“Lord of Nature knows what’s in his head. What if he spells Kadar to plunge a dagger into you?”
My bodyguard, riding close, started nervously.
Groenfil inclined his head, a short bow of civility. “I cast no aspersion, Kadar. The demon boy’s a menace.”
“Stop calling him that!”
“What else, sire? Is he royalty, to wield a Power? He’s an affront to nobility. He’s unnatural and shouldn’t share our camp, especially with Lady Larissa present. If you won’t slit his throat, bind him to a distant tree for the night.”
“Is that your command?”
“No.” His eyes held mine. “I seek no quarrel, my lord.”
“That he has a Power is wonder indeed.” I rode some paces, quiet. “Tell me, my lord Earl. When in your fury the winds howl, have you control of it?”
“Not a whit. As my rage quickens, the air stirs.”
“Like Raeth’s power with fire. He hasn’t the willing use of it. I wield the Still by conscious thought.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Bollert too controls his Power. It’s what makes you fear him.”
“I don’t—yes, I suppose I do. With good cause.”
I rode a long while, thinking. Then, “Bollert stays, but I’ll keep him far from your tents.”
When Groenfil had dropped back to his place behind us, Rust said softly, “Well done, Roddy.”
“I expected you to intervene.”
“You let Bollert stay; I’ll not overrule you before others.”
“Think you I’m wrong?”
“When Genard enraged you, you drew steel. When Groenfil spoke hotly you did the same. Yet for this thieving churl you have infinite patience. Has he put compulsion on you?”
“I think not, unless it’s quite subtle.”
“Yes, if it’s subtle it would escape you.”
My fierce protest died stillborn; I’d noticed the corners of his mouth twitch.
We passed through Fort, while townsmen gaped. I’d issued strict orders to curtail looting—the men called it foraging—and hoped I’d be obeyed.
We were many, for Caledon, though the full Norland host would sweep us aside as riders would a barnyard of chickens. We must choose our ground carefully, defend tight passes, and maneuver so we never met the Norland foe in their full numbers.
Outside Fort an envoy caught us. A rider from Verein, with a proposal from Uncle Mar.
It brought the column to a halt, while Rust, Tursel, Groenfil and Lady Soushire conferred with me over a hasty campfire. Elryc and Anavar sat just behind me, offering whispered advice.
“I won’t make cause with him.” I hoped I sounded as stubborn as I felt.
“Near a thousand men, Roddy.” Lady Soushire swallowed mushroom after mushroom, bathed in sweet garlic.
“Half of them mounted,” added Tursel. “And only hours from joining us.”
“You trust him?” Did only I know his perfidy?
“Margenthar says repulsing Hriskil comes before minor quarrels.”
“Minor?” Elryc’s voice was sharp. “He killed our brother, ruined Roddy’s face, made alliance with Tantroth against us.”
“Yes, of course.” Groenfil sounded impatient. “He wanted the crown.”
Anavar tugged at my sleeve. “Your uncle doesn’t want a final answer. Just safe-conduct to parley.”
I scrambled to my feet. “Lord Rustin, I would speak with you.” I led him to the perspiring horses, and beyond. “They want this. They think I’m unreasonable.”
“I’m glad you see it.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
I snarled, “You’re regent; don’t play with me! Decide!”
“Take ease, my prince.”
“I loathe him utterly.”
He said nothing.
“On the other hand,” I said reluctantly, “we’ll learn from what he wants. Or from what he won’t say.” At times I despised games of state.
“As he’ll learn from your dismay, if you fail to hide it.”
Despite a manful effort, my lip trembled. “Yes, I’m callow, and conceal naught. Go, then. Tell them your will, in my name.” I bent to Ebon, laid my forehead on his flank.
An absent pat on my shoulder, as Rustin went off to the conclave.
I asked, “Well?” We’d resumed our march.
“You gave him safe-conduct,” Rust said. “With a guard of twenty to the edge of our column. But you won’t break march for him; he can catch us on the road to Cumber if he wishes an audience.”
“An audience.” I tasted of it, decided I liked it. “Very well.” I swatted away an annoying fly. “Must I set out a table and offer refreshment?”
“Cool wine, no more.”
