“Almost, you joined us.”
“My wound? It’s better now. I had a dream ... Mother ... did she ... ?”
He made no answer.
“Sir, know you I routed Mar?” He’d best hear it from me; Uncle Mar was, after all, his son.
“Tell me of it.”
I did.
Tryon grunted. “Steady in his resolve.”
“You approve?”
“His malice is wearing. Ah, Elena.”
“Madam.” I stood. “Elryc sends his love.”
“And you?” A brief smile.
“As always. And for your succor ...” For a moment I couldn’t speak. “I thank thee.”
“You sensed us? I wasn’t sure. You were half before us, an apparition in a mist.” She settled herself at the fire.
“Yes. Well. The army of Caledon awaits my decision. That’s why I’m here.” Quickly I apprised them of the facts. “Onward to Cumber, or back to face Hriskil?”
Tryon frowned. “What does Rustin say?”
“He’s dead, grandsir.”
“Ah, I forgot. What counsel gave your lords?”
“On the whole, to barricade ourselves at Cumber. Tantroth, of course, wants to fight.” And Anavar, perhaps. Imbar, too. But their words carried less weight than Groenfil, Soushire, Tursel.
“You’ve no clear course.” Tryon toyed with a stick. “Obviously so, or you’d decide without us. But allow Hriskil to hunt you from castle to fort, and you’ll lose more than land; adherents will fall away.”
“But if we attack, will I face the Rood? That is, need Hriskil rest between uses, as I must with the Still?”
Mother said, “All personal power is wearing. The Warthen, after a Return, must rest for weeks. The King of the Chorr ... they say he sleeps the sleep of the dead for days after.”
“After what? I thought he used a fruit that grows only—”
“After consecrating it. Surely you didn’t think any white fruit that falls from a tree ...”
“So Hriskil ...” Cautiously, I returned to the topic, “must rest as do I? He won’t have use of the Rood before I have the Still?”
“Tryon?”
“I think not. What say you, Varon?”
A deep voice from the dark recesses. “I say, ‘disturb me not.’ ”
A small man, thin, flighty, came out of darkness to crouch opposite. “Ask Cayil, proud and foolish ones. I, at least, encountered the Rood.”
Tryon spat. “Proud, yes. Foolish? This from a—”
“Grandsir, please!” I held my breath, but instead of an explosion, I provoked only grumbles. “Cayil, I ask. Humbly.”
“At least the boy knows his manners. Unlike some in this cave, who strut about as if—”
“CAYIL, GIVE IT REST!” Varan’s roar nearly hurled me to the wall.
“—as if they’re lords of all creation, though they took Caledon by stealth and treachery. Four days, five perhaps, the Rood will be of no service to him. Best you strike immediately after he’s used it; it’s what I did, and threw him back to Ghanz. Not Hriskil, of course. His grandsire, or before. Old Vintal, it was, a brute of a man, a savage. He slew envoys and sewed their heads in sacks—”
“Cayil, you’re sure of this?”
“I opened the sack myself; think you I’d forget—oh, the other? Yes, four days I know of. Six, once.”
“Yet I’m here, and wielded the Still when he did the Rood.”
“You’re among us, but you’d wield no threat to the cobra.”
“His Power seemed a viper to you, too?”
“That’s its usual form.” Cayil rubbed his hands.
“Thank you, my lord. Mother, I have a day, perhaps two before Hriskil wields the Rood. What ought I do?”
She bit her Up. “What is your heart?”
“To find safety. Yet I grow weary of war and waste. I would make an end to it.”
Her eyes met mine. “Would you?”
I paced on the bed of the wagon, waiting for men to gather. Engulfing Pardos and Kadar by sheer numbers, they crowded close.
I raised my voice and spoke through cupped hands to the envoys from each campfire. “I’ve consulted your lords and taken the wisdom of Caledon. Now, as I am king by your appointment, I seek your counsel.” I explained our choice. “You’ve been sore pressed. Yesternight’s march was great trial. To evade the Norland host we’ll need exhaust ourselves darting about Caledon awaiting the ideal moment to give battle. To lunge for Pezar and the protection of the wall hazards nearly all on a cast of the bones. What say you?”
