The Still (60 page)

“I know.”

“What do you want, Rust?’

He stared at me a long moment. Slowly, he let his head fall to my shoulder, and began to weep.

Astounded, I stood dumb like a log. After a moment I patted his back. “It’s all right, Rust. All will be well.” I made soothing noises, as had Nurse Hester when I’d scraped a knee, eons past.

“I couldn’t ...” Rustin struggled for calm. “Not with the guards watching.”

“Of course. Don’t worry. I understand.” With an effort, I quelled my babble.

After a while, when my jerkin was damp, Rust looked up shamefaced.

I essayed a light smile. “We’ll get you another horse.”

He blinked. His eyes sought mine as if perplexed.

“I mean, you can have any—the best we—” This was
Santree.
Belatedly, I pictured Ebon lying in his own blood. My eyes stung with the horror of it. “I’m so sorry!” Again I’d acted the fool, when he’d turned to me—to Roddy the oaf—for comfort. Impulsively I wrapped myself round him in a fierce hug. “Rust, forgive me. Please!” I squeezed harder, biting back tears. “I know you’ll miss him, really I do!”

And Rust was crying again, and we wept together, and for a bittersweet moment I worried not about being seen in his arms.

But even if we’d been of a mind to linger among the elders, Tursel wouldn’t hear of it. He galloped at us as we mounted Ebon, Rust clinging from behind. “My lords, have your senses fled? Our rear guard’s just topping the hill. Get yourself past the crossroads; we’re still in peril!”

I nodded assent, and spurred Ebon gently. Rust clung to my waist. As we joined the column struggling uphill past the crossroads he asked, “So it’s back to Cumber, another route?”

“No.” My voice hardened. “To Groenfil.” Imps take my fears about the Power; Still or no, I would be King.

“He’s your uncle’s man. He’ll confirm your designs to the Duke.”

I gestured at the dead and wounded of Verein. “Let Mar know what we seek. If our meet with Groenfil sows dissension among them, all the better. As to Mar, demons cast him in the lake.”

It silenced him, as well it might. I thought of dour, sallow Groenfil, and the plan of which I dared not speak.

Under a blazing sun my brother sat horseback, outside the bare walls of Groenfil. No tree higher than a sapling could be seen. Outside the stronghold itself the buildings were all squat affairs, with heavy roofs.

Elryc waited patiently at my side. Others of our guard were near, but I’d insisted on leading the column.

The gates to town and castle were barred. After days of trodding dusty cowpaths and fording rivulets, I was bone-tired.

“Will he open?”

“I know not,” I said again.

“If he does, it will be soon.” At my raised eyebrow, Elryc added, “Why infuriate us, if he’s to let us in?”

“I’m in no mood to riddle Lord Groenfil.”

“Try. It’s the craft of state.”

I bit back a mean reply; my brother was right. If only I were King, safe in the comfort of Stryx. “Fetch Tursel.”

In a moment the captain stood before me, wiping sweat from his helmet. “Yes, my lord?”

“Send another envoy. Have him say—” I hesitated, and threw caution to the winds. “We won’t enter the town, invited or no. But Groenfil will meet his liege prince under safe-conduct before sunset, or all Duke Mar’s might won’t save his remains from the crows picking his eyes.”

“My lord?”

“Have it said.” I gestured dismissal.

For a moment I regretted my rash words, but decided I’d done no harm. Groenfil was either a committed enemy, or not. If so, best it be shown. If not, we still had a chance. Still, I knew his consent to a meeting wouldn’t signify surrender, but merely prudence, in a noble seeking shelter from storm.

In an hour, my boldness was rewarded. Earl Groenfil rode from his holding with impressive retinue, banners flying.

We met under my canopy.

His servants bore welcome refreshment. Groenfil, a dark man with a pinched face, poured two goblets of dark wine. He offered me choice of glass. He took the other and drained it before I touched a drop, demonstrating his good faith.

I chose fruit and berries, and handed him a plate. We ate together. After amenities, we excused our servants and followers. Even Elryc I sent away, with a promise that I’d tell him all.

Rustin, ever vigilant, sat in the corner. His eyes never left Groenfil.

“So, Rodrigo. Why summon me with harsh speech? I was arranging suitable welcome for—”

“The demons’ lake with such foolery!” I rode over his shock. “I’ve no soft words for you. Mar tried to kill us and failed. Are you his man?”

“Rodrigo—”

“Are you his?” My voice was ice.

“Margenthar wed Renna, my sister.”

I waved it aside. It counted, but not for all.

