The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  “Do you?”

  Vasur said, “I never swore fealty to you, Rodrigo of Stryx.”

  “You swore to Elena, and she named me heir.”

  “So it’s reputed.”

  “I have documents, the seal—”

  He held out a hand. “I won’t consider them.” No smile in his eyes or mouth.

  “Is that why you wouldn’t see me?”

  “It’s why I tried not. Though fate, Badir, and my silversmith, decreed otherwise.”

  I said, “It’s not the first time you turned me away at the Warthen’s Gate.”

  “A convenient barrier, is it not? Stakia, late keeper of the Pass, was shortened by a head for taking Jestrel’s bribe. What, I wonder, shall I do with Badir?”

  “It was hardly his fault.”

  “It was hardly not. What demoncraft did you employ? The Still doesn’t confer such Power, else you’d not be in such a plight as you are.”

  “There’s much you don’t know about me,” I said. A weak parry, but I had no better. Gamely, I lurched on. “It’s unseemly to deny your liege, the worse in that you haven’t heard him.”

  “Then I am unseemly. I refuse. Make your plea.”

  “Caledon may fall without your aid.” The realm would fall, with or without his aid, but I could hardly say that while there remained an iota of hope.

  “But,” he said, “Hriskil will not seek the Sands.”

  My heart sunk. “What treaty have you—”

  “I need none. His soldiers are hillmen; what know they of desert war? You saw the Pass. Think you his army could force it? Pezar is more to his liking. No, he’ll not risk defeat for a gain so slight.”

  “I offer remission of taxes—”

  “I pay none.”

  “But you ought. A covenant of mutual aid—”

  “I need it not.”

  “My ear as counsellor—”

  “I keep my own counsel.”

  “Have you no honor?” My voice was hot.

  Vasur ignored it. “Is there else, Rodrigo?”

  I thought a long while, defeat sour on my palate. I’d foreseen his refusal, but nonetheless, I’d hoped ... my hand strayed to my cheek. Once they’d called me handsome. I’d wear no coronet, but Tresa seemed not to care.

  “I refuse that too.” His voice was a harsh rasp.

  “What do you say?”

  “A Return.”

  “Why?” It was a cry of dismay. Never mind that the Warthen seemed to read my thoughts.

  “Know you the cost?” In his tone, despair.

  “Gold, castles, there’s no limit to your—”

  He threw off his hood. Hair gone white. Deep, sunken eyes, a lined face racked with pain. “How old am I?”

  “I’m no judge. Sixty-five, perhaps seventy—”

  “Forty-seven summers. I endure it that my people may live.”

  I was silent.

  He said, “I measure the use of my Power, that I not enfeeble myself. And it’s but a month since last wielded.”

  “How often ... ?”

  “Thrice a year, ’twere best.” Vasur’s smile was grim. “Not that my supplicants oft time their distress to mine.”

  I studied him curiously. “Is it your pleasure to refuse all you’re asked? Twice you turned me away at the High Pass. I prayed your company to dine, and was refused. You denied me aid, and now a Return. What defect warps your soul?”

  “I refused you at the Pass to protect us from your entreaties. I dined not with you because I am near prisoner of Tajik, who would deter the overuse of my Power, to safeguard the realm’s profit. He’ll be irked tomorrow, when he learns of our conclave, but tonight we’re secure; I drugged his wine.”

  I gaped.

  “When you appeared at my gate, my servitors wished me to fall on you like a wolf on a doe; I declined. They are most vexed. I deny you aid because it’s not in my interest. I refuse a Return partly to please them. But regardless, you have not the wherewithal.”

  “In Stryx I have—”

  “Stryx is lost to you.”

  “My oath, on the True—”

  “Will not suffice. I require payment.”

  For a moment, I studied my fingers. Then, “A pity we’ll disappoint your servants.”

  “Your pardon, Rodrigo?”

  “I have the means.”

  “The chest you keep holds a paltry seventy coins of Caled gold. It’s not the hundredth of what my service would require.”

  How did he know my funds? “I’ll not pay in gold.”

  “I won’t accept—”

  “We are king! Thou shalt be silent!” My voice had an edge that unnerved even me. Impressed or not, he complied. I leaned forward, made my voice more affable. “Of all our Powers, my lord Warthen, is not yours the most arcane?”

