Sip by sip Elryc consumed the tea, gagging, fighting for breath. “Let me lie.”
Hester shook him. “Later. Drink.”
When he was done the Ritemaster brewed another batch. “Enough of this, and you’ll piss like a horse. Your breath will clear.”
I waited for a miracle, saw none. Elryc lay gasping, his face a sickly white. I snarled, “The man’s a fraud.”
“Give it time.” Rustin.
“Put more tea in him.” The Ritemaster.
I growled, “You’ve only made him worse. He barely breathes.”
“Nurse-” Rust guided me to the door. “Call us if-if there’s need.”
Downstairs, we waited at a table near the hearth. Rustin stared at the table. My mouth watered for a midday meal, but we ordered only wine. Mostly we sat in silence, sometimes we spoke.
From time to time Genard brought down a report. Elryc passed water, slept. He took more tea. His fever rose. I steadily drank my wine. Rustin seemed disgusted when I ordered more, and said he wouldn’t pay for it. Again Elryc slept. I absorbed the bulletins until my own breath came short, and the room drifted to and fro. Elryc woke, took more of the tea.
A hand on my shoulder roused me. I lifted my head from the table. Genard, in a clean well-made shirt that could not have been his. “He lives! The fever’s broke!”
“Good.” I lay down my head, fell back to sleep.
Late in the afternoon, I roused myself to a general air of disfavor. Chela sniffed, turned away with head high. Genard’s glance held active hostility; Fostrow merely looked sad and shook his head.
I begged a flagon of water, finished it in one breath, and trudged to Hester’s room. The old lady was sound asleep at the table. I tiptoed to the bed.
Elryc woke at my step. His face was wan, but his breath came more easily. “Roddy.”
“Shhh.” I sat, shifted the straw under the coarse blanket.
“I feel better.” He cuddled my hand. “Never will I forget how you sat with me, told me truth while others lied.”
I puzzled, tried to remember. “I said we feared for your life.”
“I needed to know.” He yawned. “Roddy, I’ve been thinking. We must raise a force. We won’t be treated seriously without men-at-arms.”
“We?” My eyebrow raised. “Are you to be King too?”
A silence, while he studied me. “You didn’t mean you’d share the kingdom, that I was to be Duke of Stryx?”
Careful, now. He could be made a potent enemy, forever. I said, “Of course I meant it, but you’re only eleven. That’s all in future. For now, you’ll go with Hester.”
His look was one of wonder rather than hurt. “You lie, and risk the True?”
“It wasn’t a lie when I-No! Besides, the True can’t apply to idle-I mean, of course I meant-”
“Let me sleep.” He turned his back to me.
“Elryc, listen.”
“Go away!” His voice was louder, and would wake Hester, and the madwoman would rage at me. I beat a sullen retreat.
I sought the privacy of my room, found the door barred. Rustin? I banged. Had he taken that slut Chela inside, for a bit of sport? Let him find his own chamber.
The door swung open. A swarthy fellow, with the look of a teamster. “Get thee gone!”
“This is my room!”
“Two of my pence say not, and so does the innkeeper. I’ve a wagon to load tonight, and would sleep!”
I twisted past. “You can’t take-”
He collared me, slammed me against the wall, whirled me breathless to face the door. “My room, you sot! Out!” A mighty kick to my rump propelled me into the hall, bounced me off the wall opposite. I slid to the floor, my tailbone numb. Behind me, the door slammed.
I lay stunned, fighting tears, losing my battle. At length I limped down to the crowded dinner room. Rustin was nowhere in sight.
Fostrow sat at a side table, sopping bean soup with a great chunk of bread. “What hails, my lord?”
Cautiously, I sat, my buttocks throbbing. “What happened to my room?” My voice was small.
“Dame Hester found you snoring at the table. She remarked she had no coin to waste on extravagance.”
“But Rust was the one who paid-” I blushed.
“Rustin was here, and didn’t object.” He eyed me as if a curious specimen. “Youngsire, it’s not a good idea to guzzle jugs of strong-”
“Stuff it in your saddlebag!” After a moment I spoke more softly, to soothe the pounding of my temple. “Where are my clothes?”
“I have them. You share with me and Genard or, I suppose, Lord Rustin and his lady.”
