The Still

by David Feintuch

  When we were done, I asked, “Now, as to the men. Who picked them?”

  “They’re mostly from my old troop, sire. I know them well.”

  “Troublemakers?”

  “A few, but they know me well, also. If I may have a free hand, you’ll have no problems.”

  Should I involve myself, or leave all to him? “Elryc?”

  He nodded.

  “Done.” I turned to Imbar. “What next?”

  “Leave Cumber quickly. My lord Earl sends his regrets that it must be so, but we can’t appear to be in collusion with you. And you can’t depart openly; it would expose the pretense that you’ve evaded us. We’ll first send Tursel and his troop on some mission, then you’ll leave quietly, to meet them in the hills. A squad of our guardsmen will pursue you with full hue and cry. That should be theater enough.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “But necessary, if Mar is to be assuaged.” His voice was smooth. “Don’t concern yourself; I’ll set up the details with Lord Rustin. Duke Margenthar will suspect, but he’ll have no proof, so we’ll be free to carry on relations. Diplomatic niceties will be observed.”

  I muttered, “They make me sick.”

  “Then don’t seek to be King, my lord.”

  To that, I had no answer. We returned to the donjon.

  We were packed, and waiting for servants to haul our gear down the winding stairs, when Tresa appeared once more. Her tone was businesslike. “Let me inspect your cut.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Grandfather said I must.”

  Stifling my objections, I dropped my cloak on my bed, fumbled with the strings of the jerkin I’d managed to slide over my bandages. Tresa brushed my fingers aside, adroitly undid the crude knots while I stood uncomfortable, hoping yesterday’s bath was still of benefit.

  The bandages were wrapped tight about my incision, knotted on my good side. She untied them with cold fingers that made me flinch. The innermost cloth stuck to my side; she poured water on a fresh cloth, dabbed at the bandage until it came away.

  “Raise your arm.”

  I was fully conscious how much more manly Rustin’s chest was than mine. Never had the difference seemed greater than now. Where he was muscular, with fine strands of soft hair from neck to groin, I looked almost a baby, and was hairless but for tufts under my arms. I tensed my upper arms to show more muscle, but if she noticed she gave no sign.

  “Does that hurt?” She prodded.

  I recoiled. “Yes!”

  She ran deft fingers across the well-formed scab. “No infection. That’s good.”

  I longed for my jerkin. “I’m cold.”

  She finished reapplying the bandage. “Dress, then. Shall I help you?”

  “No!” I turned away, to hide the flush of my cheeks. Gritting my teeth, I recalled kneeling by the stream at Hester’s cottage. No humiliation could match what I’d already survived. I need not berate myself, for such a little thing as this.

  When I looked back at Tresa, my tone was light, though the effort it cost was dear. “Thank you, my lady.” I eased the jerkin over my wound. “I know it must have been unpleasant for you.” Almost I’d added, “as well,” but caught myself in time.

  “Not really. I’ve grown used to it.” Her mouth twitched with what might have been mischief. “And you’re more handsome than most I’ve tended.”

  My tone went hard. “Don’t mock me.”

  It was her turn to color. “I didn’t, my lord.” A curtsy. “I’ll leave you now.”

  “No, stay.” My words came before thought, and I was astounded. Whatever had made me say such a thing? Now I’d have to entertain her, and hadn’t the slightest idea how it was done.

  I sat, feeling an awkward child. Silence lengthened. Desperate for something to say, I blurted, “I don’t know how to talk to a woman.”

  “A mere woman, you mean?”

  I colored. “It was boorish, and I’m sorry. I haven’t much practice at civility.”

  “Why not, my lord?”

  “You might as well call me Roddy; everyone does. Perhaps because Mother made me show her courtesy, but didn’t much care how I treated others.”

  “You’re not the first arrogant Lord that lived.” She sounded curious. “But how came you to be aware of it?”

  I felt giddy, as from too much wine. “By making a fool of myself over and again, until even I couldn’t ignore it.”

  “We all feel we’ve done that, at times.” She looked to the window. “At the banquet.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m sor—”

  “No, I meant myself. For supposing you recalled when we’d met.” For a moment she blushed, but then it faded, and all that was left was an inexplicable lump in my throat. “I felt all the more foolish for knowing I made you feel the same.”