  A twitch, that might have been a shrug.

  “It has a ... strength,” I said. “A utility beyond that of Groenfil’s winds, or Raeth’s flickering candles. Even my Still cannot compare, though I rule Caledon, and you a mere duchy.”

  “What of it?”

  “Power attends the rule of land.” True, as a general principle. I would not mention Bollert’s aberration.

  “Of course.” He awaited my ploy.

  “Imagine, then, the potency of Return, were you sovereign over the Sands.”

  “To all intents, I am.”

  “But not in form.”

  Vasur seemed astonished. “You propose I proclaim my autonomy? That to augment my Power, I declare myself free of Caledon?”

  “What good that? Powers require authority, properly vested. Could any fool don my crown and wield the Still, or slay Hriskil and raise the Rood?” Still, he seemed not to follow. “I offer what you might procure from no other. That I—Caledon—relinquish dominion over the Sands. That you be vested sovereign of your land.”

  The sun was well up. Yawning, I roused myself, threw off the sheet, peered about.

  Anavar slept like the dead.

  I padded to the door, flung it open. The guard shot to his feet. “Ah, you’re awake,” we said at the same instant. He gaped; I hid a smile.

  I asked, “You stood watch all night?”

  “Aye, sire.”

  “Very well, summon that surly servant who—ahh, there you are. Bread and cheese. Warm drink. First, fresh water for my basin.” To the guard, “I’ll meet with Groenfil anon. And with Danzik, he’s earned it.” My tone was cheerful.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  I swung shut the door. “Up, you Eiberian lout.” I clapped hands.

  Anavar jerked convulsively, covered his ears. “Don’t shout, I pray you.”

  “Come, me must be about. It’s ...” I peered at the hour candle. “Tenth hour. The day’s half gone.”

  The boy tried to rise, fell back, held his head. “Oh ...”

  I was in inordinately good spirits. Dressing, I clapped hands again. “Up, laggard, or I’ll cut your stipend.”

  “You pay no stipend; even Tanner’s purse is fuller than yours. Arghh.” Anavar squinted. “Might you close the shutters?”

  I perched on one of his cushions. “Have I sympathy? No. I watered your wine, but I see you guzzled another bottle. Don’t deny it, you suffer the effects of—”

  “Please stop shouting. I did not. I drank what you allowed me.”

  I considered. “Last night, you sat near Tajik? That explains it.”

  Anavar groaned. “How?”

  “You poured your wine from his bottle. You’ll be well. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He belched, made an unhappy face. “What’s your hurry to rise?”

  “The Return. I must ready myself.”

  That roused him. He peered. “I think not. First you have to entreat the Warthen.”

  “Done. Last night.”

  Anavar sat, hugging himself. “Sometimes, sir, a dream seems so real, you think ...”

  “In that case, we still sleep. Who knocks?” I pulled open the door. “Put it there. W
arm bread, Anavar. I don’t advise else.”

  My ward was of the age when illness was light and recovery swift; by the time I’d finished my cheese, he’d perked up considerably and soon after accompanied me to Groenfil’s chamber. When Danzik had joined us I related the night’s events. Anavar still looked askance. I didn’t fret; time would prove what I could not.

  Danzik said in his own tongue, “How long do this thing?”

  I frowned; admitting a Norlander to my councils meant I was perforce the translator. “Tonight we start. Vasur warned it may take several attempts. Anavar, you’ll attend me. When I emerge, I may be weak.” The rest, I chose not to mention. The Warthen bore much of the pain, but not all. Some Returns failed when the suitor lost heart. But I’d borne pain and come through to the far side, though I was clammy at the thought of it.

  I hoped Tresa would appreciate what I’d endure for her.

  Afterward, walking back to our chamber, Anavar was silent. The moment the door was shut he whispered, “How did you persuade the Warthen? What payment?”

  “I’d rather Groenfil didn’t know until it’s done.” Not quite fair, given my promise to the earl, but I couldn’t risk his disapproval. My hope of marriage rode on my quest. “I gave the Warthen what another could not.”

  “Tell! I dance on coals waiting.”

  I explained.