“Lady!” I snorted. I’d sleep with the stableboy and the soldier, rather than demean myself with her. On the other hand, that would leave Rustin free to fornicate the night through, after having spurned his duty to his liege. I hid a smile of triumph. “I’ll stay with Rustin.” I looked about. “Did Hester deny us to eat, as well?”
“No, she said a good meal might clear your addl-your head.” He fished out a few pence. “Order as you will.”
A good dinner-broiled trout, new potatoes, corn sopped in butter, fresh hot bread-did much to restore my spirits, even though I watered my wine well to keep my head from exploding. After, I bid Fostrow good day with something approaching civility, went upstairs to jolly Elryc out of his sulk.
Hester met me at the door. “He’s asleep.” Her face showed fatigue, but vast relief. “He mends visibly. Perhaps we can leave in the morn.”
“Wonderful.”
“Pah.” In the hall, she shut the door behind her, kept her voice low. “You’re that anxious to see Fort? It’s long enough you’ll tarry, once we’ve arrived.”
“What does that mean?”
Her eyes narrowed, as if studying a rock. “You have elsewhere to go? War is in the land, your uncle’s under siege, and you threw away your pence. Would you roam with Rustin as a pair of young tinkers? Go to bed.” She slipped inside the door, shut it sharply in my face.
Who was she to order me about? Outside, there was still light. I went downstairs, strode out, nearly collided with Rust.
“Good evening, my prince.” Rust made a mocking bow.
Loud voices. I looked beyond him to the road. Two horsemen, in front of the inn. Townsmen had gathered. “Something’s afoot, Rust.”
Under the innkeeper’s watchful eye a stableboy was transferring a rider’s bags from his tired mare to a fresh gray, while the newcomer paced off the stiffness of his limbs. “I’d stay for your venison stew, Jennison, by the imps’ mist I would. But the news must haste to Lord Cumber.”
“Are you sure, Kariok?”
The man snorted. “It’s not a thing you could mistake. The keep’s fallen!”
I stood dumbstruck.
Rust blanched. “Say you what?”
“Tantroth holds the keep! Tell him, Kariok!”
“Aye, it’s true, and no good tidings be it.”
Rust stammered. “This-it cannot be. The keep had food and arms for months, and the walls were-”
“Walls do no good, undefended. The traitor Llewelyn dines in Tantroth’s tent this very day. He and his bitch-”
With a roar Rustin launched himself at the man’s throat. As they tumbled in the mud I leaped just in time to wrest the dagger from Rust’s hand, before he commit murder and be hanged.
“You lie! Llewelyn holds for the crown!”
“Jennison, Styrer, pull this madman off me!” Cursing, the messenger struggled free. Rustin flailed at his subduers, was dragged to his feet and pinioned, shouting his impotent fury.
Kariok’s face was red. “Coward, that you attack without warning!” Before any could react he lunged, slammed his fist into Rustin’s belly, and again. Panting, he drew back, while Rustin, retching, tried to double over. Vomit trickled down his shirt.
“Peasant dog!” Kariok brushed himself off. “Last day the keep was opened, while still the sky held light. I myself was among the guar
d Duke Mar posted on the hill! Llewelyn rode forth, acknowledged Tantroth of Eiber, went with him as his guest. Eiber mans the keep, and will have it for winter quarters. By Lord of Nature, I’ll teach this lout.” His hand shot to his dagger. “Hold him, Styrer. I’ll have his ears for remembrance!”
I stepped between him and his prey. “Pass me first.” My legs were unsteady. Why in Lord’s sake hadn’t I brought my sword?
“Out of my way!” He made as if to lunge.
“My friend meant no harm. He knew the keep well, and holds strong for Caledon. Forgive him.” Reluctantly, my hand went to my dagger.
“I’ll sew your ears to my belt next to his!” His hand came forward, and he took the fighter’s crouch.
Jennison the innkeeper surged his bulk forward, words gushing to quench the flames. “Now, now, my lords, gentlemen, soldiers, youngsire, look you, Kariok, you’ve had your revenge, the boy can’t stand unaided. No one doubts your word. Styrer, let go, there’s a good fellow. Cumber will wait while you two have had a good dinner, no? Smell the slices of roast boar I’ll bring …”
From somewhere, Genard materialized. He and the inn’s boy led Rustin away, while Jennison interposed himself between them and Kariok, who still smoldered.
