The Still (19 page)

“What of yourself?”

“Oh, I’d rather be there too, but duty prevents.” He swung to glower at his wife. “And when the sails were sighted, Joenne refused to go, leaving me with more worry. But my loyalty”—his gaze bore into mine—“is to the crown. For the moment, that means the regent.”

I stifled any show of resentment. “Then why do you aid us?”

“Ah. You’re Elena’s child, and she wanted you King. I’m not entirely sure ... Margenthar’s intent is not always clear. Just a moment.” Abruptly he strode to the door, looked outside, had a word with the guard.

When he returned to settle himself by the fire I asked, “Think you Uncle Mar is a traitor?”

“A word too easily bandied.” His eyes held mine until I flushed.

“I apologize, Lord Llewelyn.”

A grunt. “Well, you’re excitable, and don’t mean half of what tumbles out your mouth. As to Mar, I have no cause to know he means you ill.” Delicately said; he might guess, or suspect my uncle’s intentions, but because he had no sure knowledge, he need not choose a side.

“Then why not hold us for his custody?” I knew not why I baited him.

“After Tantroth decamps, Mar will have enough on his mind without naming me enemy for aiding you.” He stood to pace. “Still, I’d rather see you gone. The cortege that escorted Pytor to Verein passed within our walls. The little lad wailed for his nanny, and none gave him comfort. If Mar meant him well, I can’t see why he didn’t send old Hester along. Elryc needed her no longer.”

“Thank you.” My voice was soft.

He faced me. “Between you and Margenthar, I’d have you as King, Lord Rodrigo. Especially when you’re grown. But I can’t commit against the Duke, living close under his walls. I wish you well, but won’t take part in your quarrel.”

“I understand, sir. I’d better find Rust.”

“Tell him, Llewelyn.” Joenne’s soft voice.

“Wife, stay out—”

“He’ll know soon or late, and be your enemy. Soften the blow with truth!”

Llewelyn paced anew. “To be candid, boy, I don’t want Rustin going with you. Not that I wish you ill, but the kingdom’s unsettled, and he’s too young to gallop off and enrage the Duke of Stryx in the bargain. I’d order him to forego his journey, but unfortunately, he swore fealty ...” A shrug. “By honor he cannot gainsay his word.”

“So you’ll let him go?”

“I’m not bound by his honor. Rust went to his chamber for clothes, but will stay there. Two men guard his door.”

“Sons of demons!” White-faced, I could say no more.

“Rodrigo, I bear you no ill will. Gladly I’ll give you horses, weapons, even two of my men as outriders, as far as you would take them. But Rustin is my son whom I love, so I will protect him.” Though his face was stony, his words were unsteady. “Hate me if you must.”

“Gladly!” I snatched up the bundle that held my crown and stalked into the night.

Did Llewelyn think he could pick and choose among the aids he proffered—giving me steeds but locking away Rustin—and keep my goodwill? He would see me King, but only after I matured to his liking? Hah! When I was King, his head would roll.

Yet, how was I to become King, if none save Rust would stand with me, and his way was barred?

Fuming, I crossed to the stable. Inside, I searched for Ebon’s stall. I hadn’t seen him since the trumpets sounded Mother’s death. Gladly, I fed him an apple, wiped his slobber on my breeks.

In the next stall, Genard, on tiptoe, stroked the muzzle of a strong young stallion as he adjusted the cinches. I couldn’t see how he’d climb the beast, to say nothing of riding him.

I said, “I’ll have Llewelyn send you back to Griswold when the siege lifts.”

“No, I ride with you.”

“Servants do as they’re told.”

The stableboy shouted, “I’m liegeman to Lord Elryc! I go with him!”

I was exhausted, and in no mood for nonsense. “Will you
ever
shut your mouth? No one gives a plowman’s hoe whether you’re bondsman or churl!”

Before aught could stop him, the boy jumped the gate, pawed through my gear, seized my crown from its dirty wrap. “Deserve you this, lying Prince? Hah!” He pitched the crown across the stall; it bounced off a rough-hewn beam. “I should have given it to the Duke!”

I scrambled to my feet.

My head ached. Outside, the hated troops of Eiber made ready for siege. My brothers were gone, Uncle Mar despised me, Llewelyn betrayed me. And now, a jeering stableboy flung my crown at a wall.

Oblivious to my white rage, Genard babbled on. “You knew I was Elryc’s man when you took me! Think you I’ll rot in Stryx, when Elryc—when he—” Genard’s lip trembled. He blinked, for once without words.