  Our eyes met.

  Not knowing what else to do, I smiled. “Does it matter, in the great scheme of things?”

  “Perhaps not.” Tentative, her smile blossomed in answer.

  I cleared my throat, searching for something to say. “Your grandfather wants you settled at Stryx, to find a husband.”

  Her face hardened. “He means well, of course.”

  “You find Stryx so distasteful?”

  “I found it quite beautiful, when wind and tide raised the waves below.”

  “Yet you sounded displeased.”

  “At forced marriage.”

  “Arranged, for your benefit.”

  “Have I a choice?”

  “Relatives could hardly arrange it properly if the woman could refuse—”

  “The mere woman.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You had no need.”

  “How like your sex, to quibble.”

  “Good day, my lord.” Her cheeks glowed color, but her face was stony.

  “Wait, my lady.”

  I winced at the slam of the oaken door. After a while, I wandered to the window, stared down at the courtyard. “Women! Creatures of whim. Brainless hares, the lot of them.”

  “Does that include my lady Elena?” Hester, in a growl.

  I jumped. “Who let you in?”

  “Fostrow said you were alone.” She glanced about, chose a stiff chair, eased herself into it, put her stick across her lap. “Will Elryc stay at Cumber?”

  “It gives the Earl too much power over us.” Even if his spies overheard, I said nothing we didn’t all know.

  “Then he’ll come with me, regardless of where you jaunt with your borrowed troops.”

  “But you’ll travel with us.”

  “I go to Verein, for Pytor.” Her tone was blunt. “Do you?”

  “I need Soushire’s vote, or the Warthen’s, to undo Mar. After that ...”

  “Mar taunts us that Pytor’s dying. We’ll leave tonight, Elryc and I.” She made ready to stand. “Cumber’s stipend will buy servants, to make our travel easier.”

  “I can’t let you haul my brother on a wild chase to Verein.”

  She struggled to her feet, approached me with a look I cared not for. “Let, Princeling?”

  “Hester, be reasonable!” I backed away.

  She waved her stick. “Let events be reasonable! Your mother entrusted your life to me, but you grow too willful for me to help. I can’t protect Elryc by leaving him here; even you agree on that, and how can I leave him in the care of two brainless boys in the fever of a quest?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Pytor needs rescue. How can I choose twixt him and Elryc? The only way’s to bring Elryc along.”

  “Verein lies past Uncle Mar’s troops at Stryx, and past Tantroth’s besieging army. To which of them would you give Elryc?”

  “I’ll find a way.” Her face was troubled. “I know not what else to—”

  “Verein and Soushire both lie to the south. Ride with us until our trails must diverge. By then, I’ll decide.”

  “Pytor is eight!” For a moment her voice trembled. “And
helpless. His succor cannot wait!”

  I walked softly to the window, leaned on the sill, head in hands. Mother, pass me your wisdom. I beg you.

  But there was only the cool wind.

  Chapter 26

  EBON’S HOOVES PITCHED CLODS of muddy earth into the cattails alongside the trail as I clattered back through our slogging troops toward the cart. My brother perched behind the high seat, near Chela’s bed. “Tursel’s scouts found Tantroth’s ahead,” I told him. “We wait until the way is clear.”

  Chela grimaced. “They’ve bound me so tight I can barely breathe.”

  For Rustin’s sake, I said peacefully, “You could have stayed behind.”

  She snorted. “I’ll be on my feet soon enough. He needs care.”

  Hester set aside her reins, glowering. “Faster could I walk to Verein.”

  “Nurse, have patience.”

  “Your outriders dance with Tantroth’s, valley to vale. Why wait? Soon or late, he’ll learn your whereabouts. Had he force enough to hold every hill and dale in Caledon he’d long since—”

  “Peace, woman!” My voice was sharper than I’d intended.

  Hoofbeats, from behind. Rustin. His face was grim. “What now, my prince?”

  “Another delay.”

  “Good. Come walk with me.” He tied Santree to the wheel.