I waited, while the yeomen debated among themselves. Murmurs grew more agitated. Finally, I held up a hand. “Divide yourselves; those who would do battle, to my left; those who would continue to retrea—to withdraw, stand there.”
Men began to drift about, uncertain.
Disapprovingly, Tantroth caught my eye. When I’d told him my intent he’d snapped, “While you’re at it, ask them whom they’d appoint duke. Or whom to set as sentinels.”
Perhaps he was right, in that I overturned the world’s natural order. On the other hand, the men ought have voice. It was their limbs, their existence we risked along with ours.
“Make end to it.” One voice rose over the others.
“Get it over with!”
“End it now!”
“Finish, so we can go home!” One voice after another took up the refrain. “End it now.”
Men strode to my left. A surge. Near a stampede. “Get it done! Knock Hriskil’s head!”
Nearly all our men had cleaved to the left. Sheepishly, the few who’d held out for retreat joined them. Only a handful of soldiers stubbornly held the opposing stance.
I raised my arm for quiet. “Prepare to break camp. Await Captain Tursel’s commands.” Exultantly, I jumped down, strode to my tent. Groenfil, Tantroth and the others joined me. “Satisfied?” I couldn’t stop pacing. “It’s nearly unanimous.”
“Terrible precedent.” Groenfil folded his arms.
“Undoubtedly.” Larissa of Soushire. “Now they’ll always expect to be heard. You’ve surrendered right of command.”
“But they’ll fight the harder, for my asking. Tursel?”
The captain smoothed out a parchment and quill, sketched the road to Pezar. “We ambushed their cavalry here. Hriskil’s main force must be about ... here.” He stabbed at his map. If we meet them here ... remember that rise, my lords? We’ll hold high ground. And they won’t expect us to wheel in our tracks.”
I peered. “A half day’s march.”
“At least. We’d best start. We’ll make final dispositions along the route.”
I took deep breath. “Are we resolved, my lords?”
No one said nay.
Stumbling, I led Ebon along the muddy road; he was too spent for more.
“Sir ...” Anavar, his voice gentle.
“Don’t speak!”
How could I have been so sure, and so wrong?
We’d wheeled to meet Hriskil on ground of our choosing.
At first, it seemed we’d succeed. We threw back the first Norland charge. The second came soon after, and when we were fully engaged fresh savage hordes swung out to roll our flanks. In mere moments our line collapsed as our men clawed desperately to safety. They clogged the road, making withdrawal near impossible. Groenfil rallied his infantry, charged the enemy left, bought us precious time. His valiant chestnut was shot out from under him; barely he escaped by leaping onto an abandoned mount. Tantroth seized the opportunity Groenfil gave us and cleaved order from chaos, turning our rearmost wagons, racing them ahead, clearing the road for our retreat.
Only the valiant efforts of Groenfil and Tantroth warded off utter collapse. Nonetheless, we’d lost valuable carts, precious cargoes. Worse, hideously worse, Hriskil had overrun our wagons of wounded. I was thrown from Ebon in our desperate charge to reclaim them and dragged cursing to safety by Pardos and Kadar. Over the rise wafted screams, tapering to none.
We’d fared worse than in the battle of the ridge. Hriskil had recovered the Rood, I was sure; Cayil knew no more its use than I. And I had not the Still, no more man a shadow of its wielding. The cobra seemed weakened as well, but never was I able to trap its head in the cleft of a stick. Thrice the viper chased me from the cave; ever more reluctant was I to return.
Tantroth’s aide Sandin was killed. And Imbar, trampled with his litter-bearers under the thundering hooves of vengeful Norland horse. No doubt I’d mourn him, were I not numb.
Now, our army shattered, we fell back on Cumber as best we could. Norland cavalry harassed our every step. I doubted their infantry was far behind. Like us, they’d had a day’s rest.
“Sire!” Azar, Tantroth’s lieutenant, galloped past the column; reaching me, he reined in hard. “Your tent wagon ...”
“What of it?” Calves aching, I plodded along as fast as I could.
“It lost a wheel at the ford. They were resetting it when ...” His mouth tightened. “The Norlanders took it.”
“So be it.”
“Your tent, your clothes—”
“I know.”
He looked about, jumped down, put his head close to mine. “The Vessels.”
