The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Read online

  “Roddy!”

  “No, Rust. It isn’t what you think.” I lapsed silent.

  Under the tree, Tanner danced a jig of anguish. His bound hands scrabbled at his back.

  I wove it as strong as my ineptitude let me. Then I concentrated my whole being on the frantic boy. “Why?”

  “M’lord—”.

  “WHY?”

  “Made me. Gotta!”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, stop!” He stumbled about the tent in frenzy. “Can’t say. Gotta do what—” A strangled sound. “Didn’ mean take it. Bollert—” Desperately, he clapped hands over his mouth. One by one, jerking, scrabbling, his fingers pulled away. “Gotta, when Bollert say!”

  “Why?”

  “Cause he ... dunno!”

  I bent to the ewer. My lips moved without cease.

  From the tree, a howl. “Stop, king! Boller’ made me! Was Boller’! Can’t—ayee!”

  “Enough, Roddy.” A hand on my shoulder.

  I peeled my hands from the ewer. Red indentations marked where they’d met the rim. Trembling, I reached for Rustin, pulled myself to my feet. I was so shaky I could barely stand.

  Together we walked into the rain.

  Bollert sat under the wagon, peeling bark from a dead twig.

  “Seize him.”

  They brought him forth, stripped off his clothes.

  Nothing.

  In his bedroll, a shirt, a rude clay frog, chipped and battered. A tiny silver squirrel I’d seen before.

  I drew him within a handbreadth. “How do you do it?”

  “Dunno. Always could.”

  “Have they choice?”

  Expressionless eyes met mine. My knees were weak. I felt a great yearning to kneel. I shivered. “Do it and I’ll flay you.”

  Abruptly, the yearning was but a memory.

  “How?”

  “Gotta look at ’em.”

  Anavar ran to the tent, brought out a cloth, made of it a hood. He slipped it over Bollert’s head, fastened it with a tie from the wagon. Guardsmen bound his hands.

  I said to Rust, “Release Tanner.”

  “Aye, my prince.” He gestured it so. “Roddy ... ?” His fingers flitted to the small of my back. “How did you know?”

  “It felt wrong.” As we strolled to the tent I clutched him for support. I was weak as a newborn calf. “And the Still called.”

  “Your Power does that?”

  “Apparently. Thank you for listening, sir.”

  “At the moment, humility isn’t called for.” Rust closed the flap behind us.

  I paced, disturbed beyond saying. “Bollert can’t have a Power, he’s a brat of the streets. Only royal houses manifest—”

  “It would seem he does.”

  Anavar ducked through the flap. “He’s secured.”

  Rust asked, “What’s to be done with him?”

  Anavar was grim. “I want him.”

  “You?” I gaped.

  He loosened his belt rope, bared his welted thigh. “From you, or my father, I’ll allow those, because I must. From him ...” His tone hardened. “He’s a churl, and gave me stripes!”

  “It was I who—”

  “Because of him!”

  “Easy, lad.”

  “Don’t ‘easy’ me, I’ll—” He saw my visage, and gulped.

  “How would you avenge yourself?”

  “As I might.” Eiberians practiced barbarous savagery on their Cumber prisoners. It wouldn’t do to grant the boon he asked.

  A soft sound. In the corner, a blanket moved. I threw it aside. Tanner lay weeping, knees drawn up to his chest. The gall of him, to hide in the royal tent. As I stood fuming, his hand shot out, wrapped itself desperately around my boot. “Please, lor’! No more!” He drew himself close, as a supplicant. “Won’ take nothin’. Don’ make me hurt.”

  I dropped to my knees, kneaded his shoulders. “It’s done, boy. You need not fear.”

  He lapsed into uncontrollable sobs.

  “It’s me you serve, Tanner. Not Bollert.” I looked helplessly at Rust. “What must I do?”

  “Comfort him. Hang Bollert, as quickly as possible. He’s a monster.”

  “A sport of nature. Or could it be he has royal blood?”

  “Him?” Rust’s tone dripped contempt.

  “I’d be like him, raised in a stable.”

  Rust’s whole mien softened. “Ahh. You understand at last.”

  Six

  IN THE FIRST LIGHT of day we rode down the still-soggy trail, Rust and I and Tursel. Alongside rumbled a wagon in which lay Bollert, bound and hooded. I would speak with Mother before deciding his fate. I gulped. Would it be possible?

  Lady Soushire and the Earl of Groenfil, once antagonists, rode together chatting civilly. As always, Groenfil kept sharp eye on his troops’ progress.

  Because Tursel was close and no doubt watching, I did my best to quell my panic. From time to time Rust reached across to pat my knee.

  What had I done?

  In my tent the night before, as darkness had fallen, I’d sat again with the ewer. I had much to ask Mother. Wearily, I set my hands across the still water, murmured the usual words.

  No cave. Only the lights that dance behind closed eyes.

  Over and again I summoned my Power, and felt naught. At last, exhausted, I rose to pace the tent in growing agitation. Never, in the year I’d been visiting the cave, had it been denied me.

  Anavar came in, saw my turmoil. I turned aside his inquiries with harsh words. A few moments later Rustin thrust through the flap. I flew to him in a panic.

  Startled, he soothed me, bid me practice my art again. I did so, and caught not a glimmer of the cave. “What have I done, Rust? Did I gainsay the True?”

  “Not that I—”

  “I obeyed you as I pledged. My boots weren’t that clean, I know, but—”

  “Calm yourself, my prince.”

  “I’m calm. When I told Tursel I thought the rain would stop, could that be it? I wasn’t sure it was true, I know—”

  “Roddy.” He hugged me, rocking.

  For the second night, I slept not at all. Well before dawn I crept out of bed, poured water.

