The boy looked dubious. “Has he guards?”
“Servants, no more. Unless your people put guards over him.”
He studied the doorway. “If they’re of Stryx, I’m safe; few know me. But if one of Lord Treak’s troop sees me ...”
For all Rust’s warnings, we hadn’t gone so far as to figure how I would gain entry. All depended on the situation we found. I said, “Genard, knock at the door. Say your master would have word with the Speaker.”
“My master Elryc?” He gaped.
“Your master Anavar.”
“But he’s not ... ahh, I understand. What if they’re Eiberian and recognize his name?”
“Run, I suppose.” I shrugged. “I can’t think.”
Fostrow trudged past, in his disreputable robe. “Don’t loiter about,” he growled, to the muddy earth. “Go to the door, or move on.”
I grimaced. “Imps and demons gnaw him.” I swung off my saddle. “I’ll go myself. Anavar, stay near. If the Duke’s men take me, intervene and do your best. If Eiberians pass by, lie low. From them I should be safe; they won’t recognize me.”
“This is madness.” He licked his lips.
“Is it not?” I stalked across the road, rapped at the door.
It swung open, and a face peered at me. “Yes?”
“I seek Vessa.”
His eyes probed my ill-fitting clothes, my ragged cloak. “Come three days hence, at the eleventh hour, when—”
“I bring word for his ears only.”
“You?” In his tone, contempt.
“Aye, sir.” I made my fingers twist at my cloak, as would a humble churl. “From a lord.”
“Who?”
“Rustin son of Llewelyn.”
It silenced him, as well it might. Then, “Wait.”
I stood sweating in the hall, ruing my folly. In a few moments the doorkeeper reappeared. “Come.”
Vessa, Speaker of the City, sat at a plain wooden table, an unfinished meal set aside. His wrinkled face bore distaste. “Yes?”
“Sire, he said for your ears only.” I tried to look stubborn.
“Very well.” To the servant, “Leave us.”
In a moment we were alone, the thick chamber door closed. Vessa drummed the table. “Rustin is outlaw, vassal to the fugitive Prince.”
“Rustin is loyal to his King, and no man’s vassal.” I threw off my cloak, spoke as to an equal.
“Lord of Nature!” He half rose, glanced to the window, lowered his voice. “What lunacy brings you here? Out, this instant!”
“I seek your vote in Council.”
“Would you have me cast down for our converse? Mar spoke true; you are addled. Out!”
“Don’t be swayed by my garb.” I fingered my jerkin. “Our troop is in the hills. We’ve men, and horse. Arms.”
“A gift from Raeth of Cumber; tell me something I don’t know. No, don’t bother. Guard! Help!”
His quavering voice didn’t carry far. I lunged across the table, seized his throat. “Hush, old fool, lest you destroy yourself!”
He gaped. Oh, how proud Rustin would be, to see me assault the man whose favor I sought. I released him, awkwardly smoothed his shirt. “Think, Lord Vessa. How long will you keep your office, when Tantroth or Mar hold both city and castle? What need will they have of you?”
“Mar promised—” He bit it off. Again, he looked to the window. “To Margenthar, I could explain your visit. If Tantroth discovers I’ve had Rodrigo in my chamber, that’s another matter. He’s not known for kindness.”
My smile was grim. “True, he’s not. Would you give him Stryx, and Caledon?”
“The choice isn’t mine.”
“But it is.” I drew myself up, all too conscious of my shabby apparel. “Mine is the Still of Caledon. I need but the crown to wield it.”
“And the sense of a sheep.” Unimpressed, he shook his head. “Mar is experienced in war, and diplomacy. Besides, you haven’t the Vessels; Mar seized them. Without the Still, you can do nothing for the realm.”
I studied him, fighting a hopeless despair. At last I threw caution to the winds. “Has Mar paid you?”
“Bah. Insults, again? If he had, would I tell you?”
“What if I paid more?”
His look was one of cold disdain. “You seek to buy my favor? I am Vessa, not a tradesman!”
For an endless time, I held his eyes.
He licked his lips. “How much?”
