The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 16

  “Guard him well.” Raeth need not worry; Danzik was chained to a wagon, with three ever-present guards.

  My tent spoke loudly of Rustin, but I was so weary I pretended not to notice. Tanner helped me ease off my boots. I thrust off my clothes. He stood by with towels while I lowered myself into the cramped wrought-copper tub. The water was tepid.

  After, I shivered but felt better for the cleansing. I doused my candles and drifted into sleep.

  Deep in the night I stirred, dreaming of the hunt. Horns blared, beaters shouted. Rust and I raced through the wood, spears poised. A sudden crashing in the brush ...

  The flap burst open. “Arm yourself, my lord!” Kadar, chief of my bodyguards. His garb was disheveled. “Horsemen in the night!” Trumpets bellowed a warning.

  I leapt from my bed, grabbed sword and shield. “Who? Where?”

  “South of camp. Stay among us.” A half-dozen men enclosed me within a bristling spear-wall. The camp was a blaze of lights as sleepy men roused themselves.

  I caught sight of a familiar figure. “Uncle Raeth, what’s—”

  “I don’t know. They seldom raid at night, but ...” He dived into the commotion.

  Moments later Captain Tursel spotted us, flung himself from his horse. “My lord, king, it’s Tantroth. He slipped through the Norland lines.”

  “Alone?”

  “Twenty horsemen. They rode up to our scouts as bold as ...” Tursel shook his head.

  “His army isn’t poised to strike?”

  “Twenty horse, that’s all. His royal guard.”

  “Bid them welcome.” I lowered my shield. “Tanner, my tunic, and be quick.” I hesitated. “And my coronet, in the chest. It’s wrapped in velvet.”

  In a few moments, the clatter of massed horse. Tantroth made a show of it, as he’d intended from the start. Racing into camp in the earliest hours, his way lit by smoking torches, an army routed out of bed for his welcome. Yes, that was my arrogant sometime vassal.

  We waited for him, Raeth and I, with my nobles attending.

  All the riders were dressed in Eiber black, even the duke. It suited his style.

  Tantroth reined in smartly, and his stallion reared. He swung down. Carefully, he slipped his sword into a saddle-scabbard, handed his dagger to a soldier. He strode toward me, ignoring my bodyguards. They slunk out of the way.

  His hair was grayer, his grizzled face more lined. And he was thinner. A winter fleeing one’s enemies will do that. “My liege.” Dramatically, he sank to one knee.

  Uncle Raeth rolled his eyes.

  “My Duke Tantroth.” I held out a hand; perhaps his lips brushed it. “We bid you welcome.”

  “Yes, and all that.” He rose. “You summoned me?”

  “With your army.”

  “You’ve only to command their presence.”

  I was tired, and not amused. “Very well. Depart, and return with your company.”

  An instant’s hesitation. His smile broadened. “You have me, Roddy. I ask leave to confer.”

  “On how best to reclaim Eiber Castle?”

  His eyes turned serious. “How best to repulse Hriskil and bring peace to your domain.”

  “We’ll speak in the morn.” I glanced at Raeth. “Can you find him a tent?”

  Uncle’s tone was acid. “No doubt there’s room in the alehouse.” He trudged off to make arrangements.

  Eleven

  “JESTREL ASKS A WORD with you,” said Anavar, in my tent. “Tanner, have you no sense? Fold it, that it stay smooth.”

  For a moment I smiled; he sounded so much like Rustin. “The silversmith? Later, perhaps. After my lesson, Tantroth awaits.” I laced my boots. Did war consist of stirring battles, or endless conferences? Every time we moved our men, the arrangements wanted hours of conclave and produced flared tempers, soothing words. I might grow old before our campaign was truly under way.

  “Don’t trust the duke, sir.” Anavar looked apprehensive.

  “At the moment we’re allies.” I clapped Anavar’s shoulder. “As always, keep from his sight.”

  “Aye, sir.” He settled on a stool. “I was at the alehouse...”

  “My stipend put to good use, I see.”

  “The tavernkeeper had a horse. A guest died, leaving it. A stallion.” His boot scuffed the floor.

  “Of course it costs more than your stipend would allow.”

  “Considerably.” His tone was subdued. “But I hoped ...”

  “You can’t judge by a pretty mane, or whether he stamps his hoof. You have to examine the fetlocks, judge his wind, get a look at his teeth ...”

