The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 7

  “Like a great wind, that tears the summer earth as it fells trees and castles. Had you succeeded ...”

  “You’d be dead?”

  “I’m already that. We’d be snuffed out, and you with us. Oh, Roddy.” She opened her arms to an embrace, and I fell into it. From the fire, Cayil and Tryon watched, impassive.

  “I’m so sorry.” I basked in the solace I’d not had in life. “I knew not what to do.” Reluctantly, I held her shoulders at arm’s length, told her of my fears, of the cruelty that overcame me despite my earnest intent.

  Tryon beckoned me near; I squatted by his side. “Am I possessed, grandsir? Father Varon was within me, was he not? Are you all? Is that the Still?”

  He patted me on the shoulder; almost, I crawled into his lap like a weary tyke. “Slow your questions, youngsire.” He took a slender stick, nudged a coal, watched the point of the branch burst into flame. “No, we are not within you.”

  “But Varon—”

  “You’re not possessed, except by royalty that summons the Still. Your Hembir did much damage. Almost we were swept into the vortex. Only Father was strong enough to grasp the cave wall and bid you desist. You’re—” A glance to Mother. “—augmented, shall we say? I never knew what to call it.” As if with affection, his arm fell on my shoulder. “You didn’t tell him, Elena?”

  “He rarely listened. He was a difficult boy.” Mother sounded cross.

  “Roddy, within each wielder, the Still takes a prominent quality and redoubles it. Your Mother—don’t blush, Elena—suffered from lust. It near drove her mad.”

  “It made me set down the Still before I should.” Mother’s tone held regret. “Before Margenthar was truly bound, or Eiber. But thought of your father plagued my every night.”

  “Cayil’s failing was gluttony. He ate himself torpid.”

  “True.” The waspish little man seemed embarrassed. “It was years after I set down my Power that I regained my form.”

  Tryon patted his own ample stomach, as if in sympathy. “It’s not necessarily a vice, merely a quality that’s strong in you. While you’re possessed of the Still, it’s intensified.”

  “As cruelty is strong in me.” My tone was dull.

  “I sent you to Willem oft enough,” said Mother. “His strap curbed you. I hoped you’d outgrow spite, and petty—”

  I covered my ears. “Stop, I beg you!”

  “But it’s true, Roddy.”

  “I know.” I slumped on the cold dirt. “What’s to become of me? I won’t be a tyrant.”

  “You’ll be what you must. It’s for Caledon.”

  “Is it?” I hurled a stick at the fire. “Is it?”

  I curled on the damp cushions, legs drawn up, hands between. My cold dinner lay untouched. Relentless rain drummed a dirge on the sagging canvas.

  Rustin threw open the flap, unclasped his sodden cloak, shook himself like a hound. “War is meant for high summer. You don’t like dried fruit? I’ll have it.” He pulled up a stool, attacked my plate. A glance over his shoulder, to Anavar, huddled in the corner. “Why is he weeping?”

  “He lost the blade with emeralds and garnets I gave him. All he could do was snivel. A year’s stipend wouldn’t buy—”

  “What did you do?”

  “I thrashed him.” With a thick green shoot I’d made him cut.

  Rust crossed the tent, jerked the blanket free of Anavar’s grasp, inspected his stripes. Gently, he replaced the cover. His hand flitted to Anavar’s nape.

  I swallowed. I’d done it before visiting the cave. Perhaps now, I’d forbear.

  Rustin knelt by my bed. “He was distressed, so you beat him.”

  “Rust—”

  “You claim to rule Caledon, who can’t rule yourself?”

  “He’ll learn to take care—”

  He grasped my mouth, squeezed it so I gawped like a fish. “Roddy, I love you so dearly, and can’t abide what you do!” His eyes filled.

  I gulped.

  “Anavar!” Rust snapped his fingers. The boy roused himself, hurried across the tent. Rust seized his anxious face, drew a blade, thrust it into my hand. “Don’t stop with stripes. Cut him a scar like your own, if you’d embrace Mar’s villainy!”

  I dropped the dagger as if it were white hot.

  Rust gave Anavar an absent pat, encouraged him back to his corner. “I’m sorry, Roddy. I can’t bear your company tonight.”

  “Where will you sleep?” Anavar’s soggy tent was abandoned; our troops had what miserable shelter scraps of canvas could provide.