“King.” Bollert, his face damp from the stride that kept pace with Ebon.
“Now what?”
“Didn’t eat, last day. Running after wagons. Found you too late, this morning.”
“So? Did I ask you to flee your confinement?” After a moment I relented. “Find the cookwagons. Tell them I said to give you fruit and bread.”
He licked his lips. “Thanks to you.” He dropped back.
“And a place to ride,” I called after. “But only today.”
After a while I found the silence irksome. “He’s exhausted and starving. What would you have me do?”
“Mount him behind you,” said Rustin, as if serious. “Let Ebon carry you both.”
“A groomsman? A thief? Riding with the king of—imps and demons take you!” I flicked my crop at his leg, hard enough to sting. “I hate it when you goad me.”
“One would never know.” Rubbing his leg, Rust guided his mount around a fallen branch. “Be sure to carry your crop, for Mar’s goading.”
A moment passed. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. Not for the sting, but the ease with which I change your mood.”
“I’ll try harder, Rust.” I’d been doing so, with Genard. Had the boy’s manner truly changed, or was it only that I saw him as irrepressible and good-hearted, where before he’d been a burr under my saddle?
“At Cumber you’ll be faced with Lady Tresa.” He eyed me. “I warn you now, my prince: she and Raeth are our allies in a desperate fight. Display your lovesick temper, and I’ll deal with you severely.”
I felt myself blush furiously. “You’ve no call to—”
“On our last visit, you rushed up and down stairs, muffed apologies, slammed doors, snapped boorish words, until I was ready to tear out my hair.”
Behind me, Elryc giggled.
I said helplessly, “Please, Rust.”
“I’ll tell you the trick of it, Roddy. You haven’t come to woo her. Simply speak to her as to me or Anavar. As a normal person talks to another. Not as a deranged monarch with delusions of infancy.”
I yanked at the reins, hauled Ebon off me roadway and sat, head bowed, by the bole of a huge shade tree while the column plodded past.
At last, a stirring, and a quiet voice behind me. “I’m sorry. I jest of it, and hurt your sensibility. In truth, there’s something comical in how you charge and shy away, backing and filling. Women are people like the rest of us. You need not be afraid of their converse.”
“I’m not.”
“Then we should rejoin our comrades.” He picked up his reins and patted my knee as he passed.
“Rust, will I ever be a man?”
“You did a man’s deed the day you appointed me regent. I’m proud of you.”
Uncle Mar rode to us late in the afternoon, three leagues past Fort. I kept Anavar at my side, bade Groenfil and Soushire wait out of our hearing, knowing that Margenthar was expert at fomenting disunion.
When Mar dismounted, a hundred strides distant, Rust searched him, confiscating a small dagger as well as his sword, and then escorted him to the sunswept barley field where I stood.
Rustin made a formal bow, low and measured. “My King Rodrigo, thy vassal Margenthar, Duke
of Stryx.”
Uncle Mar bowed, the short, familiar bow of relatives.
I nodded the merest fraction, begrudging him even that. The coronet I’d donned made my scalp itch but for dignity’s sake I dared not scratch.
“You look well, Rodrigo.” His eyes flickered to my scar.
“State your business.”
“Hriskil, my lord King.” Mar stroked his graying beard. “He’ll overwhelm you, and then we are lost.”
“You’d save me?”
“I’d save Caledon, and if that requires saving you ...”
Anavar gasped, but I’d known Mar all my life, and was used to worse. “What do you propose?”
“That my troops and I join you. That we give battle to Hriskil, or hold the Cumber passes, as you command.”
“Such modesty, Uncle. I hardly know you.”
“You’ve never known me.” Uncle Mar opened the clasp on his cloak. “A warm day. I’ve wine in my saddlebags I might offer you.”
Deftly done. “Anavar, fetch wine. Use the goblets in my chest.” Then, to Mar, “I can’t imagine why I’d want your troops among mine.”
“They’re yours, King Rodrigo.” His eyes met mine, unflinching. “Shall I pretend I harbored no doubt of your ability? You were a callow child, and to a degree, still are. But ...” He shrugged. “You’re king, and wield the Still. I would safeguard Elena’s kingdom.”
