None came.
When we were clear of the fortress town, I fixed Bollert with a glare, then turned to Groenfil. “He’s a sport of nature, a freak. Peasants don’t wield powers.”
Anavar tugged at my sleeve. “He’s done us no harm, sir.” As ever, since our reconciliation, his tone was determinedly polite.
“Not yet. But some night ...” I shivered. “Don’t expect me to thank him. He makes my skin crawl.”
Bollert looked to the earth. Anavar pursed his lips.
I remounted. “Arghh!” I gritted my teeth. “Thank you. Thank you, Bollert, for opening our way.” I glared at Anavar. “Satisfied?” I spurred down the dusty road.
East of the Desert Range, the plain grew ever more dry. Whenever we found water, we gave the horses their fill and soaked our wineskins full. A day from the pass, me ground was dry, the sparse vegetation withered and sere. We pressed on.
Sandhelm was in desert, but, I recalled, the greater wasteland lay beyond it. We had but a half day’s ride to Vasur’s stronghold. That near accomplished, I set my coronet on my scalp, changed to the better of my two sets of breeches. “Pardos, set your men, so, as if an honor guard.” We’d make what show we could.
It was hardly worth the effort. Though four hundred strong, we were a sad proposition: ragged, dust-covered, ill-clothed and weary. Not exactly a royal procession.
Our lancemen rode with points set. In the flatlands the road widened, and we rode six abreast. Two villages were planted along our way, and I negated Groenfil’s thought to skirt them. At the walk, we rode through them, eyes straight ahead. Robed and turbaned tribesmen came out of stone huts to mark our passing.
I doubted not that the Warthen had word of our admittance; homing birds made admirable couriers between two fixed points. I wondered how Badir explained his misadventure and whether his head sat firmly on his shoulders.
No guard, no envoy came to greet us. On the other hand, no warriors barred our way.
The stronghold was the tallest edifice in Sandhelm, a wind-blasted, austere but imposing refuge. We rode directly to it.
The gate was ajar. We rode through, four hundred horsemen crowding the courtyard before the donjon.
A lone footman came trotting to hold Ebon’s bridle. He made a respectful bow, of commoner to noble. “My master asks, ‘What do you here?’ ”
“Tell the Warthen I will speak of it to no ears but his.”
“He will not see you. The stable’s there.” He pointed.
For an outraged moment I thought he offered me shelter within, but he was only explaining where he would take Ebon. I said, “A nosebag of grain and a rubdown. Not much water at first.”
“Aye, my lord.”
I looked about. Not a soul had emerged from the donjon. And if this churl were the only stablehand, our horses would go a long time unfed. Even as the thought crossed my mind, a procession of like-garbed attendants emerged from the barns.
At the same moment, a rotund fellow of middle years descended the donjon steps. He made his way to me. “My name is Tajik. You are Rodrigo?”
“King Rodrigo.”
“I am corrected.” A bow. “Vasur welcomes you. If you’ll bring those you’d have accompany you ...” A gesture to the steps.
“And the rest?”
He nodded to the outbuildings. “We’ll find them quarters presently. For now, refreshment awaits you within.”
Groenfil made a warning sound. I nodded. “They’ll follow the forms, I’m sure. They did with Mother.” They would offer no food, no drink they didn’t sample before us. We would keep our arms. It was expected, and no offense offered or taken.
Danzik looked about. He would accompany us, I decided immediately. He’d traveled far and deserved a seat before the mummers. I asked, “What do you think of it?”
“Dry.”
That, it was. Even with the revenue his Return produced, I wondered how Vasur kept his domain stocked with foodstuffs and other necessaries. I imagined not much would grow in this climate, save dates, figs and other esoteric produce good for a novel gift, but not daily sustenance.
“Anavar, my lord Groenfil, Pardos ...” I named two dozen to join us in the donjon, not excluding Tanner, so I’d have a servant not the Warthen’s man, and Bollert, whom I dared not leave unwatched.
Following Tajik up the worn sandstone steps, it occurred to me Bollert’s sorcery could gain what I sought from the Warthen. Immediately I discarded the thought. If I used witchery, I became myself a witch. Demons would ride my shoulder, their steel-sharp toes hooked into my flesh.
