The Still (58 page)

“Rust?”

“Yes, my prince?” His hair was warm in my lap.

“How will I be a man, so I need not run to tell you all?”

“It will come.” He sounded sure, and I ached to believe him.

“What shall we do?”

“Ask Elryc’s counsel.”

My tone was bitter. “Then it will be as Uncle said. If two know a secret, each knows who spoke it, but when three know ...”

“Elryc trusts you with his life, and holds yours. It’s as should be.” He sat.

Sighing, I stood. “I wish you’d stop blathering about trust. Someday I have to rule.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you speak of intrigue and the halls of kings. Very apt. But we can’t live without trust, and without ...” He glanced about. “I hope Elryc hasn’t gone far.”

“Without what?”

“Love. Ah, there he is.” He beckoned, and Elryc came running. “Roddy has more to tell you. Is Genard handy? Have him bring us some dilute wine. Cold, if there’s some been set in a stream.”

I lay on my bed, drained of all emotion. We’d sent Mar home, saying we’d answer on the morrow. Rust, Elryc, and I had talked into the night, reviewing all possibilities.

If Mar’s claim was true, there was no point fighting on. The Warthen was lost, by his refusal to parley. Groenfil was Mar’s kin, and betrayed by my arrangement with Soushire; winning his support was doubtful. I could ride back to Cumber, but the longer I dithered, the more chance Tantroth would tire of waiting and strike, and learn in battle that the Still had no potency.

Elryc toyed with his empty cup. “Roddy, what if it’s a lie?”

“Which part? The Warthen does have sons, and wouldn’t see us. Cumber
is
stingy. What difference does it make if Soushire treated with Tantroth before we agreed—”

He said, “All of it.”

Rust raised himself, listening intently.

“Every word. About Soushire and Groenfil. The Warthen’s ambition, and Tantroth’s intent.”

“But why spin such a tale? Why go to the trouble?”

“Yes.” Rustin. “That’s it. Think, Roddy. You’re yourself again.”

“Don’t set me a puzzle.” I goaded my thoughts, found myself sinking in a marsh of possibilities. If Tantroth had other reason to stay his hand, that meant ... If Soushire was true to our bargain, that meant ...

Abruptly I looked up. It was so simple.

“I was on the brink of submitting.”

“Yes.”

“But ...” There was more. I stood to pace; stirring my blood might help me to think. “His whole purpose in spinning his tale was to win my acceptance of his regency. That means he wants me in his control. My person has value. Why?”

Rustin lay back with a smile of contentment. “Think on it. If you haven’t solved the riddle by morn I’ll tell you.”

I looked for dregs of wine to sprinkle on his face, but all was gone.

Whatever the answer was, it made Rustin happy.

What would give Rustin such pleasure, on this weary night? Ah. My heart leaped.

“He lied about the Still,” I said. “The Power is more than a ruse.”

Rust smiled, and I saw in him a stable cat that had just trapped a mouse.

In the morn, I proposed that we simply turn about and return to Cumber, but Elryc pointed out that would show Uncle Mar his tales were unbelieved. That was the case, I told him. But, he asked, why give that knowledge to Uncle?

So we summoned the Duke’s envoy, to tell him I would have no answer for a week, that I would return to the hospitality of Cumber. Rust bade me act upset and angry when I spoke to the envoy, and I promised I would. But just before taking me within the envoy’s sight he pinched me between the legs so hard my eyes bulged. Before I could draw breath to protest he hauled me to the canopy.

It was all I could do not to walk doubled over. Face red, aching, determined to revenge Rust’s wanton brutality, I grated through my rehearsed speech, turned on my heel and strode out, or tried to.

As we broke camp Rust was nowhere to be found, though I sent Anavar, Genard, even Fostrow searching.

It wasn’t until dark and the tents were set up anew that Rust ambled into view while we sat about the fire. “I suppose you’re going to berate me?” He took a seat at my side.

“I know why you did it, but it
hurt.”

“Yes, otherwise it wouldn’t suffice.” He slung an arm over my shoulder. “Most humbly, I beg forgiveness.”

“And you hadn’t faith in my acting.”

“Of course not. Your face mirrors your every humor.”

“Bah. What does it reveal now?”

“That you wish you needn’t pretend to be angry.” A gentle squeeze.

How was it possible to stay piqued at him? “Genard, I’m sure Rustin is hungry. Fetch him a bowl of turnips.”

As penance, Rust ate them.