  His gaze was doubtful. “You dismember your realm, without advice of your council?”

  “What sway had I over the Sands? I conceded only what I’d already lost.”

  “That so, why did he accept?”

  “For my acquiescence. Only with it might his Power augment.”

  “Will it, sir?”

  “I know not. We cross into the unknown.” But I would have Tresa. I was sure of it.

  Tajik’s face was impassive. “Lie you here, my lord.” He indicated a bed of cushions. Across the chamber, beneath doors to a sheltered balcony, lay another.

  “And Anavar? I want him near.”

  “It were best he wait outside. The Return costs anguish, yours and my master’s. Your vassal may be alarmed.”

  “He’ll stay. Baron, I bid you not interfere.”

  “The boy must be silent. The slightest sound, even a touch, may summon you home. Then, next day, the travail must be endured anew.”

  “I’ll be still.” Anavar slid out a spare cushion, settled himself beside my bed.

  I asked, “What must be done?”

  “You lie, as if to rest,” said Tajik. “In a while, the Warthen comes. Speak not to him, before or after. He takes the draught—”

  “What draught?”

  “A potion to settle his mind for sleep. You know of it.” An edge to Tajik’s tone, though his face showed nothing. “Direct your thoughts to where you would be sent. When he sleeps, his Power manifests. You will hear a voice within: Whither would you go? And where you name, you are transported. For my master’s sake, I beg you, be quick, do what you must and return to us.”

  “I shall.”

  “Now, my lord, settle yourself and contemplate what you do. Only one Return may be had in all your life, but as oft as required to complete the task. Seek only the place where it may be had. Use this gift for your heart’s deepest desire; all else is waste. Youngsire, when your liege awakes, he may be confused, fearful. It is often so.” A short bow, as he left us.

  I lay back, unbuttoned my tunic. I muttered to Anavar, “I’m already confused and fearful.”

  “Sleep, sir. I’ll guard you from harm.” His tone seemed an echo of Rustin’s. My eyes stung. Oh, Rust, that you were here, to see this marvel. In an hour, perhaps a day, I’ll have again my face. And with it, I’ll be content to trade Caledon for Tresa. It’s time I were a man. And time I not loathe myself in the silver. Of all the world, only you could gaze upon me unblinking; only you accepted my ruin. I cherished that, but I cannot live out my life so disfigured.

  Across the room, a quiet rustle. Breathing, that slowly calmed.

  So now I must think of Verein. Of my wretched, stinking cell, of the louse-infested straw. Of Margenthar’s heartless dominance, the dance of self-abnegation he forced me to perform. Of the biting slice of his blade. Of my desperate escape. Of creeping about on Verein’s parapets, garnering rope for my climb over the wall. Of Lord Rustin of the Keep, scaling the wall, heedless of his life, to save me.

  Verein. The cell. Uncle Mar’s knife. My hateful scar.

  WHITHER WOULD YOU GO?

  My fingers flew to my cheek. A sob. “A country road, three leagues from Fort.”

  Twenty-nine

  A FIERY BLADE sawed my innards. I took sharp breath.

  Slowly, the torment eased. I looked about.

  “Be silent!” Rustin’s eyes flashed steel. “We won’t speak of it.”

  “I only meant to—”

  “—to tread where you’re not wanted!”

  I stopped short. “At times you’re hateful.”

  “My lord King!” A soldier rushed up, flushed of face. “The duke of Stryx.” He pointed down the road. “He comes alone.”

  “I’ll escort him.” Rust strode off. “Let the hateful greet the hateful.”

  NO, IT MUST NOT BE! I spun the guardsman about. “A dozen men! A score! Follow and keep him safe!”

  He seemed puzzled. “There’s only the duke.”

  “This instant, or I’ll have your head!” I chewed my fingers, enduring an agony of anticipation.

  He rushed about, gathered a squadron, loped down the dusty road after Rustin.

  What was my task? Rustin would live; I must confront Mar. Hastily, I donned my coronet. A hundred paces distant, Rust stalked to Margenthar, surrounded by the guards I’d sent. My uncle dismounted, made a short bow, tied his horse. He handed Rust his sword, submitted to his search. Rustin pointed to me, saying something lost in distance.