  “Here.” He seized me, wrapped me in my blanket, propelled me to the flap, spun me around. “Alone.” With his boot, a mighty kick to my rump. I landed on my face in the mud. The flap snapped shut.

  I huddled under a dripping supply wagon, sneezing, shivering, hoarding my rage.

  Anavar deserved what he’d got. Lose Lady Larissa’s blade? I’d warrant he wouldn’t be so clumsy again. His hapless pleas had fallen on deaf ears, as he received the king’s justice.

  Yet Anavar slept in warm comfort, while I, king of Caledon, crowned and acknowledged, victor over my erstwhile regent Margenthar, lay shivering in the mud, nursing a bruised rump. Were I the man I wanted to be, I’d avenge Rust’s casual contempt. Kick the king? Fah! I was no boy, to be treated so. I would show them the might of Caledon. If Rust thought Genard had gibbered and pranced, wait ’til he beheld his own dance.

  I searched for a still puddle, spotted it behind the wheel. Greedily, I crawled, heedless of the mud. I cupped eager hands over the water, mildly regretful it wasn’t stillsilver. How he’d caper, if I had the full strength of my Power!

  I shut my eyes, muttered the words of encant.

  Compare me to Uncle Mar, would he? A vicious calumny. Margenthar was twisted, evil clear through. I’d show him. The caved shimmered into focus. I’d make Mar’s cruelty seem mere child’s—

  By brute force, I wrenched my hands from the puddle. Aghast, I stared at my palms, as if theirs was the fault.

  What had I done?

  What had I become?

  By dawn’s gray light I crept back to the tent. I hadn’t slept a wink. The rain continued unabated. My every bone ached, and my nose ran.

  Yet I felt strangely at peace.

  I shook Rustin to wake him.

  Groggy, he sat up, rubbed his eyes.

  “Anavar, come hither.” My tone was a command.

  Sleepily, the boy roused himself.

  I knelt by the bed. “Stay awake, Rust. Now do I, Rodrigo, King, in the presence of Anavar Baron of the Southern Reaches, appoint Rustin, son of Llewelyn and Lord of the Keep, as regent of the crown of Caledon and of my person, and decree that he shall hold said office until he himself declares it vacant, and that no man, including myself as king, may remove him or end the regency lacking his consent.”

  He gaped.

  My voice trembled. “Rust, I would not be a villain.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Now you’re guardian and regent. I count on you to shield Caledon from my rage. I charge you with doing so. If you’re wise, make me swear on the True I’ll never use the Still to cause torment.”

  “You went to war to end a regency.”

  “Uncle Mar’s. But I trust you more than myself. Be my regent until you’re sure I’m the king we’d both see. Then release me.” I felt noble, and proud, and would have continued so had I not suddenly sneezed all over him. “Pardon, my lord.” I bowed my head.

  He raised my chin. “Roddy, you ought not do this. Such power will tempt me.”

  “I must. There’s much you don’t know.” I told him of my visit to the cave. “So I’m not possessed. I’m twisted, as in an ill-tempered silver. The wrong parts of me are magnified. Last night was the end.” In a voice I could barely make heard, I told him of the puddle, and my intent. “So, it is done.”

  “Are you sure? Quite sure?”

  “Anavar, find parchment, and one to act as scribe. Be quick.” />
  “Hold.” Rustin’s voice was sharp.

  “Whom shall I obey?” Anavar looked between us.

  “If I’m regent, he has no say.”

  I said, “I would publish—”

  “Be silent.”

  Fuming, I did as I was told.

  “If this becomes known, Roddy, your cause is weakened. How if I be your regent, but in secret?”

  “You can’t act for the state if no one recogniz—”

  “I can, through you.”

  “I’m willful. I might refuse.”

  “I’ll bind you in vows by the True. You’ll do as I say or lose all.” An oath solemnly sworn would bind me by my Power itself.

  I said dubiously, “I don’t think I like it.”

  “I don’t believe I gave you choice.”

  I surged to my feet, stomped to the tent pole, hammered it with my fist. Only when I’d struck several mighty blows did I heed the warning ache in my knuckles.

  I wanted so badly to do right, and he made it so hard.

  A deep breath. “Your pardon, sir. It will be as you say.”

  “Just a moment.” Anavar. “I agreed to be your ward, not Lord Rustin’s.”

