The Still

by David Feintuch

And with him, I felt cherished.

  Still, I couldn’t destroy him later, by leading him falsely. “Rust, my droughts are with women. I yearn to marry, to—” I found the coarse word hard to utter.

  “I know, my prince.”

  “I wouldn’t stay with you long, you see.”

  “Yes.” His voice held a note of wonder.

  “Of course, we have to put aside my vow. We can’t be bedfriends if I have to do every little thing you—”

  “No.” He spoke with utter finality. “That comes first.”

  “You bastard’s spawn, I—” All at once, I capitulated. “As you wish!”

  Had it not always been so?

  Dazed and defeated, sad and joyous, I trudged back to the wagon.

  Chapter 22

  ELRYC RODE THE NAG that once had been chela’s. “what delights you, Roddy?”

  I wiped my idiotic smile. “Nothing. An old joke.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s about little brothers who don’t mind their own affairs.”

  “You’re a toad.” He shifted on the saddle. “Hester says we’ll be at Cumber by night.”

  I nodded. Pretending he couldn’t see I preferred to be alone, he chatted his way for a league or more.

  As the sun beckoned to the horizon, Hester called a halt to confer with Rust and me. “If we goad the drays, we’ll clatter into Cumber Town before midnight. But I’m thinking it’s best to make a leisurely pace, arrive in full light of day.”

  I wanted an honest bed. “Let’s hurry.”

  Rust said mildly, “Think as a prince, Roddy.”

  I spoke half to myself. “If we get there tonight, we’ll have a proper place for Elryc, and your Chela too.” I shot him a spiteful glance.

  The castle gates would be closed, most likely, and the Earl in bed. Torches, servants calling to one another, the usual ruckus of a late arrival. Uncle Cumber cross, our party disheveled and tired after a long weary day of travel.

  My tone was reluctant. “Let’s push on, camp as close to town as we might. Best if we arrive at noon, or early after.”

  For a moment I basked in Rustin’s nod of approval. He said, “How does that sit with you, Dame Hester?”

  “For once the Princeling shows sense.” She took up the reins with nary a glance my way.

  I made my voice as injured as I might. “And you said you loved me still.”

  No response. I remounted, and we rode on. An hour later she muttered, “It’s not the only time you’ve showed sense.” I wiped my mouth to hide my grin.

  We chose as our campsite an unused pasture, along the high winding road. Genard toiled with the horses, and after a stern glance from Rust I went to help. Rust gathered wood, then set up my bed, spread his own gear with mine. I acted as if I didn’t notice.

  At daybreak we arose, donned our best garb. I wore the new cloak Rust had found me, and my finer breeks. Impatient, I let Rust brush my hair, aware of the pleasure it gave him. At last, we set forth.

  It was barely noon when we reached the plateau, and the outskirts of Cumber Town. Great-uncle’s castle had always seemed huge in my memory, but I’d been only six the last time I’d seen it.

  This day, Castle Cumber loomed over the surrounding plain. At first I thought it had been built on a great rock, but as we drew near I realized the sheer size of it made it preeminent.

  Rustin drew close. “Roddy, when we meet the Earl, should you wear the crown?”

  “He’d think it presumptuous.” I spoke almost without thought, but was sure I was right.

  “It would set a tone.”

  Tempting, yes. Reluctantly, I decided against it. “No, but announce me as Prince and heir. And for once, show me respect, at least in public.”

  He grinned. “I have nothing but respect for you, Roddy.”

  “Hah.” My mood was mellow. During the night horsemen had passed our camp, awakening me. After, my dreams were uneasy. Rust had but held me close, comforted me when I stirred.

  One hates to be alone.

  Cumber was a substantial town, at least as large as Stryx itself. Shops overflowed into alleyways and side streets, from the avenue that led to the castle walls. We passed an inn. Impulsively, I sought Hester. “Let’s stop to break fast.”

  “And leave the Earl to wait?”

  “He doesn’t know we’re coming. Besides, it would seem less like we’ve fled into his arms.”

  “Rustin, what do you think?” How like Hester, to heed Rust’s advice rather than my own.

  “I think our Prince is hungry.” His eye was mischievous. “No harm, I’d say. Perhaps the inn even has place for him to bathe.”

