“Elryc, don’t—”
“I’m so proud I had a part, even a small one. But, Roddy ... ?”
I steeled myself.
“With each battle, more die. Men we cherish. They die for you, for the idea of Caledon. If you rule nobly, after, their sacrifice is in part redeemed. But ...” His voice quavered. “When it’s all for naught, and we’ve already lost ... how can we send more folk into the earth?”
I cried, “See you no hope?”
“Horst is unkind, he’s angry for Franca. But what does he say that’s untrue?”
“Can we not scavenge supplies, live off the land ... ?”
“Can we, Roddy? You’ve tried.”
I sat with head bowed. All waited, while my world melted to a grimy puddle. At length I stirred. “Very well. I’ll do what I must. Send envoy—”
“Ask me Rez.”
“What?”
“Pirda iv!” Danzik’s eyes smoldered.
I gulped. “Guiat, I ask thy counsel.”
“Translate for these barbati. I speak Norl.” He glared. “Signit horn ke vos eo—”
“The greatest man of your age ...”
“Ve fro vos—”
“Sits before you ...”
“And you bring him down like wolves!” Danzik stalked the tent in barely chained fury. “Hriskil is nothing before him. Cruel, greedy, unsubtle. Time and again, Rodrigo ties Hriskil in knots.” Impatiently, he waited for me to catch up. “The Norls, I know them. They’re ready to crumble. Hriskil inspires fear, not loyalty. But you’ve unnerved them. They—”
I shook my head. “Danzik ...”
“You translate, Rez! I speak!” He hammered the tent pole, and nearly brought down the canvas.
“Qay, Guiat.” Hurriedly, I did so.
Danzik said, “A few more victories ...”
Horst snorted. “Escaping with our lives isn’t victory.”
“What more victory than that? War isn’t about supplies, about numbers, else Hriskil would long since have conquered all; near every man he commands roams Caledon in search of Rodrigo!” The Norlander paced. “War about spirit, honor, the quest for men’s souls. Fah, you people are nothing! I go home. Vestra coa tern.” I’ve seen how it ends.
I held up a palm to the babble. “I’ll walk for a time, alone. You’ll have my decision anon.”
Outside the tent the night was chill. I set out aimlessly, clutching my chest as if to contain the sorrow. When I fell, I’d take so many into the abyss. What of brave Groenfil, stubborn Tantroth? How could they make peace with Hriskil, after the harm they’d done him? What of Anavar, displaced and homeless? Where might I send Elryc? Would Rustin yield, or go down in stubborn defeat, unwilling to yield though his liege had done so?
What of Tresa?
I swallowed. Almost, my hated virginity had worth, if I’d saved myself for her. But even if we escaped, how could I ask her to marry a penniless exile? She deserved more. Anyway, escape was most unlikely. The Norlanders from Soushire trailed us by only a day or so. When foemen from Eiber Castle came upon us, the two forces would seize us in a crab’s pincers. We’d be done.
And what would befall Tresa when Stryx fell? If Hriskil sent Genard to a brothel, what fate for the Lady of the Hill?
Casually, I drew my blade, fingered its sharp edge. Why wait for capture, or death in hopeless battle? Why kill more men, to defend bare hills, sparse fields? The foe had all the towns, and would keep them.
“It’s not so bad as that, m’lor’.”
I whirled. Genard stood back a respectful dozen paces.
“How would you know?” I spoke without thought.
“I know.” He eased closer. “Where do we walk?”
“Where my steps take me.” I gentled my tone. “Is there ever a day that’s worth the wait?”
“The day you came.” He said it simply, without guile.
I resumed my wander. “Know you what we debate?”
“I can imagine.”
“What say you, liege man of the prince?”
“I’ll never ...” he swallowed. “... be a man.”
My hand shot out to squeeze his shoulder, but he shied away.
“When you used your Power ... the hurt eased. Oh, Roddy, I don’t know how you did it, but thank you!”
I dared not speak.
Genard’s voice hardened. “Now, make Hriskil pay! He’s evil, Roddy. Think of the wagon in the Pezar field. You’re good, and kind. Isn’t it odd, I never used to think so, but you are.” His fingers flitted to his loincloth. “I can live with this, if you put a stop to him. Else he’ll mangle Elryc, and the sons of lords, and who will be left? Don’t stop, King, while there’s breath in your body!” His cheeks were damp.