  “How can I be your guardian? I’m not even my own.”

  “What matters that?”

  “And your welts?”

  “Last night I hated you until well past twelfth hour!” A sniffle. “But you treasured that blade; whenever I toyed with it your look had such longing ...” almost I gave it back. To lose it ... how could I be such a clumsy fool? I cried half the night over that. My father would have beaten me, my Lord Treak would have, my Duke Tantroth. Why berate yourself over a whipping?”

  “Because ... I enjoyed it.” Somehow, I met his gaze without flinching.

  “What matter, if I deserved it?”

  “When you’re grown, perhaps you’ll know.” Lord of Nature save him from the bitter knowledge I’d gained.

  Rust said, “I’ll give you one last chance to withdraw, Roddy. It’s a noble deed, but I won’t hold you to—”

  “No.” Caledon deserved better than what I now was. The part of me that knew it was glad.

  “So be it. Anavar speaks rightly; he’s yours to govern. I’m not his master. But if you beat him, I’ll likely do the same to you.”

  “I understand.” Perhaps the threat would chain me. Somehow, I doubted it.

  I stared balefully at my muddy boots, trying not to disclose my fright.

  It had been a busy morning. We’d broken fast with Groenfil and Lady Soushire, in his large, well-appointed tent. It wouldn’t kill our men to walk in rain, we knew, and another day’s delay could only give Danzik’s Norlanders more warning. But we were tired, many of our men were soaked through, and the trail would be slippery and mud-logged. In what state would we reach Stryx to confront the Norlanders in their camps?

  While we debated, rain drummed relentlessly on the canvas. We agreed to wait for the sun. That is, Lady Larissa and Groenfil agreed, and after catching Rustin’s almost imperceptible nod, I concurred.

  That done, Rustin had steered me back to my tent, sent Anavar away. He sat me down and begun devising oaths, to which I swore, one after another, on my honor, in the name of our house, by my crown, and by me True.

  When he was done I was bound beyond all cavil. I had not the slightest doubt my Power would be forever lost were I to attempt to overthrow him. The careful wording was necessary, he’d said, because I was willful, clever and devious. “I’ll help you as best I can. The day I’m sure of you, Roddy, is the day I’ll resign. I swear it on my father’s—I swear it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Despite his promise of good will, Rust could now bend me to his every whim, and I could do nothing, save abdicate.

  As if to make the very point, my oaths of submission still echoing in my ears, he issued a series of stern edicts that bound my conduct as to grooming, bathing, manner, dress, and headlong speech. He’d even bade me clean my own boots. An affront, to a king. No, beyond that: an outrage. Almost, I’d summoned Tanner, given him the labor, but Lord of Nature knew how Rust would retaliate.

  Now I sat chewing a fingernail, nursing rising panic at the impetuosity that had thrown away my hard-earned crown and made of me little more than Anavar: ward to an authoritarian despot.

  And the boots awaited.

  It must be the foul weather. Men fought over naught and were rebuked. Tanner’s clumsy manner irritated me beyond reason, until I sent him away with harsh words. Rust found fault with my tone, my nervous pacing, the cleanliness of my boots.

  It wasn’t his reproof I found so galling, but my erstwhile willingness to submit to him. Was I so evil, that I needed such remaking? Rust sat me down, stroked me as Hester had when a skinned knee had been my catastrophe, until I calmed. Anavar did well to hide the contempt he surely must feel; I saw not the slightest sign of it. Else, despite Rust’s admonition, I’d have lashed him to ribbons.

  In the afternoon, despite the persistent drizzle, I had to leave the tent or go mad. Accompanied by my bodyguards I wandered our camp, visited with wet and miserable soldiers. I’d thought our damp and chill tent a burden of discomfort, but found their lean-tos and improvised tarpaulin shelters appalling.

  Embarrassed, ashamed, I helped pass out rations, urged my bodyguards to strengthen some of the least adequate of the shelters, joked with the tired and cold guards set over the horses.

  Halfway through my meander Rustin joined me, watched with silent approval that helped dispel the frigid wind.

  On the way back we passed our supply wagons. Tanner lay curled under one of them, only his tousled blond hair visible from under his blanket. All his worldly belongings were in the ragged bundle beside. Bollert, the older boy, sat nearby, staring at nothing.