The next morn, as we rode toward Cumber, I took Rustin aside. “I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous habit. Overcome it, lest—”

“Be serious. What if all Mar said of the Still is true? What if I’ve denied myself for naught?”

“We decided last night—”

“And if we’re wrong? His tale made sense. Of course Mother wouldn’t tell me the Still had no value, as long as folk could see I prepared myself for it. Perhaps as I grew older she would have revealed the secret.”

“If it were so, what would you do?”

“If the Power has no value ... Rust, I’m older now, and wiser. No one need know who shares my bed.”

He studied me long. “Is this about last night, my prince?”

I blushed. When finally we’d crept into our tent I’d shivered with cold, then found myself thinking of Uncle Raeth’s granddaughter Tresa, and stirred with uncommon passion. I’d waited for Rust to notice, and when he seemed oblivious, I for the first time turned to him, instead of waiting for his touch.

“No,” I snapped. “This is about Mar, and Mother.”

He rode awhile. “You can’t solve the riddle of your Power until you’re crowned and have the Vessels. So, would you spend the Still like some exotic foreign coin, without first learning its worth?”

I opened my mouth, and closed it again. Surely there must be a solution that didn’t leave me trapped in helpless chastity.

At that moment Anavar pulled up alongside. “May I speak with you, Lord Prince?” No others were in hearing, save Elryc, who dozed in his saddle.

At Rust, I rolled my eyes. “If you must.”

“The other night—the girl ... it would appear I owe you an apology. Forgive me. I didn’t know the customs of your camp.”

Gracefully put. Reluctantly, I nodded. “You startled me.” After a moment I knew that wasn’t enough to explain my bizarre behavior. I lowered my voice. “Know you anything of the Still of Caledon, or its requirements?”

“No, my lord.”

I fell silent.

From Rustin, gently, “Go on, Roddy.”

My voice was stiff. “Until I set down my Still forever, I must remain a virgin.”

“Oh.” A sound of wonder. His eyes darted to mine, in reappraisal. I reddened.

“It makes me ... impatient And, I suppose, jealous. You’re but fourteen.” I braced for the inevitable snigger.

“My lord, I’m so sorry!” His eyes were wide. “Please, I meant no harm, no disrespect. If only I’d known ...” To my amazement his voice was tremulous. “Truly, I would not hurt thee.”

I snorted. “I’ve hurt
you
enough.”

“It’s nothing. I owe you my very life.” He was silent awhile. Then, “Are there other ways?” His ears were red.

I shifted in the saddle, unhappy I’d brought up the matter. “None I’d care to discuss.”

As solemnly as if he meant it, Rustin asked, “What would you suggest?”

For the next hour my Eiberian ward racked his brains to propose amorous possibilities, while I rode stiffly, eyes ahead, dreaming wistfully about Rust’s funeral.

R
ETRACING OUR STEPS
was disheartening. no matter how I recast it in my mind, returning to Cumber was defeat. But I dressed to parley with Groenfil, lest my plan bear fruition. Unless I plotted my course with meticulous care, I might find myself crowned, but without my Power. Perhaps Uncle Raeth could devise a way to interest the Warthen in our cause, and save me from an encounter with Groenfil.

We were riding disconsolately when, ahead, a trumpet sounded. Rust stiffened. “The call to arms!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” We spurred together. He drew his sword from its saddle sheath.

The trail was an anthill poked with a stick. Men and horses raced hither and yon.

“Rodrigo, here!” Fostrow waved, beckoning us. He’d collected a dozen of Tursel’s troopers. We cantered to join them.

I called to Fostrow, “Why the alarm?”

“Foes lie ahead. The way is blocked.”

“Who?”

“Their garb is black. Tantroth.”

“Impossible. We’re well behind Stryx Castle, far from the coast. Where’s the attack?”

“Do you hear battle? No one’s attacked.”

Reluctantly, I sheathed my sword. “Let’s look.”

“Be safe with us, my lord. Tursel will report.”

The captain cantered up, his mount lathered. “The trail is barred, sire. Tantroth’s men are well dug in, and it’s not sure how many we face.”

“What is their aim?”

“Obviously, to stop our passage. No other force this way comes. I advise we turn our column, mount a rear guard, and retrace our steps. Just a moment.” Tursel turned in the saddle, shouted orders to a nearby horseman. The guard galloped off.

I said, “Turn back to Verein? We’d hand ourselves to Mar.”

“Two leagues toward Verein—well before the castle—we passed Seasand Cross. A tiny village, remember? A road runs from the Warthen’s border down to the coast where—”

“I know my own realm!”

