The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  Tongue between his lips, Anavar poured the thick stillsilver. In an instant it was still.

  “—he won’t see his men dead by Tantroth’s stupidity or Rodrigo’s!”

  I set my palms across the bowl, squeezed shut my eyes. The words of encant. My lips moved silently.

  Our pikemen strode toward the Norland host.

  Mother, will I meet you or the viper?

  The mist grew.

  I felt my way forward.

  The cave mouth loomed.

  I peered within. The cobra struck. Fangs gashed my forehead. Venom burned. I reeled.

  “Imps and demons, Groenfil won’t watch for my signal! He’s a fool, a knave!” Tursel’s voice faded.

  The snake coiled. Blood trickled to my eyes. I wiped stinging skin with my forearm. The hooded head flew upward, buried itself in my jerkin. I tore free, staggered backward, slammed into unyielding rock.

  I can’t see! It wasn’t the blood alone; venom coursed through my veins. The cobra slithered, black eyes seeking mine. My hand fell on a pile of firewood. I hurled a log; it fell nowhere near him. I snatched up another, slammed it down where the snake had been an instant before.

  No logs left, only sticks. Dizzy, I searched among them. One had a fork. I hauled myself to my feet. The viper tracked me, coiling, slithering, weaving. I blinked away blood.

  “Demons take him! Tantroth! No!”

  I stabbed at the cobra. Bobbing, he avoided my cleft. I lunged. He struck. Fangs embedded in my boot. I smashed down with all my might. The stick cracked in half. Cursing, I snatched up the forked end.

  Mother, you’re here, though I can’t see you. Aid me. Aid Caledon.

  “What, sir?” Anavar. “You’re mumbling, I can’t—”

  Slit the skin.

  “The cobra’s? I can’t catch—”

  Yours.

  I felt for my dagger, drew it, slashed at my forehead. Blinding pain. I squeezed; blood and venom coursed.

  The snake drew back, weaved its flattened head, eyes locked on mine.

  I held out my dagger, point first, staggered to my feet, reeled across the cold firepit.

  The cobra followed.

  Retreating, I slashed at my tunic with the blade, tore off a fragment of cloth, held it tight to my brow. With my free hand I wielded the stick.

  We circled.

  The snake struck. I avoided it. It coiled again; I knocked it from its spiral, caught the head in the cleft of my stick. The cobra struggled and thrashed. Grimly, I held on.

  As long as I pressed my cloth tight, the blood was contained. I could see.

  “Good, they have our signal! Go!” Tursel, far distant, his voice eager. “Oh, you have them, my lord Groenfil!”

  With a mighty heave, the viper broke free. It threw itself across the firepit, coiled to strike. My gash pulsing, I flung myself back, fetched up against the unyielding rock wall. A protuberance ground into my spine.

  The snake wriggled after me, but slowly. I breathed hard. We regarded each other with hatred.

  “The gates open! Franca and Horst lead the charge.”

  I jabbed at the cobra.

  “Captain, our center.”

  “Not now, we’re—Lord of Nature! So many of them!”

  The cobra hissed.

  For eons, while babes aged and saplings grew old and stooped, I vied with the black-eyed viper for the dusty cave. Though I couldn’t catch its head with the cleft of my stick, neither could it sink fangs into my flesh.

  I ached. My forehead throbbed. My arm cramped, holding the cloth. My mouth was dry as desert sand.

  “Rodrigo.” A shake. “Sir, wake yourself.”

  Slowly, as if mesmerized, the snake coiled.

  “Hurry him, youngsire.”

  “I do, Pardos. Roddy, let go the bowl!”

  I blinked. Sunlight stabbed. I stretched aching palms, stared stupidly at my fingers. “Oh.” I pressed fingers to forehead, sat rocking.

  “What, sir?” Carefully, Anavar poured the stillsilver to the ewer.

  “It hurts so. Wipe the blood.”

  “There’s none, my lord. Can you rise? We must get you away.” He wrapped the bowl, thrust it into his saddlebag.

  “He bit me—get me away?” I tried to look about, winced from blinding shafts of light. “What has befallen us?”

  “We withdraw. On your feet ... hoist yourself by my arm, that’s right, sir. Pardos, help him with the stirrup.”

  “The field’s theirs?” My heart plummeted. “I failed. The Rood’s too strong to—”

  Anavar said, “Not the Rood, I think. Just numbers.”