Besides, it had no vade.
In the entry hall, Bollert’s gaze swiveled from pillar to stair to statue, his jaw dropping. Though I didn’t show it, I felt as he. Sandhelm Castle had no opulent beauty about it, but its austerity was ... well, impressive. Stryx may have awed the visitor not used to better, but born there, I was too accustomed to it to take notice. Here, though, all was exotic. Outside, I’d seen foundations of granite blocks, but within the dark and cool keep, carved marble pillars supported mosaic arches, and marble statues abounded, their features painted in lifelike colors.
Tajik led us to an airy room giving onto an inner courtyard. Immediately, very young servants padded in, bearing silvered trays. Their eyes were fixed on the colorful rugs, or their own feet. Not once did one of them allow his gaze to meet ours.
The trays were filled with exquisite silver goblets. At random, I selected one, handed it to Tajik, picked another for myself. He drank, lifting his chin to quaff the dregs.
It wasn’t foolproof; fanatics had been known to accept their own death to secure that of their foes. But what could one do? Cautiously, I sipped the liquid, finding it sweet and deliciously cool. “Thank you,” I said.
Tajik’s bow was short and perfunctory. “My honor is to serve you.”
If Rustin were among us, he would have caught my eye to counsel patience, but I said, “It’s been years since I’ve seen Vasur.” For Caledon, appallingly blunt.
Seeing Groenfil down a mouthful, Danzik swished his drink doubtfully, took a gulp, grimaced at the taste. Anavar, I noticed, held goblet in hand but did not drink.
Tajik said, “You were a child. He remembers you well.” A moment’s hesitation. “How long, sire, will you honor us with your presence?”
“That depends, I think, on our parley. Will he dine with us?”
“I’m afraid not.” Tajik even managed to sound apologetic. “My master is indisposed.”
“Until?”
An expressive shrug. “What man can say? Please, refresh yourselves. Your horses will be attended to. Dinner will be served in the Great Hall.” He left us with courteous bows.
In my chamber, I requested water for a bath. While I soaked away my aches, Anavar perched on the edge of the tub. “Is the Warthen truly indisposed?”
“Perhaps.” I doubted it.
He handed me the soap. “Shall I scrub your back?”
I stiffened. “Do not touch my person!” I twisted, to meet his gaze. “I will not be coddled, or held. You are not Rustin!”
“Sir!” His voice was a squeak.
“Rust is gone forever. Though we share a chamber, youngsire, his place is not yours.”
Anavar’s face burned. “Sir, I’m not—I meant no—” He jumped to his feet. “Have I leave?”
“No.” I controlled my breathing. With an effort I added, “You’re rebuked, but you’re still my friend.”
Anavar sat hunched over, head in hands.
I owed him more. “It’s just ... we knew each other all our lives. He was the best friend ever I had.”
“You were sun, moon and stars to him.” Anavar’s voice was muffled. “He’d give his life for you.”
“He gave his life for me!” I hoisted myself out of the tub, wrapped a cloth around my waist. “If we speak more of him, I’ll be cross.”
Dressed and combed, I gathered Groenfil and Pardos and their aides in an anteroom.
&nbs
p; “Tajik mentioned dinner,” said the earl. “Downstairs, in the Great Hall.”
“If the Warthen’s present—”
Danzik burst through the doors. “Outside, Rez! See!”
Groenfil looked blank, until I translated. Then we rushed down the stairs after the Norlander. Shoving aside the guard, Danzik flung open the iron-studded door.
The courtyard was packed with mounted men, no less than a thousand, armed to the teeth. A few held their horses’ reins, walking about to stretch their legs. The Warthen’s army—had he stalled us with false hospitality, awaiting their arrival?
Groenfil hauled me back. “Upstairs! Bar the door! Pardos, seek a way to the stable. Danzik—”
“No,” I said, freeing myself. “It’s what Vasur wants. Wait here. Especially you, Pardos.” I reached to the door.
The earl blocked my path. “You need explain.”
“I order—”
“Your nobles’ disapproval must be met, not ignored or evaded. Did you agree thus?”
