The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  He regarded me. A grim smile. “I hope what you seek is worth the cost.”

  Had someone told him I’d ceded the Sands? Surely not, else he’d not look so benign. “Know you what I seek?”

  “Anavar told me: Rustin.” Awkwardly, he stooped, patted my knee. “You could ask for no better.”

  I braced myself. “Has he revealed the price?”

  “He refused. I presume it’s appalling.”

  I told him.

  Groenfil opened the shutters, stared across the courtyard. For a moment, a breeze swirled sand. Then, “Clever. But Elena would be not pleased.”

  “And your displeasure, sir?”

  “Relations among vassal and liege are for you to settle. I have not the say of it. Let us speak of things more pressing. Have you seen your face?”

  My hand flew to my scar. “I know what I lose—”

  “You look ghastly. Can you bear more?”

  I said bravely, “What choice have I?” Inwardly, I shuddered.

  As night fell, I lay on the hateful cushions. Anavar fretted on his seat, picking at his knuckles. The door opened slowly; two servants helped Vasur to the bed. He was half doubled over. His breath was ragged. They gave him a flagon; he threw back his head and swallowed. For an instant, haunted eyes met mine.

  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.”

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

  “Yes, sir. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  He raised an eyebrow, nodded with grudging approval. “No doubt you mean well.”

  “Rust ...” I had to hurry. “Would you do me a great favor?” I hesitated “Elryc is peeved, and I know not why. You know my tongue; if I ask, I’ll only make it worse. Would you be my envoy?”

  He sighed. “How did you irk him?”

  “Truly, I know not.”

  “If I must,” he said. “Tonight.”

  “I’ll need Elryc’s counsel. Might it be now? Please?” My tone was meek.

  Rust studied me. “What’s come over you?” For an instant, his fingers flitted to my hair. Then, “As you wish, my prince.”

  No sooner had he disappeared from sight than a soldier rushed up, flushed of face. “My lord King! The duke of Stryx.” He pointed down the road. “He comes alone.”

  “Require that he surrender sword and dagger, and bring him on foot. Then assemble a guard of ten to escort him afterward to his mount.”

  “Aye, sire.” The guard wiped his brow, hurried off.

  Uncle Mar was brought to us. Groenfil and Soushire watched one and the other of us, spectators at a joust. Elryc peered from behind a wagon. Imps and demons; what if Rustin came upon him? He’d be outraged I hadn’t summoned him to the meet with Uncle Mar. Might he have harsh words and then—Lord of Nature forbid—stalk off down the road?

  Beside myself, I played our scene, hearing not what I said. No, I would not have Mar’s thousand men, were Caledon itself to fall. Yes, I was certain. My regent, Lord Rustin? Occupied. He conveys his regrets. Was there else, my lord Duke? If not, we must be off to Cumber.

  Mar seemed disposed to linger. He made small talk, no doubt precisely because it maddened me. To be rid of him, I did the same, even offering to send for elderberry wine, which I knew he hated.

  At last, the longed-for words. “I bid you farewell.”

  Seething with hatred, I bowed. One must observe the forms.

  He bowed to Groenfil and Soushire. “My lady, my lord. Enjoy your exploits with the boy king. Roddy, tell Lord Rustin I missed his sage counsel.” He strode off. The guards fell in alongside.

  The moment they were out of sight I whirled, beckoned Elryc. “Where’s Rust?”

  “Whatever did you mean, we quarreled? Other than how you spoke to Genard—”

  “WHERE IS HE?”

  “He’s irked. Roddy, he’s regent, and you convened with Mar without so much as—don’t shake me! He said he’d bid Uncle Mar adieu. He’s down the road, with—where are you going?”

  I tore off my cloak, pitched it with my coronet at Groenfil as I galloped past. “Rust!”

  The guards were nearly at the sapling to which Mar’s steed was tied.

  Where Rustin waited, arms folded.

  “RUSTIN!” My bellow tore still air.

  He spun.

  Mar’s hand slipped into a saddlebag.

  “It’s Orwal! He’s hurt!” For my life, I could think of no other that would draw him.

