The Still

by David Feintuch

  Trembling, I leaped out of bed, dashed to the window. Below, the courtyard flickered with soldiers bearing torches.

  “Open, or we’ll break in the door!”

  I scrambled into my breeches, snatched up my dagger, wishing Mother had let me store my sword in my room, instead of at the fencing master’s.

  “Now!” A terrific thud at the door.

  I glanced under the bed, thought of hiding, realized it would not do. I unbarred, braced myself for attack.

  Soldiers swept me aside. “Search the trunks! Pull off the mattress, look under.”

  I gaped.

  “Behind the curtains!”

  “This is my personal chamber! By what right—”

  “By order of the regent.” Stire, the Duke’s baron. “Where’s Elryc?”

  “At Council, you told me he’d be sent to Verein with Pytor.”

  “You know well he’s not—Do you have him?”

  With dismay, I watched clothes, knickknacks and playthings strewn about. “How dare you! I’m Prince of Caledon!”

  His face grew red. “Where in the demons’ lake is he?”

  “I don’t know!”

  We glared at each other, until he turned to a guard. “Any sign?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “He’s sure to be somewhere in the castle. Help them search the servants’ quarters.”

  “What about this mess?” My voice was too high-pitched.

  I jumped, as he spat at my bare feet. “Why, clean it up, youngsire.” A slam, and they were gone.

  To my utter disgust, I sat amid the chaos of my belongings and sobbed. My rage finally spent, I threw water on my face, paced until just before dawn, when at last I was calm enough to rest.

  The noise of the household woke me in early morn. Thoroughly short of sleep, I picked my way across the mess on the floor. My mood wasn’t improved when I slopped water from the washbasin onto my bare toes.

  Last night, while the furious wind of soldiers had torn through my chamber, I’d thought with some worry of Hester. Certainly they’d search the nursery, and her temper might well provoke the Duke’s men to violence.

  Now, yawning over the breakfast table, I realized that though I’d pounded up and down the steps to the third floor of the castle while searching for Pytor night before last, I’d never gone back to tell Hester where I’d hidden Elryc. After a quick breakfast, I looked into the stables, found Genard, who’d made no secret that he’d recognized my brother. Now, when I threatened him anew, he shrugged. “Elryc—Rendall says you’re not like that, m’lord.”

  “Who have you told?”

  The boy’s eyes had shifted. “No one, m’lord—don’t make that sign at me!” Quickly he threw up the hex of protection. “Master Griswold, was all. None else!”

  “Griswold? Lord of Nature!” I rushed past the stalls, through the hayloft into the tack room, and found him there, knotting a harness.

  “Ah, Prince Rodrigo.”

  I slipped shut the door, as if a waist-high barrier would muffle our words. “You—Genard said he told—I mean, the new stableboy ...”

  “The new lad hasn’t worked out badly.” Griswold’s tone was placid. “Though he’s been rather hungry. Doesn’t Llewelyn feed his help?”

  I whispered, “Please. Don’t toy with me.”

  A look of surprise. “Why, my lord! Humility, at last?” He seemed pleased.

  “He’s my ...” I couldn’t say it aloud. “You know who he is.”

  “Me?” He seemed shocked. “Some lout from the town, I suppose. Kerwyn hired him; I’ve nothing to do with it. As long as he’s gentle with the horses.” He eyed me sternly, as if to make his point.

  “They searched my room.”

  “I heard the commotion. They came here twice, the day of my lady’s funeral.” Was the burial already two days past? I thought of Mother, below the earth, and shivered.

  He waited. “Was there else?”

  “I, uh, no ...” I thought to demonstrate my gratitude. “No, sir.”

  This time he positively smiled. “There’s hope for you yet, Lord Rodrigo. Just one thing ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t loiter about the stable. You never did it before, and you’ll attract attention.”

  He was right. Disconsolate, I climbed wearily to the nursery.

  The door was ajar; with trepidation I walked in, unbidden.

  The old lady was at her table, her cheese and bread untouched. Her eyes seemed even more sunken than before. I lowered myself to the squat bench, ran my fingers along the splintered plank on which I’d been fed, spoon by spoon, by the crone who now sat dazed.