  Inwardly, I groaned, but a fresh hot meal overranked all drawbacks.

  Rust looked into the cart. “Would you mind, Chela?” Whatever her answer, it seemed to satisfy him.

  The Inn of the Seven Nations was grander than that of Stryx, far more busy than the one in Shar. The landlord came to us as soon as he could, found us a table to ourselves. “Welcome, all. You’re from the Norland?”

  Rustin said quickly, “From the coast.” He hesitated. “What news of Stryx?”

  “Of the siege, little word, though Tantroth’s allowed riders to go forth from the castle, and Margenthar’s pulled his troops back from the keep.”

  “What of Llewelyn?” Rustin’s voice was taut.

  “The keepholder? Who knows?” His eyes darted to the other tables, and his serving girls. “Except for the banning of Rodrigo, the former Prince, we’ve heard little. Well perhaps he’s Prince still; who knows such intricacies. Excuse me, youngsire, I’ve guests to attend.”

  I pinned his arm. “What say you?”

  The innkeeper’s brow wrinkled. “Why, only that Rodrigo’s been renounced, and was to be brought back to Stryx to receive a barony. His vagabond brother also. Margenthar spoke for the Council.”

  “He can’t do that!”

  Rust’s hand fell on my arm, squeezed a warning. “Don’t pester this good fellow. He needs to look to our meal.”

  I glared at the innkeeper’s departing back. “Mother had the right to renounce me, but Council has no such power!”

  Elryc muttered, “His vagabond brother. Hmpff.”

  “Never mind that; Uncle Mar takes my crown!”

  Genard said brightly, “You never had it, m’lord. Unless you mean that dented circlet you carry in your saddle—”

  “Shush!” I shot him a withering glare, which didn’t seem to faze him. “You have a mouth like a magpie.”

  “If you’re renounced, then Lord Elryc’s next in—ow!” Genard rubbed his ribs, where my brother’s elbow had jabbed.

  “Anyway, Elryc’s dethroned as well.” Someone set sizzling ham before me, and hot bread. Mechanically, I began to eat. How would the news affect my great-uncle, the Earl? Would he seize me, send me back to Margenthar in chains? Fear soured my breakfast; under the table, my hand sought Rust’s.

  “Eat, my prince. The news does you no ill.”

  “How can you say—”

  “Think.”

  What else was I to consider? Had I stayed in Stryx, I’d have been subject to Mar’s every whim, and caught up in the siege as well. Perhaps Tantroth, if he’d caught word of my presence, would have demanded Mar hand me over, to put an end to our lineage.

  I’d fled Stryx to help Elryc. Well, partly. Also because Mar betrayed his promise to present my claims to the Council, and set a date for my coronation. As Mother had warned me, he had sons, and his ambition burned bright. Yet Mar had merely done what we’d expected he’d attempt, soon or late, and I was fortunate indeed to be out of his grasp.

  “What of Pytor?” My uncle would have no excuse to disinherit Pytor; he hadn’t fled Mar’s clutches. I answered my own question. “Mar’s only hold on the regency now is Pytor. So our brother’s safe for the moment.”

  Rust was somber. “Until Mar looks to his own line.”

  Hester said darkly, “And who knows when that may be. The s
ooner I get you boys installed with your grand-uncle, the sooner I can leave.”

  “You’d rush home to a burned out—”

  “Home? Don’t be daft. To Verein.” She frowned. “Close your mouth, Roddy; flies are about. Think you I’d leave Pytor after swearing to my lady that I’d see my life blotted like a taper before harm came to her brood?”

  Savagely, I attacked my ham. “Why, you old witch, you left me to die in a charred hut.”

  “Because you were beyond hope!” Her cloudy eyes found me, held my glare. “Perhaps you still are; you speak of contrition but call me names the moment you—”

  “I’m sorry.” My voice dropped. “Really. You aren’t a witch.” Under the table, Rust’s hand patted my knee in approval.

  After, we reassembled at the wagon. Rust fiddled with Santree’s cinches while I waited, impatient to be off, hoping he wouldn’t remember his threat of another bath.

  “Rustin, come!” Hester, her tone urgent.

  He flew to the wagon.

  I thrust the reins into Genard’s hands, hurried after.