“I don’t need them.” They eased wielding my Power, but I had others. Anyway, Uncle Mar had the true Vessels hidden in Verein.
Azar’s voice dropped lower. “Your treasury.”
I gasped. The treasury wagon should have been the most heavily guarded in our train. An army marched not on loyalty and courage, but on gold. Gold coin to pay the men—a stone’s weight per year for each eight soldiers, near a thousand weights in total—and as much again for horses, gear, provender ... our laden chests were not nearly enough, and now even they were gone. In the instant I’d become a near pauper. I’d be lucky not to suffer mass desertions when my plight became known.
“Lord Tantroth said you must be advised.”
Now would the duke consider well his loyalties. I suspected soon he’d be gone.
Sudden doubt assailed me. “Who, beyond yourselves, saw the wagon overrun?” For all I knew, Tantroth himself had seized my treasury.
Azar drew back as if struck. “Sire!”
“Don’t ‘sire’ me, you—”
Roddy, what are you doing?
Is that you, Rust? I know not what I do. “Sorry. I was only asking.” It sounded worse than inane. I forced my eyes to his. “I’ve no reason to suspect—I’m vexed beyond words and lash at shadows. Forgive me.”
After a moment, a grudging nod. “Understood.” Azar swung onto his steed. “Tantroth needs all the help ... your leave, sire.”
“Granted.” I trudged on.
A sorry spectacle we’d make at Cumber. With Hriskil hot on our heels, Bouris could again afford to bar his gates; we’d not tarry long. Of course, Bouris might expect the Norlanders to prove more unfriendly than ourselves. I could do nothing but wait and see.
No, that wasn’t quite the case. I bestirred myself. “Anavar.”
“Yes, my lord?” His tone was eager.
“Has Edmund much wind?”
“More than Ebon. Would you ride him?”
“No. I charge you as envoy; ride to Cumber. Set flag of truce, I don’t know you’ll need it, but I wouldn’t have you harmed. Remember my words and say them exactly. To Bouris our vassal and earl of Cumber, greetings from Rodrigo, king.”
His lips moved with the effort to record my speech.
“We bid thee open thy gates to receive us a dozen hours hence. We bid thee prepare five thousand loaves and meat and drink for all our force, that we may refresh ourselves. Also, hay and water for our mounts. We bid thee ride from Cumber and meet us on the Eiber Road, accompanied by a guard of no more than twenty, to escort us home to Cumber. Say you yea or nay to this our envoy, Anavar, Baron of the Southern Reaches.” I nodded. “Repeat it back.”
With only a few stumbles, he did so.
I fished for my purse, unknotted it as best I could with one hand. “These silvers for food and drink, but be chary, there may be no more.” After giving it, I hardly needed bother reknotting the purse.
“Aye, sir!”
“Be off, men. Take care, youngsire.”
“I will, Roddy!” He blushed. “Sire, I meant. My lord King.” He swung a leg up, sat himself. “Fare thee well.” He cantered down the road. At the wagons ahead, he slowed, searching. In a few moments he galloped off, yellow flag of truce stuffed in his bag.
A tired mare trotted up, with a huge pair of legs, longer than the stirrups. Danzik swung down, patted his mount on the forenose, took up pace alongside me, reins in hand.
I raised an eyebrow. “Who gave you horse?”
“Found. Owner need it no more.” We spoke in the Norland tongue.
All too likely true. I sighed.
He asked, “Vade, still, after battle?”
“Until you’re freed, or Hriskil recaptures you.”
“All right to walk slow?” I stole a glance; he was smiling under bushy beard.
“No slower than I.” I increased my pace. Easily, he did the same. “What do you here, Danzik?”
“Danzik, now? Not ‘Guiat’?”
“I’m in no mood for a lesson.”
He nodded. “Hriskil gave one, this day.”
We walked in silence. At length I said, “Too many dead. Too much hurt. I cannot joke of it.”
“Qay.” Then, to my amazement, “You try be ... ben rez.” Good king.
I finally managed, “How would you know?”
“Hear talk to men. You gentle to boy you send riding. Rodrigo ...” His tone was cautious. “Truce, I talk to Hriskil. Cetar han vos modra.” Arrange he not kill you.
