The Still (40 page)

I’d fled Stryx to help Elryc. Well, partly. Also because Mar betrayed his promise to present my claims to the Council, and set a date for my coronation. As Mother had warned me, he had sons, and his ambition burned bright. Yet Mar had merely done what we’d expected he’d attempt, soon or late, and I was fortunate indeed to be out of his grasp.

“What of Pytor?” My uncle would have no excuse to disinherit Pytor; he hadn’t fled Mar’s clutches. I answered my own question. “Mar’s only hold on the regency now is Pytor. So our brother’s safe for the moment.”

Rust was somber. “Until Mar looks to his own line.”

Hester said darkly, “And who knows when that may be. The sooner I get you boys installed with your grand-uncle, the sooner I can leave.”

“You’d rush home to a burned out—”

“Home? Don’t be daft. To Verein.” She frowned. “Close your mouth, Roddy; flies are about. Think you I’d leave Pytor after swearing to my lady that I’d see my life blotted like a taper before harm came to her brood?”

Savagely, I attacked my ham. “Why, you old witch, you left me to die in a charred hut.”

“Because you were beyond hope!” Her cloudy eyes found me, held my glare. “Perhaps you still are; you speak of contrition but call me names the moment you—”

“I’m sorry.” My voice dropped. “Really. You aren’t a witch.” Under the table, Rust’s hand patted my knee in approval.

After, we reassembled at the wagon. Rust fiddled with Santree’s cinches while I waited, impatient to be off, hoping he wouldn’t remember his threat of another bath.

“Rustin, come!” Hester, her tone urgent.

He flew to the wagon.

I thrust the reins into Genard’s hands, hurried after.

Chela lay on her side, her face sallow. Her shift was stained with blood; droplets still oozed from her lips. “I tried ... to sit. Something inside ...”

“Is she dying?” All I could feel was curiosity.

Hester said, “She will be, if we move her far. The wagon jolts over every rut.”

I said, “We have to go to the castle; we can’t stay in Cumber Town under Uncle’s nose.”

“Chela could.” Rust.

“Why waste the coin, when—”

“Roddy.” His voice was flat, almost offhand, but it stopped me cold. After a moment he asked, “Where should Chela stay?”

My reply was swift. “Here at the inn, Rust.” If he struck me in front of the others, it would be too much to bear.

“And I know you’d offer to pay, my prince, if you had coin.”

The landlord had a girl who could tend to Chela’s needs, and so it was arranged. With great care, three townsmen carried the injured girl up two steep flights of stairs, to a small chamber facing the street. Rustin gave the servant close instructions, and also had the innkeeper send for a physicker on the chance he might know some remedy.

At last, we set on our way. Elryc rode a horse, so our party would seem larger. Rustin galloped ahead, to announce us at the castle wall, as was custom, so the Earl and his minions weren’t left scrambling to greet us. Really, we should have given Earl Cumber a full day’s warning, by protocol. More than that, if I were visiting as King. I sighed. We’d done the best we could.

Cumber was a redstone fortress. Far above the keep swirled a fantasy of picturesque turrets that would fell any servant who had to climb to them daily. Below, high ramparts presided over thick brooding walls, surrounding a central donjon wherein the Earl lived and conducted his affairs.

“Stryx should look like this,” I said.

Fostrow grunted. “Even the thickest walls fall in time to miners and sappers. Why isn’t this place high on a hill, where an enemy can’t march his whole force into position?”

“Look how the pennants fly.”

“Pretty flags don’t make—”

“Fostrow, you have the soul of a hedgehog.”

We arrived at the gates without fanfare. Uneasy, I sat stiffly, waiting for the welcoming trumpets to sound.

Rust turned, paced Santree back to where Ebon stood snorting. “The Earl’s been told.”

“And?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Etiquette requires them to let us wait inside.”

A voice from on high. “His Lordship the Earl of Cumber, Warden of the Great Forest, Councilman to Caledon, bids you go from whence you came!”

They hadn’t even bothered to open the gates. I urged Ebon toward the throng of soldiers and townsmen crowding the wall.

“Go easy, Roddy, let me—”

“No. This is for me.” I called out, “Rodrigo, heir to Caledon, awaits your master’s greeting.”

A long silence, while I wondered what we’d do if they gave no reply at all.

It began to look as if that would be the case.

Rust’s face was a mask of patience. Only the beat of his fist on the pommel revealing his true state.

Elryc walked his sorry nag in stately dignity to where we sat. “Will he open, Roddy?”