  “Perhaps you’d teach me how.” His voice was eager. “This afternoon.”

  I snorted. “Are all Eiberians so cunning?” I could hardly imagine I’d been so obvious as a boy.

  “Does that mean you’ll go?”

  “I suppose.” I strode out, made my way to the wagons, where Danzik the Norlander sat under guard. I climbed in. “Avit, Danzik. Leste memor.”

  “Avit, Rez.” He stretched prodigiously, settled himself. His eyes were somber. “Regre qa se modre Rustin.”

  “Don’t speak of him! No insults or I’ll have your tongue!”

  Danzik spat. With contempt he said, “ ‘Regre’... ‘sorry’.”

  “Oh.” I put my head in my hands. Then, “Regie, Danzik. Rez Caledi regre ... what I said.”

  “Qa diche.”

  “Qa diche. What I said.”

  Danzik grinned. “Regre qa Hriskil modra rez Caledi.” I’m sorry Hriskil will kill the king of Caledon.

  “Farang vos.” I made a rude gesture.

  Amenities out of the way, we got down to our lesson.

  “Twenty men, with me to lead them.” Tantroth tried to look modest. “But to smuggle my whole force past the Norland army ...”

  Lady Soushire sliced a wedge of goat cheese.

  I said sweetly, “You underrate yourself.”

  Groenfil rolled his eyes.

  “Honeyed words, or truth?” Tantroth’s voice was a growl. “Is all Eiber in Norland hands? No, though Hriskil threw ten times my number against me, and led them himself.”

  “Five,” purred Raeth, “not to denigrate your—”

  “Were it only three, you ought deem it a miracle, you old sybarite!”

  Raeth smiled. “A pity King Freisart’s gone. He’d have cherished your company, now you’re without a duchy.”

  “Enough.” I slammed my fist on the table; it shuddered. “The issue’s how to join our forces.”

  “Which I spoke to,” said Tantroth, “before that senile—”

  “Do you seek my displeasure?”

  After a moment his gaze dropped. “Why, no, Rodrigo.”

  “Then, don’t try me.”

  “See, Imbar, how he puts upstarts in their place?”

  “Nor you, Uncle!” I favored the whole company with a glare.

  “My lords ...” Captain Tursel sounded apologetic, as well he might in such august company. “To what purpose is this speech? Are we to dissolve in acrimony?”

  “From the mouths of underlings, eh, Imbar?” But Uncle Raeth’s eyes were steely. “If I may speak for the king, my lord Duke, will you join us or no?”

  Tantroth ignored Raeth, answered to me instead. “We ought join forces, of course. But pray you, come to me. Combined, we’ve a chance to clear Eiber. That forces Hriskil to withdraw from Cumber. And he’d hardly attack Castle Stryx while—”

  I growled, “If I order your presence?”

  “I’d comply; you’re my liege. But there are grave problems.”

  “I’ve no doubt you can work your way past Hriskil’s forces.”

  “Perhaps. But my soldiers need be paid. Don’t roll your eyes; it’s an issue. I’ve lost the bulk of my revenues. And without pay—”

  “They fight now, do they not?”

  His tone was gentle. “They’re in Eiber, my lord. They fight for their land.”

  Groenfil slammed his fist on t
he table, spilling wine. “Cowardice, that’s what—”

  Tantroth’s hand flew to his empty scabbard.

  “NO!” I shot to my feet. “I won’t have it! Do imps dance in your minds? Can you not see this benefits only Hriskil?”

  Into the silence Elryc spoke calmly. “What would it take, my lord Tantroth, for you to find a way to join us?”

  I stared at my brother, marvelling that he put it so simply, so clearly, when all of us raged like barnyard hounds over a meaty bone.

  From Tantroth, a bow of respect, interrupted by a long hacking cough. When at last he drew breath, his face was red. He groped for his wine, downed it in one swallow. “Perhaps if I might assure my men that once you broke the Norland force, you’d not leave Eiber until the duchy was fully restored to its people ...”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. An offer was on the table. Our work could begin.

  “Colorful is the word you seek.” Tresa perched comfortably on a rock.

  I paced, brooding. “Never forget Tantroth is vicious and cruel. In Stryx he hanged children in the market square.”