I glanced about. In the aisle, a coil of rope hung on a hook. It would do.

I seized Genard by the neck, hauled him to the door. “Guard!” No one was about. I dragged the unresisting stableboy into the night. On the battlements, torches flickered. “Guardsmen!” Very well, if none would help, I’d hang him myself. I dragged the boy to a tree with a low-hanging limb.

From behind, a soft familiar voice. “Let him go; you choke him.”

“This piece of dung bent the crown of Caledon!”

Rust sighed, gripped my forearm. “Let him be.” He worked at loosening my grip on Genard.

My free hand shot to my waist, in an instant my dagger glinted in the firelight “Stay back!”

“You’d slash me?” Slowly, deliberately, Rust placed his hand atop mine. “Do it then.” I made a threatening gesture; his grip loosened. He shut his eyes. “Best I not see it, lest I flinch.”

I hurled Genard into the dust, kicked him, spun to Rustin. “Villein! Coward knave! You’re all against me, sworn or no! Imps take you, your house, your lickspittle father, your mother! Demons drink your peasant blood and—”

Not gently, but with less fury than I expected, he caught my knife hand, twisted my arm, threw me to the ground. Instead of a blow, he rolled me onto my belly, sat athwart my back, pinning me to the grass while I raged weeping and cursing, trying to grasp the fallen knife.

After a time I lay still, helpless. Rustin stroked the back of my neck. “It’s no shame to cry, my prince. Nor to rage at events. But you have friends, Genard and I among them, who risk their lives for you.”

“Get off, you toad!”

“Not yet.” His strong hands massaged my shoulders. “It’s but the eye of the storm.”

“Damn you!” I couldn’t gain purchase to free myself. I kicked, tore grass, pounded the earth in frustration, until at last I lay spent and sobbing in the dirt. Only then did Rustin climb off my back, gather me into a rough sort of hug.

I sniffled. “Why did you stop?”

“For the guilt you’d bear, if I did not.”

For a moment I sat quietly, welcome of the embrace. “Rust, what do you think of me?”

He sighed. “That you’re ill raised, and not yet fit to be King.”

The words slashed like a razor. I recoiled, realized I’d asked for truth. “Why do you stay with me?”

A silence that stretched interminably. At last he flashed a curious smile, got to his feet, looked down at me where I lay sprawled. “Why should I not?”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s late, and we must ride before light.”

I tried to shake off my daze. “You were locked in your room.”

“Lower your voice, lest they hear. Go wash off the dust, change your clothes. I’ve made arrangements; Chela will tell you.” He squeezed the back of my neck. “I stay with you because I wish, and because I’m your vassal.” He loped toward the house. Before disappearing behind a wall he called over his shoulder, “And because I like you.”

For some reason, despite his ruthless and unprovoked assault, a burden lifted. With a long shuddering breath I picked myself up, dusted my jerkin. I became aware of a pair of eyes watching, intent. “What do
you
want?”

Genard rubbed his throat “M’lord, may I ...” He approached with caution. He saw my scowl, blurted, “Elryc told me—was it an oath you gave, when you said you’d save him?”

“What business of yours, crown breaker?”

He moved closer, perhaps sensing from my listless tone that I had no energy to renew my assault. “Please, m’lord?”

The easiest way to get rid of him was to answer. “I said Uncle Mar and his minions—helpers—shall not harm him while I draw breath.”

“You swore?”

“I told him in Truth. It’s the same. My Power depends on keeping True.”

“Well, then.” Genard nodded, as if he’d made a point. “He told me the words. ‘Elryc, Lord of Caledon, I pledge myself to thee as vassal.’ Somethin’ like that. Until our deaths, and I’ll serve him with honor and shall have no other liege.” His eyes shone. “I’m Elryc’s man. That’s why I have to go along.”

“He was playing with you.”

Genard shook his head.

“Or being kind. Elryc wouldn’t take a stableboy as vassal; it’s absurd.” I made a gesture of dismissal. “Don’t worry yourself. Go home.”

“That’s for him to say!” His head came up proudly. “Could Duke Mar dismiss Lord Rustin as your vassal?”

“Of course not but ...” I sighed. Chivalry had its rules. Though Elryc was eleven and a fool, it was a profound breach of etiquette to interfere in his relations with a vassal.

I tried another tack. “Even if you’re sworn, that’s no reason to tag along. Lord knows when we’ll see the castle again—” The argument supported Genard’s position instead of my own, so I dropped it. “You’ll only slow us. Besides, you have no mount.”