  Mar’s hand whipped out. Rustin bolted down the road, my uncle forgotten. Mar stood frozen. Rust’s legs pumped. I raced toward him. He called, “Where is he? Who did—”

  I threw myself into his arms, knocking us both into tall grass. I wrapped myself around him. “You live! Lord of Nature be praised! Warthen, thank—”

  Down the road, Margenthar swung into his saddle. Without a hindward look, he cantered off.

  “Unhand me, you dolt!” Rust’s words were muffled in my embrace. “What of the horse?”

  “I made it up, Orwal’s fine, you live, you live!” My babble mixed with sobs. “You live!”

  “ARE YOU UNHINGED?” His voice was hot.

  “You don’t understand, I—”

  A dagger twisted in my guts. Mist obscured my sight. White hot agony cleft me in twain. I wailed.

  Even this, Rust. For you.

  In the Warthen’s stronghold, Rustin scowled from over my bed. “You’re well served, for eating like a pig.”

  I groaned, clutching my stomach. Behind my eyes, a dreadful ache that swelled and fell. I swallowed, hoping not to spew bile.

  “Moderation at a banquet, Roddy.”

  Another word and I’d scream. “Yes, sir. Let me rest, I pray you.”

  “Very well. Come, Anavar, we’ll see Sandhelm.”

  “Let me stay, ’til he sleeps.”

  “You’ll find me on the street past the wineseller’s. They say that silversmith’s set up shop in Sandhelm.”

  “I’ll be along, my lord.”

  When the door shut, Anavar’s eyes met mine.

  I said, “He doesn’t know. Do you?”

  Anavar had a faraway look. “As in a dream. Rustin didn’t save us in the Southron Hills, ride with us through the High Pass. Or am I ... No. It must be so. You bought a Return?”

  In my throat, a lump. “You don’t recall? You sat with me while I—” A spasm made me yearn to die. I turned away my face. When I could speak I said, “If not for you, he’d be forever gone.”

  Anavar was pensive. “Did I ... urge on you another attempt?”

  I nodded.

  “Ah!” He fair leaped from the bed. “The memory is moored to my mind. But, Rodrigo ...” His features screwed in puzzlement. “The other is true as well. Rustin didn’t die. He rode with us to Cumber. When you were so ... pardon, sir—clumsy with Tresa, he set you straight, delivered your apology so you left friends. Is it not so?”

  Dismayed, I nodded.

  “In Pezar, he held Raeth while he died. And that night you had the wild notion of sending envoy to Hriskil—it was he who forbade it. After, when you yourself would go—Oh!” He rested head in hands. “But I recall your grace. Surely that can’t be gone.”

  “Stand away!” I retched into a basin. Weakly, I wiped my mouth. “Is this the Return, or too much roast pig? If Rust’s alive, I had no need of a Return.”

  “Both can’t be true!”

  “Both are.” I gripped his arm. “Anavar, Rust’s with me again! What else matters?”

  “He shares your tent.” The boy’s voice was quiet. “As always.”

  “Anavar ... in the other life, so much misery, such awful pain ... it’s gone now. I have him.”

  “Yes.” Anavar’s eyes were bleak.

  “Does it trouble you? You and I never—well, in o
ur dream we drew closer, did we not? But now ...”

  He said firmly, “Now, all is as before.” He stood. “Have I leave, my lord? You should rest.”

  Ill at ease and self-conscious, I made ready for bed.

  Rustin paced idly. “Groenfil’s thoughts are troubled. He looks at me strangely.” A pause. “For that matter, so do Danzik and Pardos.” He shot me a sidewise look. “Have you brought them complaint?”

  “No. No, sir.” My speech was well in hand, as it had been for months. Rust was a hard taskmaster, but I’d grown used to it.

  Later, the candles doused, he lounged on the pillows. “So, my prince. We came to Sandhelm, and are spurned. No aid, no soldiers, not even sight of the Warthen. What now?”

  “We go back.”

  “To what? Hriskil wanders Caledon unopposed. We can’t retake Stryx. How long will Groenfil and Soushire hold out?”

  “Not long.”

  Rustin ruffled my hair as if I were a boy. “Ah, my love. I wanted so to see you restored.” His voice was sad. “Ironic, is it not? Once we whispered of a Return to erase the blemish that troubles you so. But we’ve no gold for the purchase.”

  Carefully, I breamed, in and out. In. Out. “I need no Return, sir.” How might a voice be so careless, when one’s heart was cleft?