“Yes.” I spoke with assurance.

“How know you?”

“Because he must.” I had no words to explain further.

A hand, on the stone high above our head. Then a wizened face, with a sour expression. “Go away, Roddy. I can’t allow a visit.”

From the saddle, I made the formal bow of greeting. “My lord Uncle.”

His bow in response was automatic, but as he straightened he snapped, “Don’t make a fool of yourself. Go set matters right with Margenthar.”

“Sir, I would speak with you on matters of state.” I glanced pointedly at the gate.

“You have a regent for that sort of thing.” He peered. “Is Elryc with you? I thought he was still a baby. Young man, have your brother take you home where you belong. Lord Mar will raise you properly.”

Rust breathed, “Whatever you do, don’t alienate him.”

Cumber made a shooing gesture. “Get thee hence, children. You seem a sorry lot; I don’t want to set my troops to turn you around.”

I tore open my saddlebag, groped for my bundle, scattering soiled clothing in the dirt. Setting the crown on my head I sang out so all could hear, “Earl of Cumber, now comes Rodrigo of Caledon to deliberate his coronation! I bid you, open!”

The old man blinked, shook his head. “I can’t allow a disinherited whelp to dictate my course.”

“Cumber, if thou wouldst have a future, consider well! Hast thou not children on whom to bestow thy holdings?”

“Don’t try the formal speech with me, boy; I’m old enough to be your grandfather. Not that I’d care to be.”

A moment’s pause, while I waited all pins and needles.

He muttered, “Very well, come in and we’ll talk.”

I shot Rust a grin of triumph.

Rust hissed, “In safe-conduct, by his sworn honor.”

“He has no honor.” I raised my voice. “In safe-conduct, of course?”

A wave of assent. “Get that grotesque wagon inside, before I change my mind.” The face disappeared.

I
REFUSED THE QUARTERS
the earl’s chamberlain offered, insisting on connecting rooms for me and Rust. Let them think what they would; I knew that only in bed could we whisper our thoughts so none of the Earl’s minions could hear. That we’d be watched, I accepted as a matter of course.

I hurried to bathe and dress, and set again the crown of Caledon on my brow.

We joined the old Earl downstairs in his donjon. There, he introduced the highborn men and ladies of his retinue. He came to a tall graying fellow, dressed in good cloth, whom I recognized. “And this is Imbar, my valet and confidant.”

“My lord.” The man made too short a bow.

“Imbar.” I gave him no more than a nod. When Cumber was done, I introduced Elryc, Rustin, Hester. Then, reluctantly, Genard and Fostrow. Rustin hadn’t allowed me to insist they wait upstairs.

The keep was well appointed; it managed to look solid and light at the same time. The Earl led us to the blazing hearth, clapped his hands. Servants in matching livery brought wine and sweets. Imbar, the valet, sat with us as if such intimacy were common practice. I managed not to gape.

After polite small talk, Hester excused herself with dignity, taking with her the two boys, and asking Fostrow’s help with the stairs. It was nicely done. In a moment Rust and I were alone with the Earl and his valet.

“Now that you’ve won the first round, what’s your intention?” Uncle Cumber addressed me, ignoring Rust.

I stammered, “I think not of winning, my lord Cumber, but of seeking, ah, your advice.” I tried to read Rust’s face for direction.

“How charming. Isn’t he a pleasant lad, Imbar? He threatens my inheritance as if he had an army, then sits smiling over my wine.”

“Uncle Cumber, I ask your support—”

“The name’s Raeth. If you must speak to me, stop using the demon-cursed title.”

“Uncle—Raeth?”

“It’s the name I was born with, the one I used for thirty years before I inherited. Why should I abandon it?”

“Uncle Raeth, I—”

“And I’m not your uncle; I was your father’s. That makes me nothing to you.”

I cast Rustin a glance of despair. The man was impossible. “Lord Raeth—no, by Lord of Nature! Mother always insisted I refer to you as Uncle, and that’s how I know you.”

His habitual look of disapproval softened, if only for a moment. “My nephew Josip married well. She was true nobility.”

“Thank you. And also for rushing to her funeral.”

“That wasn’t for you; it’s what Josip would ask. You know I favored him.”

“I was but nine when he died, sir.”

“Aye, he had no chance to make a proper man of you. See the consequences, Imbar?” A sigh. “No wonder Mar has his hands full.”

Rust stood to warm his hands at the fire. “The mountain air is cooler than we’re accustomed, my lord Prince.”