  Chela lay on her side, her face sallow. Her shift was stained with blood; droplets still oozed from her lips. “I tried ... to sit. Something inside ...”

  “Is she dying?” All I could feel was curiosity.

  Hester said, “She will be, if we move her far. The wagon jolts over every rut.”

  I said, “We have to go to the castle; we can’t stay in Cumber Town under Uncle’s nose.”

  “Chela could.” Rust.

  “Why waste the coin, when—”

  “Roddy.” His voice was flat, almost offhand, but it stopped me cold. After a moment he asked, “Where should Chela stay?”

  My reply was swift. “Here at the inn, Rust.” If he struck me in front of the others, it would be too much to bear.

  “And I know you’d offer to pay, my prince, if you had coin.”

  The landlord had a girl who could tend to Chela’s needs, and so it was arranged. With great care, three townsmen carried the injured girl up two steep flights of stairs, to a small chamber facing the street. Rustin gave the servant close instructions, and also had the innkeeper send for a physicker on the chance he might know some remedy.

  At last, we set on our way. Elryc rode a horse, so our party would seem larger. Rustin galloped ahead, to announce us at the castle wall, as was custom, so the Earl and his minions weren’t left scrambling to greet us. Really, we should have given Earl Cumber a full day’s warning, by protocol. More than that, if I were visiting as King. I sighed. We’d done the best we could.

  Cumber was a redstone fortress. Far above the keep swirled a fantasy of picturesque turrets that would fell any servant who had to climb to them daily. Below, high ramparts presided over thick brooding walls, surrounding a central donjon wherein the Earl lived and conducted his affairs.

  “Stryx should look like this,” I said.

  Fostrow grunted. “Even the thickest walls fall in time to miners and sappers. Why isn’t this place high on a hill, where an enemy can’t march his whole force into position?”

  “Look how the pennants fly.”

  “Pretty flags don’t make—”

  “Fostrow, you have the soul of a hedgehog.”

  We arrived at the gates without fanfare. Uneasy, I sat stiffly, waiting for the welcoming trumpets to sound.

  Rust turned, paced Santree back to where Ebon stood snorting. “The Earl’s been told.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Etiquette requires them to let us wait inside.”

  A voice from on high. “His Lordship the Earl of Cumber, Warden of the Great Forest, Councilman to Caledon, bids you go from whence you came!”

  They hadn’t even bothered to open the gates. I urged Ebon toward the throng of soldiers and townsmen crowding the wall.

  “Go easy, Roddy, let me—”

  “No. This is for me.” I called out, “Rodrigo, heir to Caledon, awaits your master’s greeting.”

  A long silence, while I wondered what we’d do if they gave no reply at all.

  It began to look as if that would be the case.

  Rust’s face was a mask of patience. Only the beat of his fist on the pommel revealing his true state.

  Elryc walked his sorry nag in stately dignity to where we sat. “Will he open, Roddy?”

  “Yes.” I spoke with assurance.

  “How know you?”

  “Because he must.” I had no words to explain further.

  A hand, on the stone high above our head. Then a wizened face, with a sour expression. “Go away, Roddy. I can’t allow a visit.”

  From the saddle, I made the formal bow of greeting. “My lord Uncle.”

  His bow in response was automatic, but as he straightened he snapped, “Don’t make a fool of yourself. Go set matters right with Margenthar.”

  “Sir, I would speak with you on matters of state.” I glanced pointedly at the gate.

  “You have a regent for that sort of thing.” He peered. “Is Elryc with you? I thought he was still a baby. Young man, have your brother take you home where you belong. Lord Mar will raise you properly.”

  Rust breathed, “Whatever you do, don’t alienate him.”

  Cumber made a shooing gesture. “Get thee hence, children. You seem a sorry lot; I don’t want to set my troops to turn you around.”

  I tore open my saddlebag, groped for my bundle, scattering soiled clothing in the dirt. Setting the crown on my head I sang out so all could hear, “Earl of Cumber, now comes Rodrigo of Caledon to deliberate his coronation! I bid you, open!”

  The old man blinked, shook his head. “I can’t allow a disinherited whelp to dictate my course.”

