The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  The earl sighed. “Our way to Stryx is blocked. Hriskil’s moved a portion of his army to the city. Rustin holds firm in the Keep. For now.”

  “What else?”

  “From Cumber, no word, but Bouris is no friend of yours, and contests your revocation of his title. Verein’s fallen; it had no garrison. My castle holds.”

  I asked, “What was your intent?”

  “When we assumed you dead? To maneuver as best I might, so as to rejoin my sons. Now, command is yours. Anavar ... ?”

  “My lord?”

  Groenfil’s tone grew stiff. “Baron of the Southern Reaches, I pray thy pardon.”

  Anavar muttered, “Granted.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

  Groenfil flushed. “We had ... harsh words. Anavar demanded—argued passionately—that we invade Soushire, free you from the cave. But a good portion of Hriskil’s force was set in our path, against just such an eventuality. I would save you if I could, but not ride to suicide.” A pause, then reluctantly, “Especially as I believed you dead.”

  I grunted. “You did right. No, Anavar.” I stayed his protest. “Groenfil preserved what little army we had. Now we may act.” Brave words, and hollow. To divert him, I added, “Is that rabbit cooked?”

  “I’ll see, Roddy. Er, sir! Sire.” The boy rushed off.

  Groenfil said, to a point in the distance, “The third day, I had him restrained, that he not rush off alone on a gallant death ride. I thought you would wish it so.”

  I managed, “Thank you.”

  “What path now, sire?”

  I threw up my hands. In all Caledon, we had but two strong-points: Groenfil’s castle and Stryx. Groenfil was besieged, and the enemy lay between us and Stryx. If we broke through to Stryx before Hriskil mounted a true siege, the yeomen Tresa and Willem had trained could reinforce our meager numbers. But where would men at arms be of most use? Did we not need to maintain Castle Stryx at all costs, as symbol of our defiance? And autumn was upon us. If Stryx held out until the first snows, the castle was ours ’til spring. Even the Norls couldn’t maintain siege works in bitter winter.

  Furthermore, we desperately needed resupply. An army couldn’t live off the land and remain an effective fighting force.

  What, then?

  I knew not. In my weakened state, strategy was too much for me. That resolved it, did it not? “To Stryx,” I said. “We’ll consult Rust and Tresa. Hriskil may repulse us, I know. But I need their aid.”

  A short bow. “As you say, sire.” He moved off.

  “My lord?” Now it was I who hesitated. “Outside the cave—we saw ... there was a tree. Danzik carried me ...”

  “Yes, Hriskil hanged Larissa.” Groenfil’s tone was flat. “Do you know, he had scribes make hundreds of copies of a broadsheet, and posted them at every cross for furlongs around. A crude drawing of a woman hanged and kind words for me. He was anxious I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was like the wagons before Pezar. They think to weaken us by their barbarity.”

  “Do they?”

  His eyes were bleak. “I mourn her, sire. Forgive me.”

  “Gladly. Even I couldn’t find it in me to hate her.”

  “Yet you threatened what Hriskil accomplished.”

  “I’d like to think I’d have demurred, at the end.” I waved it away. “To you, she was kind. You summoned her best.”

  He blinked rapidly, turned away. “Let us not speak of it.”

  On the road to Stryx, Anavar was a constant shadow. Casting about for conversation I asked, “Is there word of Tantroth?”

  “One courier from Eiber ferreted out our trail. The duke snaps at the Norlanders’ heels, but Eiber Castle is beyond his grasp.”

  Danzik chuckled. “Always will be. Hriskil is too clever for his traps.”

  “Where might your king be now, Guiat?”

  “When I ride with you, I know nothing more than you.”

  I pondered. “Hriskil will ride to Stryx, to direct the siege.”

  “Why?” Anavar.

  “He can’t afford to let it fail. He needs a great victory. Nobles and churls see us pique him over and again.”

  “Yet one by one he seizes your domains.”

  “I know, Anavar. He defeats us, but we maintain the illusion of defiance, and that’s near as important as triumph on the field.” Despite my bravado, I lapsed into gloomy silence as we plodded on, and ignored his attempts to draw me out.

  As the afternoon drew to a close our weary column left one sheep path for another. Danzik squinted, and spurred to the trunk of a huge tree that held something white. He muttered an oath.