  “Pytor would be done with his meal.”

  I jumped at the cracked voice.

  She eyed the sun. “He’d be chafing to go out and play.”

  “I’m sure he’s well. Soon, we’ll ride to visit him.”

  “Oh, my Pytor.” She rocked, clutching her knees. “Lord of Nature be kind.” Her eyes were closed.

  “I, uh, have news.”

  “From Verein?” Rheumy eyes found mine.

  My lips moved, but no sound emerged. “Of Elryc.”

  Her gaze fastened on my face, but she said not a word.

  “He’s nearby.” I waited for a reply, but had only her fixed stare. I had to make sounds, to break the awful silence. “In the castle.”

  She stood. “Take me to him.”

  “Are you mad? They’re searching. The moment they see you—”

  “They’ve been here, and gone.” Her fingers drummed the table. “Has he food?”

  “Yes.” Whatever stableboys eat. I hadn’t thought to inquire.

  She glared. “Who else knows?”

  I hemmed and hawed, not quite willing to trust her with my secrets. “Nobody—well, one man. And a boy, but he’s too frightened to—they’re to be trusted.” I yawned.

  She spat. “No one’s to be trusted. Get Elryc clear of them, or kill them both!”

  “Hester!”

  “Don’t Hester me, you foolish whelp. If Margenthar takes him, it’s his life. Doubt you not!”

  “I can’t go about murdering—”

  “Then I will. Tell me the names.”

  “It’s not come to that.” I eyed her with new wariness. I’d never realized how protected we boys had been, under her vigilance.

  “You’ve always been the stupid one. Now you’ll be the death of your brothers!”

  “As will you, unless you keep your voice low!” We glowered in mutual hostility. Stupid? Had I not saved Elryc’s life, daringly marched him across the courtyard to safety in full view of all?

  “Good day, Nurse.” My tone was sulky.

  “Keep me appraised, day by day.” She pointed a crooked finger. “Or I’ll seek you out.”

  I made my escape, wandered disconsolately through the castle. Perhaps Rustin would come today. If he didn’t appear by the noon meal, I’d walk down the lull and fetch him and Ebon both. I’d—no, I couldn’t get out the gate, now it was manned by Uncle Mar’s men.

  What a nightmare life had become: Mother gone, Pytor taken, Elryc in hiding, and I myself restrained like a hawk on a strap.

  I must be crowned. Only then could I turn events.

  No one had told me what date the Council had fixed for my coronation. I braced myself, put on an affable face, sought out Uncle Mar in his chambers.

  He was gone to Verein, expected back the day after the morrow. No, he hadn’t left a message. I stalked out, barely able to keep from slamming doors in my wake.

  He hadn’t even bothered to inform me.

  I retreated to my room, bolted my door, cursed the fates that had placed me in his hands, and hating Rustin for his disinterest.

  The Council had met, and scattered to the winds. Lord Warthen of the Sands, his bleak expression one of constant pain, had returned to his desert domain. Even to enlist his help, I had no desire to set forth on that long journey.

  Grand-uncle Cumber had
bid a curt good-bye, and returned to his hills. I knew Cumber disapproved of me, and probably wouldn’t help my cause. Worse, he’d tell Uncle Mar.

  Still, if I could get through the gate I could ride to inquire of other Council members. Earl Groenfil’s castle was three days to the east, Soushire more southeast. I’d slept in the open before, without harm.

  Abruptly I cursed myself for the dolt I was. No need to leave Elryc and journey so far to learn the plans for my coronation. I smoothed my hair, loped down the stairs to the Chamberlain’s offices. In the anteroom sat his supercilious clerk.

  I debated whether to ask an audience, decided not to humiliate myself. Still, no need to go out of my way to alienate the Chamberlain. I crossed to Willem’s office, knocked politely, opened the door, and looked in.

  A sigh. “Well, what now, Roddy? More coin?” He turned his paper on its face.

  “Uncle Mar left.”

  “Of course. What of it?”

  “What with the funeral and the Rites, I didn’t get a chance to sit at the meet.”

