I ran down the hall, flung open the door.
Genard sat on the bed. Our eyes met, and held. “I didn’t think you’d come, Roddy. Not truly.”
“Have you street clothes?”
He shook his head.
“Danzik!” My voice was a hiss. “What can he wear?”
Danzik perused him. “Women’s clothes. They won’t expect—”
“Where can we—”
“My whore. She’s tied to the bed. She said she has clothes in the room by the courtyard stair.” Danzik was back in a moment, bearing a light robe and scarf, and sandals. They would do, but we need draw the scarf tight; Genard’s hair was too short for a woman’s.
The boy slipped into his robe. “Will I dress like this after?” His tone was morose.
I tried to smile as I poured water into the basin and soaped my face. “You’re Genard, as ever you’ve been. This nightmare will ease.”
“Will it?” His disbelief was clear.
I scrubbed at hands and face. To my joy, much of the brown dye oozed off with the soap.
Danzik growled, “What are you doing! They’ll see who—”
“The brownskin from Chorr can’t visit a boy and walk down with a woman, unremarked. Find me a cloak, and a hat.”
He did. They altered my appearance somewhat.
“Danzik, to the ship. I’ll greet you at Pezar. Leave now, so they don’t associate you with this ... atrocity. We’ll be, oh, a quarter candle behind you; see Jahl sails the instant you’re aboard.”
“Qay.” Danzik paused at the door. “Rez Caledi ...”
“Yes?” My tone was impatient.
“You’re a fit king. If I were Caled ...” A sigh. “Salut.”
My eyes stung. “Farewell, Guiat.”
An hour candle burned on the sill. I couldn’t bear to watch; it burned too slow. Besides, if a customer came up the stair ... or for that matter, down ... I bade Genard wait in the bedchamber, and stationed myself at the stairwell, gripping the guard’s sword.
For once, fortune was with us; no one climbed the stairs, and the chamber doors remained shut. When I could stand it no longer, I poked my head into our bedchamber. “Now. Follow me down.”
“If there’s trouble, m’lor’, take heed of yourself. I’ll ...” He swallowed.
I slipped the sword in my scabbard, and we began our journey down the stairs. The inn below was a miasma of smoke and sweat and fetid air, but no one seemed to mind. Sor glanced our way without interest, turned back to his friends.
The foot of the stairs was blocked by a handful of townsmen waiting to sit. We thrust our way through.
And then we were outside. A bedraggled stableboy leaned against the rail, three sets of reins dangling.
I had Elryc. For a moment, I was dizzy with relief. I threw off my cape. “Mount, quickly!” I took a closer look. “Elryc, these aren’t the horses—”
“Of course not, you dolt! I took the best they had.”
“But the old man ...”
Elryc’s voice was ragged. “He asked what I was doing. I ran him through with a pitchfork. He’s lying under a pile of hay!”
“It’s all right.”
“No it isn’t.”
“A furlong south, there’s a trail to the hills. We’ll take it only as far as the edge of town. After that, we stick to fields and wood. Hurry.” I led the way.
The door flew open. “There!” Half a dozen men poured out, soldiers among them. They raced toward us.
“Go!” I slapped Elryc’s gray on the rump. He bolted. “Genard, follow!” I wheeled, raised high my sword. My heels dug into my stallion’s flanks. My sword whirled, cleaved an arm from a shoulder. I jabbed, a second man fell. Fingers clawed at my stirrups; I yanked on the reins; my mount reared back. His hooves slammed down, and I was free. Men dived aside, or back through the door.
I spun my excited steed, goaded him with my heels. He sped down the dusty road, leaving behind the hue and cry. I leaned over his shoulder, almost in joy. He was so like Ebon ...
Almost, I overshot the trail. I spotted it just in time, pulled gently on the reins. We galloped off toward the hills. My mount flew like a summer wind. In moments I caught up to Elryc and Genard.
We plunged into the undergrowth. All we need do was elude Hriskil’s army, and find Tantroth’s.
Forty-five
ELRYC EDGED CLOSER TO the fire, and coughed. “—lots of reasons. I didn’t know the way. I was safer in the stable, where no one imagined I was the prince. And Genard ...” His eyes glistened. “How could I leave ...”
