The Still

by David Feintuch

  Anavar’s head came up. “You’ve but to ask, Prince Rodrigo.”

  “There.” I turned to Rust “Now Vessa’s found.”

  “And if he’s truly in the keep?”

  “We’ll pry him loose. How can we fail, with you to guide—what’s the matter?”

  “Why nothing.” Rust’s voice was hoarse.

  “The keep’s but a stronghold. You’d fight Eiber in the hills, would you not? In the streets of Stryx town? Then why trouble yourself—oh!” My sense returned at last.

  “You understand?” His tone was low.

  “Llewelyn your father. He may abide in the keep.”

  “Shall I kill him for your crown, Roddy?”

  “No, I—”

  “Or rather for his treason?”

  Tursel stirred uncomfortably.

  “Out, Anavar. You too, Captain.”

  None were left but Elryc, Rustin, and I.

  “Let it not trouble you,” said Rust. He rubbed his brow, as if weary. “It were best long since done.”

  Elryc said uncertainly. “Roddy?”

  “I know. Leave us. Tell Tursel to choose his best men. We ride before dawn. Have us awakened.”

  When we were alone, I went to Rust’s bench, lifted his chin. “You’ll kill me before you lift hand to your father. Swear to it.”

  “He’s destroyed my honor. And his own. Mother’s ...”

  “Your oath.” Stern in gesture and voice, I made him give it. When we were done I urged, “Come to bed. We’ve little enough time ’til morn.”

  “I’ll walk, I think.” He rose.

  “Help me with my thongs.” I took his hands, put them to my jerkin. Mechanically, he did as I asked.

  “I’m all right, Roddy. Let me go.” He took his cloak.

  If one thing was certain this night, it was that Rust must not walk alone.

  I knew but one way to stop him. I quelled my distaste; he had done too much to redeem me. Quickly I shucked my clothes, padded across the tent, stood blushing before him.

  We rode proudly, three abreast, Anavar, Rustin, and I. Tursel and Fostrow rode just behind. The promise of day lurked over the hills, and I felt every nerve tingle. Rust had kept me from sleep almost until Tursel’s call. I leaned across, tweaked him in the ribs. “This is our moment, Rust. I feel it.”

  His smile was wan. “I’m glad, my prince.” Since last night, his sadness had never vanished. Even in the throes of ...” hastily, I turned my thoughts.

  We were some two score horsemen, on the strongest and best rested of our mounts. We all wore swords, and many bore javelins as well. Not for the first time, I wished some clever horseman had solved the problem of carrying a long sword while mounted. A saddle sheath rubbed one’s leg incessantly, and an ordinary hip sheath could chafe a steed’s side with every step. And little was more laughable than a sword-armed man trying to mount.

  We clattered down the trail. We were nowhere near the Verein crossroads, where the route widened to a respectable road. By carefully pacing our horses we might just reach Stryx before dusk. I dared not spend the night between the cross and the city, lest Uncle Mar block my retreat. No, we’d have to sweep into Stryx from the south, ride the coast road through the market, past the wine shops to the keep.

  At noon we left the road to water the horses, and stretch our aching legs. By now we were mostly silent, each with visions of the grim work ahead. My mouth went dry every time I thought of Vessa’s dwelling, and the thongs that had bound my wrists.

  Yet my own mood seemed lighthearted compared to some of our men. As we remounted, I called them near. “Some of you ride for me, others from loyalty to Captain Tursel. Regardless, to each of you, a month’s pay doubled, for riding this day.”

  That, more than any noble words I could speak, brought a cheer. And I suspected fantasies of gold would sustain them through the long day’s ride. These men had little enough to cheer them; far from home, dependent on a rebel prince’s meager purse. Were Uncle Mar to capture them, or Tantroth or Eiber, they faced a bad end.

  Afterward, I occupied my afternoon wondering how to pay them. I’d sell my diadem, if I must, and judge cheap the cost.

  As we neared, Tursel sent scouts to probe the crossroads, and as I’d predicted it was unmanned. Its only value to Uncle Mar was when it barred my way, with Treak the other jaw of the trap.

  The cross safe behind us, we hurried on. Seasand Road crept out of the hills toward the rocky shore, a longish canter south of Stryx.