I backed away, never once turning my back to the messenger, or lifting my hand from my dagger. At last inside, I turned, raced up the stairs.
Rust lay groaning across our bed, clutching his midriff. “Lying son of demons! Motherless spawn of the deepest lake …”
“Out.” I thumbed Jennison’s boy to the door, lowered the bar.
“Go!” Rustin’s tongue was thick. “Get their story, before they leave.” He moaned. “Oh, that hurt. Please, Roddy. Find out whence this foolish tale.”
“I’ll stay with him, m’lord,” said Genard.
I was reluctant, but Rust’s need was greater for knowledge than comfort. I slipped downstairs into the public room, where all were agog with the news. Kariok’s companion, Styrer, eyed me cautiously, but, palms outward, I made a gesture of peace, and he let me be.
The sordid tale unfolded. Eiber’s catapults had been strung, stones gathered, siege engines readied in two days of strenuous effort. I frowned at the hearing; decent war was fought at a more leisurely pace. When Mother’s army had subdued the rebellion at Soushire, a full fortnight had passed between surrounding the walls and readying the instruments of siege. It gave a gentleman time to reflect on the nobility of his doings. I sighed. One could hardly accuse old Tantroth, the black warrior, of being a gentleman.
Hardly a few arrows had flown, save those the guards on the walls and Tantroth’s men had unleashed at each other for sport, when Eiber’s envoys had ridden to the south gate, under flag of parlay. Instead of curt refusal, Llewelyn had allowed him entry, and they spoke into the night.
The next day, all was calm. Despite his apparent readiness, Tantroth attacked not. In afternoon, he sent another envoy. Before the sun set, Llewelyn himself had ordered the gates swung ajar.
There was no slaughter.
Llewelyn and Joenne rode at the head of an honor guard, flags flying, to Tantroth’s tent. Tantroth himself greeted them publicly, and embraced them.
Uncle Mar watched brooding from the towers, and no doubt sent messengers to Verein and to Cumber. This was wise; soon Tantroth’s troop would climb the hill unimpeded, and invest the castle. I supposed the two guardsmen at our inn had gone as we had, by way of Besiegers’ Pond.
Upstairs, I reported as much to Rustin.
He lay curled on the bed, his face anguished. “But why, Roddy? How could he?”
“I don’t know.” I forbore to say more. Llewelyn’s life was forfeit, of course. Perhaps Tantroth would let him live, though if he was cunning he would wait, and later, quietly, put an end to him. A man who betrays you once will do it again. Should Uncle Mar prevail, Llewelyn would lose his head as a matter of course. I hoped he’d do it before I came to power, to save me the trouble.
A long silence. “Leave me alone awhile.”
“You needn’t-”
“I beg you!” His voice caught. “You too, Genard.”
Saddened, I went downstairs, settled at Fostrow’s table, watched him placidly eat his dinner. The soldier asked, “What of your friend?” He poured me a mug of mulled wine.
“He sulks in his room.”
“Ah, laddie, you’re a harsh one.” He gnawed at a bone.
“Llewelyn betrayed us all.” I toyed with my wine. “Thanks to him I may never don my crown. I feel sorry for Rustin, but he should realize-”
Fostrow leaned forward, made an apologetic gesture. “Do you know compassion?”
“Oh, leave it.” I broke off a piece of Fostrow’s bread. “He’ll get over it. Besides, I never told him I blamed-”
“Well, it’s good you don’t feel ill toward him. After all, your own father was a vile traitor.”
The bread fell from my hand. My eyes widened. “How dare-damn you for a churl!” I leaped to my feet. “You’ll die tonight! Come, have at me!” My dagger glinted.
“See?” he said reasonably. “It’s not an easy thing to bear. When Rustin-”
“Take it back, or I’ll slice you where you sit!”
“Of course I take it back, it isn’t true. Sit, calm yourself.”
“You call my father traitor, and think I’d sit-faugh! It’s a lie!”
“Didn’t I just say so? It was by way of example.”
“What do you mean, example? My father betrayed no one!” My fist wavered; in frustration I slammed the dagger into the plank table. “No one!”
