“And our lives?”
“None will die by our hand.”
“Give us leave to ride to—”
“Look! The candle gutters!” It didn’t, not quite yet.
“Just a mome—” Below him, the gate flew open. A dozen men ran out, fell at my feet. “Mercy, lord King!”
My eyes met Groenfil’s.
He gave me, from the saddle, a short bow of acknowledgment. In his gaze, respect, a hint of humor. “Shall I summon your army?”
“Take the castle. I’ll send Bollert.”
As the sun rose, I watched from the parapet the bustle of our occupation. We housed Stire in the cells where I’d fretted my days; his venom equaled Uncle Mar’s, and he couldn’t be left loose. For the moment, we’d disarmed Verein’s few soldiers, though they were free to move about. Rust and Groenfil would sort them out. Our own men, dressed in Mar’s colors, took the guardposts, letting none leave. The longer Hriskil had no word of my refuge, the better.
Summoned by Bollert, our “army” of two horsemen, two archers, and two sword-armed foot soldiers trudged across the field and into the gate; my oath had been True, if barely so.
On the Keep’s front stair Danzik sat whittling a stick. As I passed, he inclined his head in a short bow, in the Caled manner. “Rez Caledi haut coura.” The king is brave. He drew his hands apart mimicking a stretched bow.
I shrugged. “You, too, rode with us.”
“Yes. Be not so brave next time.” A grin. “Toda vestrez coa tern.” I would still see how it ends.
A small force like ours might slip through the wood and fields. Hriskil’s army, or Sarazon’s, by its sheer mass would make itself known. Our scouts roamed as far as Seacross Road, sniffing for an approaching foe.
Two days passed, and another. We ought, I knew, be out harassing Norland patrols, making our pinpricks felt where we might. But, truth to tell, I, like all our band, reveled in the luxury of a defensible encampment with foodstuffs, dry roofs not of canvas, wells instead of brackish ponds. Quickly, men and horses lost their lean and hungry look, as Verein’s larder emptied.
Lady Varess, sister to the earl of Groenfil, trod a narrow and difficult path. Married to my hated uncle Margenthar, her loyalty must be to him. If she knew the zeal with which Groenfil had curbed my wrath, making sure it extended no further than Uncle Mar himself, she gave no sign.
At least one travail I was spared: my cousin Bayard was out making mischief with his father. Eighteen and haughty, he’d been the bane of my childhood. To rub shoulders with him in Verein would have been insufferable. To my joy, we discovered a trunk of his outgrown clothing, which I loftily confiscated. Once again, I had suitable wardrobe. His father, though oft cold and a demanding parent, had denied him little.
“Why so pensive, my prince?” Rustin came up behind me. As Verein’s abundance had relaxed tight muscles and unknotted sinews, his eyes seemed less haunted. I’d done my part, feeding him tidbits, deferring to him in matters of state, permitting him to command my person without cavil.
Clapping his hand on my shoulder, he followed my gaze out the donjon window to the listless grass of the sunbaked fields. He asked, “Where would you be in a month’s time? Could we buy a wish, what would be yours?”
“Stryx.” His puzzlement showed it wasn’t enough. I added, “When we captured Danzik, we relieved the castle for a winter and thaw. If we could evict Sarazon too ...”
Rust curled hands behind his neck. “Danzik lived off the land. Sarazon’s force is larger, well supplied, and the harbor’s full of his ships.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’ll think on it. Tonight at dinner, assuage Groenfil as best you may. His thoughts turn ever more homeward. And wear that green velour. It shows your color to advantage.”
I was no child; why did he treat—Firmly, I bit it off. Had I swallowed the fruit, my adoration would have no bounds, and gladly I’d endorse his every whim. Let him choose my garments, and I’d count myself fortunate for the trunk.
I’d spent too much time in Uncle Raeth’s company to have the simple tastes of a soldier: meat, bread, cheese. Dinner was to be roast ox, garnished with greens lightly breaded and fried in oil. My mouth watered. Kitchen boys hauled in the meat on a great wooden trencher built across carrying poles and set it before us, where I could fill the first plate. Expectantly, the table waited. Anavar, seated toward the foot, stared at the ox in rapture.