  “You can’t hold that against him if—”

  “Can’t I? He nearly seized my kingdom.”

  “—if you’ve made him ally. Did you not decide his sins were forgivable?”

  She was right, of course. I couldn’t remain united with Tantroth while nursing grievances. I had put them aside with his renewed oath of fealty.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t sleep well.” After the commotion of Tantroth’s arrival subsided, I’d lapsed into fitful dreams. And since morn I’d had my lesson, the conference of my nobles, a meet of my council ...

  Tantroth had exacted our commitment to restore him to Eiber Castle and make a strenuous effort to drive the Norlanders from all Eiber. He’d wanted an absolute vow that we’d stay until we succeeded, and I threatened to abdicate before giving it. He ceded the point.

  Only then did he commit to maneuver his force past Hriskil’s army, to our camp.

  “You’re sure you want his forces attached to yours?” Tresa looked doubtful.

  “You think he’ll do mischief?”

  “I’m more worried about Hriskil.”

  “The decision’s made, love—Lady Tresa!” I made a jerky reflexive bow of utter confusion, stumbling over my feet in my haste to put distance between us. “I’m sorry—I must speak with Tursel—good day!” I fled to my tent, barely managing not to stumble.

  No wonder I was confused, drawn into discussing policy with a woman. Of all the presumption! She would overturn all our delicate agreements with her probing questions.

  Even if I wished to alter our plans, time pressed. Tantroth was due to leave when darkness fell. Every rutpath of Eiber was his, he said, and he knew its ways in moonlight or dark.

  A half hour’s pacing my tent brought a semblance of calm. I stepped outside.

  Kadar saluted. “My lord, Duke Tantroth asked your whereabouts.”

  I recoiled. Lord of Nature knew what new concessions he’d demand.

  “My lord?” Jestrel was waiting, his tone diffident. “Might I tempt you with my creations?”

  I tried to hide a grimace. The last thing I wanted was to examine silver gewgaws I couldn’t afford. On the other hand, whatever would keep me from Tantroth’s sight ... “Very well. Bring them.”

  The silversmith looked crestfallen. “They’re laid out in my tent, my lord. It’s not so elegant as yours, but I’ve refreshments set ...”

  Weekly acts of kindness, Rust had said. Obviously Jestrel yearned to entertain a king. For him it would be a stellar occasion, on which to reminisce over winter fires, and would cost me naught. “Very well.”

  My bodyguards trailing, Jestrel led me to a threadbare mauve tent near those of my nobles. It hinted of past grandeur; perhaps it was a gift from his patron Freisart.

  An anxious servant kept watch outside and seemed much relieved when we appeared. I thrust in my head and understood why; costly silver sculptures were spread about on every surface.

  Brusquely, Kadar brushed me aside, peered in, reassuring himself the tent was empty. Jestrel shot me a mute appeal. “Wait outside,” I told the guard gruffly, and followed Jestrel within. With a flourish, the silversmith closed the flap.

  He’d set two goblets on a tray. I frowned, hoping he knew the proper etiquette. The guest must choose his own glass, and the host drink first, to prove neither wine nor glass was poisoned.

  I tried to hide a smile. Jestrel had also found—or hoarded—dried fruits for the occasion, and had piled them on a silver tray. It was to be a feast of sorts, as best as his circumstances would allow.

  “Seat yourself, sire.” Quickly he brought forth a stool. He filled two crystal goblets with dark red wine. “Would you refresh yourself?” Properly, he held them out for my choice.

  My eye roved over his works, scattered about the tent. Animals, decorative objects, reflecting silvers for the bedchamber, all testified to the hand of a brilliant craftsman.

  Jestrel saluted me with his glass. “Some think,” he said, “objects of beauty need not have purpose. Like the hare, on that bench.”

  “I suppose one might use it to hold papers in a wind.”

  “Yes, but it does not itself have utility.” He took a dried fruit, offered me from the plate. Dates, dried grapes, pitted cherries, a white fruit I didn’t recognize. I took a date. It had been bathed in sugar and was quite good.

  “Freisart was fond of these.”

  “His was a sad end,” I said without thinking.

  “Lonely and far from home,” he agreed. “So, which of my works do you find most appealing?” He held out the tray of delicacies.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure. Perhaps the fawn.” I examined it, reaching for another fruit. “It has a look about it ...”