“Times are troubled, Rodrigo. One seeks allies.”

“Strange that you spurn
me.”

Groenfil took a cluster of grapes, set it aside, chose a larger. He said carefully, “I spurned you neither by word nor deed. Am I sheltered snug in my keep, my gates barred to you?”

“No.” I forced myself to choose a fruit I was too agitated to swallow. “You know why I’ve come, my lord.”

At least he didn’t dissemble. “To seek my pledge, to make yourself King.” A grim smile. “Almost, I believe you merit a throne. Yesterday I’d not have said as much.” He was silent awhile. Then, “If you’d be our King, prove you know my cost.”

“You’d lose alliance with Mar.”

He nodded.

“And risk defeat with my House.”

“True.”

“What else?”

“Why, Roddy.” His smile was mocking. “You were doing so well.”

“Is this a game?”

“Isn’t life itself?”

I bowed, acknowledging his thrust. “Very well. You’d lose ... what? The power to bargain?”

He looked about, saw a bench. “By your leave?” His tone was courteous, but no more than as any guest to his host. “What could I possibly want to bargain?”

I hated riddling, and his manner raised my hackles. Still, much was at stake. I said, “Gold? Power?”

“Naught else?”

I turned my head so he could not see my flood of relief. “Land.”

His smile returned. “Well, then. Offer me what Mar cannot.”

“You have no thought for the realm?” I asked bitterly. “Or my rights as Elena’s heir?”

“None,” he said.

Good; it would make my task easier. I made my tone ingenuous. “Why, my lord Groenfil, what cannot Mar obtain for you?”

Our eyes met. “Soushire.”

I turned away, waited until the tension was palpable. “Very well,” I said.

Rustin shot to his feet. “My prince, speak with me alone.”

“Not now, Rust.”

“Roddy, I beg you!”

We strode through camp, while Tursel’s guards followed. Earl Groenfil had retired to his keep; our meet would resume shortly.

“How could you show such daring and sense on the field, yet sell your soul to this—this greedy lordling? Can the Rodrigo who led us to the crossroads and this unscrupulous Roddy be one?”

Inwardly, I smiled. “Calm yourself, before you—”

“Can’t you see how you debase yourself? What of the True? You risk your Powers!” Rust stumbled over a stone and, irked, kicked it so hard it clattered down the street. “I hate you!” Then he grimaced. “No, my Lord of Nature, that’s not so. But I hate what you do!”

“All because I agreed with—”

“You allied yourself with Groenfil against Soushire, and Soushire against Groenfil! It’s detestable. Contemptible. Despicable.”

“Steady. You’ll run out of epithets.”

His eyes were dangerous. “You mock me?”

“You mock me all the time.”

“Not in matters of ... truth. Honor.” His tone was anguished. “Roddy, how
could
you?”

“I’ve done nothing yet.”

“You’ve all but agreed to help Groenfil wrest control of Soushire from the Lady.”

I said gently, “Rust, come close. No, don’t glare.” I gripped his shoulders, waited until he calmed himself enough to hear. “Do you recall your fury when I bargained with Lady Soushire? I’d have explained, to ease your mind. You told me if I had not good cause, my folly would long haunt me, and you’d no need to chide me. Isn’t it so?”

After a moment he nodded.

“Let it be, you said, for the peace between us. But, Rust, I’m in your charge. I’ll explain, if you require it.”

Briefly, his head rested against mine. “My prince, I want so to trust you.” His words were barely audible.

I said carefully, “I think—really I do—that I’ve made no vow to break the True.”

We ducked under the canopy. Earl Groenfil sat waiting. “So, my lord.”

I waited. There was subtle advantage in his admitting the value of our treaty.

He seemed in no hurry. “Word’s arrived of a skirmish near Verein.” His tone was laconic.

“Men were lost, who were better spent fighting Tantroth of Eiber.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure my brother-in-law wanted only to parley.”

“By blocking the—”
No.
I wouldn’t be baited. “Perhaps another day it won’t be my escort camped before your gates, but his.”

“Yes.” Abruptly he was serious. “That’s why I won’t cross him.”

“Oh?” A pang stabbed at my ribs.

“I must have the autonomy of my lands, yet Caledon needs a strong monarch to repel Eiber.” He paused. “But, you see, that man might be Mar.”

“So, then?”

“I’ll support the winner between you.”

“Bah. Think you either he or I will let you straddle a pike fence while winter settles on the land?”

“Probably not.” Groenfil’s smile was cool. “I need only determine the likely victor.”

