The Still roc-1

by David Feintuch

  I was silent a long moment. “Yes. I think so.” I looked up. “Rust, I have to trust somebody, do I not?”

  A bleak smile, but it eased my heart. “You’ve learned that at last? We progress.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  We did our best to prepare. I entrusted my dented crown to Rust for safekeeping, packed my saddlebags with useful sundries. As usual when there was work to be done, Garst was nowhere to be found.

  In principle, Rustin might have accepted my foray. But there was much advice to endure-most of it worth the hearing-before we were allowed to leave, and even then, my party had swelled to six.

  Two picked soldiers were to escort us to the edge of Stryx, to ward off brigands and await our return. A third, a burly young fellow, was to dress in peasant garb, ride into town and keep us in sight.

  Lastly, Rust prevailed upon me to let Genard ride with us. “He’s clever, he’s not noticeable, he runs like the wind.”

  “He babbles, he’s full of unwanted advice, he pries into-”

  “You may find him useful.”

  I waved assent. Possibly Rustin was right. One never knew.

  Perhaps Rust shared my doubts. In the midst of the hullabaloo of our preparations, he caught Genard’s arm, firmly led him behind the wagons, a switch under his arm. When they returned the stableboy was subdued and anxious to please.

  Chapter 31

  I called a halt to rest the horses, and took the opportunity to dismount, wrapped in my old and dusty cloak. Despite the cold I went behind a shrub, pulled down my breeches, and rubbed ointment on my chafed thighs. Meanwhile two of the soldiers walked the horses; the third rode ahead as a scout, as he’d done since we left camp.

  The day’s ride had been long and weary. The route was muddy. We’d pushed south, on roadways, cart trails, and goat tracks, until by my reckoning from the rude map we carried, we were now southeast of Stryx, and would take the next trail west. No matter how far south we’d gone, if we turned west we’d run into the sea soon or late, and could make our way into the town.

  “Best if you stand in the stirrups, m’lord.” Genard walked me back to the horses. “That way you don’t rub-”

  I was in no mood for advice. “There won’t be ointment enough for you, unless you hold your tongue.”

  He subsided, but as we remounted, thinking he was unseen, he made a rude gesture.

  Anavar flicked his crop; Genard yelped. “Respect your prince,” said the Eiberian. Without waiting for answer, he spurred to my side. “Rodrigo …” His brow furrowed. “Did you notice Garst this morning?”

  “By his absence.” I sniffed, wiped my nose.

  “Yes.” Anavar rode for a time in silence. “I looked for him.”

  “He’s not your responsibility. Rust will chastise him.”

  “I fear …” Anavar seemed uncomfortable. “Lord Prince, he may have fled.”

  “Again? Doesn’t he tire of it?”

  “You jest, but consider the prospect. If he finds our camp-men of Eiber, I mean …”

  “Will they put him to death?”

  “It depends on the captain. And on the news he brings.” He watched my face, saw no enlightenment. “Sir, he heard us talk of riding to Stryx.”

  “Imps and demons chew his liver!” I set my mouth tight. “We’d best hurry.”

  “To what point? I know not where our patrols ride, nor does Garst. If when he left our camp-”

  “Anavar, you must choose a side, and call it ‘ours.’ Else you make my head spin.”

  “If when he left your-our-Lord of Nature, I know not!” He pounded his pommel, causing his gelding to start with alarm. “I-we-I am of Eiber!”

  “That’s true, and today you wear Eiber black. But you ride with Caledon.”

  “Because you showed me mercy. You saved me.”

  “Would you turn back? You have my leave.”

  “And be despised by both camps? To what infamy would you consign me?” It sounded an accusation.

  To lighten his woe, I said, “You can always become my vassal, and settle your loyalty.” He looked as if I’d struck him, and I added hastily, “In Caledon, I meant. Not for your lands and holdings in Eiber.”

  “Here I have no lands.” He sounded sullen.

  “Or holdings, other than your stipend. Have you spent it all?” For my perseverance, I was rewarded with a wan smile.

  Genard trotted to my side. “M’lord, a trail.” A narrow footpath, into the western hills.

  “Good lad.” I raised my voice. “Hold! We’ll try this one. You, ride ahead and recall the scout.” I waited while the soldier galloped off.

  It wasn’t long before the guard returned, with his companion. I said, “This footpath isn’t on the map, but-what in the fiery lake are you doing here?”

  Fostrow said, “Scouting, my lord. Someone had to ride ahead.”