In silence, we walked a while, and returned to the tent.
I faced the nobles of Caledon. “We thank you for your counsel.” I was too overwrought to sit. I paced from flap to post, from post to wall. “Struggling on to defend Caledon through the winter is hopeless. As you say, we’ve no base, no supplies; our armies are disorganized, defeated, scattered. Cumber is fallen, Soushire and Groenfil, and Stryx not far behind. Our wishing otherwise will not make it so.”
Anavar put head in hands.
I said heavily, “In a month, perhaps less, what’s left of our strength will melt to naught.”
Horst nodded in sour agreement.
Groenfil said heavily, “We concede?”
“No, my lords. We attack.”
They stiffened, as if lightning coursed through them.
Tantroth said, “With Groenfil’s new force, we have a chance. The Norlanders have strengthened Eiber Castle, but I know every nook, every cranny—”
“Not Eiber. Ghanz.”
Every eye was on mine.
“The one border Hriskil can’t defend: there’s no natural barrier between Eiber and the Norlands. We can cross anywhere.”
Horst said angrily, “They outnumber—”
“Near all their army occupies our land. Is it not so, Guiat? Hriskil cannot have much reserve. We’ll all cross the border together. Tantroth, you’ll torch every Norland village we meet. Burn it to the ground; leave not a timber. Ride day and night, spread fire without end. It will draw what troops Hriskil has, and instantly. My lord Groenfil, you and I, on our best horses, the four hundred strongest, dash the twenty leagues to Ghanz.”
Horst cried out, “Why? A raid of four hundred may achieve surprise, but you can’t hold the capital. They’ll be on us.”
“Not after we take Hriskil.” I took deep breath and spoke into their astonished silence. “He’s the head of the beast; strike it off and the beast collapses. They’re already demoralized and looking for excuse. Why do you gape? Think you we ought fight defensive war ’til we’re old and gray? No. I’ll have done with it.”
“But—”
“It’s the last they’d expect of us.” And with good reason, Roddy. “Still, I won’t require it of you.” I took deep breath. “Now do we, King of Caledon, release you our peers from your oaths of fealty, and wish you well wheresoe’er you may go.”
Anavar shook his head, as if to halt folly.
“Now do we, Rodrigo, humbly ask our brothers, would you, of your free will, ride with us once more? Would you end the war our lands restored, our enemy expelled, our lives redeemed?”
Forty-six
DANZIK RODE AT MY side, silent a long while. Then, offhandedly, as if remarking on something inconsequential such as a bird’s plumage, “He constantly builds, you know. Palace is always in an uproar. New battlements going up, enclosing much more land, but he’s using stone from the old. Leaves gaps ’til he’s done.”
“Yes, Guiat?”
He pursed his lips, patted his burdened mare for encouragement. “There’s a terrace near his bedchamber ... a low wall surrounds it.”
I listened, said nothing.
“He built trail from there to stables. His favorite route to sneak out for ride.”
“Hmmm.�
�
“Or escape.”
“Guiat, don’t say more. You have to live with—”
“Treason? You made me Caled, day by day.” He looked sour. “I not traitor if you win. Patriot, then.”
I looked at him with new appreciation.
Danzik gazed at the road ahead. “I could show you courtyard.”
We’d divided supplies and taken the best horses. For a week, our four hundred camped shivering in Eiber’s remotest hills, while Tantroth’s Eiberians did their work to lure out Hriskil’s minions. Now, dressed as Norls, armed to the teeth, we drove our mounts ever deeper into the Norland. A day ahead lay Ghanz, and the end of our quest.
We sent out no scouts. Danzik himself guided us. Groenfil rode in silence, his son Horst at his side. Despite the young man’s proposals, he insisted on riding with his father, as Anavar did with me. To my surprise, Genard demanded to come too, which meant bringing Elryc. As we had no refuge for him, I consented. He was well in the center of our column, separated even from Genard.
Near Ghanz we met ten soldiers with a ramshackle cart creaking down the road toward Eiber. We’d never learn their mission; now they all lay dead alongside the trail. As planned, we ourselves would reach Ghanz before word of our invasion.