Before I could spear a portion, a guard raced into the great hall. “Riders cross the field, my lords!”
“How many?” Rust’s shoulders tensed.
“Perhaps two score, no more.”
Not Hriskil, then. I let myself exhale. “Mar’s stragglers.” My heart thumped.
Lady Varess shot to her feet.
“No, stay, Madam.” My voice was curt. I opened my mouth to give order, remembered in time to turn to Rustin. “Have I leave, sir?” My tone was courteous.
“Continue.” He watched, a worried look on his face, ready to veto my edict.
To the guardsman, “Make haste, assemble our men. Overwhelming strength, but concealed in the courtyard. Open when the riders ask it, close the gate after. Disarm them all.” To Rustin, when the guard hurried out, “At least we’ll find where Mar’s gone.”
“If they’re loyal, they won’t speak.”
I caressed my scar. “Oh, yes, they will.” Learning where Mar had gone to ground was the next thing to seizing him. I had no compunctions about breaking his soldiers’ silence.
The ox could wait. I scraped back my chair. “Let us go.”
“My lord King.” Rust’s voice was quiet. “If they, see you, the game is flown.”
“Within the courtyard, it matters not.” I made a gesture of appeal. I had to see.
“Be seated, my prince.” Seething, I acquiesced. “Thank you.” Rust patted my hand.
I tried not to bare my teeth.
Outside, the clop of hooves.
Lady Varess was pale. Unseeing, she stared at our forgotten plates.
“Do you love him?” Lord of Nature knew why I’d asked, but too late. I’d already blurted it out. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rustin roll his eyes.
Fluttering fingers pushed away her pewter plate. “Sire, he is my consort. The father of my son.”
It was no answer. Grudgingly, I let it be; my quarrel wasn’t with her.
Shouts. The clang of steel.
“When I was given in marriage, I found him kind.” Her voice was strained. “To me, he’s always been so.”
Guardian or no, I yearned to tear past Rustin, throw open the shutters, take heed of the courtyard doings.
Varess’s glance flickered between me and her empty plate. “Like Elena, in affairs of state he’s hard. I know that to others ... to you, sire, he’s given offense.”
“Given offense.” I tasted the phrase, marveling at its bland savor. “One could say so.”
“Roddy ...” Rustin’s tone held a warning note.
“Bayard oft ran to my skirts to weep grievances about his father. But it’s a boy’s chore to harden, that he become a man. And not my station to interpose myself. As should be, Mar raised him these last ten years.”
Outside the shutters, silence.
I said civilly, “I am answered, Madam.”
“Mar’s stood by his son, and granted me dignity and respect. I love him for that.”
The door burst open. “Sire, we have them!”
“By your leave, Rust!” I threw down my cloth without waiting for answer. My chair teetered; I caught it, set it straight. “Let’s see what ...”
“Ahh. It seems we have company.” A familiar voice.
I stood frozen. It couldn’t be. My hand shot to my dagger.
In the doorway Margenthar, duke of Stryx, my uncle, was surrounded by three of Groenfil’s guards. His scabbard was empty, and his sheath. His garb was disheveled. “Do be seated.” His tone was dry.
“Get him out!” My tongue stumbled i
n my haste.
“Roddy ...”
“No, Rust, in this I defy you, at whatever cost. Groenfil, Anavar, I charge you: choose a cell that won’t be breached. Secure him within.”
Rustin said, “You thirst to revenge Pytor—”
“To revenge you!” My eyes blazed. “And I will not be denied!” I stalked from the room, took the stairs two at a time to my chamber, barred the door. I paced the room, dagger in hand. I would avenge Rust’s murder.
As I worked off my fury, unwelcome thoughts intruded. Was it murder, though, if Rust lived? Yes. I knew what had been, and surely so did Mar. But should one be made to pay for an act undone?
A knock. I ignored it.
“Roddy, open, or I’ll be a tad annoyed.”
I stalked to the door, threw aside the bar. “He’s not guest, not family, not a noble of Caledon! He’s foul Margenthar, and I won’t treat him as else.”
“Lower your voice.”