I threw up my hands, defeated. “So you’d die for each other, and neither would live. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” Elryc’s tone was stubborn.
“How?”
“Ask Rustin.”
“Arghh.” I tossed on more sticks, hoping the hollow in which we camped would swallow the sparks. “It’s colder than I expected; autumn’s on us.” Winter would follow, and a surcease to war.
“I’m all right.”
“You’re freezin’, m’lor’.” Genard felt his forearm.
I said sourly, “We’re not dressed for cold, and I was too stupid to bring a blanket.” Elryc had only his rags, and Genard a woman’s cotton robe. I padded to the far side of the firepit, began hunting rocks. In half an hour, using the flattest stones I could find, I’d made something of a low wall quite close to the coals, to reflect back the heat. Then, on our side, I made a broom of my foot and drew dry leaves into a pile near the firepit. We lay as close as we could without being singed.
Elryc asked Genard gently, “How did you stand it?”
A silence. Then, “One day gives on to another, m’lor’. You pretend you’re home, at the stables in Stryx. You pretend they’re horses, not men. Don’t make me talk of it.”
“Never.”
I lay under stars, knowing I’d been brave in the rescue, but not near so brave as Genard.
Three hours of cold, hungry ride brought us to the outskirts of a village. I bade my brother hide in the woods, and Genard watch over him. Elryc was coughing more frequently, and looked pale.
I rode boldly to the first house I saw. “Have you children?”
The yeoman owner was feeding chickens. “Why ask you?”
“Half-grown boys, so high?”
“Yes, but ...”
I fished in my coinpurse, picked out a silver. “Warm clothes for two boys, and boots. I’ll buy them, or kill you for them. Choose.” I drew my sword.
In moments the transaction was done. The silver I’d tossed him was worth ten times the shabby clothes, and we both knew it. I was lucky he was richer than his neighbors, a man whose tykes had spare breeches and shoes. I said, “Blankets too.”
“I’ve only our own.”
“Buy more.”
Grudgingly, he parted with two woolen blankets. “We’ve only two beds, sire, theirs and mine.” Abruptly, with a look of horror, he clapped a hand over his mouth.
I said gently, “The scar?”
“And the brother snatched from the alehouse, the stableboy missing ... that’s two boys.” Eyes on my sword, he made a sign, as one might make on his deathbed.
“How many eggs have you?”
He looked startled. “Today? Six.”
I said, “Would you boil them for a king?”
“Will you ... let me live?”
I smiled. “A fair trade. Done.”
I followed him to his hearth. “Your boys?”
“Prenticed to the miller.” He fetched a pot, poured water from a bucket, added a log to the embers. One by one, he settled in the eggs.
“Wife?”
His tone went bleak. “Wasted away. Dead these nine months.”
“Someday, if all goes well—honestly, I can’t say it will—bring your boys to Stryx. I’ll set them to honorable service.”
He brightened. “You’d do that, sire?”
“For fresh eggs? You could have asked my crown.” I f
rowned. My coronet was somewhere in a saddlebag with my other sparse treasures, in Groenfil’s keeping.
When we were done, I swore him to silence, galloped off.
I threw the clothes at Genard and Elryc. “Dress! Hurry, we haven’t a moment!” The instant they were clothed, I swung back on my saddle. “Ride for your lives!”
“Roddy, what happened?” Elryc urged his mount to a canter.
“I was recognized. Perhaps he’s true; he swore so, but who would not, with a sword at his throat? No roads today. Oh. Here!” I handed my brother a warm egg, careful not to drop it as we rode. “And for you, Genard.”
It was rough going, and would have been worse but for the jug of well-water the yeoman had thrust at me on leaving. We refilled it at every stream and passed it around among us.
Later, when we stopped to rest, Genard and Elryc swapped clothes until each wore garb something akin to their own size. Elryc’s boots were too large, but it couldn’t be helped; I tore cloth from the rags he’d once worn, and stuffed them into the toes.
That night, wrapped in two blankets, we slept like kings.
In my case, it was only fit.