  Margenthar strode down the road. Rust sat himself on a rock, Mar’s sword in his lap, chatting with our guards.

  In a few moments Uncle Mar was near. “Ahh, Roddy.” An exaggerated bow. Groenfil and Soushire watched.

  I bared my teeth. “What do you want?” I ought kill him this instant.

  “What say you to my offer?”

  I was in no mood to engage in polite charade. “The answer’s no. I’d rather lose Caledon. Begone!”

  Uncle Mar seemed unperturbed. “You may indeed lose Caledon. There are no terms on which ... ?”

  “None!”

  “I bid you farewell.” Again, a bow. To Groenfil and Soushire, “Enjoy your exploits with the boy king.” He strode off.

  As soon as he was gone, Elryc ran to me. “Roddy, he’s not worth—”

  “Later!” Only paces behind Margenthar, I rushed to the road, watched my uncle stride the endless hundred steps. Warthen, I did as told. It’s changed now. Let Rustin live.

  Margenthar untied his steed, bowed to Rustin, who handed him his sword. The guards, alerted by my unease, kept between them. Margenthar lingered a moment, finally mounted. To Rustin and the guards, a salute. Then in one smooth motion, he pulled loose a dagger, hurled it at Rustin’s throat. Rust toppled.

  “NO!” I bolted down the road. “Not again, I can’t bear it!”

  Mar spurred and was away.

  Pain gripped my innards and my soul.

  Clutching myself, I thrashed about. It was horrid. Sweat popped from every pore. I howled.

  “Sir! Sir!” Anavar shook me, danced back, darted forward, hand to mouth. “Oh, don’t!”

  I clutched at him, and choked. “I failed!” I sought the balcony’s wood frame, banged my head over and again. “Rust, forgive me!”

  Anavar seized me, buried my head to his chest. “I beg you, sir, take ease.” He rocked me, like a mother her babe. “You’ll try again, that’s allowed, is it not? Don’t weep.” He released me, ran to the door, flung it open.

  He and Danzik escorted, half-carried, me to my chamber. I lay for hours, berating my folly. It was eve before my grief subsided. My
stomach griped like a wound half healed. Rustin was slain, and I’d lost Tresa for naught.

  Tajik appeared at our door. “In the morn, at sixth hour.”

  “So soon?” I swallowed. “So be it.”

  Anavar brought a cold compress to bathe my brow.

  He was highborn, not bodyservant. I said, “That’s Tanner’s task.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “How not?’

  “I’m your friend.”

  Why must I hear Rustin in all he said? I turned my face to the wall.

  Morn came. I made myself dress.

  Not daring to break fast lest a meal congeal in my gut, I strode to the Warthen’s chamber, making my feet belie my desire. I laid on the cushions, rode a whirlwind of pain to the day of my dread.

  Three leagues from Fort, I drew Rustin aside. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Cumber. If you meet Baron Imbar ...”

  “He’s in Pezar, with Raeth.” Rust turned back to the trail.

  “So we assume. Soon or late, your paths will cross.”

  Rust was calm, betrayed only by his bunched fists. “Don’t concern yourself.”

  I made my voice soft. “As Mar grates on me, Imbar abrades your—”

  “Be silent!” His eyes flashed steel. “We won’t speak of it.”

  I must turn it aside! “I only meant to—”

  “—to tread where you’re not wanted!”

  “My lord King!” A soldier rushed up, flushed of face. “The duke of Stryx.”

  I snarled, “Let him wait!”

  Rustin made a gesture of disgust. “If you haven’t the courtesy to greet him, I do.” He strode off.

  “No, Rust!”

  “Be silent. I order it!” Helplessly, as in a dream, I watched.

  Afterward, I woke gripping Anavar, sobbing.

  In time Tajik appeared, and glanced at the hour candle. “Tonight. Vasur will recover by dusk.”

  “I cannot.” Nor could I meet his eye. “It is done.”

  “No, Rodrigo!” Anavar fell to a knee, shook me. “You don’t mean this!”

  “Do I not?”

  “Not, my lord, if you would live with yourself.”

  I put head in hands. A long time passed. “All right.” My voice was barely heard. “Dusk.”

  Groenfil begged audience, in my chamber. I sat on my bed.