“What matter that they hear? Is there one in Caledon who doesn’t know—”
“You haven’t the calm to see: the realm is in such disarray, only a thread binds it. Your nobles watch; perhaps some sway to Hriskil. Mar is a noble, and—”
I stalked to the shutters, flung them open, stared down at the courtyard. “Which cell? Did they pick the one I rotted in? I want him—put down the pitcher; I need vengeance, not a faceful of water!”
He regarded me doubtfully. “You’re beside yourself.”
“Of course.” I rushed to the silver, peered at my cheek. “This is what I gaze upon each morn. Look at me!”
“I always do.” His tone was soft.
“Blindly! You’re the only one won’t see—won’t—” My voice caught. “Because you lov—you—” It was hard to see him through the haze of my eyes. “I’ve dreamed of this day, it’s sustained me when ...” I threw up my hands.
“Hate him, Roddy. Despise him. Gloat too, if you would, but quietly. The king’s every mood oughtn’t be carved on his—”
“IT’S NOT A MOOD! THIS IS MAR! I MEAN TO TORTURE AND KILL HIM!”
He slapped me. The report echoed.
I rubbed my stinging cheek.
For the instant, Rust was every iota a man to my boy. “Stupid creature, you just told Hriskil, Lady Varess, Tantroth, Lord of Nature knows who else, your intent! You can’t conduct statecraft so!”
I sank on the bed. “I have no state.”
“Perhaps this is why. Mar is a noble, brother to Queen Elena. Killing him, torture of any kind, raises the specter of your cruelty, of which we best not remind your lords. But, more to earth, they’re nobles too, Roddy. What you do to Mar, you might do to them.”
“But I wouldn’t!”
“Inwardly, they cannot know it. So if you’d keep Caledon, put aside vengeance.”
I beat the pillow.
“Only for now, my prince. ’til the war’s won.”
“When might that be? Hriskil chases us from town to field. Our raids do him no harm.” I’d known since before the Sands that my cause was lost. “It must be now.” I took deep breath. “I won’t agree to other.”
Rust’s gaze was cold. “Am I not guardian of your person?”
“This is not personal!”
“Am I not regent?”
“Yes, but ...” I gritted my teeth. “Yes, sir, you are.”
He raised my chin. “As regent I decree: you will grant Mar life. You may not touch him, or cause him to be touched. No fire, no rope, no knife or other physical torture. You will swear this.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, and require it.”
I protested, but in the end, as always, he had his way.
Afterward I sat cross-legged on the bed, musing. As Rust said, I ought not strew about my rage as a plowman his seed. But, by Lord of Nature, I was not done with Mar.
Thirty-one
RUSTIN HAD MAR MOVED to the best of the cells, a locked chamber that had nothing of the dungeon about it.
Anavar did his best to console me. “You’ll have him, soon or late. My father says revenge is a sherbet, best enjoyed—”
“Cold. None of your Eiberian proverbs, youngsire.”
Anavar looked about. The room was spare, hard, boasting few amenities. “Are you bound to your chamber, sir?”
“No, but for the nonce, I’m avoiding Rust.”
“Until?”
“Until I make it up to him.” Who but a dimwit knew not how I felt about Margenthar, or my resolve to settle his score? Nonetheless—a long sigh—Rustin was right. He usually was.
“It’s he makes you act the boy.” Anavar’s eyes were fixed on the flagstones.
“Don’t be daft. He’d give an arm—well, three fingers, anyway—to see me a man.”
“Think you so?” Anavar got up, stretched. “I crave daylight. Would you visit the stables?”
I let him coax me from my room.
From the rugged granite wall, Rustin and I looked out over the deceptively peaceful field. Refreshing wind swept our hair and made us into urchins. Behind us, in the courtyard, stableboys walked horses for exercise.
“Groenfil urges a probe,” Rust said presently. “Toward Stryx.”
“Sarazon is astride the road.”
“And we need know his strength. The array of his force.”
I said, “Good. When do we leave?”
“We don’t. Tomorrow, he’ll send a score of men, no more.”
“Why so few?”
“They hope to go unnoticed. And we mustn’t reduce our defense here, lest Hriskil strike.” A pause, and Rustin added in an offhand manner, “I ride with them.” Abruptly, he seemed fascinated by a juniper growing outside the wall.
I said nothing.
“Don’t pout, Roddy, it doesn’t become you.”