  Dutifully, I followed, past the line of supply carts, to a secluded glade. “Not too far, Rust, or we’ll be challenged by our own lookouts.”

  He nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. Abruptly, “What say you we leave our escort and ride alone to Soushire?”

  I gaped. “Is that me talking, or cautious Rustin?”

  Rust lowered his voice. “I like not Captain Tursel. He’s altogether Lord Raeth’s man. And while we dawdle on the trail, Mar has time to patch up his relations with Cumber.”

  “So?”

  “What if the Earl sends word to seize us?”

  “I’m the prize, Rust, and Cumber had me in his grasp. Why send me off with a royal guard, only to—”

  Rustin said fiercely, “Cumber’s but raised the cost of his loyalty. What if Duke Mar pays his price? Besides, your Raeth is a pawn in Imbar’s hands.”

  “Why do you hate Imbar? He seemed pleasant enough.”

  “Fool! Simpleton!” Rustin’s palm lashed out in a slap that echoed through the suddenly silent wood. Shocked beyond words, I rubbed my stinging cheek.

  He spun on his heel, bolted back to the camp.

  For some moments I sat stunned, my affront swelling to rage. I drew sword, slashed at branches and shoots in wild abandon.

  When I was calm enough, I strode back to our wagon, caught Elryc’s wrist. “Where’s Rustin?” My face was a thundercloud.

  Rust had led Santree to a clearing, where Tursel sat mounted with his officers, awaiting reports. Rust had one hand on the pommel, as if about to swing himself into the saddle, but he stood motionless, his forehead resting against his stallion’s mane.

  I stalked across the clearing, laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I struck you.” His words were slurred.

  “Come with me, or I’ll have you dragged.” I tugged at his arm, hoping he wouldn’t put my threat to the test.

  Rustin followed, leading Santree.

  I led him off the trail, a few yards into the privacy of the wood, and backed him against a tree. “I could hate you,” I said.

  Eyes down, he nodded.

  “But I don’t. Oft enough you’ve slapped me when I deserved it. Today I didn’t.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Why, Rust?”

  “I lost my temper.”

  I shouted, “What passed between you and Imbar!” Santree snorted in alarm.

  Rustin’s eyes held something akin to fear. “Roddy ...”

  “Tell me.” Almost, he tore free, but my grip was iron. “Did Imbar threaten you? Was it about your father?”

  “Don’t, I beg you. I’ll make amends. Please!” He managed to break loose, and hoisted himself into the saddle. “It’s nothing. You know how moody I get. Let it go!” He slashed through the brush, and was gone.

  Alone once more, I walked slowly back to camp.

  Captain Tursel rode to my left, Rustin on my right. Rust appeared to find our proximity as uncomfortable as I, though we both pretended it wasn’t so.

  Behind us, a procession of men and wagons struggled up a hastily widened deer path, through dense forest. I’d have liked to ride at the fore of the column, but Tursel’s scouts fanned ahead, probing anew for ambuscade, and I knew better even than to suggest it.

  We dragged our way east.

  The valley beyond was free of Eiber’s forces, at least for now. Once we descended the heights, we could ride south through the lush broad vale, and come closer to Soushire at last.

  Behind us a horse snorted; two soldiers rode side by side.

  I peered past Rustin, through the wood. Somewhere over the hill lurked troops of Tantroth, Duke of Eiber, whose force spread deadly tendrils through our land. I stirred in the saddle, hot with impatience to drive Tantroth into the sea. Imps and demons chew his entrails for his impudence in attacking Caledon.

  Absently, my fingers strayed to my cheek. I tried to feel anger, discovered pity instead. “Rust ...” My hand went to his arm. “Too long we’ve known each other to—”

  A shriek. I whirled. A guardsman pitched to the ground, an arrow lodged in his temple. As I watched, a shaft shattered on his companion’s shield, while another buried itself in his mount’s throat. The soldier went down, flailing against the weight of his dying steed.

  Screams. Calls to arms, shouts of confusion. Tursel cursed, wheeled his mount, galloped back down the trail screaming orders.

  Rustin grabbed my bridle, spun us about, bent himself over Santree’s neck. Sword flashing, he charged through our ranks.