  “You were to remain in camp! You were of Mar’s guard, and your face is too well known-”

  “And think you I’d trust that-that puppy they chose to watch you in town? He’s a boy, and a Cumberan boy at that. He’s never seen the close winding streets, never walked the harbor, never-”

  “Never tried my patience like a stubborn old fool!”

  He glared. “And who might that be?”

  “Gah!” I drew sword, slashed at a nearby branch. “Lord of Nature, why?”

  “We waste time, Roddy.”

  His look was unyielding, and I put aside my ire. “Too late now to send you back. We may need your guarding; Anavar thinks Garst bolted.” Wearily, I urged Ebon onward. “Did Rust put you up to this?”

  “Of course not, my lord.”

  I’d never know. “Anavar, do vassals act so in Eiber?”

  “Only until they’re hanged, sir.”

  Fostrow shot him a glance that boded ill. “One arrogant pup I can abide. Two …”

  Anavar was silent, but for the next league or so, a smile played on his lips.

  Uneasy, I patted the mane of my horse, urged the beast forward, wishing I were on Ebon. But even with my hair cropped short, and in my peasant garb, too many in Stryx might remember me, especially on my favorite steed. In any event, a peasant boy on so fine a stallion would cause remark. Ebon grazed in a copse on the edge of town, along with Genard’s mare, tended by our two escorts. Behind, Genard clung to my waist.

  Abruptly we came on a trio of black-garbed troops, Tantroth’s outer guard. Two remained squatted, playing at dice. The third waited with drawn sword.

  “Stay to the side of the road, m’lord.” The stableboy’s whisper was sharp in my ear.

  My chest ached. “Nonsense. Act as if we’ve every right to be here.”

  Genard adjusted the thong of his sandal. “You sound too much like a prince. I’ve learned about not being noticed, and-”

  I twisted round, peered through the drizzle past the huts that lined the narrow trail. Fostrow was nowhere in sight. I muttered, “Why the side of the path?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” With no warning, Genard hurled himself to the ground, scrabbled for a handful of pebbles. He swarmed back into the saddle, panting. “See?” As we neared the guards he tossed a pebble at a thatched roof, grinning idiotically.

  “You’re dim-witted. What else should I observe?”

  “That’s it, m’lord.”

  The sentry frowned at us. Genard jabbed my ribs; I jumped half out of the saddle, spluttering with fury. With a giggle, he tossed pebbles past the guard. “Go on, brother. Catch the stones.” He scratched furiously at his leg.

  I hissed, “Stop it!” Genard paid little heed. Instead, he pinched me so it hurt.

  The sentry be damned. With an oath, I twisted, managed to get a hand on Genard, hauled him into position to cuff. For a time he endured the blows, then tore himself loose. “All right, m’lord, we’re past them.”

  “-don’t you ever dare touch-what?” I peered. “Oh.”

  “See, m’lord? You occupy yourself with little things. Give way
the road, pay no attention, and they’ll do the same.”

  Head low, Anavar brought up the rear. A whisper. “I think he’s right.”

  “Must we ride to Vessa playing fools?”

  “Sometimes, sir, when my father was angered, I’d go about humming and pretending to be immersed in childish things, until his temper soothed itself. Had you not the art of making yourself invisible in your keep?”

  “Not really. Well … I watched the nobles at state dinners, sometimes, when I was thought to be abed. I curled in the corner with some houseboys, playing at jacks. Mother never noticed.”

  Our trail met the coast road at last. Thunder rolled over the squat stone houses; lightning flashed on the whitecaps lapping at the shore. Scudding gray clouds consumed the bell tower and the great castle on the hill above. I glanced south, couldn’t see Tantroth’s outpost along the sea road. He’d have one, though, perhaps half a league south. His main force, no doubt, would be manning Llewelyn’s keep.

  Genard seized the reins. “Turn here. Don’t you know the way?”

  “You distract me.” We threaded through Potseller’s Way, the narrowest of alleys, to the Shoemakers’ Steps. A few shoppers dressed in Tantroth’s black roamed the walkway.

  Anavar prodded his mare, came abreast. “Buy something large, sir.”

  “Are you daft?”

  “Best if we have some business, rather than riding to no purpose.”

  “We’ve no time for-”

  “He’s right, m’lord. Something not too heavy. Boots, perhaps, wrapped in cloth.”

  “Daft.” Grumbling, I stopped at a stall, waited shivering in my saddle, while Anavar and Genard selected cheap boots I wouldn’t wear at my own burial. Overhead, a flash, and a crack of thunder.

  A hand squeezed my leg; I gasped, almost hurled myself from the saddle in terror.