  I lay awake into the night.

  “It is ever thus.” Tajik leaned forward to adjust his sandal. “He alone will not know.” Behind him, Danzik stood at the door, arms folded.

  “But ... I scratched my head. “Which is real?”

  “He lives; all that follows from it is real. But you are what made you. What you recall is part of that.” A shrug. “The Powers are mystery.”

  I needed no platitudes. “Can the event be explained to him?”

  “Always, their minds struggle to surround it. I say ‘always’; my lord has brought many to life. It is perhaps the most desired Return.”

  “And what other?”

  “Lost love.” Tajik glanced past the balcony at the sun, past midday. “Is there else?”

  “If you bought a Return, what would move you?”

  He seemed startled. “A dead child, I think. I can imagine no else.”

  “So, then.” My voice was casual. “What would you swear on, Tajik? What binds your soul?”

  “My oath is—”

  “Of course. But on what sworn?”

  He stared a moment, as if puzzling me out. Then, “In the Sands, oaths given on a father’s life are beyond sacred. Men go mad who break them.” He rose. “I must—”

  “Not yet.” I leaned forward. “You know my payment?”

  “Renunciation. In secret, it was given.”

  “I’m no longer Vasur’s liege, yet would do him one favor.”

  “What is that, my lord?”

  “Rid him of you.”

  Tajik backed to the door, nearly ran into Danzik. “If I shout—”

  “Your neck would be wrenched in an instant. Danzik’s strength is formidable.”

  Tajik’s eyes darted between us. He licked his lips. “What would you of me?”

  “Your oath that henceforth you serve Vasur, not the Sands.”

  “They’re one and the—”

  “They are not!” I stood. “What cajolements you use, with what silken threads you bind him, I care not. It will cease, if you would leave this room alive.”

  For an instant Tajik debated. He even drew sharp breath, to cry out. But he was a realist; in a moment, he slumped. “Why do you this?”

  “For his pain.”

  Tajik’s eyes sought mine. “Know you that I love him?”

  “Yes. And so you’ll serve him.”

  Living under the sword of the True, I knew of oaths. And so, I well and truly bound him. Afterward, Danzik threw open the door.

  An honor guard of Lanat’s hundreds escorted us to the pass. At least, I hoped it was so; perhaps Vasur wanted to assure we took no excursions through his realm.

  On the long ride from Sandhelm, Groenfil found us a moment alone. “When will you tell Rustin?”

  “Ask not when, but if.”

  He looked about, kept his voice low. “Roddy, I recall well what was. Do you?”

  I nodded. “In every detail.”

  “Now you’re ... altered.” Groenfil’s tone was uneasy. “Well-behaved, I’ll grant; Rustin’s done well in that. But so much you did is ... lost.”

  It was so. Under Rust’s guidance I hadn’t ridden to tweak Hriskil in his camp, hadn’t jumped from the wall to save Danzik; Rust himself had quelled the rush to harm him. I hadn’t spoken the names of Fiber’s dead churls. I hadn’t ...” I said firmly, “I mourn none of it. Until he died, I knew not how I loved him. Now I know.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘but’, my lord Earl. I am content.”

  And I was. Caledon was still lost to us; in that, even Rust could do no better than I. But he eased my soul. For months I’d not lacked companionship, or warm heartbeat in the night. Now and then, I expected him to seek comfort in my limbs, as of old. Yet, he did not. Perhaps some memory of my vanished solitude crept into my mien or speech. Occasional affection was all he allowed himself, and I was too relieved to inquire the cause. Now, as before his death, I bathed when he asked, donned clean clothes, spoke kindly to servants and men. So what if I’d taken all that on myself in our other life, and by and large succeeded? I knew I’d done so, even if he did not. Soon or late I would be a man. For now, I’d be the boy Rustin knew.

  Groenfil asked, “How could you not tell him?”

  “I am content,” I said again. Then, “Did you try?”

  “Aye. It was as if I spoke our own tongue to Danzik. Rustin stared uncomprehending, then left me.”

  At the Warthen’s Gate, we were greeted with generosity. Badir opened his stables to our mounts, made sure men and beasts were fed and watered before sending us on our way. Anavar had charge of my servant Bollert, keeping him well among our own, and if possible out of Badir’s sight.

