It was Groenfil who spoke. “There was naught to discuss. We’ll crown you now.”
Cumber shrugged. “Besides, it’s too late to reason with Mar; he’d only double his offer—sorry, a bad jest.” He struck flint, lit a candle. “Ah, you’re so like Josip, boy. So earnest.” The candle flickered.
“Now, Raeth.” A dry voice, from the stairs. “You’ll upset him.”
“Too late for that, Imbar.” Cumber sounded cross. “Where have you been?”
“I had word with my lord Rustin.”
Rust’s face was flushed. “You’ll crown Roddy? Today?”
“There’s urgent need.” Willem.
I shook my head. “We’ll wait for Lady Soushire.” Was I determined to throw away my monarchy? I puzzled at my stubbornness.
“Are you—”
“And we’ll allow Mar to attend. He’ll be near enough.” Beneath the walls raising engines of siege, no doubt. “Why look askance, Willem? Would you I risked the Still of Caledon, for a few hours pause? We’ll await the Lady.”
“What if Tantroth takes her? It’s a near thing, her arrival.”
I swung to Uncle Raeth. “Send Tursel with a hundred horse, to hurry Soushire before Tantroth blocks the road.”
Raeth said mildly, “Tursel’s returned to my service, now he’s home again. I don’t think it’s wise—”
I slapped the plank table with open palm, tried not to flinch at the fiery blaze of pain. “Who commands Caledon, sir?”
Our eyes met. At length Cumber smiled uneasily. “What have we got ourselves into, eh, Imbar? Steel he has, and quickly unsheathed. Well, see that Tursel’s told, and soon. If he must be off, I want him back before the noose draws tight.”
Imbar grunted, and was gone.
Tresa put hands on hips. “Are you content? Give Rodrigo a few hours rest.”
“Not up those stairs.” Wanly, I smiled at my uncle. “It’s a lovely room, but not today, I beg you. Someplace nearer.”
I woke with a start. “What hour is it? Was I drugged?”
“Ninth hour by the candle,” said Anavar, sitting by my bedside. “Genard reports that on the ramparts, they see torches nearing.”
“From where?” I stumbled to my feet.
“The south, where Groenfil took his guard to delay Margenthar. But also north, and—”
“Where’s Rust?”
“Out, and I know not where.”
“What of Tantroth?”
“Either it’s his torches that bob in the north, or Tursel’s, escorting Lady Soushire. Sir, where go you?”
In the courtyard, Uncle Cumber stood grimly, a cloak flung over his shoulders, issuing orders to a handful of runners. Townspeople poured through the gates, pushing carts, lugging bundles, hauling wailing tykes. Horses snorted; dogs barked and snapped. Raeth saw me, nodded, but said naught. Elryc ran to my side.
We climbed to the battlements.
“Who goes? Oh, it’s you.” A burly guardsman stood firm in our path. “My lords, it’s not safe. An arrow in the night—”
“Bah.” I thrust him aside, succeeding only by the weight of my rank.
Anavar cautioned, “Slow, sir, or you’ll tear your stitches.”
On the battlement, I peered through an arrowport, while grizzled soldiers watched with amusement. I turned to the nearest. “Where are the riders with torches?”
He pointed. I could see nothing.
Carefully, clutching my side, I hoisted myself atop a keg of oil. “Ahhh.” For a moment I watched the lights dance ever so slowly closer.
Anavar found himself a high place, and squinted. “That will be Tursel.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s only—what, a dozen?—torches. Tantroth would light the sky.”
Suddenly I yearned for Rust. I forced a calm. “Unless he rode in stealth.” I smiled down at Elryc. “See, all is well.”
“Oh, Roddy, don’t be an ass.”
He sounded so disconsolate I almost forgot my dread. “What say you?”
“If not tonight he’ll be on us the morrow. What difference?”
“By morrow I’ll be King.”
“Will that provide an army? An escape from the castle?”
“Bah. If that were what I sought we could ride now.” I waved at the donjon, the thick, solid walls. “We’re safe.”
“For how long?” He turned away without answer, and trudged to the keep.
From the south, a clatter of horses. Two guardsmen cantered through the gate. “Make ready! Groenfil returns!”