“You would be a viper in our sheets. I’d know not when I’d be stung.”
“Dramatic, Roddy.” He clapped, as if complimenting a troupe of mummers. “How many does Hriskil have under arms? Do you know?”
“More than I care to—”
“Forty thousand, and more. Combined with Raeth of Cumber, you meet them with seven. I’d make it eight thousand, and that is few enough. A year ago Tantroth had twelve thousand, but his army is crushed. Count it fortunate if he meets you with three thousand men.” His eyes were hard. “Will you cherish your grievance, or save your realm?”
I lifted my coronet and scratched my sweating scalp. “What of Verein, and Stryx?” I spoke to buy time, overwhelmed by his stark figures. Margenthar’s accounting was no surprise. Yet on his lips, the numbers sounded grimmer than ever.
“I’ve stripped Verein, as you have Stryx. All the more reason to meet Hriskil far from home.”
“Wine, my lord King.” Anavar knelt with a tray, with a jug and two goblets. I poured blood-red wine, handed Uncle a glass.
Mar waited for me to drink, which I ought to do; it was the common courtesy of suspicious nobles. I made no move to raise my glass.
He rolled his eyes, as if in exasperation. “Your refinement leaves me speechless,” he murmured, and took a deep draught. “Thank you. A moment’s refreshment soothes the most difficult—uhhh!” His eyes widened, and he clutched his stomach.
Rustin bounded forward, but Uncle Mar straightened and handed him his glass. A grin of malice. “Roddy concerns himself for his safety, but look you, who’s to secure mine, with poisoners about?”
My fists knotted, and I took deep breath. Anavar, still on his knees, stumbled, knocking me hard. Couldn’t the Eiberian lout even ... his eyes bored steadily into mine.
I swallowed, thankful of Anavar’s silent counsel. “Your point is taken, Uncle. If you come among us, my hospitality will match your own.” I drew my cloak about me, hoping the trembling of my legs didn’t show. “I will consult my advisors. In three hour’s time you’ll have answer.”
Uncle Mar departed with his outriders, and we wended our way toward Cumber. Now, with darkness upon us, Tursel paced off our camp in a green meadow by a chuckling stream.
I sat with water in a still bowl, recited the familiar words. In time, the cave grew from shadows.
“Mother? Grandsir?”
“They’ve gone for the nonce.” Cayil of the Surk. A bow. “Join us, usurper of Caledon.”
“Not I. Caledon’s been our holding since my Great-grandsire Varon—”
“Oh, recite your pedigree, do.” A sardonic grin that showed many teeth. “Persuade the last of the Surk you’ve right to claim his seat.”
“When will Mother return?”
“Hours. Days. Eons.” A shrug. “I’m here.” He squinted at shadows across the chill fire. “Aresk, and Vaya too. Varon sleeps in the corner. What would you of Elena?”
I regarded him warily. “You’d aid me?”
“It’s our purpose. From this side of the grave, all rulers are as one.” He squatted, briskly rubbing his hands. “I’ve no love for your line, but you’re Caledon.”
“Well ...” Dubious, I saw no other course. “You know of Elena’s brother Mar?”
“Yes, get on with it.” He nudged a fagot closer to the flames.
I told him Uncle’s proposal.
He frowned. “A demon’s choice. Cast him away and lose his strength. Invite him in and wait for his betrayal.”
“Yes.”
“Aresk, what say you?”
A slow rumble. “Does he fight?” It was as if the voice had forgotten speech.
I said, “Yes. He’s pugnacious and devious.”
“He’s strength.” Aresk said no more.
Cayil nodded. “Not eloquent, but Aresk makes his point. I agree. Let go your petty rage over a scar and save your realm.”
“It’s not pet—”
“Your imprisonment and the strangling of your brother, yes.” Impatiently, he waved it away. “Would you see Hriskil among us after your death? He’ll sit at your side if he takes Caledon.”
A shudder creased my spine. “You’d forgive all Mar’s done?”
“Eh? Of course not. Time was, I’d nail his skin to my gate. But now’s no moment to be choosy. Elena would tell you likewise.”
I hugged myself. “She said as much, last year.”
“So.”
I said hesitantly, “Might I speak to Varon?”