We made our way into the hills. I dimly recalled the general location of Pineforest. Twice I sent Genard into villages to buy bread at the inn. We’d acquired mugs now too, a clay pot, and tea to steep.
Genard looked the boy he was, though sallow and withdrawn. I couldn’t ride into a village; as my one attempt had proved, my scar would proclaim my identity. Genard’s features weren’t commonly known, like mine or my brother’s. Moreover, I sought to give him a task of valor; he’d been moody and disconsolate all our journey. And in the quiet of the night, he wept.
Valor he certainly showed on one occasion: he rode back from an inn with two roast fowl. Our eager expressions made even him smile, but soon he turned morose again and withdrew when I tried to engage him.
Elryc’s chest pained him, and he was oft distant.
That night, as we huddled in a clearing under our blankets, I stared at the starry sky, pondering.
Poor Elryc. He’d been terrified by his ordeal, as well he might. His nature was not bellicose; killing the old stableman would long trouble him. When I probed, he didn’t care to speak of it. Perhaps Genard would be able to ease his mind.
Ah, Genard. He was a miserable shadow of himself.
I wrapped my blanket tighter. Even a stableboy had hopes for the future, and Genard was more, a liege man to a prince. No doubt Genard’s dreams had been of manhood, wife, children.
No longer. Somehow, he’d have to bear it. That and the mockery behind his back. And also ...
I sat upright.
What he’d endured ... How does one absorb the venom of such memories?
One cannot. Already, he’d begun to draw away from Elryc, into his pain, his misery, his hate.
“No!” I threw off the covers. “We’ve lost men enough!” Once I’d despised him, mistreated him, and jeered. Now, my throat ached for the stableboy of Stryx.
“Elryc!” I shook him awake. “Take the blanket. Leave us alone for a time.”
“What do you?”
“I would aid your liege man.”
My brother rubbed his eyes. “Don’t hurt him.”
I gave him a reassuring pat. In a moment, Genard and I were alone. The stableboy regarded me warily.
I set down a mug and poured water.
“What do you?” His tone was wary.
“I wield my Power. I need see you within.”
“No! ELRYC, HELP!” Genard scrambled to his feet.
“What do you fear?” My tone was gentle.
“You. The Still. That day in Stryx, you oozed inside me, made me dance like a fool! I felt your spite.”
I poured. “This is different.” I hoped it was so. I set my palms over the mug. I shut my eyes. In a moment the night became clear. My lips moved.
“King!” A wail of anguish.
Gritting my teeth, I slipped within.
A door thrown open. Fetters. The rough ride to Wayvere. A looming inn. The sparse room of their imprisonment. His haughty dismissal of the “stableboy” Elryc.
Genard paced the windowless chamber, ever more anxious, alone and abandoned. Old Griswold, where are you now? Gladly I’d work in your stable at Stryx. “Get out! Roddy, don’t see!” They hauled him from the room. He struggled, automatically at first, then with desperation. The gag. The straps.
“Please, king!” A whisper.
“I must know.” I probed beyond.
“Let me bury it!”
Faces loomed.
The terrible knife.
Tell them I’m not Elryc! Bite through the gag!
Agony.
Blessed oblivion.
I fought fierce war, that my palms remain cupped.
“Enough, Roddy ...” Genard’s voice was broken.
“Not enough.” Mother, lend me strength, I beg thee.
Long days of recovery while torn flesh knit. Pain, vast at first, receding in minute increments.
Then, sooner than they ought, they came for him.
Across the firepit, the desperate boy staggered to his feet. “No! This is mine! None must know!”
A bed. Grasping hands. Leering eyes.
“Lord of Nature, let me die!”
Shock. Amazement. Horror. Abasement beyond imagining.
Hugging himself, dancing brokenly on the cold grass, Genard wept.
I endured it all, every vile moment. My palms ached.
I knew no way to assuage his woe, except to dislodge it. And to dislodge it I must ... absorb it. Take it unto myself.
In Jestrel, I had only looked, and learned. Tantroth, I’d commanded but a brief moment. To make Rustin understand his death, I’d given of myself. This was a realm beyond. I cast my nets, began gathering waves of pain, blotting the worst of me memories.