Rust said harshly, “He stands before you.”

“Naturally you’d say so, son of Llewelyn.” Groenfil’s tone was mild. “You’re his vassal.”

“I am not.” Rust stood proud. “They said you were canny, my earl. I thought you’d see the obvious.”

“Which is?” A cool wind stirred the flaps of the canopy.

“That Rodrigo’s already won.”

“Ahh, pardon.” Groenfil leaned back, clasping his hands behind his neck. “I should have known a handful of men in ragged tents, who’ve no treasury, no lands to call their own, are the victors. Though they wander from castle to fief begging victuals ... yes, it grows clearer.”

Rust drew breath with a hiss, and for a moment his back arched like a cat. “Seek you the gilt paint, or the worthy metal beneath? Look what my prince has done!”

“You said you weren’t his vassal.”

“Yet Rodrigo is my prince.” He crossed the tent, to set proud hand on my shoulder. I sat unflinching.

“What miracles has he wrought?”

“He escaped from Margenthar’s restraint, and though penniless and nearly alone, secured the support of Cumber, among others.”

I almost snorted. Elryc and Fostrow had abandoned me at Hester’s cottage. Even Rust left without a glance behind. Now he made me sound the hero.

“Yes, I’m sure Raeth’s candles sputtered in the night.” Groenfil’s tone was sardonic.

“While you cowered behind closed gates, Prince Rodrigo bearded Vessa in Tantroth’s city.”

Outside, the breeze grew stronger. Groenfil merely smiled. “To no avail.”

“In yesterday’s skirmish, he quelled Duke Mar’s forces, while holding Lord Treak of Eiber at bay.”

Groenfil raised an eyebrow. “Is your friend always so vehement, Rodrigo? He could alienate those he seeks to persuade.”

“He doesn’t like your toying with me,” I said.

Groenfil regarded us both. After a time, he sighed. “When you came, I was of a mind to send you in chains to my sister’s husband. He’d enjoy the gift.”

“No doubt.”

“Your summons brought me out. Oh, not from fear, I assure you. But a lad capable of such a challenge deserved scrutiny.”

“And so?”

Groenfil paused. “I won’t commit to you, though my mind could be changed. As you know, I have ... requirements. First Soushire’s lands, to end our feud once and for all.”

“And?”

“Mar’s favor has value to me. Else I wouldn’t have given him my sister Renna. I won’t betray her. Should you prevail, Mar isn’t to be killed or dispossessed.”

“Ask for the Norlands, as well!” I gestured my disgust.

“We both know you’ve persuaded Cumber, and Soushire. Lord of Nature knows how much gold that took. Willem will follow the tide. Perhaps you’ve his promise as well.” He smiled. “But who else? Mar? The Warthen?”

“No,” I said bitterly, “I need you to be crowned, you know it and you mean to take full advantage.”

Rust looked shocked, and gave a minute shake of his head.

I said, “Ease thyself, Lord Rustin. We but speak what is known to us both.” Perhaps it was my high speech that soothed him. He quieted.

I turned to the Earl. “With the Warthen’s realm closed to me and Vessa dead, I need your vote, but there are demands I won’t countenance. Goad me not too far.”

“I understand. And Vessa’s not dead, by the way. Merely unseated and captive.”

“What? Mar said—” I struggled to recall. Mar hadn’t claimed outright that Vessa was killed, merely that his office was vacant. How clumsy of Groenfil to tell me.

Perhaps demons helped him and read my mind. “I told you what Mar would not, to demonstrate good faith. Because I ask more of you.” He leaned forward. “Bring me proof you’re fit to be King.”

I gaped. “Do you jest?”

His hand slapped the table, overturning the bowl of fruit. “Roddy, you were a vile brat when we visited your mother. Yet you’ve changed. Mark me, if you gain your crown I’ll pay no more taxes than before, and damn your soldiers who come to collect them. Still ...” He stood to pace. “A king too strong is a tyrant, and one too weak leads to—” He swept his arms. “Chaos. A throne in contention, and enemies coursing the realm.”

I swallowed, and forced myself to face him.

“Almost you persuade me, Rodrigo. But I would be sure. Mar has guile, but in perilous times that’s not enough. Perhaps you could free Caledon.”

“Join me.” Hope swelled.

“I await a sign. Make one.”

“Out of my tent!” I kicked aside a stool. “You play games of quest while a kingdom crumbles? May demons seize you!”

Groenfil paused at the flap. “Don’t forget Soushire’s lands. I must have those.” And he was gone, into a whistling wind.