Once again, in the chill night air, we dismounted and walked our horses. We had sparse fodder and little to offer them save encouragement.
“How far now?” Anavar’s voice was quiet.
“Three hours. Maybe four.” Danzik.
Groenfil stirred. “Is it necessary we split ourselves?”
Trudging down the road, I looked to Danzik.
“How else,” he said, “to drive Hriskil to courtyard and path to stable?”
Groenfil frowned. “I still say your party’s too small. A hundred men more—”
Danzik stopped abruptly, grasped his pommel. “I told you, no room for many at gap. They’ll be seen. Besides, you’ll need every man to force gate.”
I nodded. Even Danzik would go with Groenfil. Once inside, only Danzik, among us, knew the way to Hriskil’s apartments.
I patted Pezar’s neck and swung into the saddle. “Just a bit longer, boy.” Thank Lord of Nature for that. Our mounts were worn near death.
My palms were clammy as we cantered into the outskirts of Ghanz. We’d decided against any attempt at concealment; we were Norls riding home. But as we neared the palace, well after twelfth hour, I was glad of the dark that masked us.
Groenfil’s men led their mounts into a farmer’s field, as we’d arranged.
Danzik beckoned. “Hurry now.” On foot, he led the few of us—Anavar, Genard, Kadar, myself, a handful of others—along the rebuilt outer wall. We passed through an unbuilt gap, came after a time to the inner wall. Parts stood strong, other stretches were knocked down in an orgy of reconstruction.
After what seemed like hours, but couldn’t have been long, he pointed. “Hole in wall.” I nodded. “Courtyard. Door in bricks, opens from inside. That path there goes to stables.”
“Right.” I touched fists, in the Norl style.
“Thank you.”
“Salut, Rez.” And he was gone.
Slowly, we worked our way to the courtyard.
“No guards, sir!” Anavar reached over the half-finished wall. In his eyes, the fierce joy of a warrior. He hauled Genard over the broken stones to the level ground above, then the two reached down to aid my climb. Immediately, Genard hoisted his spiked club.
I’d insisted on leading our squadron, despite all objections. This was my last cast of the bones; I’d have revenge, or death. We were few, but we need be few, else we’d be seen flitting in the shadows.
To the distant clash of arms—Groenfil, hurling himself against the palace gates—we padded across the marble terrace. Columns of white stone glistened in the moonlight. We made for the wooden door beyond. Genard gripped his spiked club as if to throttle it. I shifted my sword from hand to hand, not daring to sheath it.
.Abruptly, from within, the thud of running feet Genard darted to the shadow of the palace wall. The door crashed open, knocking Anavar, behind it, to the deck. A dozen armed figures poured into the courtyard. “Ahia, ib Rez!” This way, my King.
Genard swung his club with all his might. A crack. A gush of blood. A Norlander went down, clutching his ruined leg. Our half dozen guardsmen leaped to the attack, but Hriskil’s soldiers recovered quickly; in moments three of our men were rolling on the terrace, clutching wounds. I lunged with my sword, caught a courtier in the chest. Genard’s club whirled anew. I spun about, blooded another guard.
Anavar leaped to his feet, brandishing his sword. A guard loomed. The boy ducked one blow, skittered back, evading another. Then, his shield set, he traded ferocious blows with the taller Norl.
Shrieking like a maddened brute, Genard lay about him with his wicked club. It tore flesh wherever it touched.
A helmeted figure lunged, his sword gleaming. Desperately, I twisted clear. Curses. A face I knew.
Hriskil. Two of his guards urged him to the broken steps.
I smashed the hilt of my sword into a Norlander’s temple, clawed past the falling body, leaped onto the steps. I bared my teeth.
The Norl guards moved, each to a flank. Silent, a demon in the night, Genard raced up behind one, slammed his club between the man’s shoulders. With a grunt, he went down. The embedded spikes tore the club from Genard’s grasp.
Genard bent to retrieve it; a kick from Hriskil sent him flying. He jumped to his feet, stumbled on the bloody terrace.