  “Cumber, if thou wouldst have a future, consider well! Hast thou not children on whom to bestow thy holdings?”

  “Don’t try the formal speech with me, boy; I’m old enough to be your grandfather. Not that I’d care to be.”

  A moment’s pause, while I waited all pins and needles.

  He muttered, “Very well, come in and we’ll talk.”

  I shot Rust a grin of triumph.

  Rust hissed, “In safe-conduct, by his sworn honor.”

  “He has no honor.” I raised my voice. “In safe-conduct, of course?”

  A wave of assent. “Get that grotesque wagon inside, before I change my mind.” The face disappeared.

  Chapter 23

  I REFUSED THE QUARTERS the earl’s chamberlain offered, insisting on connecting rooms for me and Rust. Let them think what they would; I knew that only in bed could we whisper our thoughts so none of the Earl’s minions could hear. That we’d be watched, I accepted as a matter of course.

  I hurried to bathe and dress, and set again the crown of Caledon on my brow.

  We joined the old Earl downstairs in his donjon. There, he introduced the highborn men and ladies of his retinue. He came to a tall graying fellow, dressed in good cloth, whom I recognized. “And this is Imbar, my valet and confidant.”

  “My lord.” The man made too short a bow.

  “Imbar.” I gave him no more than a nod. When Cumber was done, I introduced Elryc, Rustin, Hester. Then, reluctantly, Genard and Fostrow. Rustin hadn’t allowed me to insist they wait upstairs.

  The keep was well appointed; it managed to look solid and light at the same time. The Earl led us to the blazing hearth, clapped his hands. Servants in matching livery brought wine and sweets. Imbar, the valet, sat with us as if such intimacy were common practice. I managed not to gape.

  After polite small talk, Hester excused herself with dignity, taking with her the two boys, and asking Fostrow’s help with the stairs. It was nicely done. In a moment Rust and I were alone with the Earl and his valet.

  “Now that you’ve won the first round, what’s your intention?” Uncle Cumber addressed me, ignoring Rust.

  I stammered, “I think not of winning, my lord Cumber, but of seeking, ah, your advice.” I tried to read Ru
st’s face for direction.

  “How charming. Isn’t he a pleasant lad, Imbar? He threatens my inheritance as if he had an army, then sits smiling over my wine.”

  “Uncle Cumber, I ask your support—”

  “The name’s Raeth. If you must speak to me, stop using the demon-cursed title.”

  “Uncle—Raeth?”

  “It’s the name I was born with, the one I used for thirty years before I inherited. Why should I abandon it?”

  “Uncle Raeth, I—”

  “And I’m not your uncle; I was your father’s. That makes me nothing to you.”

  I cast Rustin a glance of despair. The man was impossible. “Lord Raeth—no, by Lord of Nature! Mother always insisted I refer to you as Uncle, and that’s how I know you.”

  His habitual look of disapproval softened, if only for a moment. “My nephew Josip married well. She was true nobility.”

  “Thank you. And also for rushing to her funeral.”

  “That wasn’t for you; it’s what Josip would ask. You know I favored him.”

  “I was but nine when he died, sir.”

  “Aye, he had no chance to make a proper man of you. See the consequences, Imbar?” A sigh. “No wonder Mar has his hands full.”

  Rust stood to warm his hands at the fire. “The mountain air is cooler than we’re accustomed, my lord Prince.”

  The Earl nodded approvingly. “Well done. See, Imbar, how he reminds me of the boy’s rank without so much as a gesture of rebuke?”

  For the first time, Imbar spoke. “Who are you?” He addressed Rust.

  “Rustin son of Llewelyn, Householder of Stryx. Prince Rodrigo’s advisor and, ah, confidant.” There was nothing in Rust’s tone to which one might take offense. Nonetheless, Imbar flushed.

  Uncle Cumber applauded quietly. “Again, nicely done. The boy has poten—”

  I set down my goblet so hard it shattered. “Come, Rust. We’ve had our response.” I stalked to the door. “On, to Soushire.”

  Rustin followed without a murmur.

  “See how they take offense?” The old Earl’s tone was light. “Hold a moment, youngsires. Shall we treat with them, Imbar? They come from Shar so destitute they must camp in the woods, yet they spurn our mockeries. What shall we make of this?”