The Earl nodded approvingly. “Well done. See, Imbar, how he reminds me of the boy’s rank without so much as a gesture of rebuke?”

For the first time, Imbar spoke. “Who are you?” He addressed Rust.

“Rustin son of Llewelyn, Householder of Stryx. Prince Rodrigo’s advisor and, ah, confidant.” There was nothing in Rust’s tone to which one might take offense. Nonetheless, Imbar flushed.

Uncle Cumber applauded quietly. “Again, nicely done. The boy has poten—”

I set down my goblet so hard it shattered. “Come, Rust. We’ve had our response.” I stalked to the door. “On, to Soushire.”

Rustin followed without a murmur.

“See how they take offense?” The old Earl’s tone was light. “Hold a moment, youngsires. Shall we treat with them, Imbar? They come from Shar so destitute they must camp in the woods, yet they spurn our mockeries. What shall we make of this?”

Imbar said, “That they’re not used to jests? Or, perhaps, that their hides are uncured and tender.”

“Which is it, young Rodrigo? Come back to the fire; we’ll talk of pleasant things.”

I took off the crown, fingered the dent Genard had imparted to it. “This deserves your respect, Uncle, if as yet I’ve not earned it.”

“Aye, it does, and you too, if you’ve the right to wear it. Come, let’s discuss that.”

I glanced to Rustin; he nodded slightly. We sat. I muttered, “Let us speak plainly, without derision.”

“Plainly, yes. But derision is part of our nature, Imbar and me. Best you learn to live with it.”

“Do you call yourself Earl and Councilor of Caledon, and protest not Margenthar’s usurpation?”

“Look, Imbar, how he flies to the point. What usurpation, if you’re but a child and unready for the crown?”

Rust spoke. “Judge him yourself, my lord. Is he that?”

I raised my eyebrow, at Rust. Had he not told me as much, at least a dozen times of late?

“He wears a noble mien today, I’ll grant you, Lord Rustin. That’s not what I recall a month past, at the Council meet.”

I said hotly, “Mar’s soldiers held me from entering.”

“Make allowances, sir.” Rust. “He’d just lost his mother.”

“There’s that. What shall I think, Imbar?” Uncle Raeth poured himself more wine, swirled it in his mouth before swallowing. “What would I say to Josip, if he admonished me?”

“He’s dead, Rae, and doesn’t know what you do.”

“But I know.” The Earl brooded. “He was my favorite, long before I knew you.”

I blurted, “Tell me about him.” Rust’s jaw fell, but I didn’t care.

“A lovely boy.” The Earl of Cumber sighed. “I was married, my wife was of the Norlanders, and whatever dreams lay within me remained fettered. Still ...” He looked long into his glass. “Lovely.”

“And as a man?”

“His father sent the boy here for training. I taught him hawking, and we played at the bow. How fast he learned.”

Imbar cleared his throat.

“Yes, I know, but it’s an old man’s privilege to mourn lost occasions. How fast Josip grew. As a man? What can I say; he met and wooed Elena. And won her. Best she’d kept her Power a few years and shackled Mar, but she could wait no longer.”

I dared not breathe.

“Josip didn’t mind her predominance. She took his advice, and perhaps that made it easier. Even while she had the Still, and they’d not yet bedded, he guided her.” His eyes fixed mine, abruptly. “Are you virgin, still?”

I flushed.

“Answer!”

I said, “Yes. I am.” I took a deep breath, for strength. “And I will wield the Still, to restore my kingdom.”

He cackled. “Then don’t throw aside your, ah, confidant. You’ll have need of him.”

His double entendre made me blush furiously, but my gaze never wavered. “Concern yourself not with my needs, my lord. I will suffice, until Caledon is wholly mine.”

A long pause. “Imbar, I believe he means it. Well would it be to have a king with resolve, especially allied with us. No?”

“Perhaps.” Imbar’s face bore no hint of his thoughts.

“That’s merely my view. Certainly not Mar’s. And on this point, my opinion holds no water. Duke Tantroth devours Stryx even as we speak, and Mar is regent.”

“Only through vote of Council.” Rust.

“And I’m but one member. What could I do, even if I favored this lad?”

I growled, “Don’t speak past me, Uncle.”

“Don’t ‘Uncle’ me, Prince Rodrigo.”

The last strands of my temper snapped. “It was out of respect for my father Josip. I’ll do as you said, and show him as little honor as do you. You’re no uncle of mine, and curse him for a pretty boy, a sycophant who—”