  “How great our calamity?” Carefully, I dabbed at my brow. No blood. I marveled.

  “We’re in good order, as yet.”

  Clinging to Ebon’s mane, I peered across the plain. The last of Horst’s castle yeomen battled their way to the safety of their gate, while Tursel rode about behind our men, shouting orders, orchestrating our retreat, oblivious to the arrows that sought him.

  The remains of Groenfil’s cavalry thudded up the rise, leaving Norland footmen behind.

  “What of Eiber?”

  Anavar tugged on my reins, turning Ebon toward the road. “Azar’s taken alive. A good number of horsemen are lost Tantroth lives. Sir, that Norland cohort sees us. They make haste.”

  “They’re on foot.”

  “Sir, rouse yourself, or I’ll lead you.”

  Wearily, I tugged at the reins, guiding Ebon alongside my escort.

  We made our way into the hills, toward our waiting camp. As day stretched toward dusk we filled the road. All of Groenfil’s troop had become my guard. Tantroth and Tursel labored behind, to speed our troops and hinder Hriskil’s.

  From time to time Tursel sent a dispatch: trees were felled across a narrow way, a ford blocked the path. And men: “Quickly, my lord. They pursue us in strength. Find high ground where we may turn and hold.”

  We spurred our tired mounts, but had gone scarce half a league when two score horsemen galloped down the road toward us.

  “Hold! We’re Caledon!” The foremost, a swarthy fellow, bore a Caled standard. “We’re of your camp!”

  “What do you here?” My voice was hot.

  He reined in. His steaming stallion heaved and snorted. “Rodrigo ... sire, the wagons.”

  I flinched. “What now?”

  “Norlanders ... nigh on a thousand ... from Stryx.”

  I reared in my stirrups. “What of my brother?”

  “Here, Roddy.” A weak wave.

  I stared, speechless. Elryc sat on a fine stallion, cradled in the arms of ... Danzik. Danzik! My mouth worked. “What do ... what do you ... how ... ?” I gave it up.

  “Danzik brought me.” A giggle. “It annoyed Genard.” Elryc slipped down, ran to Ebon, embraced my leg in the stirrup. I reached down, squeezed his shoulder.

  Groenfil’s hard voice brought us to our senses. “What of the camp?”

  “Overrun,” said a familiar voice. Tresa. My heart skipped a beat.

  She added, “The wagons were alight when we fled.”

  “How many dead?” My voice was harsh.

  “I don’t know, Roddy. They came on us so fast ... many ran to escape.”

  I stared at scraggly clumps of bracken marking the roadside.

  From behind, a rider. “Tursel asks, have you found where we might ...” He saw our faces. “What is it, my lords?”

  Groenfil said, “Sarazon is before us, Hriskil behind.”

  I goaded my flagging mind. “Hriskil planned this, and ordered it. It’s not in Sarazon’s nature. A thousand men from Stryx, so soon? You know what that means?”

  “We’re trapped,” said Groenfil.

  I waved it away. “Sarazon’s set out without wagons, without supplies. Else he’d still be laboring up the slopes. A day’s skirmish and he must turn back.”

  “So?”

  Couldn’t he see? I said, “Sarazon won’t pursue us far. And he won’t add to Hriskil’
s strength when they join.”

  “Pursue us? It’s we who must smash ourselves on him; he has the road.”

  “But not the hills.” I looked for comprehension. “Come, my lord, we’re in your domain. Have you no vassal to guide us?”

  “Where, Roddy? And how?”

  “Why, anywhere, now we’ve no wagons to hinder us. We’ll gather Tursel and Tantroth and sneak past Sarazon. If he meets us it can only be with a fragment of his thousand. Once past him, we’re free. We go to Soushire, or the Southron hills. They abound with canyons and dells.”

  “If Sarazon must turn back because he has no supplies, what of us?”

  “We live lean, or go hungry. We’re better able than he.”

  “Why, sire?”

  “We won’t surrender Caledon!” I raised myself so all could hear. “We’ll lead Hriskil a merry chase. We’ll tweak his beard, outfox his every patrol. We’re game gone to ground, in a meadow that’s home!”

  Anavar tried to smile, but his eyes were bleak.

  All my brave words couldn’t conceal the scope of our disaster. Not only had we met defeat, but to meld Tantroth’s rear guard with our meager numbers, we must tarry, while each hour Hriskil raced ever closer to the main body of our force. Groenfil’s scouts had long since fanned out to seek tracks and trails that might deliver us.