“If you’d risk it. For a usurper, he has much anger. Varon?” Cayil’s voice was timid. “Would you speak to the boy?”
Silence.
“Varon?” Cayil’s voice was a touch louder.
A growl. “You wake me, to echo what he’s heard?”
“So say you?”
“Bid him make peace with his uncle. Mar’s thousand may prove the balance.”
I waited, but Varon had no more to say.
At length, I left the cave, woke myself.
Groenfil, Soushire and Elryc stood patiently, waiting the end of my trance.
Shakily, I stood. My tone was stubborn. “I don’t want Uncle Mar among us.”
Groenfil said, “Your grievance is just, but—”
“It’s more than that. Today, at our meet, he mocked me, called me poisoner before my vassals. A week in his company and our alliance would be imperiled; his tongue could cleave stone.”
“Five hundred horse, four hundred archers, a hundred spearmen.” Rustin chewed his knuckle. “Might they be dispersed among us, under our own officers?”
“They’d be so in name only,” said Larissa. “We all know Mar.”
“I thought you favored his proposal.”
“I’m not a child.” She glanced impatiently at the cook-wagon, awaiting provender, “I’d endorse his aid, not his deportment.”
“Roddy, let’s walk.” Rustin was being circumspect.
“Your pardon, my lords.” I followed Rust from our gathering. When we were far enough I asked, “What’s your decision?”
“We ought to have him.”
I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“But we won’t.” He hooked thumbs in his belt rope. “There’s genuine risk he’ll turn on you. And that aside, he’s too divisive. He’ll have you on the edge of frenzy.”
“If you really feel we ought join with him—”
“Have peace,” he said. “We’ll hold Caledon without the viper.” He guided me back toward my gathering of nobles. “Announce your mind, great King, and await Mar.”
Lady Larissa was unhappy, Groenfil le
ss so. Captain Tursel, who’d joined our conclave, listened glumly and had little to say. Elryc was overjoyed that we would spurn our uncle.
Once more I drew Rustin aside. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Cumber. If you meet Baron Imbar ...” Uncle Raeth’s confidant, once a valet, had coerced Rustin into his bed as the price of his favor, in my greatest hour of need.
“He’s in Pezar, with Raeth.” Rust turned back to the trail.
“So we assume. Soon or late, your paths will cross.”
Rust was calm, betrayed only by his bunched fists. “Don’t concern yourself.”
I said gently, “As Mar grates on me, Imbar abrades your—”
“Be silent!” His eyes flashed steel. “Don’t tread where you’re not wanted.”
I stopped short. “At times you’re hateful.”
“My lord King!” A soldier rushed up, flushed of face. “The Duke of Stryx.” He pointed down the road. “He comes alone.”
“I’ll escort him.” Rust strode off. “Let the hateful greet the hateful.”
I donned my coronet. Fretting, I paced the trail. A hundred paces distant, outside our rear guard, Rustin stalked to Margenthar. My uncle dismounted, made a short bow, tied his horse to a sapling. He handed Rust his sword, submitted to his search. Rustin pointed to me, saying something lost in distance.
Margenthar strode down the road. Rust sat himself on a rock, Mar’s sword in his lap. He folded his arms.
So be it. Let him sulk. See if he could exercise his office as regent without speaking to me.
In a few moments Uncle Mar was near. “Ahh, Roddy.” An exaggerated bow.
Abruptly I was aware I hadn’t asked Soushire and Groenfil to absent themselves; they would hear every word. Could I cross the. road and—no, it would be too obvious a snub. “Sir.” I pressed my lips together.
“Well? What say you?”
“We thank you for your gracious offer, and—” By the demon’s lake, I was in no mood to engage in polite charade. “The answer’s no. I’d rather lose Caledon. Begone!”
Lady Soushire drew sharp breath.
Uncle Mar seemed unperturbed. “You may indeed lose Caledon. There are no terms on which ... ?”
“None.”
“I bid you farewell.” He bowed to Groenfil and Soushire, as if in genuine respect. “Enjoy your exploits with the boy king.” He strode off.
As soon as he was gone, Elryc ran to me. “Roddy, he’s not worth it. Don’t let him enrage—”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 12