  The tent flap swept open. “There you are, Rodrigo.” Tantroth. “I’ve been looking—”

  Startled, the silversmith snatched up the tray, knocking the fruit from my fingers. “My lord duke—I was—the king was examining—”

  “Do I make you nervous?” Tantroth’s tone was dry. “I can’t imagine why.” Idly, he picked up the silver fawn, laid it down. “Might I have some wine while Roddy and I have speech?”

  “Certain—I’ve only two glasses out. But ...”

  “I’ll wait.” Tantroth took a fruit. Jestrel twitched. A pity, that his long-planned meet with the king be so disrupted.

  Chewing, Tantroth gazed at him, picked up the filigree tray. “Beautiful work. Your own design?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Tantroth sifted through the delicacies. “Cherries, dates ...” He came on the white fruit Jestrel had knocked from my fingers.

  His manner finally drove me to speech. “My lord duke, I don’t stand on ceremony, but, frankly, you interrupted a private—”

  He sniffed the fruit, examined it closely. “Almost you make me regret my intrusion.” He held out the fruit to Jestrel. “Eat it.”

  “I don’t—thank you, they’re for my guests, I’ve had my fill, and ...”

  I set down my wine. “Guards!” Kadar and his troops burst in. “Seize him.” I stabbed a finger at Jestrel. “The fruit is poisoned.”

  “Not poisoned, sire.” Tantroth was grave. He held out his palm. “That almond scent? Only one fruit has that aroma, and color. Though I’ve never seen it dried.”

  I snapped, “Speak plainly, or be gone!”

  “The White Fruit of Chorr, my liege. Had you eaten it, you’d be his servant evermore.”

  I stared in horror. “But ... he knocked it from my fingers. If it would make me his servant—”

  “Know you not the Power of Chorr? The fruit binds one as servant to the first person his eyes fall on after eating it.”

  I blinked, still not comprehending.

  Tantroth bent close, spoke softly. “Must I spell it out? I came in; had you eaten while looking at me, he’d have lost you.”

  “I’d have been your servant
?” My tone dripped revulsion.

  “You’d prefer the silversmith?” His tone was acid. “You, guard. Remove him!”

  Kadar waited for my nod of assent, hauled the ashen Jestrel from the tent

  I stumbled out into welcome daylight, my mouth dry. “Why?”

  “No doubt he wanted—”

  “You, Tantroth. Why stop him? I’d have been yours to command.” I started toward my own tent, and he perforce followed.

  “Or possibly his. I couldn’t risk—no, it’s a moment for truth. You do me dishonor, sir.”

  I stopped, before my tent. “How so?”

  “I swore oaths of fealty, did I not? Solemn vows of ancient ritual, binding me as your vassal. It was my duty to save you.”

  I snorted. “You made war on Caledon, routed me from my castle, killed—”

  “Before giving my oath.”

  I strode through the flap. “You were vassal to my mother, Elena!”

  “And I never attacked her. But she was dead; there was doubt you were king or ever would be. I felt free to pursue my interest.”

  “I’m no newborn. The moment it suits you ...” I held open the flap for him to depart.

  “Fool! Knave!” Tantroth strode my tent from wall to wall, a dangerous fire in his eyes. “Know you naught of Eiber, or of me?’ He whirled. “I’m a vassal; you’re my liege. I hate it! My hopes for Eiber are shattered. But it was submit or lose all to Hriskil. Look you!” He held up the vile white confection. “Only fruit blessed by the king of Chorr has the power to bind, and consecrated fruit never leaves Chorr. Know you its worth?” He came close. “Shall I eat it, that your fears be stilled?”

  “Would you?”

  For a time, silence. Then, a crooked smile. “Now that I’ve challenged you, I’d have to. My pride wouldn’t allow less.”

  “Do it.”

  His eyes creased. Slowly, with great reluctance, he raised the fruit to his lips.

  I stayed his hand. “We thank thee earnestly, lord Duke. Well has thou served Caledon.”

  “Ah, the high speech, to save an embarrassing moment. I’m not sure I could have done it, my lord. I might have preferred you kill me.” He wrapped the fruit in a greasecloth. “We’re fortunate I came in search of you. But, did Jestrel serve only himself? Let me have the silversmith for an hour. I’ll have truth from him.”