  It was dusk when we veered off me main road, on a footpath that climbed sharply through birch groves and tall grass.

  Tursel wrinkled his nose at the trampled brush, the snapped boughs. “A blind washerwoman could track us.”

  My tone was soothing. “Once we’re past Sarazon, it matters not.”

  “Rodrigo, despite your declamation, we must have provisions.”

  “I know. We’ll make for Soushire.”

  As we guided Ebon through the brush, I found myself with Danzik by my side. I said, “Sarazon didn’t get close enough to free you?”

  The Norlander scowled. “I had only to ran across the field.”

  “Why did you not?”

  “That ... that iot hom.” Trifling man. An odd phrase, though Elryc, with his serious ways, was more a little man than a boy. “El-e-rek told me rez gave me no leave to escape. That I owed you my ... self. Vade. Until.”

  I asked, “And Bouris?”

  “Looked around, saw Caled lord running into woods. I thought perse. But short boy scrambling to catch horses, El-e-rek standing waiting, Norl arrows falling near. Thought, rez want iot horn more than Cumber lord Bouris?”

  “Yes!”

  “I too think. So where is vade? I—” A motion, of snatching up a bundle. “—took. El-e-rek try to bite. Not understand I say no hurt.” A wolfish grin. “Only stop biting when I catch up Caleds.”

  “Danzik ... I thank you.” It warranted more, much more. I was surprised by the sadness in my tone, “The king gives you leave, Norlander. You are mine no more.”

  Danzik rode a few paces, silent. “Free? Go home Norland?”

  “Yes.”

  “With Hriskil? Fight?”

  “Aye.” For Elryc, I owed him no less. “Qon?” When?

  “Now,” I said. “You may take your horse.” A pause. “Tern asta?” Later too? I gaped.

  It took me a moment to work through what he said then. “Vestrez coa tern, Rez.” I would see how it ends.

  PART THREE

  Twenty-seven

  “I EXPECTED TO HOST an army, not a rabble.” Larissa’s tone was aggrieved.

  “The men are blooded, but fought well. They’ll fight the stronger, behind your walls.” We stood under a willow that offered scant shade from the cold drizzle. Ebon grazed through his bit.

  “Aye, but now I must feed them, shoe their mounts, open my armories. You’ve lost wagonloads of arrows, blankets, food, tents, the means of war.” She pursed her lips.

  Enough. Was she liege, and I the supplicant? “I understand, my lady. We’ll move on.”

  “Where?” She was skeptical.

  “The hills. Verein.” It mattered not; Hriskil would hound us through Caledon. “With fortune and surprise, we’ll reach Groenfil’s gates.”

  “A waste of your remainder.” She sighed. “Very well, join us.”

  “You’re most gracious.” My tone was bland.

  As she left for her tent—the closed-fisted lady had managed to protect it despite our rout—I drew my cloak tight. After three days camping without gear I was tired, dirty, despondent. Tresa beckoned, from a campfire. She’d propped a precious tarpaulin from a bough, and perhaps it shielded her from a share of the drizzle. “Tea, sire?” She wrapped her skirt around the handle, and pulled the pot from the coals.

  “Sire?” I snorted. “That, between us?” Gladly, I took the cup she offered, and warmed my free hand. I asked, “Did you overhear our speech?”

  “Yes. Regardless, she wants you at Soushire.”

  “Of course. We’ve bodies to sacrifice on her wall.” Perhaps that wasn’t quite fair. “Tresa, my—” I blushed. “My love, we’ve no choice but Soushire, at least for now.”

  “I understand.”

  “The army needs respite, but if I’m penned in Soushire, there’s none to rally Caledon.”

  “Oh, Roddy, is there Caledon to rally?” Her cry uncloaked despair.

  “Of course.” I made my tone hearty. “But I know not what to do with Elryc.”

  “Soushire.”

  “You have a good heart, my lady of Cumber.”

  It took her a moment. “She wouldn’t!”

  “Perhaps not. But in all Caledon, whose head, save mine, could buy her such fortune?”

  We sat by the fire, mingling converse with the sizzle of sap-filled firewood. We spoke of our comrades, and the hardy band who held Stryx under Willem of Alcazar.

