“Feed the churl, give him coin and our thanks. Genard, help me stand.”
Somehow, we made it to my bed.
Had Fulmon been shot for what he knew, for what Tresa had said, or for what they were afraid she’d say? How had he escaped his pursuers with his wound? Perhaps they’d shot from long range. If he’d spurred hard, lost them in the winding hills ...
Tresa, are you safe? Should I send troops?
My hand caressed my scar.
The sky was brown and blotched, and wrinkled where it crossed over my bed. Flies mated on its’ surface. The sun was but a haze. Elryc’s face loomed, wan and gaunt. “Drink, Roddy.”
“Umh.” I rode a wave of fire.
He pressed a cup to my lips. I tried to turn away, but he held me until I sipped. Exhausted, I laid down my head.
Night.
The tent was hot. I tossed off the cover.
“I’ll watch, m’lor. You rest—”
“Genard ...” Elryc’s tone held warning.
I slept.
Rustin and I were tykes, playing in the Keep. The day was dreadfully hot.
“How is he?” Groenfil.
“Delirious.”
Later, Darios sniffed my wound. “It putrefies. Summon a ritemaster from Pezar.”
I swam to the surface. “No!” If they tried to expel Varon, I’d die.
“The rite of healing—”
“No rites!”
Morn.
Outside my tent, Tantroth’s grim voice. “They’ve set out another wagon. A hundred twelve souls today. One by one. Will Hriskil never stop?”
I tossed in my bed.
“Not if there’s a chance he can lure you—” Larissa of Soushire.
“Chance? A near certainty. I’m pledged to the boy, not your paramour Groenfil. If Roddy’s no better of the morrow, I’ll sally against—”
“My lord Duke!”
“What would you? How can I claim Eiber’s loyalty and cower behind stone walls while my people—”
“Have patience.”
“Patience, Larissa? Is that why you ready yourself to leave camp?”
“Margenthar left men at my walls; his ranks have swelled to two thousand. Would you I lost my domain? I gave Roddy five days.”
Their voices faded.
A sharp instrument at my swollen shoulder. A plunge.
I convulsed, and fainted.
“How is he today?” Groenfil. “Feverish, m’lor’.”
“Is there some draught ... I’ll ask Darios. The king must rise. Hriskil will attack again, and if not, I can hold Tantroth no longer. Pah; why do I tell you this?”
“You’re worried, m’lor.’ Old Griswold used to say, even a horse is good company when—”
“Good-day.” Receding steps.
“Genard, where’s Elryc?”
The stableboy peered over me. “Sleepin’. He broods over you day and night. Yester eve he claimed he saw imps about the campfire. I gave him unwatered wine, an’ at last he rests.”
“How long have I ...”
“Thir’ day. Drink some broth. Lanced you last night. Smelly pus.”
I drifted on a gray sea to forever.
“Put his hands so.” Someone placed my palms flat over a bowl, balanced on my stomach.
I shifted, spilled thick liquid.
“Let it be still, Roddy.” Elryc. “Talk to Mother. Ask her—” His voice quavered.”—how to heal.” A cool compress bathed my fiery forehead until I dozed.
I dreamed. A snake, distant, prowling, eyes glowing. The cave. Mother, radiant, with ethereal beauty, such as I’d never seen her. My head was in her lap. She soothed me with cool hand. “Shhh, Roddy. All will be well.”
Mother, I think ... I’m dying.
“My son. My Caledon.” She patted the floor. “Time comes, you’ll sit here, twixt me and Tryon.”
How will we pass our days?
“Waiting for the king. Drink, the water’s cool.” With tender care, she brought the warm cup to my lips. The heat chilled me. “Ah, Roddy, I always loved you.”
Did you. Mother? Really?
“How could you not know? Later, we’ll speak of it. We’ll have ample time.”
But not now?
“No, son. You’ve a life to live.”
Mist, cold, swirling, gray. The cave faded. The jangle of spurs, the chatter of men at campfires worked their way through my mind.
A face, grizzled, old, lined. Tantroth. “The fever’s broken.” To me, “I think I’d have missed you.”
“You may yet.” My voice was a wraith.