“Ride to the Ukra Steppe, if it please you.”
“Yes, I know. But I would see the coast road for myself.”
“Tell truth. While you’re gone, will you put Groenfil in charge?”
“No, it’s you. But I’ll set men to provide Mar’s victuals. You’re not to interfere.”
“I promise.”
“I need not remind you ... ?”
“I won’t touch him, I won’t go into his cell, or send anyone. How many times must I swear?”
One night, perhaps two, Rustin said. I need not worry unless it stretched to more than three. Even then ...
I swept him into a bear’s hug, in front of all. “Fare thee well, sir.” Behind me, on the steps, Bayard smirked. Inwardly, I smiled. There’d come a day Mar’s son and I would have words.
As twenty men rode out with little ceremony, Lady Varess gave a small curtsy. “May I have the king’s ear?”
Pardos didn’t approve, but I led her to a chamber where the highborn were used to hang cloaks, outside the great hall. “My Lady?”
“I pray mercy for my husband the duke.”
Immediately I shook my head. “For him I have none.”
Let him be released, she begged. On his behalf she’d give parole—he would too, the moment it was proposed—that he’d attempt no escape, nor try to wrest control of—
No. I would not.
I’d paroled Danzik. If I let a Norlander roam—
Danzik, I trusted.
For her sake, then. She yearned for a husband, a father to her son. She had done no wrong.
I refuse. Is there else, madam?
Did not her brother Sergo serve me well? For him, might I alleviate her misery? At least let Mar be confined to their boudoir.
Sweating, I made my escape. When I could, I drew Pardos aside. “Keep her from me. She has the tenacity of a ferret.”
I passed the first afternoon kicking a stuffed ball with Anavar. My young baron had fearsome energy and raced after every stray ball. Setting aside my dignity, I strove with him until I noticed Bayard scowling from a window above. Thereafter, the game lost its allure.
In the evening, I walked with Groenfil. “It’s t
ime we made new attack,” he said. “If we’re to cower behind battlements, I prefer my own.”
“We can’t get to yours. Hriskil surrounds them.”
“Aye, and will, until we draw him off.” He ambled past the stables.
I asked, “Is that why you sent our patrol to the Stryx road?”
“I sent? Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Rustin told—”
“It was he proposed it.”
“Why?”
Groenfil smiled. “He said nothing was dearer to your heart than Stryx.”
Was it true? I’d been a boy there, for good or ill.
We wandered along the wall of the keep, Pardos and three guards trailing behind.
“Perhaps,” Groenfil said, “we ought to risk all on a cast at Stryx. I’m weary.”
“A few days of rest, good food—”
“Weary of war. Of blood, and the loss of good men.” His voice, too, betrayed his fatigue. “And I envy Larissa, defending her own earth.”
“If we go anywhere, it ought be there. Elryc frets for me.”
“How know you?”
I smiled. “I know my brother.”
“He has his stableboy. If he’s a chick, Genard’s the hen.” We detoured around a decrepit stone hut.
I made my voice placating. “As soon as the way’s clear, we’ll ride—what is this place?”
He sniffed. “A smokehouse, is it not?”
I recoiled. “Let us away!”
Odd, what one remembered at such a time. My torn, oozing thumb. My ragged, filthy clothes. The stench of me. The salt tang of blood, from the guard’s throat I had torn out with my teeth, in a desperate frenzy to escape my fetid cell. My jagged half-healed scar, my acrid, all-consuming fear.
Pardos, sword drawn, shielded my right. “What is it, Rodrigo?”
A demon cackled on my shoulder. I made a sign; I couldn’t speak. Behind us, Groenfil hurried to keep pace.
At the stable Pardos panted, “My lord, what vexes him?”
“It seems he has no love for a smokehouse.” Groenfil’s tone was dry.
I whirled. “For that smokehouse. It’s where I emerged, when ...” My eyes glistened. “The worst night of my life, until Rustin ...” No, that hadn’t happened. But they recalled, and nodded. “I was drenched in blood. If I were seen, my life was forfeit. I had no place to go, no one within twenty leagues who gave a brood mare’s fart if I lived or ...” I swallowed. Easy, Roddy. It’s long past. And you could have erased it, if you’d not been set on undoing worse.
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 42