  Following his example, I bent low, hugged Ebon’s mane. I gasped, “Where?”

  “Our wagon!”

  On our right flank, a horde of black-clad men poured from the wood onto our straggling and disorganized column. How strange to see men all dressed alike, fighting as one.

  “Pikemen, here!” One of our guard, sounding a rally.

  A withering volley of arrows dropped a score of Tursel’s men in their tracks. Screams, moans. The clash of pikes and staves.

  “Elryc!” I peered into the untended wagon, in the center of the melee. My brother and Hester were nowhere to be seen.

  Two black-clad men darted from the brush, ducked under Rustin’s steel. One seized Santree’s bridle. The other raised sword to hack at his legs.

  My sword leaped from its scabbard faster than thought. A wild slash. The first assailant was down, his arm near severed. Rust reared Santree. The bay’s flailing hooves caught the second attacker’s sword, knocked it from his hands.

  Rust and I charged, blades raised high. Rust’s may have descended first, by a fraction of an instant. I felt the snap of contact, a sudden give. Blood spurted; the man fell away, writhing.

  “Stay together!” Rustin.

  “I know!” Arrows whistled, too close.

  Some of our guard gathered behind Hester’s wagon, seeking shelter from the deadly salvo.

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “Who knows? Flee!” Two of them dashed up the hill.

  “No!” I jumped off Ebon, almost lost my footing. “Stay and fight!”

  Rust shouted, “Ride to safety, Roddy!”

  “I won’t leave men to die!” Dismounting, I turned Ebon from the arrows, whacked his flank with the flat of my sword. He bolted into the wood. “Come on!” I ran toward the nearest guards.

  “Get down, boy!”

  Santree galloped past, riderless. Panting, Rustin caught up to me. “You idiot!”

  I gasped to the nearest soldier, “Where’s the enemy?”

  “Their archers are formed along that hedgerow.” I squinted. Some fifty bowmen knelt in rows, directed by a master of a
rchers with his raised staff.

  I turned to one who wore a corporal’s feather. “Where’s their guard? Have they set pikes?”

  A strangled shriek; a young blond soldier fell, clawing the arrow in his chest.

  The corporal blanched. “The archers need no guard. We haven’t men to charge them.”

  “You’ve ten guardsmen right here.”

  “Into a hail of arrows? You’re daft.”

  They loosed another volley. Up and down our line, more men fell.

  “We’ve spears and pikes, and they’ve set no pikewall. We can wreak havoc, give our men time to rally.”

  “Do as you want, boy. I’m not risking my—”

  Enraged, I clutched his jerkin, slammed him against the wagon. My voice rose to a shout. “You’d have your King charge alone? Well, then! Live with shame!” I whirled, raised my sword.

  Rustin squawked, “Roddy, don’t!”

  Three arrows slammed into the wagon, inches from my head. My arm burned.

  I ducked behind the wheel, cringing, until my resolve from the brook swirled to my consciousness.

  Coward I might be, but coward I would not act.

  “Imps and demons upon them! For Caledon!” I clawed my way atop the cart. At my feet, a tarpaulin moved. I snatched it aside, sword raised to plunge. Elryc, clutching a dagger, hugged Chela in protective embrace. I laughed, a strange wild sound, and let loose the canvas.

  “Caledon! Cumber! Attack!” My voice was shrill. I vaulted from the wagon, snatched a shield from a corpse, charged down the hill toward the hedgerow. Someone screamed, a savage, exultant yell.

  “Roddy, slow!”

  The warning only sped me faster. My sword flashed overhead, as if eager for blood. I catapulted over a fallen log, had just time to raise my shield. Two arrows buried themselves in it, jarring my arm to the bone.

  “Caledon!” Again my wild shout

  At the hedgerow, Eiber’s master of archers raised his staff. In a moment it swooped down. I threw myself headfirst to the ground as a score of arrows whirred overhead. Behind me, shouts grew louder. I scrambled to my feet, charged on.

  Sword in hand, Rustin raced down the hill, his long legs closing the gap. On his face was fear, anger, resolve.

  I had just time to flash him a feral grin, and we were upon them. My sword slashed left, right, left. Bowmen scattered.