no flicker of expression betrayed his emotions.

  When I granted audience, Bouris hotly protested his mistreatment and demanded I release him.

  “Where would you go, my lord Earl, now Cumber is fallen?”

  “Is that the king’s affair?”

  Perhaps not. I shrugged. “Be patient; at Stryx you’ll answer to charges.”

  “That I was rude? Fan! You know you can’t hold me for—”

  “I fought Margenthar to escape Pezar. Why were your troops with his?”

  Bouris raised his hands, as if in amazement. “Troops? A mere escort, to see he departed Cumber as he warranted.”

  “They aided an enemy of—”

  “I assert Margenthar rode to aid you.”

  “Nonsense. I had to batter my way through—”

  His jaw jutted. “Did you parley? Did you ask Mar’s intent?”

  “Oh, please.” I waved him silent.

  I’d have said more, but at that a rider stormed up the road. His mount foamed. He burst through our advance guard, slowed only when he was in the midst of our column. “Where’s the captain? Who speaks for the king?”

  Tursel held up a hand.

  The rider cantered over, pulled up short. “Are you Tursel? Good. Is the king at hand?” His eyes fell on my scar, looked away. “Sire. Tidings ...” Abruptly, for all his hurry, he seemed reluctant. “Stryx ... the harbor ... Norlanders ...”

  “Say your piece.” Under the circumstances, my tone was remarkably cool.

  “Stryx is fallen! The harbor’s black with Norland ships. Already they land men, horses, supplies. At noon Willem sent word down to the Keep that I should ride; I had to detour through the fields, they swarm the coast road, I can’t return ...” His mouth worked. “The castle holds. Willem says: ‘tell
Rodrigo I’ll do my best.’ But, sire, he hasn’t the men. The Keep is bare guarded, and—”

  “I know.” Were Caledon united, still we’d be hard pressed. As it was, we lacked men, provender, time. Willem was a sturdy soul, but no warrior.

  “So many ships, sire! We’re undone.”

  A calamity, but surely magnified; the fellow’s report was so disjointed, Lord of Nature knew the actual circumstance. “Tursel, we’re, what, an hour from the hill that views the harbor? Gather a squad; we’ll assess what we may.”

  “I’ll send scouts, but it’s too dangerous for you. They may already be—”

  I said, “Leading their protesting horses down gangways, assembling their squads, preparing to dig in. We won’t meet them in the hills, not yet. You know this, Tursel.”

  He sighed. “The high hill, no further. Pardos, you’ll ride with us?”

  My bodyguard turned in the saddle. “Kadar, guard Prince Elryc. Keep special eye on that Norlander whom Rodrigo calls friend.”

  Danzik, friend? Ridiculous; I’d never called him such. Gingerly, I tasted the thought. Perhaps it had become nearly so.

  Our scouting squadron had grown; now it might almost be called a war party. Groenfil and Tantroth had joined, with officers and cavalry escort. My guard, and Tursel. And Anavar. He’d shown such dismay when I bade him stay with the column that I relented, and Edmund galloped at Ebon’s side. He—Anavar, not Edmund—had thanked me over and again for my consent, with the deference due from youngsire to elder.

  “A Norland raiding party,” I told him, hoping to convince myself, as we left the road to lead our horses up the steep hill. “They’ll torch the town and be gone.”

  “Hriskil’s main force is in the hills,” Anavar agreed. “He can’t twin himself.”

  But from the hilltop, we stared aghast.

  Stryx harbor swarmed with sails. From our vantage the coast road was obscured, but laden ships sat in the harbor not far from shore; obviously they awaited their turn to disgorge cargoes of men and material.

  In the distant haze rose the battlements of Castle Stryx. Below it, woodlands blocked our view of the Keep, but no curl of smoke rose from castle or town. The Norlanders had come to occupy, not destroy.

  I said hopefully, “Could we beat them back?”