  Lord Groenfil came up behind us. “More of Hriskil’s taunts?” Danzik ignored my outstretched hand, thrust the sheet to Groenfil. The earl read in silence. His eyes briefly darted to mine. His lips tightened.

  “Give it me!” Irked, I snatched it from his gloved fingers.

  It was in Norl, beyond my ability. No, wait; the last half was in Caled.

  My lips moved across the hand-inked page. “TO THE ADHERENTS OF THE CATAMITE RODRIGO: Know that the boy Elryc, once prince, and last-but-one of the former House of Caledon, is recovered from his gelding, and pleasures his betters at the Inn of the Seven Maids in Wayvere.”

  A dreadful cry, that startled the horses. My mouth worked.

  Anavar said, “Roddy, what—”

  “Be assured the child Rodrigo will soon join his brother. Those who capture him will be granted six thousand golds of the Norland and will be the first to bed the—”

  ELRYC.

  I stiffened, jabbed hard with my heels. Galvanized, the mare reared. We plunged down the muddy wad. I lashed her flanks. The trail flew past. A limb hung low. I ducked.

  Behind me, the frantic clatter of hooves. A sob escaped me. I lay over my mare’s neck, willing her onward, I cared not where.

  Elryc!

  Forty-three

  ANAVAR AND TWO SWIFT guardsmen on frothing mounts came up behind. One maneuvered past me, slowed his steed enough to block my way. Anavar snatched my reins. I gave a mighty tug, nearly unhorsing myself.

  “Whoa, Edmund!” Anavar struggled to halt us both. “Roddy, why? Hold, horse! Go easy.” After a struggle he had us at a walk.

  I was beyond speech. Anavar got us turned, just as fifty horsemen thundered down on us, arms drawn. In a moment, Groenfil was among them, eyes blazing. “Where go you, sire?”

  “Anywhere. To war. To death. You read it?”

  “Yes.” His tone was grim.

  Danzik nosed his mare past Anavar, the better to hear.

  I reared in my saddle. “Halt, you!”

  “Rez?”

  My smoldering eyes met his. “Norlander, leave my camp.”

  “Qa?”

  “Now and forever!”

  Danzik said firmly, “Caled, iv han dea tal cos.” I did not do this thing.

  “You are of the people who did.”

  A long pause. “Iot hom El-e-rek kevhom.” Little-man Elryc is a gentleman. Then, forcefully, in Caled, “Hriskil should have not done this. I’ll not go back.”

  “We fight your people.”

  “I’ll try not fight.” Then, as if in surrender, Danzik’s shoulders slumped. “If I fight, then with Caled. Hriskil way has ... han vade.” No honor.

  I let it be. “Anavar, is not Wayvere on the Eiber coast?”

  “Aye, sir. It’s a garrison town, seized by Hriskil when the war began.”

  Every moment of thought was agonizing delay. I marshalled my errant wits. “Baron Anavar, I place you in Lord Groenfil’s care and custody.”

  “No!”

  “Heed me. Until I return, or thirty days have passed and my fate is unknown. Groenfil, get word to Stryx Castle and the Keep. Do what you can to keep Hriskil’s force busy.”

  “Where go you?”

  “To Wayvere, of course. Where I ought have gone the day Larissa named the place.”

 
The earl’s tone was sharp. “To do what?”

  My brother lay abused, scarred and mutilated. “Need you ask? Free Elryc, or die with him.”

  “Let us all—”

  “Think you Hriskil’s a fool? He’s set traps, he’ll watch the coast road. You’ve no more chance of reaching Wayvere than—”

  Groenfil demanded, “How will you, then?”

  “I’ll seek Baron Jahl of Stoneshore.”

  “Who? Oh, the fisherman. Think you he could—”

  “One ship, a drunken sailor set ashore? Yes.”

  “You’re known. Your scar tells the world—”

  “Dark dye. I’ll go disguised as a trader from Chorr. I’ll not look myself, and it will fade the scar too.” The point wasn’t to succeed, it was to try. Only then might I earn peace.

  “Why you? If Elryc can be saved by one man in disguise, then any of us—”

  “Elryc trusts me, and it’s my oath to redeem. No, don’t argue!”

  Groenfil said stubbornly, “You can’t go alone.”

  “Not alone.” Danzik stirred. “I go.”