“By your leave.” He pressed his gnarled knuckles to my forehead. “Ahh, much better. Yesterday, you threw off as much heat as the alehouse hearth.”
I said presently, “Why am I spared, Tantroth?”
He blinked. “Shouldn’t you be?”
“I’m not much of a king.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Against all odds, we still hold Pezar. Hriskil is thrice repulsed. Groenfil’s face softens when he speaks of you. Lady Soushire remains encamped, despite her threats.”
“And yourself?”
His eyes met mine. “I risked more than I knew when I moved against Stryx.”
The flap thrust open. “Is he better? Oh!” Anavar reddened. “Pardon, my lord.”
Tantroth’s tone was dry. “To whom do you speak, youngsire?”
“You, sir.” With obvious effort, Anavar made his tone meek. “I meant not to intrude.”
“Then,” said Tantroth, “don’t.” When Anavar was gone he added, “The lad makes himself ever harder to overlook.”
“Yet you struggle at the task.” My tone was dry.
“Out of respect for you.” He frowned. “Else the boy would lie below grass. Don’t glare, Roddy. It wasn’t a threat. What will you do about Cumber?”
I sought elusive memory. “What’s Bouris done?”
“Accepted Mar’s assurance that he races to your aid, and granted Verein’s troops passage across his lands.”
I bolted upright, or tried to; I fell back groaning. My heart pounded, and with it, my wound. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“I just did.”
I waited for the throbbing to ease. “How did you learn of it?”
“A question a noble spirit doesn’t ask. We all have our private means, have we not?”
I let it go. “When will Mar get here?”
“Yesterday at this hour, near a hundred wagons passed through Cumber Town. Bouris sends generous escort; it’s said loudly they’ll turn back by nightfall.” Which meant, of course, that they wouldn’t.
Slowly, the tent began to drift. “We ought prepare ...”
“For what, sire?”
The canvas spun faster. “For Margenthar.” Black.
I spent the afternoon sitting on a cushioned trunk, receiving a procession of supplicants: tanners, wagoners, leatherers and the like. All had problems only the king could solve, and that with coin. And we had near none. As for Cumber ... while Raeth lived, I could count on his support. Now, Bouris was quite another matter.
Well, I’d forced the new earl to commit, hadn’t I? Unfortunately he’d committed to Margenthar, not to me. On the other hand, better Mar than Hriskil. Unless they were one.
When my last petitioner was gone, I stood, tossed the cushion to my bed. The flap moved; I sighed. “Now what?”
It was Anavar. We exchanged wary glances.
“What do you want?” I was weary; it had been a long day.
“To see how you bided. I shouldn’t have bothered.” His tone was belligerent. “I’ll return when I’m wanted.”
“You’ve no leave to depart. Sit.”
Obeying with literal effrontery, he sat cross-legged on the rug, in mid-tent where it would be the most trouble to go around him. “Now what?”
“Now, youngsire, you’ll be silent.” He’d loitered in an alehouse while his countrymen were slaughtered. I’d fought Hriskil, sustained a grievous wound, and w
here was my baron? On the other hand, he’d come to see me a day past, and met Elryc. And he was here now, inquiring after my health. He wasn’t utterly without concern. “You are rebuked,” I said. “Your behavior does you no credit.”
“And yours?”
I took sharp breath. It was impudent, from guardian to ward. From youth to elder. From baron to king. I said, “You provoke me with purpose.”
His tone was sullen. “Which is?”
“To rid yourself of shame.”
“You know not my soul!”
I raised my hand. “Go to the willow at the edge of camp, cut a switch no thicker than your finger, and bring it here.”
When he returned, switch in hand, I flicked a thumb at my bandaged chest, said, “I’ll not injure myself for you. I’ll need a proxy.” I considered. “A highborn; it’s unjust that a commoner beat a noble.” I crossed to the flap. “Kadar, call Lord Tantroth.”
“No!” Anavar fell to his knees. “Anyone else! I beg you earnestly, sir. Not the duke!”
The humiliation would do Anavar good, and it might mollify Tantroth. Almost I ignored his protest, but might my incentive be the cruelty within? “Hold, Kadar. Groenfil instead.”