Anavar and I peered over the wall, to the road below. At first, in the fading embers of dusk, we saw nothing. Then, in no great haste, Earl Groenfil’s men appeared, in good order. A company of horse led the way, scouting for ambush. Behind them trod a long column of foot soldiers. They seemed weary but none the worse for wear.
The archers marched together, notable by their lack of arms; their bows and missiles would be hauled in a wagon. Groenfil’s spearmen marched separately. A few horsemen galloped back and forth, carrying orders to tighten march, help free a mired wagon, or look sharp.
Behind the infantry rode the Earl, amid a troop of cavalry, distinguished by the plume of his helmet. I’d have to order him to dress circumspectly, so not to become a target.
I sought a torch, waited for Groenfil, gave formal words of thanks to him for all to hear. Then I climbed the battlements again. More torches, to the south. Margenthar’s outriders advanced toward the gates, not far behind the last of Groenfil’s guard.
My arm over Anavar’s shoulder, I trudged to our chambers.
Chapter 38
ALONE WITH ANAVAR, I SAT, HEAD IN HANDS.
He knelt before me. “Father says demons breed fear in the night. By day, all will seem—”
“Is it so plain to see?” My voice was unsteady.
“I feel the same, my lord.”
“Oh, Anavar.” I drew him close.
The door crashed open. Rustin stopped short. Then he leered. “Enjoying yourselves? Don’t mind me.”
My hand darted from the boy’s face, as if burned. What must Rust have thought, seeing him kneel before me?
Rust’s voice was thick. “I see it’s my touch you loathe, not his.” He lurched to the window, thrust open the shutters. “Give us air.”
I said softly, “Rustin’s drunk. Pay no heed. Leave us.”
Rust drew sword. I started in alarm, but he tossed it aside to unhitch his leather scabbard. “Yes, leave us.” A mighty blow thwacked Anavar’s calves. “Go!” Rust thrust him to the door, slammed it hard.
I sat quietly. “Will you use that on me?”
He stood weaving. “Which of us would it give more pleasure?” He turned to the window, sucked in breaths of night air.
With great effort, I put aside my own troubles, my wealth of grievances. “Rust, what troubles you?” Cautiously, I joined him at the shutters.
He thrust me away. “I won’t be touched.”
“Very well.” We stared moodily into the night. “Look at the torches scurrying below. They’re—”
“I hate this place,” he said.
“Our rooms?”
“Cumber.”
“Why?”
He gave no answer. I thought to put a hand on his shoulder, but didn’t dare.
“An odious town,” he said. “Greedy winesellers, a filthy market. Even the air is too chill.” Angrily, he slammed the shutters closed. Then he turned to me, and I hated the malice in his eyes. “He’s pretty, your Eiberian. A fine catch.”
Lord of Nature knew what I’d have said, or done, had there not come a soft knock at the door.
Rust seized his sword. “Pray it’s Imbar.” He stalked to the door.
Tresa peered in, her face flushed.
“Oh, it’s you.” I realized how ungracious I sounded, and made a valiant effort to quell my displeasure. “What now, my lady?”
“Tursel’s returned, just in time to scatter Mar’s outguard and
gain the gates. He’s brought Lady Soushire!”
“Ahh.” My black clouds lifted a trifle.
“Come see her,” Tresa urged. “Are you well enough? Your face is flushed. I’ll help you downstairs.”
“I won’t be touched,” I said. Behind me, Rustin snickered.
Tresa sniffed. “Well, do pardon me. The King acclaimed, and all that.”
“No, my lady, I didn’t mean ...” I gave it up. “I’ll lean on you.”
Rustin fell on the bed. “Snuff the candles.” His eyes closed.
Tresa and I paused after the first flight. Her arm was warm on my flank, and inviting. To break the uneasy silence I said, “Rustin’s in a foul mood. If you’d been Imbar ...” I managed another flight. “I wonder why he hates the valet so.”
Tresa stopped short, studied my gaze. “You truly don’t know? I thought for your crown, you had ...” Abruptly she sat on the stair. “Oh, dear.”
“What is it?”
She brushed her skirt. “Not now. Your lords and ladies await.” She guided me down the steps, ignoring my protest.
In the great hall, Groenfil, with studied politeness, handed Lady Soushire a flagon of mulled wine. “Ah, sire.” He bowed to me. “You missed the telling of Captain Tursel’s exploits at the gate.”