Outside, a commotion, “Run, boy of Stryx! Get thee hence!” It sounded like Anavar. Perhaps Genard had provoked him beyond bearing. Or perhaps it was a warning meant for me, but my goal was within my grasp.
“If I knew what my uncle—”
The door flew open. “Offer him all your treasure, false Prince!” Chain armor the guard wore, over black garb.
Instantly I lunged past Vessa, flung open the window, launched myself outward.
Hands grasped my waist, hauled me back.
Outside, no sign of Anavar or Fostrow. Across the road, Genard danced from foot to foot in a veritable frenzy.
I spun, broke loose from the restraining hands, whipped out my blade. “Die!”
The room was full of men. One bore a short club. He flung it at my head. A blaze of lights. Blinded, reeling, I lunged with my dagger. Strong hands seized my wrist, wrested the blade from my grasp.
In a moment my hands were bound.
“Thank you, thank you!” Vessa gabbled. “The rogue burst in, waved his knife at my throat, and I could do nothing. I cried for help; ask my servant!”
“You cried out, yet your man went about his work? Do you train your servants so?” The captain spat. “Guard this old buffoon, until my lord Tantroth speaks his fate.”
“Let me go!” I twisted my wrists, to no avail.
“Take this boy to Tantroth. He’s impatient to see the Princeling.” The captain’s lips curled in a sneer. “Can six of you guard a bound youngsire?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then bring up the horses.”
Half a dozen of Tantroth’s troops assembled in the road. Two helped me mount a russet mare, holding the reins beyond my reach.
A familiar voice. “You see? I told you he’d come!” Among the soldiers, my bondsman Garst pranced with excitement
I made my look stony, beyond contempt.
“I told you!”
My captors urged their mounts into a slow trot, and I was borne with them. I debated leaping from the saddle, but I might only break a leg for my pains. I touched my tender scalp, winced from the pain it brought.
“Where are you taking me?”
The lieutenant disdained to answer, but the rider at my side said, “To the keep, to await Lord Tantroth’s pleasure.” We clattered over damp cobblestones toward the square of crossed roads, where sat most of the city’s alehouses.
“Hold, sir!” A cloaked rider hurried to overtake us. “Hold!”
The lieutenant raised a hand, and our troop slowed.
The young courier said, “My lord Tantroth bids you ride by the shore road, that none may observe the former Prince. And send to the keep all who know of his capture.”
“Who may you be?”
The rider drew himself up. “Anavar, first son of the Earl of Kalb, serving his lordship at the keep. Have any townsmen seen your captive, sir?”
The lieutenant looked about. “Not on this street.”
“Could you cover his face? I suppose not. Hurry to the shore, sir, lest he be observed.”
With an oath, the lieutenant grabbed the reins of my mount. “Back, lads.” We cantered back the way we’d gone. I tried to catch Anavar’s eye, but he rode in front, at the lieutenant’s side. We turned onto the shore road, where it turned at the southern edge of town. Ahead, between us and the keep, Tantroth’s black-sailed fleet lay moored.
A peasant boy played by the roadside, hopping over a fallen branch. As we passed he thrust the branch between the forelegs of the lieutenant’s steed.
As the lieutenant’s horse stumbled, Anavar threw the Eiberian from his saddle. Letting go my reins, the man fell heavily, rolled over once, and was still.
Behind me, a shout. “Beware, it’s an—aiyee!”
I whirled; Fostrow wrenched his blade from a guard’s gut, whirled to slash at another. As the man fell in a spray of blood, Fostrow seized the reins of his mount, caught one foot in the stirrup, stood hopping as the horse skittered.
Genard ducked under a blow, raced to my side, swarmed up my leg, mounted himself behind me. “The reins, the reins!” His voice was shrill in my ear.
I reached forward, but my bound wrists were too clumsy. Anavar sidestepped his mount, caught my dangling reins, handed them to Genard.
“Geeah!” Genard’s heels galvanized my mare as he hauled her about. “Lie low, m’lord!” Together we leaned over the frightened mare’s neck and swept through the confusion.
Helpless, I clutched the pommel and looked backward to the melee. Fostrow wasn’t yet in his saddle. The last two guards bore down upon him, but one was in the way of the other. Anavar raced to their struggle.