  “Then so do I!” Anavar. “It’s my country; I know the land.”

  It was near a day before we were ready. Groenfil sent a yeoman to Seacross, where he found a leatherer, and came away with the brown dye that was so popular for saddles. The earl made me apply it not just to face and hands, but to my whole body. “If they have the clothes off me,” I told him, “a bit of dye won’t save me.”

  “I won’t have Caledon lost by a rip in your breeches.”

  Reluctantly, I applied the foul-smelling paste to all my parts. None of us had a silver, but I caught a glimpse of myself in a polished sword, and grimaced. I looked ridiculous, or worse. Still, I studied my face. As I’d hoped, my scar stood out far less against dark skin than light.

  Next, they cut my hair, over my fierce protest, but Groenfil was adamant. “If you must do this, Rodrigo, let it be done properly. Your wavy locks are familiar to all.”

  Eventually, our preparations were done, and our saddlebags bulged with food and drink. As we left our glade, Groenfil strode alongside, hand on my pommel, peppering me with advice. Stay away from inns. And the trails down to Stryx are unsafe. Norlanders abound. Jahl may be taken or turned. Be cautious in Wayvere; Eiberian ways are different from ours.

  Gently, I placed my hand on his, on my pommel. “I’ll take what care I might, dear my lord. I promise you.”

  He blinked. “A father’s blessing, if you’ll have it.”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Go now, my liege. Anavar, watch over him. He has sense, if he remembers to use it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Danzik ...” The earl forced his tongue around unaccustomed words. “Hae co domu nat.” Go with Lord of Nature.

  Danzik grinned. “And you, Caled lord.”

  We picked our way toward the coast. My stomach was knotted with unease, but we encountered no worse than a clutch of churls from a nameless hamlet scything hay. They stopped their sweaty labor and stared as the three of us rode past. All eyes were on me. Fervently I hoped it was because they’d never seen a brownskin from Chorr, and not because they saw a familiar face.

  We found Jahl of Stoneshore without incident. He told us the Norland army had occupied Stryx and its environs with casual contempt. They kept watch on castle and Keep lest our few defenders sally forth, but seemed to make no effort to organize attack or mount siege. Perhaps their only intent was to settle for the winter in comfortable quarters. Apparently they let the townsmen be, that their supply of wares and foodstuffs be uninterrupted. Patrols to outlying villages were few.

  Jahl’s barony was a shared secret among his taciturn fellow villagers. Months earlier, at Stryx Castle, I’d had Willem scrape together enough coin to replace Jahl’s lost fishing boat—our promise of a tri-master was still unkept, though the ship Jahl purchased, an old Ukra barque, was considerably larger than the vessel we’d wrecked on the harbor rocks, and had a hold big enough for trading.

  He wasn’t overjoyed to see us. “Wayvere? A long sail.” He rubbed his chin. “And death if we’re caught.”

  “Most especially for me. Baron Jahl, I speak frankly: I’ve nowhere else to turn. Aid me, or I’m lost.”

  “What good is another mad escapade? Will Elryc redeem the kingdom?”

  “No, only my oath, and my soul.” I held his eye. “Then may I look again to Caledon.”

  “Hah. All is lost. Even I see it.”

  “It would seem so.” But it no longer matters.

  His tone was grudging. “Let me ... ponder.”

  In the end, he agreed. He scraped together a few barrels of wine and other odds and ends, enough to pass for trade goods.

  We crept out of the inlet at dawn. Jahl gave the harbor of Stryx wide berth. From the swaying deck, I squinted at the hazy outline of the castle, far distant. Tresa might even now be staring out a high window. Did she wonder of me, as I of her? Beside me, Danzik seemed as stolid as ever. Anavar, a hand on the rail, yawned prodigiously. I’d managed a good night’s sleep, because the die was finally cast.

  I might well die in the rescue of my brother. But if I succeeded ... not only would I redeem my honor and save my poor mutilated brother, but I’d tweak Hriskil once again. Soon or late, my goads must have effect. He would blunder, in some unforeseen fashion, and drop his guard. Then, the sword of Caledon would plunge between his ribs.

  We tacked up the coast. Jahl took amusement in setting the three of us at ropes. Once or twice I was almost sure he came about abruptly just to see the yard whistle over our heads as we ducked. Still, a king with his brains dashed out was no good to the realm, and I kept myself alert for a swinging spar. And it kept me too busy to be seasick.