“Me, slow you?” Withering scorn. “I can ride any horse in the stable, and with my little weight, I’ll be watching over my shoulder for you!” His tone changed. “Please, m’lord! I’m sorry about—I won’t be any trouble, I swear!”

I yawned. Had I had a decent night’s sleep since Mother died? Genard was persistent, and we needed a servant. “Very well, you may fetch and carry for us. I’ll have Llewelyn provide you a horse.”

“Yes, m’lord.” His mission accomplished, he retreated. “Did I break the crown? I’m sorry.”

“I’d have hanged you, if not for Rust. Touch my crown again and I’ll gut you; by the Truth I so swear!”

“Aye, m’lord!” He fled.

I turned back toward the house, got no more than a few paces before a figure approached from the darkness.

I peered. “Who’s—oh!” Chela, the servant girl.

She beckoned urgently, drew me into the shadows. “Lord Rustin says he’ll ride with you!”

“I know. How did he escape?”

“Out the window, the moment his door closed from inside. In room, out window, bang, just like that!” She giggled. “Then he found me to give you word.”

“What’s his plan?”

“He says don’t alien—don’t make his father mad. Say good-bye, leave as you would have.”

“And?”

“We’ll wait for him at the two-trunked tree, just past the curve in the road.”

My mind whirled. “Where?”

She giggled. “I’ll show you. Just say you want a servant to help with the cooking.”

“You’re the last one I’d ...” I stopped myself. “Chela, we’ll ride hard, and I know not where. Stay behind.”

“Rust wants me to show you the waiting place.” She shrugged. “Then we see.”

“How will he get out?”

“Through the small door in north wall. Same as you.”

“It’s guarded.”

“Remember when Llewelyn beat Lord Rust?” She sniffed. “He keeps family quarrels private. He thinks Rust safe in his room, so he won’t mention it to the guards outside. Rust will ride up to the north gate and order it opened.”

It might work, but ... “Imps take Llewelyn!”

Her eyes widened. “Shh, not in Llewelyn’s house. Bad luck.”

Foolish peasant superstitions. Everyone knew demons went where they chose, and no ill speech could summon them. I sighed. “This had better work. If the guards hold him for his father ...”

Her eyes flashed. “No one stops Lord Rustin, if he doesn’t want to stay. And if they do”—she drew an imaginary sword—“he’s still going with you!”

“How soon can we leave?” I yearned to leave the keep that had seemed a refuge, and now was sour with intrigue.

“Get your horse ready.”

When I returned to the hall Llewelyn and Joenne showed no sign that anything untoward had passed. I bowed, the stiff, short bow that a guest might give to his host regardless of lower rank. “I would leave now.”

Llewelyn paced, by the fire. “Alone?”

I shrugged. “Genard will come along. And if I could borrow a servant girl? She’ll need a horse.”

“One less to feed.” It was of no consequence to him.

A few moments later, at the north gate, I shifted on my saddle, anxious to get our stratagem under way. Genard patted his mount, whispering soothing words.

Llewelyn had insisted on providing us with an extra nag, loaded with blankets and cookware for camping in the hills. “As I said, Lord Prince, I mean you no ill.” I nodded my thanks, my feelings firmly in check. The beast would do for Chela to ride back to the keep. I hadn’t told her, but I’d no intention of letting her tag along.

The mare’s cookware clanked like a tinner’s cart, and Llewelyn fussed with her strappings until I was ready to burst. Finally he tied the reins to Genard’s saddle, gave the signal. “Is the north road still clear?”

“Aye, sire.” A guardsman.

“Archers on the wall, stand ready in case foes lurk in the darkness. Open! Hail and farewell, Prince of Caledon. May the Lord of Nature keep you safe.”

Genard, the girl, and I galloped into the night.

Behind us, the gate swung closed before we’d gone a dozen paces.

G
ENARD STIRRED. “MAYBE
he won’t come.”

“Shut thy mouth.” Half-concealed in low bushes, I squinted into the night, but could see naught but dim shadows under the half moon.

“What if Tantroth comes? We shouldn’t be near—”

“Wait with the horses!”

The boy muttered something under his breath, and retreated. I stifled an urge to give chase; I’d distinctly heard the words “better company” in his reply.

A shadow flickered in the moonlight. I peered eagerly, detected nothing. Then a dark form, cantering across the field. I recognized Rustin’s familiar features, atop a wide-nosed bay.

“Here,” I called, from the bush.

Rust whirled with dagger drawn. “Who’s that?”