Genard wailed.
With grim determination I roamed his soul, absorbing his humiliation, the indignities, his degradation.
When at last I was done, Genard lay sniffling, arms and legs drawn in. His breathing was eased.
I wrenched my palms from the mug.
A pale moon rode overhead. Elryc watched wide-eyed from the edge of the grove.
My guts roiled. I leaned over an instant before I spewed my dinner.
I bore within me the unbearable.
I staggered to my feet, lurched out of camp. Abruptly, I rammed a young elm, so hard the bole shivered. My shoulder blazed in protest. I reared back, rammed it again. I howled. My throat was raw. I fell to my knees, thumped my head on the turf.
A calf at slaughter, I raised my eyes, let loose an inarticulate bellow. I began to pound the earth. My fists ached.
Insistent fingers tugged. “Come, Roddy. Don’t scare me so. It’s all right.” Elryc tugged me back to camp. “Take ease, King. Tell me how to help.”
“You ...” I gasped. “... can’t.” I clung to him. At the firepit, I fell into a blanket. I lay unmoving deep into the night.
Genard’s chest rose and fell in deep, peaceful sleep.
The fourth day from Wayvere, we were most cautious, as Pineforest neared. We avoided even the slightest of trails, in case Anavar had been captured and our course divulged, but it worked our horses dreadfully. They’d had no fodder but grass—and apples from a farmer’s trees—since Elryc had stolen them.
At evening, I struck flint for a campfire, while Genard tended the horses. I was wondering where to buy a bag of oats, when three archers, bows stretched, stepped from the trees and bade us disarm.
From Elryc, a cry of dismay. Genard glanced at his mare, as if contemplating a leap into the saddle. I said urgently, “No, don’t.” To the bowmen, “If you’re Tantroth’s, we’re the ones you seek.”
“And if not?”
“We’d already be dead.”
Their leader grinned, and unnocked his arrow. “True enough.”
I got to my feet. “Where is the duke?”
“And Anavar?”
“He partakes of my lord’s hospitality.”
Knowing Tantroth, that could be ominous, but I let it be. I’d know soon enough.
The archers led us a hundred paces, to where their horses were tethered. From there, we followed goat trails that in another season would revert to nature. It was a good two hours before we rode past vigilant sentries to a path that opened abruptly into a valley.
Below, wagons. Fire. Tents.
I clapped Elryc on the back. “Wow you’re rescued.”
Elryc gave a weary smile and stifled a cough. “Will I ever feel safe, Roddy?”
My voice turned serious. “I pray so.”
We rode into camp.
At the best of the tents, a flap opened. Duke Tantroth of Eiber emerged, cape drawn tight. His hair was grayer, his face more lined, his eyes desperately weary. Gravely, he held my bridle. “King of Caledon, welcome to my domain.” A wry smile. “Such as it is.”
“We thank you, my lord.” I jumped down. “I’ll sleep under a wagon if I must, but Elryc and Genard need a dry tent, warm soup, hot tea.”
“Oh, even in straitened circumstances, we’ll provide the king more than wagon planks for a roof.” The edge left his tone. “Lord Elryc, are you ... injured?” His question held unspoken volumes.
“My brother is unhurt.” My voice was sharp.
“We heard rumors ...”
“No doubt.” Between us, some signal passed. Tantroth snapped his fingers at an aide. “Stew and bread for the boys. Is there mutton left? Set a haunch to roasting. Rodrigo and I will dine anon.”
“Sir.” A familiar voice. Anavar sprinted across the camp to greet me.
“Ah. Our impetuous young baron.” Tantroth’s tone was dry.
“You have quarrel with him?”
Anavar released me, my back sufficiently pounded.
“He still need be taught manners. I refrained, lest it irk you.”
“My lord Duke, I’m tired, fretful and sad of the blood on my hands. I would not spar with you. Perhaps in the morn, I’ll be lighter of spirit.”
Tantroth walked me toward a tent. When we were alone, his voice dropped. “I meant not to vex you, Rodrigo.”
“Why, my lord! That’s an apology, if ever I heard one.”
His lips twitched. “We all have our failings.”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 59