Fostrow ducked one blow, unable either to mount or free his leg.
I gasped, “Wait, Genard.” The boy slowed.
Behind us, the guard loomed over Fostrow. He raised his sword for a triumphant blow. From behind, Anavar’s hand caught the man’s jerkin. His steed reared, but the guard recovered his balance. With a cry of rage he turned, to receive Anavar’s dagger full in the heart.
Fostrow threw himself on his captured horse with such vehemence he almost fell off the far side. Frantically, he righted himself. Anavar maneuvered to avoid the blows of the remaining guard. With a howl, Fostrow spurred toward him, sword raised.
The guard fled.
I hung dizzily to the pommel as we raced toward the hills.
“We can’t slow, Roddy. Lord of Nature knows how many Tantroth sent after us.” Fostrow ignored my glare. “You think we’ve eluded them, but would you gamble the crown on it?”
I looked back to our scout, who brought up the rear. “The way I feel, yes.” We’d pressed onward ever since we’d rejoined our scouts at the edge of town, and it was all I could do not to fall out of the saddle.
Anavar sat dejected on his horse, staring at nothing.
I snarled, “Did you hear that scoundrel—what’s the matter?”
Anavar rubbed his horse’s mane. “I lost my dagger.”
I snorted, “Is that all?”
The Eiberian said, “It’s how I lost it.”
“In battle? That’s honorable.”
“Not for me.”
I stared.
“I warned you, sir, I would not raise a hand against my lord Tantroth.” He pursed his lips. “I killed his man.”
“But he would have—”
“It matters not. Surely even you can see that.”
“Even I?” I reached across, grasped his jerkin. “How say you?”
With staggering insolence he slapped away my hand. “I would not be touched, sir.”
My mouth worked in voiceless fury. If not for my dizziness, I’d have flung him to the ground. “I should beat you!”
Anavar’s eyes met mine. “As you choose, my lord. Better I had accepted Tursel’s death when I was felled.”
“What’s this?” Fostrow’s tone was sharp. “At each other’s throats, and for what?”
“For honor!” Anavar spoke before I was able.
“Faugh. For weariness, and relief from fear. And hunger. There’s flat bread left, and a bit of the dried meat.” He reached into his saddlebag. “Eat, before you—”
“Let Prince Rodrigo partake!” Anavar spurred ahead.
Not to be outdone, I snapped, “I’ll starve first!”
Fostrow’s voice was mild. “What was that about?”
“He stabbed a guard of Eiber, and has regrets.”
“As well he should. You comforted him?”
“I would have.” I rode in silence.
Fostrow sighed. “Go after him, Roddy.”
“Is that a command?”
“If it were in my power, yes.” Fostrow searched my expression. “He’s your man, and in pain.”
“I’m in pain!” I seized his arm. “This knot over my eyes, my wrists ... Where’s your compassion for your lord?”
“His pain is greater. He’s dishonored his oath.”
“By his own choice. He could have remained in camp with Captain Tursel and Rust.” And if so, I’d be screaming on the rack, or endungeoned. “Imps and demons take you!” I kicked, and dutifully, the horse responded.
I found Anavar not far ahead, resting on his mare, by a babbling rivulet. I knew not what to say.
“Will you beat me?”
“Have no fear.”
“I have none. Will you?” It was a challenge.
“Punish yourself, if you did wrong to Tantroth. Don’t demand it of me.”
“I speak of my incivility to you.”
“You speak of Tantroth!” I grasped his chin, turned it toward me, saw the tears I’d heard in his voice. “On the shore road you saved Fostrow, who was rescuing me.”
“I know.”
“It pleases you not?”
“That I betrayed my kinsmen?”
I lapsed silent, thought long. “Anavar ... Stay my ward, or be released. Go home to your father, or serve Tantroth even against my cause. I give you leave to choose your life.”
With a cry, he buried himself in his own arms.
I sat helpless. Rustin had the art of comfort. I did not.
After a time his voice came, strained. “Lord Prince, what should I do?”