The soldier looked pained. “The enemy hadn’t arrived in force. Not quite.”
Lady Soushire heaved her bulk out of an intricately carved chair alongside Vessa, who sat like one awaiting death. “Raeth, your captain is too modest. It’s thanks to him I’m not caught between Duke Mar and Tantroth.” She turned to me. “You’ve done all you said, Rodrigo. I’m here to carry out my part of the bargain.”
Inwardly, I flinched, hoping Groenfil wouldn’t perceive her meaning. “Thank you, my lady. My thanks for your journey.” I looked to the Earl of Cumber. “Is there point in waiting for the Warthen? Mar would only deny him entry.”
“And we’ve quorum without him.” Uncle Raeth looked smug. “Do you know, Roddy, that Lady Soushire brought us four hundred men? Astonishing. Hardly any supplies, of course. Barely more than their full saddlebags, for speed. But Mar will be confounded by our reinforcements. Perhaps we’ll even try a sally or two.”
Lady Soushire grunted, eased herself back into her chair. “Safety, when I venture forth. Safety above all.”
Uncle Raeth insisted on formalities. Trumpets blared in the courtyard to proclaim the Council, astonishing those peasants who hadn’t yet been assigned shelter. The great hall was swept clean, huge quantities of refreshments laid out and the servants banished.
We took our places amid the blazing candles and burnished mirrors. Rust should be with us, I thought. He’d done so much on my behalf. But I recalled his hateful insinuation about Anavar, and set aside the thought. We’d reconcile, I knew, but now there was nothing I could give him, or cared to give.
Uncle Cumber headed the Council table. Fitting, as he was host, and I yet under regency. “The issue before us,” he said, “is—blast it!” He glared at the door. “Who knocks? We’re not to be disturbed!”
It was Tursel. For once, he seemed abashed. “Sorry, my lords. Margenthar has sent envoy, demanding truce to be seated at Council.”
We stared at one another, astounded. A grudging respect seeped through my dismay. Uncle wasn’t done yet; he would beard us in our very chamber. And I’d have to allow it. I couldn’t risk the Still by false Council.
I stood, spoke with careful formality. “Tell our esteemed uncle, Duke Margenthar of Stryx, we bid him welcome at our meet. Make arrangements for his admission that satisfy our defense.”
“Aye, my lord.” He was gone.
“Well, now.” I looked about. “Whose vote will he suborn?” At least, they all had the grace to look abashed.
Scarce an hour later, Uncle Mar came calling. They’d let him bring four retainers, though only he was allowed in the Council chamber.
He strode through the doors, his long gold-trimmed cloak trailing. His hair and graying beard were brushed; the silver buckles on his leathern boots gleamed. I’d have guessed his regalia came from a well-stocked wardrobe wagon, though I knew he’d dashed through the hills to pursue us.
“Good day, my lords. My lady.” A deeper bow to Soushire. “Head of place belongs to the regent, though I won’t insist on the protocol.” Cheerily, he commandeered a chair near Groenfil. “I trust your wheat does well?”
“If you left it standing.”
“Why, of course.” He turned blandly to Willem. “Who summoned this Council?”
“I did.” Uncle Raeth’s tone was testy. “Shall we cut through the usual banter?”
“Why, no. I enjoy the civilities.” Mar nodded in my direction. “Roddy. Are you well? You seem a bit ... peaked.”
“A slight injury. I recover.”
“Ah, a pity.” He let the ambiguity hang. “Well, now, shall we begin, if Roddy and Vessa will excuse us?”
I gaped.
“Oh, come now, boy. Surely you know Council is attended only by members. Did Elena fail to teach you that?”
I knew I mustn’t let him goad me, but my face flushed. “I have business here.”
“That’s as may be. Raeth, would you show him the door, or shall I?”
Their eyes locked.
Once I was banished, my coronation would dissolve in bargains, pacts, and silken assurances. I gripped the arm of my seat, as if fearing someone would try to haul me from it.
Outside the keep, catcalls and whistles. Peasant voices rose.
Willem coughed discreetly. “He ought to be present, my lord Duke.”
“We’ve rules and procedures, and reason to follow them.”