  “Move yourselves!” Fostrow, his voice hoarse. He’d acquired a large sack, slung over his shoulder. His helmet and sword were nowhere to be seen. “Why do you dawdle?”

  I hissed, “They buy boots.” It seemed too much to explain. “We won’t be long. Where’s your breastplate?”

  He’d turned his back, and was drifting off. “Under this foul robe. Hurry.”

  Finally, the transaction complete, Genard hoisted himself and his sack into the saddle. “On, m’lord, but slowly. We’re looking at wares.”

  “Half the stalls are closed,” I growled. “What’s to look at?”

  Genard’s brow wrinkled. “When Master Griswold let me wander the market, stalls were packed with goods and buyers, no matter the weather. Was it not so, in your recall?”

  I took stock of the forlorn market. “Not many customers but for the soldiers,” I admitted.

  “They say a number of your townsmen fled, when our sails were seen.” Anavar, hunched against the increasing rain. “Homes deserted, ours for the taking.”

  “Ours?”

  He had the grace to blush. “Sorry, sir.”

  From around the corner, coarse oaths. A gang of rough-dressed youths appeared, their voices raucous. One carried a jug slopping dark wine.

  Genard nudged my rib. “Trouble. Look down.”

  “Why?” I wasn’t about to skulk about my own market to avoid such rabble.

  “Don’t catch their-”

  Too late.

  “You stare, churl?” The oldest, a stocky boy of eighteen, caught my reins. Water dripped from his matted hair. “Would you share our jug?”

  My hand crept under my cloak to my dagger, but Genard’s fingers caught my wrist.

  “Answer us!”

  “Leave him, Farath, you strike him dumb.”

  “A fine saddle, Bosat, and a good mount.” Farath’s eye roved. “Stolen, I’ll wager, from our dead of the battle.”

  “Let go my rein.” I’d have sounded more authoritative, had I not sneezed.

  Farath sneered, “Hah. What if I shout, ‘He has my horse’?”

  A cold voice, behind me. “Then you’d lie.” Anavar drew tight his black cloak, stared down at the intruder. “What business have you here?”

  Farath’s mouth turned ugly; his glance flicked to Bosat. “And if I ask the same?”

  “I am Anavar of Kalb, page to Lord Treak who serves Lord Tantroth.” He lashed his mount forward. “Take your hand from my servant’s horse!”

  Genard’s grip tightened. “Head down,” he whispered. Seething, I obeyed.

  Farath took a step back, but his fingers kept hold of my bridle. “What if we dump you in a ditch, Eiberian?”

  Anavar’s sword whipped clear. “Were not enough boys of Stryx hanged in the square, a month past? Would you join them?”

  “Come away, Farath.” Bosat tugged at his companion.

  “Together, we’d down him!”

  “The Eiberians would post a reward, and some would claim it. Come on!” Grumbling, muttering curses, Farath allowed himself to be persuaded. With sneers, the youths retreated.

  Anavar sheathed his sword. “Come along.” Without a look back, he led the way from the square.

  I contained myself until we turned the corner to safety. “Your servant? How dare you!”

  “Thank me. I saved your life.”

  “Faugh. From the likes of them I need no protection. I was about to-”

  “Make a scene, attract guards, be noticed. And get yourself taken.” The boy’s tone was sharp.

  I frowned, but had no answer.

  Anavar looked about uncertainly.

  “I know the way, m’lord. Let me guide the reins.” The downpour came harder as Genard led.

  I sat shivering. After a time I asked, “What boys were hanged?”

  Anavar shifted in his saddle. “They threw rocks.”

  “Tell on.” My tone was curt.

  “At our guards. Tantroth was angered. It happened too often, and when some were caught, he made an example.”

  “Tough louts like those you chased?”

  Anavar’s face was set at the stalls, so I couldn’t see. “Younger. Urchins.”

  My fingers gripped the pommel, squeezed as if it were Tantroth’s neck. “How many?”

  “Five.” At last Anavar turned to face me, his eyes bleak. “Their bodies hung a week, while birds had at them. Sir, I was appalled; many were, even within Tantroth’s ranks. We wouldn’t-”

  “Hold your tongue.” My voice was a rasp. I hated Tantroth, his folk, the Eiberian I’d befriended.

  “It wasn’t my doing,” he said stubbornly. “Even Lord Treak was dismayed.”

  I withdrew into myself, brooding, until Genard nudged me from behind. “Is that not the dwelling, m’lord?” He pointed.

  I peered. “Yes.”

  “Now what?”

  I beckoned to Anavar. “What say that you knock at Vessa’s door and demand audience?”

  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.”