  All day we worked northward, against the prevailing wind.

  By now we were far north of the Keep. Never had I seen the coast from the sea. I was landsman, not seaman, and would stay so. I asked Jahl, “How much farther?”

  “The full day, with this wind.”

  “Will we land at night?”

  “Just after dawn, we’ll cause less notice. And the market will be open.”

  “But not the ...” I made myself say it. “... the brothels.”

  “Hah,” said Jahl. “Wyvern’s a seaport. Do the brothels at Stryx ever close?”A small miserable town, Wayvere, vexed with flies, its streets dusty and crabbed. Well, perhaps I ought not be surprised. No king’s castle dominated a hill above; no domain was ruled from its precincts. Long part of Tantroth’s Eiber, it was ruled from afar. But still ...

  Jahl had gone ashore first and returned with a swarthy landsman who must be a local merchant. He was in the hold, inspecting our meager supply of goods.

  Danzik had clumped down the plank as if he owned the town and shouldered through the squad of Norland soldiers who clustered on the wharf. I, on the other hand, dressed in near-rags, fresh dye applied, a packroll under my arm, clutched a bottle of stomach-churning spirits as I fought a drunken argument with Jahl, in which he threatened to sail without me if I wasn’t back aboard by fourth hour past noon. Cursing him nonstop, I weaved my way past the amused Norl guards, but stopped abruptly. “Voe hoet sep virg?” Where is the inn of the seven maids? All the better that my accent was clumsy.

  A guardsman scowled. “Why ask you?”

  I sniggered. “Want to see the gelding.” Danzik had worked with me for hours, to ensure I’d memorized the Norl words. I waved my bottle, offered the grizzled guard a swig, which he declined. “A prince, no less.” I shook my head at the thought. “They won’t believe it in Chorr.”

  His dubious eye strayed to my rags. “They say he’s high-priced, brownskin.”

  I shrugged. “Just want a look.”

  He pointed to a row of shops. I lurched down the quay, careful not to glance back at the ship, nor to search ahead for Anavar, who, as an Eiberian, had stalked off the ship with near as much arrogance as Danzik. In this town, his accent would
pass far better than my own.

  I wandered past the stalls of potsellers, ropers, leatherers and winesellers. Anavar stood biting his lip, torn between two leather coin purses. “The stone building with the tree beside.” His voice was a bare whisper. The inn was long and wide, no doubt built around a central courtyard. It had no windows in the outer walls. “Norlanders inside. Lots. Drinking.”

  “Did you see—”

  “No.” He shook his head, put down both purses, stalked off.

  When next I found him, he’d bought a skin of wine and was pouring it down his gullet. I hoped it was well watered. “Easy, there. Did you see where they keep him?”

  “Downstairs is a regular inn. Stables behind, see them? The brothel must be above.”

  I shifted my pack. “Where might I change?”

  “Behind the potseller, if you’re quick. Alley’s deserted.”

  I asked, “Danzik?”

  “Inside.”

  “Wait, then.” I sidled around the stall, drifted into the alley.

  In Stoneshore, I’d reasoned that a sailor in rags would attract the least attention disembarking, while a man of means would have the best chance of reaching Elryc. So, I quickly donned the decent leggings and jerkin I’d brought in my pack, and discarded my rags. I stuffed an ample coinpurse under my belt rope.

  I edged alongside the potseller’s shack; when the road was clear I popped out, strode arrogantly down the walk.

  The inn smelled of stew and sweat. I stood just inside the door while my eyes adjusted to dark. Someone bumped my arm; I snarled, shrugged free. A barmaid muttered apology.

  They don’t know you, Roddy. Your hair’s cropped, your skin is dark.

  I found a bench, swept aside dirty mugs, took a seat. At the far end of my table, a cluster of Norland guards banged their glasses, laughing. I listened to the rise and fall of murmured speech. The soldiers spoke Norl, the locals Caled in their broad Eiberian accent. I’d best stay away from Caled. In Norl, as a foreigner, I was allowed my awkwardness of speech.

  The fat innkeeper twisted his way past crowded tables. “Drink?”

  I spoke my practiced Norl. “Is this where they have the boy?”