“In return for Caledon? Danzik—” I groped for words in his language. “Rustin, the friend of my life, is dead. And Raeth. Hundreds more. Caledon is—Lord of Heaven, how do you say ‘bespoiled?’ Graftig. Broken. I cannot walk away with my life. I owe it to—owe it—I—”
I trudged down the road, cheeks damp.
“Ben rez.” He said it quietly, as if to himself.
Twenty-four
BOURIS ESCORTED US TO CUMBER. After the formalities we barely spoke.
Milling about his castle courtyard, my troops fell on the rations he provided. Vigilant against treachery, my bodyguards surrounded me. I wandered away from the throng, settled on my brother Pytor’s stone, next.to Rustin’s unseasoned grave. It was well tended; I nodded, acknowledging a debt.
So, Rust, I’ve made a hash of it.
Silence.
I gambled all and lost. Rebuke me. Tell me the fool I’ve been.
Nothing.
Please, Rust!
What would you I say, were I more than your chiding conscience?
Have you never been more? If ever I needed you, it is now.
Ah, my prince. The barest whisper.
Once, I swore I wouldn’t put end to myself, but what’s left? A few hours rest, then we must push on, lest we encage ourselves for Hriskil. Cumber can’t withstand a determined assault; its walls are too long. One by one my lords will default. Where shall I go, Rust, becoming ever less a king? I should end it.
And then, what of Caledon ?
“What of Caledon now?”
“To whom do you speak, sire?” Pardos.
“Nobody. Pay no heed.”
“Ah, there you are.” Lady Soushire strode up, rubbing her hands. “Now where, Roddy? Or shall we make terms?”
“Is that your wish?”
“The sooner, the more chance to salvage our domains. Perhaps he’d even grant you Stryx, as his satrap.”
“Does Groenfil concur?”
Larissa colored. “I know better than to propose it. Beneath his skeptical hide, he’s a true romantic.”
“You’d make peace without him? Leave him to fight?”
“One would hope not.” She patted her pouch, emerged with sweet bread wrapped in a cloth. “I hope—” A determined bite. “—he’d soon s
ee reason.”
I said stubbornly, “And if not?”
She waved it away. “Conjecture. Will you treat with Hriskil?”
“No.”
“If your army beseeches you?”
I said promptly, “I’ll hang who suggests they do so.” Else, she’d be at them within the hour.
Lady Soushire wasn’t fazed. “What would your Rustin say? How long would he countenance a hopeless quest?”
“Odd.” My voice was musing. “He always told me to trust you.”
She had the grace to blush.
“I’ll think on it, my lady.” A bow, and I headed toward the donjon.
Bouris crossed my path, managed to bar my way. “How long will you, ah, grace us with your presence?”
My gaze was cold.
“Er, sire, that is. How long?”
“You set a limit?”
He scuffed the earth. “Hriskil won’t be far behind. Will you do battle in the city? Here?”
“You’ll know shortly.” When I do. I moved past him.
“And also ...” He made his tone resolute. “My niece Tresa. Kindly return her to my custody. It’s not meet she ride with you unchaperoned.”
Ahh. Interesting. “Then, why’d you grant her leave?” What will he tell me? See, Rust, how I remember our lessons?
Bouris reddened. “My mind was on ... I mistook her intent.” A bald lie, that. She wrote she meant to slip out when he was unaware. “I didn’t see her today, in your host, but hidden or no, return her. I’m lawful guardian.”
“Of course. I’ll see she’s spoken to.”
And, by Lord of Nature, that I would.
Kadar said, “Sire, this is madness.”
“Do be quiet, and ride.” I urged my unfamiliar mount onward. I’d given Ebon much deserved rest and took particular satisfaction that Bouris had lent us mounts, unknowing of our errand. I’d wandered about his castle gate, strolled through when few seemed to be about. My bodyguards, forewarned, had gone ahead and were waiting with the horses, or trailed me as nonchalantly as they might. Now, we rode for the hills and the village of Certha. I made my tone as placating as I could manage. “It’s only three hours.”
“And three back. If Hriskil—”
“He’s mighty, but he doesn’t work miracles. You know as well as I he can’t invest Cumber’s walls by sunset.”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 32