  It was I who brought up Bouris. “There’s one I’m well rid of. Though I’ll grant his loyal support would have been most welcome. I’d grown to count on Cumber.”

  After a long quiet she said, “He’s not Grandfather.”

  “In no aspect. Even his banquets ...” My smile was grim. “I wonder where he’s gone.” To Hriskil, I supposed. But Cumber would remain his, despite abandonment, treason, even regicide, should he attempt it. My farewell gift to Uncle Raeth. To your bloodline forever, though it cost my crown to preserve it. “A pity I had to pledge—” My eyes widened. “He’s your grandfather!”

  Her brow knotted. “Uncle Bouris?”

  “No, you silly—Raeth! By Lord of Nature, I’ll do it!” And savoring my delight, I said no more, until my nobles and I met by morning’s light.

  Before my nobles, and Tursel, as our captain, and Tresa, I declared Bouris’s lands and title forfeit, and proclaimed Tresa lady of Cumber, holder of the lands and titles that had hitherto pertained to Bouris. I could see it made Larissa uneasy, and perhaps Groenfil, though his face was less expressive.

  If so, the better for it. Let them know that no noble abandoned the House of Caledon with impunity. In any event, I’d kept my vow. Tresa was of Uncle Raeth’s bloodline as surely as was Bouris.

  I hurried on to my more significant announcement, while Tantroth, gray of face, coughed uncontrollably, cupping his tea to inhale the mist. Tursel swayed, near asleep on his feet. Even Anavar looked peaked. Only Groenfil, who’d shared Larissa’s tent, seemed near rested.

  Larissa protested, “Not join us? Rodrigo, what mean you?”

  I repeated my argument: that I must rally Caledon. I would ride with six hundred men, leaving the rest to strengthen Soushire’s walls.

  “Six hundred men are no army. You’ll be unable to meet Hriskil in the field.”

  “But we’ll move quickly and harry his lines. At the moment, that’s the best we can do.”

  “Let Caledon come to you,” she said. “Take refuge in Soushire. All will know you’re among us,” she said.

  “Especially Hriskil. If I’m bottled behind your battlements there’s none to deny him the realm.”

  “There’s already none—” She bit it of
f, as Groenfil shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Your folk—Anavar and Elryc, Lady Tresa—they must have haven. You recall the quarters I gave you last year? Ample fires, soft beds ...”

  I smiled. “Don’t tempt me, my lady.”

  “I insist on their rescue. Don’t deny them life. Your beloved will abide at Soushire.”

  Anavar, whom I’d carefully coached, said, “I, madam, go with my guardian. And as for the others ...”

  “Yes, youngsire?” She sounded impatient.

  “Who might ride with Rodrigo as your pledge? You know the forms.”

  Larissa summoned an outrage that perhaps she actually felt. “Hostages? You dare—after I risked—if I’m not loyal, then who—”

  “It’s custom, my lady. Not for a moment do I think you’d ...” Anavar tried an ingratiating smile that to my eye appeared more a leer.

  Her tone was ice. “I’ve no hostage to offer. No son you may slaughter for my betrayal.”

  “I’ll stand surety.”

  All looked to Groenfil.

  “Rodrigo, my lord king ...” The earl bowed, a sharp nod signifying submission and assent. “Now do I offer my body as pledge of my lady Soushire’s fidelity, that should she cause or allow harm to your betrothed or your brother whom you bestow to her custody, I be extinguished as reprisal.”

  “But Sergo, you’re to stay with us!”

  He offered her a sad smile. “My lady, I cannot. I’m pledged to Rodrigo. Where he rides ... don’t look at me so, I beg you. He’s right in that Hriskil need mount no assault; by surrounding us he takes Caledon. My domain will fall, and thereafter yours. With Roddy, I may save us both.”

  “I ... see.” She swallowed. “My lord Groenfil, I hold your trust to my heart.”

  We saw our force to Soushire, where I bathed in a cramped copper-clad tub that I found the lap of luxury. I wallowed in warm water. If only Rustin could see me now. “I’ve changed,” I said to no one in particular, and nobody gave response.

  Tresa seemed subdued, and the second evening, sought me out. “I can’t stay behind, my lord, while you fight for Caledon.”

  “You must. I order it.” Couldn’t she understand? If I weren’t sure of her safety, how could I carry on?

  “I refuse.” Her tone was soft steel. “I’ll be of more service in Stryx. Even in Cumber.”