  At third hour, or thereabouts, I embraced Anavar, bid him race ahead and prowl the city to learn what he could. “Take care,” I said yet again. “If the guards we fought recognize you—”

  “I know.” He put a hand on the pommel, to mount. “But there are many young aides in Tantroth’s troop. Some say we’re all alike.”

  “I’d go myself, except I couldn’t manage your barbarian accent.”

  “You mean our civilized manners.” A quick smile. “Forgive me. Father says offering a jest to one’s elders is like proffering garlic stew to a duchess. Even if she’s hungry she won’t thank you for it after.”

  “Anavar, our lives are in your hands.”

  “You honor me. And later, perhaps ...” He spurred his mount. “You’ll see your way to raise my stipend.” And he was off before I could object.

  I grumbled to Rust, “Is this what it’s like to have a child?”

  For a moment his eyes danced. “Oh, no. Much worse.”

  The closer to Stryx, the more chance we’d blunder across an Eiberian patrol. We no longer rode alone; we trotted past peasant carts and mule-driving merchants. If some gaped at our passing, we gave no notice. We wore our black cloaks now, to look as like men of Eiber as we could. We’d cantered past a guard post with an exchange of waves.

  The afternoon was late, but still short of evening, when we trotted off the coast road to the ruins of a wharf and a warehouse that high seas had destroyed. Waiting among the broken walls was Anavar, just where I’d bidden.

  “Hail, Prince.” He stood straight in his saddle. His cheek bore a bruise, between eye and ear. “Vessa lives.” He giggled. “We were at a tavern. I bought drinks, and had to join in downing them.”

  “Anavar!”

  “Else I’d raise suspicion.” He made himself serious. “What was I saying? Vessa faces execution, but no one knows when. Our lord Tantroth hasn’t decided. Probably at a festival.”

  “Where is Vessa?”

  He belched. “Who knows? Father says when you can’t find your road, follow hill or dale until—”

  Rustin gripped my knee before I could erupt. He slipped from the saddle, clapped his arm amiably around Anavar’s shoulder, led him along the path behind a wall.

  I fumed. See what came of setting a boy to a man’s work? Strong liquor was a menace. Once, when we’d slipped out of the castle, Rust had to hold me while I heaved my innards into the sea. I was no younger than Anavar, not much younger than I was now—imps and demons! Was I boy or man?

  Soon, though it seemed long, they reappeared. Rustin shrugged quizzically. “Anavar doesn’t know because the soldiers weren’t sure. He thinks the Speaker’s in the keep. He’s been at the keep, our Anavar has.” His tone was brittle.

  “And?”

  “Full of Tantroth’s men, but no special guard. The town is theirs, you’ll recall.”

  “Rust, you’ll wait here.”

  “And the gates at Castle Way are open. Though it takes no more than a moment to swing them shut. As they will if a band of horsemen charges down the coast road.”

  “You’ll stay behind with Anavar and three others in case—”

  “And miss my Rodrigo leading us in battle? No.”

  “Rustin, I won’t have you contend with Llewelyn!”

  “Why, my lord Prince!” His eyes were bright, almost feverish. “We’re already adversaries. I’m loyal to Caledon, and he is not.”

  That decided me. “You’ll remain.”

  “N
o.” He drew himself up. “I’m not subject to your dominion.”

  I was desperate. “Fostrow, Tursel! Seize him. Bind his hands if you must!”

  Rust’s sword glinted in the late day’s sun. “Who seizes me dies!” Behind him, Anavar gaped.

  “Hold! Fostrow, back.” I swung down from my saddle. Sword still in scabbard, I came close. “Strike me, if you will.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Of course.”

  “Yet I’ll break your arm if you move to disarm me.”

  “Come.” I led him, protesting, away from the uneasy troop.

  A few paces away, where foam crashed into the mossy remains of a jetty, I let go his arm. “Rustin ...”

  “I’ll fight for you, Roddy.” His tone had a manic gaiety. “Honor demands no less. Don’t ask.”

  “Rust, I’m not man yet.” My voice caught. “I need you. I need you sane.”

  He thrust me away, mouth set. I stared full into his face.

  At length he approached, slipped sword in sheath. “Roddy?” Briefly, his fingers brushed my damp curls. Then, for the second time in our lives, his head stooped to my shoulder, and he wept.