I swallowed. “Yes. My lord, I must go to them; I pray thee don’t oppose me. In statecraft, at times I have an instinct. If I’m wrong in this, I ought not be king. But now they’ve seen me, the sands of time run low.”
Groenfil glowered. “You forgive me if you’re killed?”
“With all my heart.” No time for more, I thrust open the door.
The steps had lengthened, or my legs had grown weak. I made my way down, as all eyes followed my progress. The courtyard was deathly still. Of our men, there was no sign. I hoped they’d been dispersed to their shelters. Surely they couldn’t have been dispatched in combat without our hearing a sound. Besides, I saw no blood.
Near the steps a bony fellow stood holding a brown starfaced stallion. He had no insignia of rank. I strode to him, nodded, said pleasantly, “I am Rodrigo, your king.” I held out my hand, knuckles up.
Uncertainly, he took it. Gently, I guided it to his mouth. “Your name?”
His lips touched my ring, jerked away. “K—K—Korwen. Sire.”
“Your captain is ... ?”
“Yassat.” His eyes flicked to a swarthy bearded man, sitting astride his mount. In his scabbard, a sword whose haft bore nicks and gouges of extensive use.
“I should like to meet him.” The man did nothing. After a moment I prompted, “Acquaint us, Korwen.”
He yanked hard at his reins. His horse whinnied but followed his shambling steps. We crossed the courtyard, detouring around twenty men.
Yassat stared down at us, his eyes expressionless.
“I am King Rodrigo. You’ve an impressive unit. From what province are you?”
For a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, “Shallowells.”
“You’re tough men, and hard.” I looked about approvingly. “Even the Ukras would give ground. Are you bound to the Warthen directly?”
“Vassals of Lanat, his sister’s son.”
“Oh, good. Is Lanat among you?”
“At the gate.”
“Come, let’s meet him.” I started on my way. “You, of course, are his principal deputy?”
To answer, he had to follow. Ill-at-ease, he swung off his mount. “Regarding the cavalry, aye.”
I gave him my hand and grinned. “You can tell your children you spoke with the king.”
Awkwardly, he raised hand to lips. Then, when we were nearly to Lanat, “Once, I met the queen.”
“On her visit. I was the ill-mannered boy always underfoot.”
His visage softened to what might have been a smile. “My lord Lanat, his majesty King Rodrigo.”
Lanat looked down at me with cold eyes. I said, “Marvelous. How did you train them so? They’d frighten imps in the night. You must tell my Earl Groenfil how you do it.”
He regarded me.
“I should like to meet those you deem most proficient.”
A long silence. “They’re all proficient.”
“Then I’ll meet them all; form them in a line. We’ll have to hurry; we sit to dinner soon. I presume you’re invited.”
As I held out my hand to the first of them, I glanced to the keep. On a balcony outside the great hall, my men gaped. Airily, I waved.
I climbed the steps. My arm ached from extending my fingers, but Lanat was volubly describing his cavalry’s response to the occasional Ukra raid, and my elbow was twined cosily with his.
Dinner was a strange affair. All the local highborn took part, saving the Warthen. Tajik offered me head of table, which I allowed. After a while, I ceased to watch who had sampled what; dishes were passed with abandon, and much was had to drink. I watered Anavar’s wine, much to his annoyance, but no more than I watered my own.
Lanat’s men ate from cooktents raised in the courtyard, and my four hundred mingled among them. Groenfil had promised death to any who gave or took offense.
Afterward, we retired. Despite my precautions, Anavar’s face was flushed and his gait unsteady. I guided him to his couch, helped him remove his boots.
I lay on my cushions, and moonbeams came to transport me. I climbed them, and slept.
A soft tapping. I blinked awake. Reflexively, I unsheathed my dagger.
Another tap.
I tossed off the covers, padded to the door. Two stout bars. I dropped one, nearly on my toe. Cautiously, blade in hand, I opened the door.
My guard sprawled on a bench, mouth wide, snoring. So much for Pardos and his endless vigilance. But, who had knocked?
Again the tap, behind me.
I barred the door, stumbled across the dark room, blundered across Anavar’s bed.
“Whazit?”