I lunged with my sword, used the instant it brought me to draw my dagger. Kadar slipped on blood and crashed to the flagstones. As the guardsman raised his broadsword to finish him, I hurled the blade with all my might. It buried itself in the guard’s chest. Coughing, he fell atop Kadar and was still.
Across the courtyard the remaining two guards drove Anavar into a corner. Frantically, he lunged and parried. Behind them, a lithe figure leaped on a guard’s shoulders, wrapped itself around him, bit down on his neck. The man shrieked. He cavorted in desperate agony. Genard held on, remorseless.
Hriskil gripped his sword. His eyes never left mine. “Kenna vos sa mord.” Better you were dead.
I raised my sword, as if in salute.
Instantly he lashed out, catching the corner of my shield. It tore from my grasp. A stab of pain in my left wrist. Was it broken? No time to know.
We lunged and parried, steel clashing in the night.
In the far corner, a howl of agony. I didn’t dare look.
I drove forward. Catlike, Hriskil jumped back. He trod on a dead guard, stumbled. Violating all my training at arms, I lunged, sword high over my head. The blade sliced down. He raised his sword just in time to parry. My blow shattered his blade.
My sword whirled again. Hriskil skittered aside, jumped to his feet.
I risked a glance. Anavar battled a lone guardsman. Hriskil remained. I. And Genard, scuttling past to retrieve his club.
A gasp. Anavar withdrew his bloody sword. The guard clutched his opened guts. He fell heavily.
Warily, Hriskil retreated.
Genard rushed past, swiping with his club. Hriskil skipped out of the way. Genard took up station at the door to the palace.
Anavar ran to guard the broken wall. “We have him!” His tone was joyous. “Hurry, my lord!”
Hriskil threw himself at a fallen guard, tugged at his sword. I bore down; he retreated without the weapon.
The Norland king spun to the door. Genard raised his club. Hriskil hurled the remnant of his broken sword; it slashed Genard’s calf. The boy yelped but held his ground. “Kill ’im, Roddy!”
Hriskil strode to the wall, and Anavar. I followed, girding myself to stab him through.
Hriskil ducked, scooped up a jagged stone. He whirled. I threw up my shield.
He spun again, hurled the rock with all his might. It caught Anavar full in the forehead. The boy toppled without a sound. His sword clattered.
Hriskil lunged at it. I stamped on the sword. The point of my blade hovered at his throat. Slowly, I backed him to the cold marble wall.
“Kill ’im, Roddy!” Genard danced, heedless of the blood trickling down his leg. “Do it, King!”
Hriskil’s eyes met mine, unafraid.
“Tura pare,” I said in his savage tongue. Face the wall. My razor-sharp steel caressed his jugular.
Almost with contempt, he did so.
“Genard, bind him.”
The boy hobbled over, glanced about, unknotted his coin purse, tore loose the leather thong. While the edge of my sword wavered not an iota, he bound Hriskil’s wrists behind him.
I wrapped Genard’s fingers around the hilt of my sword. “Kill him if there’s need.”
I ran to Anavar’s still form.
Some time later, we met in the deserted throne room of Ghanz: Genard, my erstwhile bodyguard Kadar, the earl of Groenfil, and me. Genard’s leg was bound, and he walked with a grimace, but his wound wasn’t deep.
They’d carried Anavar to a cushioned chair and laid him across it.
His forehead had bled, but dried. He breathed slowly, steadily, shallowly. We pressed cool compress on the angry lump over his eyes. He did not stir.
Hriskil was held by two of my guards, with drawn blades. He ignored them, but his eyes darted back and forth ceaselessly, as if he awaited rescue.
Within an hour of his capture the remains of his force had melted into the hills. Some half of the populace of Ghanz was doing likewise. Groenfil, by common consent, assumed command of the city, and slowly brought the palace to life. Servants were found, ordered to provide food and drink. Groenfil’s men established a guard over the open places and made the palace ours.
I wrote to Rustin, and to Tresa, exulting in our good fortune.
Then I slept.
I unearthed the White Fruit of Chorr, summoned Hriskil. Shackled, he stood defiant before me.
“Swallow this, lord King, or be executed.” For what he’d done to Genard, would have done to Elryc, he deserved no less.
“Mordre ot, si careth.” Kill me, if you will.
I had him led away.
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 61