  Seven went ahead, Fostrow among them. Concealing their swords in packs and cloaks, they trudged wearily toward Llewelyn’s keep, as if returning from patrol. One youth hid a bow, and a pitch-dipped arrow.

  The dust of forty horsemen would raise alarm, especially if no patrol of that number had been sent our way. It was our forerunners’ task to hold open the gates to the keep. A flaming arrow into the dusk was to be our signal.

  We waited in the ruins with growing unease. Rust would ride with us; I could not prevent it. But he’d sworn on his very soul to turn away from Llewelyn, should they meet. As for Anavar, I bade him return to our force in the hills, to avoid war with his own.

  “Sir, I’ll raise my sword only to protect you, as we enjoined. Let me do that much.”

  “No, I won’t have you consumed with guilt. And besides, you’re drunk.”

  He flushed. “It passes.”

  “I won’t—”

  He shouted, “Let me choose my fate!”

  My mouth opened, and shut. “Done,” I grated. “But hope I’m taken, else in camp I’ll take leather to you for insolence.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Be silent, youngsire.”

  Tursel’s fingers nervously traced the hilt of his sword. “I don’t know the town as well as you. How soon ’til our men are in place?”

  “A few moments. When the arrow flies, ride as if demons pursue us.”

  “Aye. Our men can’t hold the gate long.”

  I tried to quell my unease. What if Tantroth strengthened the evening guard? What if Mar divined my plan, sent word ahead to trap me? The worst fate I could imagine was to fall in my uncle’s hands.

  What if the arrow wouldn’t light?

  “Remember, men.” Perhaps Tursel spoke also to me. “We seek only Vessa. No time for looting, or hunting those who’d run. No doubt the old man’s in a safe room.”

  “On the first floor, I’d wager,” Rust added. “Behind the family quarters, west of the kitchen ...”

  Anavar tapped my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lord Prince.”

  “You’ll still be beaten.”

  “If ... I fall, I wanted you to know.”

  I looked away, ashamed.

  “Look!”

  A fiery trail gleamed bright in the dusk.

  “Together, for Caledon!” I lashed Ebon’s flank.

  We charged down the cobbled road, scattering townswomen with baskets, tradesmen closing their shops. Rustin drew sword, kept pace at my left.

  The coast road wasn’t all that wide. As we passed, a few folk pressed themselves into doorways, or jumped into reeking ditches to avoid our hooves. I glanced rightward. Behind the narrow streets of Stryx loomed our castle. Ahead, the massive keep. To the left, the sea crashed against the break.

  We burst past Fullers’ Inn, where Rust and I had oft taken drink. Then, along the shore, a familiar stone hut. “Look, Rust! Need another sword?” Months or days ago, when I was a foolish youth, Rust and I had visited the sword-smith. His burly young prentice gaped as we raced past.

  The squared walls of the keep loomed. Over the thunder of hooves I caught shouts, cries of pain. I whirled my blade, “For Caledon!”

  “For Rodrigo!”

  A dozen guards struggled to swing shut the sturdy gates. Three barred their way. I dug my heels into Ebon. Behind me, riders leveled their spears. The cobbles flashed past.

  A shield rose to obstruct me, a sword poised behind. I slashed down with all my might. The shield dropped, an arm with it. I closed my ears to an agonized scream.

  Ebon snorted, rearing to strike.

  Our column thundered past the gates. “To the villa!” Rustin’s call penetrated the clamor.

  Behind me, at the gate, Fostrow hacked at a desperate defender, sweat dripping from his brow. Blood drenched his jerkin. “Did you walk to join us, my lord? A pleasant stroll?”

  I hauled on the reins. Ebon roared, crashed into the Eiberian’s ribs. The man dropped without a sound.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Fostrow panted. “But we’ve four dead.”

  “More, by now.” I peered into the setting sun’s haze. “Where’s Rustin?”

  “Stay with him, or with me!”

  Shouts from above. A squad of Eiberians raced along the lower rampart. I cursed. As they hurtled down the stairs I cantered alongside, sword raised high. I caught one man in the chest, another in the leg. I slammed my sword hilt into a frantic face, watched the soldier topple. Then the rest of the squad was upon us. Fostrow and I fell back to the courtyard where our men formed a shield around the entry to the villa.

  “Where’s Rust?”

  “Inside!”