  We passed through the gate at the walk in single file. For a show, I wore my coronet, though Rust didn’t really approve. But I’d recalled the art of coaxing what I wished from his generous nature, and he seemed content.

  During our expedition to the Sands, Hriskil’s lieutenant Sarazon had taken to the hills in force, and now blocked our path to Soushire. Making camp, we conferred, Rustin, Groenfil and I. The Southron hills ranged far and wild; we might evade the Norlanders for long. Rust seemed to favor it, though Groenfil clearly yearned for his imperiled domain. Not as much, though, as I yearned for Stryx. But every castle of the land was barred to us. Sarazon was between us and Stryx; Groenfil Castle was under Hriskil’s siege. The Norlanders held Cumber, and Verein ... I snorted. I retrieved a stick from the edge of the fire, waved the smoldering end to write in air with the glow.

  “Supplies,” said Groenfil, “are the key. If but one domain were open to us ...”

  “If wishes were horses ...” Rust glanced at me, frowned. “You’ll cause hurt, my prince.” Gently, but firmly, he pried the stick from my hands, broke it, tossed it in the flames. My cheeks reddened at the nonchalance with which he made me a babe. I sighed. Had it not always been so?

  “Castle Stryx is not yet fallen,” said Groenfil. “If we evaded Sarazon and gained entry ...”

  “We’re too few. We decided that long past. There’s nowhere.”

  “Verein.” I cleared my throat, said it more loudly. “We strike for Verein.”

  Rust blinked. “Why, Roddy?”

  “Uncle Mar’s left it; he’s twixt Pezar and Cumber dodging Hriskil.”

  “We don’t know surely—”

  I said, “He was, at any rate. And to oppose us, he stripped Verein’s walls.” I looked up. “Well, he must have, Rust. What other men had he?”

  “What good Verein without Mar? You can’t take vengeance on stone.”

  Annoyed, I climbed to my feet. “Verein is refuge, not vengeance. It offers supplies, a roof,
lands Norlanders don’t yet roam. A defensible base.” I looked from one to the other of them. “Are we not better there, than—” I gestured at our meager camp. “—here?”

  Their eyes met. Groenfil nodded. “Agreed? I’ll send out our scouts.” He strode off.

  After a time Rustin sat alongside, folding his legs under him. “Well spoken, Roddy.” He patted my knee. “But were it not best that you broached ideas first with me? Am I not still regent?”

  “Yes, sir.” Immediately I was contrite. “I beg pardon.”

  “Thank you.” He toyed with a burning stick, until he saw my eyes on him. He flushed, threw it aside. “There’s more I would speak of with thee.”

  “What did I do?” I sounded anxious, and was. Since Sandhelm, I’d tried so to please him.

  “I charge you with no fault.” A pause, while Rustin seemed to gather his courage. “If we’re friends—are we?” His voice caught.

  “Yes!”

  “Then hide not matters of import. I pray—I beg thee.” For a moment he turned away. Then, with resolve, “Since the day we rode from Sandhelm ... I know not what it is. Anavar sulks. Pardos looks at me as if a demon rides my shoulder, and he would break and run. Your mood is changed, my prince, though manfully you conceal it. Groenfil mumbled once about a Return, words that made no sense. Is it ...” He swallowed. “Have I failed you as regent? Would you overthrow me? Because if so, no need, gladly I’ll give up ...” His eyes glistened. “For your frien—friendship—I’ll—”

  I seized his shoulders. “No, Rustin, it’s not that, I swear it! You’re regent of Caledon. You’re guardian of my soul. I wish it ever so!”

  His fingers crept atop mine. “Speak of it, then.”

  “In Sandhelm ...” Why did my throat lock away the words? “In Sandhelm, Rust, a Return was had.” Groenfil ambled toward the campfire, urgently I waved him elsewhere. “I underwent the rite.”

  Rust bristled. “Without my consent? Am I regent or no?” After a moment, “To what end?”

  “Do you recall that day, months back, when we rode through Fort and on toward Cumber ... ?”

  “One day of many sewn together. Dust, flies, griping men.”

  I prompted, “I told you Orwal was hurt.”

  Pondering, he tapped knuckles to teeth. “You met with Mar in secret and afterward came screaming down the road like a drunken child, before I could do him the courtesies.”