“Sleep.” Once more I let my eyes accustom themselves to dark.
The tapping came from a high wardrobe on the far wall. No, from the tapestry beside it. I yanked it aside.
A door we’d not known. Thank Lord of Nature it was barred, else I could have been stabbed in my sleep. We really must inspect our quarters more thoroughly.
I knew I ought wake my bodyguard, but I’d taken so many risks of late. Besides, if Vasur wanted me dead, he’d let pass many a chance. I lifted the bar.
A dank, dirty corridor, the sort of place you’d expect to see a forgotten skeleton snoozing on a bench. It was lit only by two fresh-placed candles in a sconce. A girl, ten or eleven, swimming in an overlarge, threadbare robe. Dark eyes stared up at me.
I realized I wore nothing but a loincloth. I retreated to my bed, wrapped myself in a blanket. “Well?”
“Come.” She beckoned.
“Where?”
“Warthen.”
“Oh, please.” My voice dripped scorn. “Spin a finer tale than that.”
She put finger to lips, beckoned again.
Perverse, I let my voice rise. “In his own castle, what secret need he keep?” It seemed to distress her; she glanced about with unease. “Tell truth, who sent you?”
She fished in her robe. I tensed, lest her small fist dart out with a sharp blade. But her fingers uncurled to show a small gewgaw. A tiny crown, cunningly made, of a metal I thought might be silver, but if it were, a scullion or bedservant would be flogged half to death for stealing anything so valuable.
“Who?”
As if by answer, she dropped it in my hand, beckoned again.
I sighed, half tempted to follow. But this wasn’t statecraft, for which I had a flair. It was a personal affair, in which over and again I’d proven notoriously foolish.
And yet ... I eyed Anavar, his mouth half open, breath snuffling. You’re an idiot, Roddy. I threw off the blanket, slipped into my jerkin, wriggled into my leggings. A dunce.
Hopping into my boots, I brandished my blade. “Betray me and I’ll slit your throat.”
“Come.” Lifting the bronze candelabra from the sconce, she padded down the hall. I had little choice: either return to bed, or follow.
An utter fool. I strode down the damp, dingy hall.
The corridor narrowed, so I had to take care not to brus
h against the cobwebbed walls. Twists and turns left me disoriented. I clutched my dagger, wishing I’d had the presence of mind to buckle on my sword. At any moment, a bend might hide—
She threw open a door, scuttled through. A wave of warm air, and with it, a blaze of light. I ought be cautious, but if I lost sight of her ... I lunged into the light, blade extended. Half a dozen multipronged candelabras held two score of tapers, whose flames flickered and danced.
The girl was just disappearing through a far door.
In an ornate armchair against the far wall, by a table bearing a silver falcon, sat a gaunt, sallow man. Deep-socketed, unblinking eyes, in the shadows cast by the hood of a cinnabar robe.
We were alone in the room. I sheathed my blade. “My lord Warthen, I am Rodrigo.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “I know that.” His voice was deep, guttural.
“I’m glad we meet.”
“Some oppose it. But a favor was begged, by a servant I hardly wish to offend.”
“Whomever he is, I thank him.”
His eyes widened. “You know not? Ah. I thought you and he had colluded.” Again, the wave. It took in the silver falcon.
I approached, first shutting behind me the door to the dank passage. “May I?” I lifted the bird. Folded wings, a stare of challenge, each claw delineated with exquisite detail. I knew but one who could do such work. I breathed, “Jestrel? He’s here?”
“Three months. He’s ... silversmith to the court. The Ukra envoy was much impressed. We cast him a boar and a hart.”
I said cautiously, “Whatever Jestrel said, I urge you hear with caution. He bears no love—”
“But less enmity than you suppose. He said he paid a debt. So, let us proceed. I refuse.”
“Huh?” It wasn’t my finest moment.
“The levy you covet. Men. Arms. Gold. But not a chair, sit, if you wish.”
This wasn’t going as I’d hoped. I pulled up a lesser seat. Like all in the chamber, it was lower than his. “I am, after all, your king.”
“Hriskil disputes that. And Margenthar. And lately, Bouris of Cumber.” His information was dismayingly accurate.
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 38