And so it was that Anavar of Eiber stripped off his tunic and leggings and bent before the earl of Groenfil. I took great care that he not be beaten hard enough to break skin, but a willow, properly stripped, conveys a fearsome sting. When Groenfil was done, Anavar stood hugging himself, his eyes watery.
The earl left us.
“Now then, youngsi—”
“I apologize, my lord. I’ll speak with respect and mind your commands.” His words came so fast I knew they’d been practiced. Poor Anavar. I wondered if he knew how determinedly he’d had himself punished.
I said sternly, “I think you’ve had enough of the alehouse.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Clearly you need more governance. While I recover, you’ll stay near and do me service. Sleep in my tent.”
“Yes, my lord.” A deep breath. Visibly, the tension left his form.
Now, perhaps, I could rest.
I woke in pitch black, instantly alert. My whole body tingled. Something was amiss. I wrenched my dagger from its scabbard. In the corner, steady breathing; Anavar slept on a pile of blankets.
I poked my head out the flap. It rustled; a pacing guard whirled, clutching his sword. He gulped. “Sire, you startled me.”
I looked about. “Is there an alarm?”
“No, my lord.”
In the tent, I worked a blanket over my shoulders and settled wearily on my trunk, watching the slow rise and fall of Anavar’s ribs. I grimaced at his welts, thought of Eiber and the Norlands.
Savage or no, Hriskil must know his murders were evil. But they hadn’t weakened our resolve; would Hriskil perforce call them off, or redouble them?
Despite our victories we weren’t strong enough to leave our stronghold. And Uncle Mar’s arrival would complicate—
I sat bolt upright. Uncle Mar was nearing; almost I’d let myself forget. I’d been groggy when Tantroth told me, as if that were excuse.
What did Mar mean to accomplish? Surely he knew I couldn’t forgive him Rustin’s death on that road to Fort.
Of course he knew.
Which meant he wasn’t riding to strengthen us.
When he reached Pezar we’d be trapped, Hriskil before us, Verein’s forces behind. It hardly mattered which of them mounted the first attack. The other would fall on our defenseless rear.
What was Mar’s reward? And what advantage to Bouris?
Forgetting my shoulder, I shrugged.
It mattered not. Mar was riding to Pezar.
I’d frittered away an entire day. Cursing my stupidity, I stumbled to the flap. “You, guard! Wake Tursel. Summon him in the quarter hour.”
I began pulling on my clothes.
Twenty-two
A PALE MOON SAILED overhead. I clutched Ebon’s pommel, my throbbing left arm bound tightly to my chest. Disheveled, his hair wild, Bollert stood dozing against the stallion’s flank, holding my reins.
While sleep-eyed soldiers struck my tent and slung it onto a wagon with the rest of my equipage, I stifled a yawn, gazing Wearily at the beehive of our camp.
Captain Tursel, despite his reservations, had risen magnificently to the occasion. With but a few moments’ warning, he’d sent runners about the camp to each flickering campfire, urging the men to rise in silence. Their packs filled, they quietly hitched muffled-hooved dray horses to wagons, stowed gear, made ready the march. No new fires were lit or old ones doused; no light or sound must escape to alert the Norlanders. At the edge of camp a blacksmith and his muscled boys dragged their anvil to a sturdy cart. At the baker’s hearth, men piled bags of flour high atop flatbed barrows, covered them with tarpaulins in case of rain.
We march at dawn, I’d told Tursel. Earlier, could we manage it.
Lord Tantroth, when informed, was aghast. How could we forsake his countrymen to slaughter?
Hriskil had no reason to kill them, I said, were we not present to watch.
But what of Eiber? Had I not pledged to succor his campaign?
Did he want us crushed between Mar and Hriskil? Would that serve Eiber’s cause? Hriskil’s force was overwhelming, Margenthar’s was not. We’d lunge at Mar, scatter his force, wheel to make a stand against the pursuing Norlanders.
Why now, Tantroth had asked. We’d had a night and a day to break camp.
Had I not told him I wasn’t much of a king?
Yes, but you didn’t have to prove it.
I sighed. Tantroth would be Tantroth. I was becoming accustomed, as to a nagging tooth.