  When they’d helped with my tent the night before, I hadn’t for a moment thought of inviting them to share a corner. My mind was too full of myself, and rebuking Anavar.

  I stood stock still, my thoughts awhirl.

  “Roddy?”

  I held up a hand. “Later.” I walked on, to my tent.

  Anavar was within. I handed him his cloak. “Find my guards. And collect Tanner, with his bundle.” Walking with discomfort, Anavar did as bidden.

  Rustin looked askance.

  “By your leave, sir.” My courteous tone reassured him, and he stood aside.

  A few moments later my two bondservants shivered in my crowded tent, wrapped in their dirty blankets. The bodyguards looked about with interest.

  I knelt, threw open Tanner’s bundle of belongings. A grimy shirt, the only spare he’d been given. A few other old and discarded clothes. A child’s rag doll, the arms long since torn off and lost. A few rounded stones and pebbles.

  “Leave ’em ’lone!”

  With a hiss, Anavar cuffed Tanner silent.

  “I won’t steal them.” I replaced the stones, rolled up the bundle as best I could.

  “My prince?”

  “I’m sorry, Rust. I hoped—” I sighed. “Let him go. Summon Bollert.”

  Wiping his nose, the ragged youngster gathered his worldly possessions, edged to the flap.

  “Just a moment.” Rust’s tone was curt. He herded Tanner inside. “Set down the bundle. Let’s have your blanket.” His nose wrinkling, he inspected the grimy bedrolls “Now, unclothe yourself.”

  “Rust?”

  “The job’s only half done.” Perhaps Tanner was too slow for him. He hauled the youngster’s jerkin over his arms.

  Loincloth at his feet, Tanner laced his fingers to cover a small thatch of hair.

  “What’s this?” Anavar darted forward, pawed at a bulky bandage knotted around Tanner’s leg. It fell open. A cloth dropped to the ground. Wincing from his aches, Anavar bent and unraveled it.

  A bejewelled dagger tumbled out. Gingerly, his expression blissful, Anavar took it to his breast, hugged it.

  All eyes turned to Tanner. He stood naked, grinning. Only a small sh
een of sweat on his forehead hinted of anxiety.

  I closed my eyes, recalling how I’d beaten Anavar for his carelessness, his negligence, when it was Tanner who’d stolen the blade.

  The servant’s penalty was clear. Yet having spared him once, I was loath to take his life. “Tie him to a wagon wheel. Have him flogged.”

  “No.” Rustin was somber. “Hang him.”

  “As king, I commute—”

  “Roddy.” His voice was soft. “Shall we have private words?”

  “No.” I swallowed. “No, sir.” But I couldn’t let it be. “Tanner, what made you take it?”

  “Hadda.” He scratched himself.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Hadda.”

  Rust thrust his clothes at him. “Get him out!”

  My palms itched. “Tanner, explain. You know a thief is for hanging?”

  Still clutching himself, he nodded.

  “Dress yourself. Why do you do it?”

  His lips tightened to a thin, bloodless line. “Gotta.” He slipped on his loincloth.

  “Why?”

  “Can’t say.”

  They dragged Tanner to a nearby beech. From the wagon, Bollert watched stolidly.

  “Rust ...” I rubbed my sweating palms.

  “It must be done. Twice he’s been caught.”

  “Something’s wrong.” My eyes searched the tent. I seized on the ewer, snatched it up, settled myself on the floor, the pitcher between my knees. “Rust, stop them.”

  “No, my prince.”

  “Just for a moment. Hurry, or I’ll—I’ll abdicate!” My voice trembled. “I need time!”

  He studied my face, nodded. “All right.” To the guards. “Hold!”

  Feverishly, I waited for the water to still. I placed my throbbing palms over the pitcher, impatiently recited words of encant.

  Nothing. I was too agitated, too eager. I forced a surface calm, fastened my eyes shut. Slowly, the cave mouth widened.

  I opened my eyes. My hooded eyes sought Tanner. My mouth moved silently, as I repeated over and over the incantation of my Power.

  Tanner began to sweat.

  My palms fit tight to the ewer. Over and again, the words.

  Tanner shifted from foot to foot. “M’lord!”

  My hooded eyes never left his.

  “Please, I—don’ make—oh!” He dripped perspiration. His fists clenched and unclenched.