“Yes, and one is that Council meets free of intimidation. Will you remove your besiegers?” A good sign, I thought. Willem no longer had common ground with Uncle Mar, and stood up to him.
“Verein’s troops are here to protect you, and at great sacrifice, I might add.”
Raeth’s pewter wineglass slammed onto the table. It would leave a scar. “I’m too old, Mar. Too tired for a night of games. We’ve business, and let us to it.”
Uncle Mar raised an eyebrow. “I take it we don’t agree? Brother-in-law, how say you?”
Groenfil’s tone was sardonic. “That Prince Rodrigo stays. Truly, I hope not to distress you.”
“And you, my lady?”
Soushire stirred. “You’ve lost this round. Let it be.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing other. Now, as to Vessa. What business has he here? Surely you don’t claim he speaks for Stryx?”
Vessa, shrunken, examined his fingers.
I said, “He’s Speaker.”
“Of what? Did the city rise in indignation at his ouster? I think not.”
Cumber snapped, “None has been appointed in his place.”
“How foolish of me; I thought your spies were everywhere.” Mar whipped out a scroll. “The city again has a Speaker, though not of our choosing. Tantroth’s appointed—let’s see, now ... one Llewelyn, formerly of the keep.”
I spluttered, “He can’t—he has no authority to—”
Raeth said, “I don’t recognize Tantroth or his appointments.”
“Quite. But will the Still manifest itself, if tainted by Vessa’s vote?”
So clever, Uncle Mar. Without Vessa, to be crowned I needed every single vote save Mar. He need cleave but one lord from my cause, to destroy me.
Willem looked shaken. Vessa stared at Mar with beady eyes, awaiting his fate.
It was Groenfil who came to my rescue. “The authority of Caledon rests in this room, my lord Duke. Council has merely to reappoint Vessa as Speaker.”
“Even if the Still would recognize our act, Council cannot appoint. Only the Queen, and she’s dead.”
“But nonethe—”
“Or the regent. Yes, the regent, acting for crown, might appoint a Speaker.” Idly, Mar played with the ruffles on his blouse. “Shall I appoint Vessa, or other?”
&
nbsp; “We won’t ratify anyone except Vessa.”
“A stalemate, it seems.” For a moment all was silent. Groenfil took a deep breath, turned from Mar. “My lords, he seeks to divide us, and in this matter, I believe, our interests coincide.” His eyes roved the table. “So, let’s end Mar’s regency, and if necessary, appoint a new.”
I shouted, “I’ll have no regent!” I stumbled to my feet. “What’s come over you? He deceives you with one trick upon another! You’d quarrel over Vessa, divide yourselves over a new regency, and forget the very purpose of our meet?”
“Yes, boy, instruct us.” Mar’s words were a hiss. “You who lack the wit, the grace, the forbearance to govern yourself, teach us our duty.”
“That’s quite enough.” Cumber too got to his feet. “Sit, Roddy, it’s going to be a long night. Will you risk a vote, Mar? I’ll wager the outcome.”
Their eyes met. After a moment Mar’s features lightened. “Raeth, I take it our business is the regency’s end?” He waited for Cumber’s nod. “Very well, gladly I surrender it to young Rodrigo. As you’re so old, and tired”—on his lips, the words had a bite—“let me summarize. We need a king enthroned with the Power of Caledon to meet Tantroth’s threat. The Still has such might that it warrants even so callow a king as our Roddy. That’s it, more or less? I see you nodding. Good.” His satisfaction brought a chill.
“Don’t look so worried, my boy. I agree, you see. Despite what you misunderstood from our conversation in that wheat field, the Still is most powerful. It will light a way through our travail, free us from Tantroth’s boot, guide your reign. You have, of course, the Vessels to wield it?”
His challenge caught me unprepared. “I—no. You do.”
“Another lie. How many does this make, so far? Seven, in matters of state, by my count. And you claim to live True?” He folded his arms.
I could barely contain myself. I’d kept the True. If now he invented lies ...
Outside, angry screams that mirrored my mood, and the crack of a whip.
Uncle Raeth’s eyes were cold. “Have you else to say, my lord Duke? You strain my vow to grant you truce.”
“Hold yourself a moment longer, Raeth. Grant me—I ask all of you—a few moments, no more. Then I’ll acquiesce in what you enact. Agreed?” He waited for grudging nods.
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