  “No, it’s closed to outsiders.”

  I snarled, “You call me outsider?”

  Willem raised a placating palm. “A figure of speech.”

  “What did they decide?”

  “I can’t discuss it.”

  “Of course you may. You met in my name.”

  “I’m sworn by oath not to—”

  “Sir Willem, this is me. Rodrigo.”

  It had the opposite effect from what I’d intended. His eyes drifted to the wardrobe, in which he kept the strap Mother had from time to time bade him apply. I flushed. “Those times are past.” Lord will that it be so. If Mar bade him beat me, I supposed I’d kill one of them, or myself, whichever were possible.

  I changed the subject as casually as I could. “Why was Pytor taken?”

  “He’ll come to no harm; we have Margenthar’s unequivocal word on that. It was felt that the three of you made too tempting a target, should enemies consider a strike.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “Oh, not really. At Verein they’ve other lads Pytor’s age; he’ll be happy. And it’s not as if he’ll be gone forever.”

  “Pray he’s not.” I was surprised at the menace in my tone.

  “Is there else?” Willem was curt.

  “What more did they—”

  “I will not discuss Council matters!” He rang his bell.

  “When will I be crowned?”

  The door opened.

  “Hallor, show the youngsire to the door.”

  “What did Uncle Mar arrange? A month?” I ignored the clerk’s beckoning hand.

  “Roddy, that’s quite enough.”

  “Two months? Three?”

  The clerk beckoned. “My lord, you must come with me.”

  “Not until I have answer!” My scream tore at my throat. “Tell me, Willem! How long did he say I must wait? A year?” I leaned over his desk. “TELL ME!”

  He gestured; the clerk scurried out. Willem said hesitantly, “Roddy, we never discussed it.”

  At my dumbfounded silence, he added, “Didn’t Mar tell you? The matter was put off ’til the next meet. Six months.”

  Speechless, I stared at nothing. After a while I realized my gaze had never left Willem.

  He licked his lips. “Prince, I told you before, I must tread with care. I’m but a hireling, and the quarrels of lords ...”

  “You sound like a stableboy I know.”

  “What?”

  “No matter.” I crossed to the door, paused. “If Mar hears you’ve told me, he’ll be annoyed.” I held his eyes. “So we won’t tell him.”

  Willem studied my face, and, at last, nodded.

  Chapter 6

  FOR TWO DAYS I WAITED for Rustin, rage battling resignation.

  Uncle Mar returned from Verein in full retinue. Alerted with the rest of the household by the hornsmen, I hurriedly donned formal garments and was poised on the steps to receive him, much as he’d greeted me.

  I nodded my head in a gesture of courtesy; he did likewise, not even offering the trifling incline of the house bow. I pretended not to notice. He responded affably to my words of welcome; we played out the charade until we were within the keep, and went our separate ways.

  By evening of the second day, Rustin had still not come. Nearly deranged from dallying in wait, I had a horse saddled, rode to the gate, where unfamiliar faces stood guard. They wouldn’t let me through. Stymied, I sought out Uncle Mar to ask his leave, but I couldn’t get past the anteroom. I had to beg my uncle’s leave secondhand, through the guardsman Fostrow on duty outside his door.

  The man returned in moments. “No, he says. It’s too late of the evening.”

  “But it’s only to ride down the hill. To Rustin.”

  “Don’t whine at me, Prince; it’s the Duke’s word.”

  “Let me speak to him!”

  “He’s occupied. Try tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t bandy words with this—this hireling; I dreaded his contempt, though he might not show it openly. With what dignity I could summon, I left. In my room, I threw myself on my bed.

  Our Power wasn’t worth the cost. I’d renounced my manhood for a crown that might never be mine, for a Still I’d never wield against dangers I might never face. Chela would lie with me, or some housegirl of our own. It was time my imaginings were supplanted by the intimacy my friend Rustin, Mar’s son Bayard, perhaps even Elryc had already savored.

  Moreover, if I gave up the Still, Uncle Mar wouldn’t see me as a threat. Perhaps then he’d allow me my crown. Soon or late, he’d go the way of all flesh, and I could reign in earnest. The only part I couldn’t fathom was how to assure him I’d become a man. Even if he provided the girl, Mar wouldn’t take my word for it; in our family we were realists. But I couldn’t very well let him watch. That was unthinkable.