  I slipped off Ebon and raced to the door where once we’d greeted Lady Joenne. Within was carnage. Bowls of stew lay overturned on a table drenched with blood. A guard lay wailing, cradling his innards. Bodies lay about. Some still twitched.

  I glanced outside. Our men braced as troops in black fell upon them from both sides.

  In the next room, shouting.

  A slim form hurtled past; Anavar planted himself in front of me, sword drawn. I thrust him aside, plunged into the chamber. Rustin was nowhere to be seen. Men of Eiber retreated through a far door. I glanced about. Where was the kitchen passage?

  The last Eiberians retreated to the far doorway. A bearded face I thought I recognized. Eyes that met mine, turned away quickly. Was it Llewelyn?

  From a hall, Rustin appeared. “This way! Move!”

  I tore after him, Anavar at my heels. In near dark I tripped, went sprawling. “Ow!”

  Something sharp jabbed my side.

  As one, Rust and Anavar hauled me to my feet. I stepped across the body I’d stumbled over, peered into the room.

  An Eiberian guard slumped on a stool, a knife in his chest. He stared dully as blood trickled. Behind him, a henchman lay unmoving. Vessa cowered against the far wall.

  I stood straighter. “Come with us, Speaker.”

  “I couldn’t support you—Tantroth had the city. I had no escape—please don’t kill me!”

  “Come quickly, if you want to live.”

  The old man tottered to his feet.

  Hand pressed to my side, I ran through the passage, leaping over the Eiberian corpse. “Tursel, we have him! Sound the call!” Behind me, Rust and Anavar guided the Speaker. I raced to the front of the villa, plunged into the dusk. “Tursel!”

  “He’s rallying the guard.” Fostrow limped slowly to the entry, breathing hard. His leg was bloody.

  “Ebon!” I whistled shrilly. As I knew he would, he cantered to me. I swung into the saddle, wheeled to the courtyard.

  Tursel loomed in the deepening dusk. “Everyone out! We’ll charge the far gate, where they least expect it!” The north gate, from which Rust and I had escaped to the hill
s when Tantroth besieged the keep. Now, Eiber’s ships lined the shore. We’d have to ride gauntlet. No matter.

  We milled about the courtyard as arrows streaked from above, fired by Tantroth’s folk on the ramparts. I shouted, “Caledon, ride!”

  Fewer than twenty, we surged toward the north gate. “Rust! Anavar!” I searched our ranks. Both were among us. Old Vessa gripped a stallion’s mane.

  Anavar’s sword was red, and his eyes wild. I snapped, “Stay with Fostrow, he’ll guard you.”

  “I’m man enough—where is he?”

  I stood in the stirrups. Ahead, our men clashed with the gatesmen. “Fostrow!” Cursing, I swung Ebon, cantered back toward the villa.

  He sat on the entry stairs.

  “Where’s your horse? Move yourself!”

  Around him, blood pooled. “I can’t, Roddy.” He had his helmet off. “Demons take me, it hurts.” His face was pasty.

  “No!” My cry echoed in the dusk. I slid from the saddle. “Where?”

  “My leg. The tubes are cut.”

  “Bind it!”

  “It’s past that. Go.”

  “Not while you live.” I wheeled. “RUST!”

  “No!” He clutched me. “Damn you, lad, run!”

  “Not without you.” I sank to his side.

  With a weary groan, Fostrow leaned his grizzled head against mine. “Don’t you understand? That’s what we’re for.”

  “Roddy!” Rust galloped across the courtyard. “Out! Right now!”

  “I’m ... tired.” With an effort, the old guardsman focused on my face. “That’s what we do, we soldiers. We give lives for our lords. Doesn’t seem fair, sometimes.”

  I could have wept, and hated that which stopped me. “I’ll bind you. We’ll find a horse.”

  “Need to lie down.” It was a mumble. Fostrow let himself sink to the planks; I barely stopped his head from bumping. “Listen to ... your mother, boy. She’s a ... good queen. Even Mar says so.”

  “Yes, Fostrow.”

  “Now, Roddy!” Forceful hands hauled me away.

  I shook free. “Don’t die! I’ll take you—”

  A clatter of hooves, as black horsemen swept across the courtyard.

  “It’s wars kill us, son.”

  My hand swept Fostrow’s sweaty brow.