As gently as they might, men lifted the wounded to straw-strewn carts. We’d not leave them to Hriskil. Across the field stablemen rolled precious round bales of hay up ramps to flatbed wagons; horses, too, must eat.
Anavar led his Edmund alongside Ebon, took to his saddle with a grimace. Almost, I regretted his stripes.
He looped his shield around the pommel. “May I have place alongside you, sir?” His tone was carefully polite. I gestured assent.
Our scouts had long since fanned out in the hills along the Cumber road, to probe for Verein. They need hardly look; I imagined one could sense my uncle’s brooding malice for leagues.
The assembled column began to move. As the motion rippled its way toward us, I urged Ebon forward with my heels. Riding one-handed was no joy; my bound arm interfered mightily with my balance.
Slowly, as the eastern sky began to lighten, we snaked through the dust of Pezar.
Tursel had set Groenfil’s men before us, an advance guard who would be our front line, were we drawn unexpectedly into battle. Tantroth would set our rear guard; he’d shown great skill on our retreat from the ridge.
Once on the road, the column moved with speed. We pushed the men at double-march; the more distance we put between us and Hriskil the safer. And the further from Pezar we met Uncle Mar, the more chance we’d catch him by surprise.
Elryc, Anavar and I rode just behind Groenfil’s troops. Tursel rode up and down the column, hurrying wagonmasters, urging scattered contingents to keep order. He’d wear out his mount before the sun was high; a string of spares plodded behind his wagon.
On the battlement we’d abandoned, a dozen men tended the usual, watchfires. They’d maintain an illusion of vigilance as long as they might. But soon or late, a sharp-eyed Norlander would notice our bowmen had disappeared from the hillside above. Immediately, they’d swarm the parapet. Mounts were tied below the wall, on which our last men might escape to rejoin us.
Elryc shivered. He’d taken an ague, and shouldn’t be riding, though Genard had him bundled well. Almost, I ordered him to a wagon, but forbore, for his pride’s sake. If it came to it, I’d dismount and ride with him in the cart. No doubt poor Anavar would be glad to do the same. I smiled; a fine sight the three of us would make. No need for Hriskil to attack; one by one we wou
ld afflict ourselves.
Groenfil waited by the side of the road until we drew alongside, then jogged his chestnut mount. “What when we meet Margenthar? Parley?”
I snorted. “If he presents himself in chains, neck shaven for the axe.”
“What, then?”
“Treat him as you would Hriskil.”
Groenfil rode a few moments, in silence. “You recall, of course, that the duke and I are bound in blood.” Groenfil’s sister Varess was Margenthar’s wife.
I said grimly, “The duke and I are likewise bound in blood.” Rustin’s.
He gave a short bow, acknowledging a point scored. “I won’t don his colors, as I assume you know. But to attack him without warning ...”
I sa id somberly, “That’s the worst of war, is it not? We must choose our loyalties.”
“Indeed. And mine is to you, sire, as I trust I’ve made clear.” A wave, as if to ask leave, and he cantered off.
Midday, and the runners said Hriskil had not probed our battlements. Tantroth rode close to the rear of our line, selecting sites where he might make a stand, building each new rear guards’s strongpoint before abandoning the last. With feverish energy his men threw logs across the road, dug out fords, made the road behind him as impassable as they might. But Hriskil had swarms of minions to haul logs to the side, and artisans aplenty to repair fords. And, if necessary, his yeomen and cavalry could outstrip his wagons. Short of throwing up a new battlement, there was little we could do to stop their determined pursuit.
At the dinner hour, the first of our remnant at the Pezar battlements caught up with us. Hriskil had discovered our ruse, and the wall was his. The last of our men saw the gate behind them thrown open in triumph.
We hurried on.
Not satisfied, I demanded Tursel increase our pace.
“We’re pushing them fast as we might, sire. Would you have an army, or rabble? Forget not that we rush toward Margenthar, where battle awaits.”
Burying my misgivings, I grunted assent.
Near eve, a scout came racing to camp on a lathered mount. “Margenthar’s army is encamped a league hence!”
Tursel struck his pommel, startling his obedient gelding. “Where?”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 30