“I was showing how you’d feel-”
“I know how I feel to hear your lies! How could you say such a thing? He was beloved of my mother the Queen, and died respected by all.” I was trembling.
“Yes, youngsire. Sit.” He ushered me to my chair. The blade quivered next to my mug. “It’s how Rustin feels, you see.”
“What?” I worked loose the blade. “But Llewelyn is a traitor. There’s no reason for Rust to get so-”
“Llewelyn’s his father.”
“I know that; think you I’m a dunce?” I found my bread, bit off a savage chunk. What had come over Fostrow, making such a claim? Llewelyn would die, by Tantroth’s hand or our own. Did Fostrow think I’d show mercy, by playing tricks on my wits? Wait ’til I told Rustin how little more than a word drove me to-
Rustin already knew.
I swallowed. Fostrow’s foolery aside, Rustin had no right to feel wounded. What he should feel was shame, remorse. He’d expressed no such to me. Had my father betrayed us, I’d curse his name, revile his memory, spit on his-
I’d love him.
Subdued, I swallowed my bread. If it had a taste, I knew not.
Rust was deep wounded.
Perhaps I could explain, help him in some way. I pushed back my chair. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Be kind to him, laddie.” Fostrow’s look was almost approving.
I knocked on our door. No answer. “Rust?” I waited. “Let me in.”
Could he have gone out? I hadn’t noticed him come downstairs. I tried the door; it was barred. Someone had to be inside, unless he’d crawled out the window.
From inside, a scrape. Then silence.
Ah, well. If he wanted to sulk, I’d see him after. I started down to the public room. No need to make a fool of myself, begging at his door.
I slowed. What difference did it make what these rustics thought? I was Prince of Caledon, and could do as I wished. Who was Rustin, for that matter, to deny me entry? I’d had enough of his sullenness; if he was upset, he could by Lord of Nature tell me why. I went back to the door, banged hard. “Rust, open!”
No answer. Relief was what I felt, instead of anger. I’d half expected him to come charging into the hall, pummel me for disturbing his pout.
I knocked once more, felt the unyielding handle. It was unlike Rust to let me bother him so, without response. I pushed harder, got nowhere.
I stepped back, gave the door a kick, then another. Harder and harder I kicked.
“Boy, leave my door be!” Jennison, below. “If he’s inside, he’ll be out when-”
My boot smashed against the bar, until at last the door splintered, gave way an inch. In a frenzy, I struck again. The panel sagged, fell away. I reached through, lifted the bar, rammed open the shattered door.
Rust hung in the center of the room, from a beam, eyes open, face empurpled. His feet twitched. One hand was at this side, the other clawed at the knot around his neck.
With a cry I dashed forward, stumbled over the chair he’d kicked aside, got under him, threw my arms around his waist, heaved upward. He was impossibly heavy, and did nothing to assist.
“Someone, help!” My voice was muffled by his breeks. I tossed my head, yelled louder. “Genard! Fostrow! Innkeeper!”
Thudding feet. “Oh, Lord!” We swayed, as someone put his shoulder to my burden.
Rust’s foot lashed out, caught me in the stomach. “Get him down, quick!”
“A knife!”
I daren’t let go. “In my belt!” A hand reached for my dagger, and suddenly Rust weighed twice as much as before. We tumbled to the floor.
Fostrow and the innkeeper sorted themselves out, attacked the knot. They couldn’t cut it without slashing Rust’s throat; instead they fiddled for maddening moments until it came loose.
I heaved Rust over onto his back. “Does he breathe?”
As if in answer Rustin’s mouth opened wide. He took in a swallow, wheezing breath, gasped it out. His eyes bulged.
“Breathe!” Desperate, I massaged his throat. It might have helped; perhaps nature reasserted herself on her own. He gasped, coughed, wheezed, began to breathe more normally. Slowly, his face lost its unhealthy hue.
Babbling voices, over our heads. Someone wanted to throw water, others to light a fire. Someone suggested leeches. Fostrow, with genial patience, shooed them all out until the room was quieted. We helped Rust to the bed.
“You should … have let me … die.” His voice was no more than a croak.
“Never.” I massaged his hand, as if it were cold.
His free hand went to his throat, where rope burns would show a long while. “It hurts.”
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