  What if I got him to supply a virgin? One of the household churls, or a field hand’s whelp. After, he could have her examined. Surely, that would satisfy even a suspicious man like Uncle.

  I wondered what she’d look like. After a time, my thoughts became less coherent. I fought the urge, found myself outmatched, chose surrender. At the end, lying inert, covers thrown back to evaporate my sweat, I fought back tears.

  Then, at last, I slept

  In the sweltering morn I lay drowsing beyond my usual hour, until roused by a persistent knock. I covered myself with a sheet before I unbarred.

  Rustin waited, wearing only a light, loose-fitting robe.

  My breath hissed. “Where have you been?”

  “I couldn’t come.”

  “Rutting with your kitchen girl, were you? She means more than our friendship.” I kicked at a chair.

  For answer, he untied his loose belt, shrugged off his robe.

  “Lord of Nature!” My breath hissed. His back and rump were a mass of fading red welts. “Who did that?”

  “My father.” His voice was almost inaudible.

  “Couldn’t you free yourself? You’re bigger than he. Didn’t you call for help, take away the stick—”

  “I let him.” Rust’s misery extinguished the embers of my rage. He picked up the robe, wincing.

  I laid it carefully across his bare shoulders. “Why, Rust?”

  “Because I rode with you up the hill.”

  “Didn’t you explain? I couldn’t have faced the lords without you.”

  “That, he understood. But I’d defied him before his—no, don’t shake your head, it does matter. I was too impetuous to go back to the keep and explain; I spurned his order in sight of his guards. That, he couldn’t forgive.”

  “Still, how could you let him beat you so?”

  His tone sharpened. “Would you I challenged him twice in two days, and be known through Caledon as unruly and willful? Whose gate would open to me then?”

  “Better that than have the skin flayed from your back!”

  “His hurt had to be assuaged, and the welts will fade. Nex
t time I’ll be more cautious.” He grinned, with little mirth.

  I found clothes, threw them on. “Uncle Mar is back.”

  “We saw his procession.” The road from Verein intersected the descent from our hill, at Llewelyn’s keep. “He must have emptied his castle. Fully two hundred horse.”

  “They’re posted everywhere. I couldn’t slip out last night. How’d you get in?”

  “The gate’s open for tradesmen. I went round to the kitchen, where everyone knows me.” He perched on my bed. “Throw open your window; the room’s musty.”

  It wasn’t his place to tell me so, but I did as bidden. Then, beckoning him close, I told him of Pytor, and how I hid Elryc.

  “Where is he?”

  I splashed water on my face, wiped it dry. It would do for ablutions. “A good day to talk outside.”

  We strolled out to the dusty courtyard, round the foundation walls of the keep, to the orchard that, along with outbuildings, stables, smithies and fruit cellars, surrounded Stryx Castle. All were enclosed by the stronghold’s massive outer walls. On three sides, jagged rock and plunging ravines made assault hopeless. The battlements on the fourth wall, facing the road from Stryx, were bristling with round stones, spears, arrows. Guardhouses every hundred paces overlooked the winding Castle Way.

  Now, the ramparts were guarded as if for war. Torches pierced the night shadows; sentries patrolled each catwalk. Even the high tower was manned. Thank Lord of Nature we’d moved Elryc in time.

  We went to the orchard, where under welcome shade and safe from prying ears, I finished my story. “The only ones who know are old Griswold and Garmond, the stable-boy.”

  “A dung beetle.” He laughed softly.

  “It was all I could think of.”

  “Might we smuggle Elryc to your room?”

  “Stire may search again.” I shifted out of the advancing sun. “What about your father’s keep?”

  “No.” A tone of finality.

  “Not for Elryc’s sake, for mine.”

  “I won’t ask it.” He leaned forward, spoke to my frown. “Roddy, it would mean Father’s death. Mother’s too.”

  “Uncle Mar may be spiteful, but he doesn’t go about slaughtering—”