I didn’t want the burden of his choice. Yet his gallantry, his bravery, had saved me. I said, as if I knew truth, “You’ll remain my ward. After, when Caledon is restored, I’ll treat with your father, with Tantroth himself if need be, for your safe release. Until then ...” I hesitated, grasping for something within reason. “You may harm your own people only to save me, or my brother, or Lord Rustin my guardian. For no other end. This, I command.”
His voice was muffled. “Thank you, sir.”
“As to tonight ... your bruises haven’t so faded that you would forget my foul temper. I don’t know that I could restrain myself to beat you lightly as befits a boy; my cruelty is too great. Therefore do not taunt me, most especially when Rustin isn’t near to stay my hand.”
“I heed you.”
“Anavar, it will be for your father, for your liege, to judge your loyalty to them, when time comes. For me, I deem you honorable and would so say to any man. Take that unto your conscience.”
His hand crept out, found mine.
I shivered. “We’ve both scorned dinner, and I’ll warrant we both starve.”
He raised his face, with a shy smile. “I’ll eat if you will.”
“Done.”
Chapter 32
AS THE SOGGY DAY waned, the banners of our encampment drifted into view. When we neared, my tent flap opened.
Like a small child to a mummers’ wagon Rustin raced toward our party, bereft of dignity, legs pumping. “Roddy! Welcome, my prince! How did it go?” He seized my reins as I brought the mare to a halt.
“A fiasco.” I practically fell into his arms. “Is there such a thing as a hot bath? Tea? A bed?”
With care, he raised the hair from my brow. “Who split your head? Where was Fostrow? What happened? What of Vessa?”
“Give the lad a moment’s peace,” Fostrow said. “I’ll allow he’s had a rough time of it.”
I groaned as Rust helped me strip off my odious jerkin. “Vessa was Mar’s man to the core. Tantroth caught me in his house, and I know not Vessa’s fate.”
“How did you—tell me all!”
“Later. Take care of me, Rustin.” For a moment I thought I would weep. “Let me be a boy until I’m well.”
That, h
e didn’t do. But he clucked over me like a mother hen, brought me hot water to soak in, steaming tea to inhale, wrapped straw to lie on. I dozed in the crook of his arm and let him ply me with questions until he was satisfied.
“I told you to let me come along,” he chided, but I barely heard. After a time, I slept.
By night I felt well enough to join my trusted few at the campfire. “Groenfil,” I told Tursel. “I’ve no other prospect.”
He frowned. “To avoid Tantroth’s patrols, our best choice is to retrace our steps and cross Soushire’s hills. I’ve no men who know those passes. We risk ambush, attack, betrayal.”
Rustin said, “You forget, Roddy, we’re expected in Verein.”
“Where? Oh!” I’d managed to put Uncle Mar completely out of mind. “I escaped one snare by the fur of my tail. Why set myself another?”
Rust said, “We’d all be with you.”
“Wonderful. We could swing together from the gibbet.”
“Groenfil’s citadel won’t vanish in the night. Let’s learn what wiles Margenthar would practice.”
I scowled, stifling a cough. “Said you not once, that statecraft was my domain?”
“Yes. As advice is mine.”
I sat shivering a while longer. “I’ll go back to bed.”
Anavar said, “Good night, sir. My father says thoughts during sleep are wiser than—”
“May imps gnaw your father!” I thrust aside the tent flap.
Later, Rustin and I lay talking, and before I knew it, he’d woven a ring through my nose: I agreed to visit Uncle Mar at Verein before riding as I wished to Groenfil. For spite, I made him rub the ache from my back, until the candle guttered.
Late at night, I went out of our tent to relieve myself, and heard a creak in the cart that carried our supplies. Wary of thieves and marauders, I crept close.
A groan from within startled me. Dagger drawn, I jumped into the cart, landed with a thud on Anavar, whose hands shot to his lowered breeches.
Under him lay a camp woman, her bare breasts gleaming in the moonlight.
Betrayal.
White rage seized me, such as seldom I’d felt. I’d have plunged my dagger into his back had not he gibbered in terror and brought me to my senses. I flung the Eiberian out of the cart. The woman screamed.
I leaped onto the frightened boy. “You’d rut with whores outside my very tent?” I aimed a kick, that barely missed. “Touch her again and I’ll ...”
The Still Page 45