“Of course, sire. At the crossroads we’ll be able to detour deeper into the hills, or even risk the coast road if you choose. It’s better than camping here.”

I looked to Elryc. He nodded.

I said, “Set it in motion, but first send envoy to ask passage.”

“Very well, but they’ll refuse. They won’t have gone to such trouble for naught.”

“Try, nonetheless.”

“Wait here until I’ve rounded men to guard you.” He went off.

“Come, Rustin, let’s view their line.” I selected a shield, just in case.

We met Tursel halfway. He summoned a dozen of our troop to ride guard. “Look, sire. Archers on the opposite slopes, pikemen in the center. We’d be annihilated if we attack.” We were poised at the edge of the trail that descended into a shallow valley.

“Can the archers be driven off the hill?”

“Perhaps, but at great cost. They’ve but to lower their aim, while we charge uphill. And it leaves our center exposed for Tantroth’s pikemen.”

Rust said, “They chose well their place of battle.”

Tursel said, “Yes. Interesting, given that they know not Caledon.”

Who best knew this land? Soushire? Cumber? Mar? No matter. During Mother’s reign Caledon was no secure camp. Any earl’s man could have roamed it, and drawn plans.

“Our envoy?”

“In their camp, awaiting answer.”

“I like not the look of this, Roddy.” Rustin’s tone was somber.

“Nor I.”

An hour passed, while I swatted flies that buzzed about the horses. “Tursel, make ready our turn of march.”

“I agree,” the captain said. “You men, stay with the Lord Prince. Rodrigo, I bid you wait with the wagons in the center of our column. Here will be confusion.”

“In a moment.” I buttoned my cloak against a chill wind. Clouds raced across the peaks. I turned to Rust “Will rain help us, or them?”

“I’m not sure. Come along, Roddy.”

From the black lines of soldiery entrenched in the valley, a horseman galloped forth.

I tensed. “Do they charge?”

“One man at a time?”

The rider cantered across the open space, climbed the trail we’d sought to descend. “Hail, Caledon.”

Our troops made way. It was the envoy I’d bid Tursel send.

He reached our height. A pause, while he drew breath, and summoned his speech.

“From Lord Treak, cousin to Tantroth, Lord of Eiber, Prince of the Inland Sea—”

“Yes, get on with it.”

“—and heir to Caledon, greetings. Know ye that—”

“Heir to Caledon?
To Caledon
? Rust, did you hear?”

“Hush.”

“Lord Tantroth graciously allows that Prince Rodrigo of the late House of the land may pass, together with guards and kinsmen numbering no more than twenty, through our lines and thence to the town of Stryx, that he may board ship thereat for exile in a land no nearer than three days sail—”

I rose in the saddle, my sword drawn.
“HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”

“Sire, I am but an envoy, sent home with the words of—”

“Roddy, sheath thy blade.” Rust’s hand guided mine. “Wouldst thou smite the envoy for the tidings he bears?”

“Don’t patronize me with high speech, Rust, not when ...” I swallowed a sob. “Devils chew his innards! Damn him to the lake!”

“Lord Treak? Tantroth?”

“Every Eiberian born!” With an effort, I contained myself. “Tursel, strengthen our rear guard. Turn the column, and let us be off.” I wheeled Ebon and galloped down the trail.

Smoldering, I hunched forward in my saddle, my cloak held tight against the driving rain.

I was surrounded by creaking wagons, cursing drovers, and my persistent guards, mired in the middle of the column. The trail was muddy and growing worse.

Rustin must have spoken to Fostrow; wherever I turned, one was at my left, the other at my right.

At last, able to stand it no longer, I pushed past Fostrow’s mount. “Wait here.”

The grizzled guardsman blinked reproach. “Where would you be going, lad?”

“It’s ‘prince,’ or ‘sire’!” I spurred Ebon, but abruptly the reins were swept from my grip, and it was all I could do to hang on to the pommel.

“Stay a bit, Roddy.”

“Demons take you, Rust!” I snatched back my reins. “Don’t treat me like—”

Atop the nearest wagon, a tarpaulin rose, and a damp head appeared. “Cork it, Roddy. Listen to reason.” Elryc blinked, adjusted his cover, and disappeared.

I savored his betrayal as one of many to be revenged, until cold raindrops oozing down my neck doused my rage. Rust and Fostrow were right, and there was no shame in letting one’s minions serve. To make amends I asked, “Rust, what if he follows?”