  I didn’t know how many times I chanted the words, in a whisper only I could hear. About me, the camp began to stir. Wagons were packed, tents and tarpaulins thrown down, cold bread and cheese handed the men.

  I sat unmoving, feverishly repeating dead enchantments.

  “Roddy, it’s long time we struck the tent.” Rust’s cool hand soothed my damp shoulder.

  “In a while.”

  “Now, my prince.” Firmly, he pulled my cramped fingers from the useless ewer.

  I looked up, eyes glistening. “I’ve lost the Still.”

  Whatever solace he’d offered left no memory. Now, hours later, I rode at his side, exhausted and disconsolate.

  At first the day was cloudy and grim. By afternoon, as we neared Stryx, a cautious sun broke through. Everyone’s spirits lifted, except mine. Tanner trotted up, chest heaving from the run, to offer water fresh drawn from a stream. Gratefully, I drank.

  Tursel’s scouts cantered back to camp. In a moment the captain drew near. “Verein road’s clear.” Outlandish as it might be, I wouldn’t have put it past Uncle Mar to attempt to bar our way at the cross.

  At a fast march, we advanced toward the seacoast and Danzik’s camp. Tursel’s scouts buzzed like angry bees, probing hillsides and ravines, goat trails and the road ahead.

  As the sun looked toward the western hills and debated its plunge for the night, Tursel called a brief halt. “Danzik’s sallied from his camp. He’s blocked the road.”

  For the first time, my spirits rose. I smiled at lord Groenfil. “Excellent. He had all winter to fortify his breastworks and abandons them.”

  “Aye, but he set his men here, and here.” Tursel jabbed his sharp stick at a rude drawing in the dirt. “Where the road turns. On the one side, steep hills, which he occupies. On the
other, a ravine. We won’t be able to focus enough strength to—”

  Groenfil asked, “What if we bypass the road? We’d come between him and Stryx.”

  “Our wagons need the road.”

  I mused. Rustin drew me aside. “Turn back, Roddy.” His voice was quiet.

  “Without a fight? It’s taken us all spring to assemble—”

  “We’ve lost surprise, they have the advantage of terrain.”

  “But Larissa and the earl are committed. Lord of Nature knows when again they would—Rust, is it your decision or mine?”

  “Answer yourself.”

  I sighed, hating what I’d vowed. “Yours, sir.”

  “I agree. But the crown is yours, and the choice may gain or lose it. I would not take that from you. Decide.”

  I pondered.

  “Rust, every day strengthens Danzik’s grip on my lands. We’re in the field, and ...” I floundered. “I wish I could consult Mother.”

  Somberly, he nodded.

  I took deep breath. “Time favors Hriskil, not us. I say proceed.”

  “As you wish, my prince.”

  We resumed our march. Tursel let the wagons fall back to the tail of our column, just before our rear guard.

  Insisting I not lead our force to battle, Rust held Ebon’s reins himself to make sure I obeyed. Anavar, with drawn sword, joined my tense bodyguards.

  Across the road to Stryx, Danzik had mounted barricades of downed trees and stones. Behind them were his pikesmen. A few paces behind, massed ranks of archers.

  Our men advanced behind wide sturdy shields that turned aside or absorbed most of the enemy’s first volley. Inevitably, shafts slipped between, and some drove home. One by one, our men fell, and comrades dragged them behind the battle line.

  “Roddy, this is madness!” Earl Groenfil’s face was grim. A harsh breeze swept the treetops, harbinger of his ire.

  Our assault dwindled to ignominious failure. Wind whistled, blowing mounds of dust to furious circles. Groenfil had lost only eight men, but anxiously, I scanned the thrashing treetops for falling limbs. I said hopefully, “If we attack with horse—”

  “We lose horsemen, to no avail.”

  I patted Ebon’s mane. “What would you, my lord earl?”

  “In darkness, I’ll lead a hundred horsemen on a circle, to the rear of their camp. You attack the road by last moonlight. Between us ...”

  “Rust?”

  “We’ve few enough men, to split our force.” Pacing, he considered. “Very well, I assent.”

  I said, “I’ll lead the—”

  “Perhaps.” Rust’s tone was curt. “Tursel, can we hold for the night, against attack?”

  “Half a league back, there’s land I could defend.”

  “Roddy, you’ve had no sleep. Help Anavar gather the boys and set your tent.”

  “After the earl and lady decide—”

  Abruptly, he hauled me from my saddle. “You try me, sir!”

  I clawed at his iron grip on my jerkin. “Yes, Rust. The tent. Right away. We’ll raise it.” I clamped my jaw, to still my babble.

  Slowly, his fingers eased. “Thank you, my prince.” An absent pat on the cheek.

  Shamefaced, I beckoned to Anavar, cantered off to the supply wagons.

  In a clearing well behind our lines, Anavar scowled at the tent. “Too much work, and too few of us. By your leave, sir.” He crossed to the wagon, cut Bollert’s bonds, gave the stable-boy a ferocious kick. “Try your witchery and I’ll roast your heart for supper!” He slapped a hammer in Bollert’s hand, threw a tent peg at his feet.

  After the tent, there were clothes chests to haul, stools to set, cushions to place. I was drenched with sweat, but we found a cold stream in which to frolic.

  Afterward, rejuvenated by cool water, feeling magnanimous as I hadn’t in many weeks, I invited the boys into my tent, even Bollert, who’d hammered tent pegs with unstinting will. I sorted through my dried foods, fed them an occasional delicacy. Toweled clean, Tanner was almost presentable.

  “King.” Bollert tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled, ready to strike him down for insolence, but his tone was submissive. “Let me live.” It was a plea, not a demand.

  “You’re a thief.” And something worse.

  “Aye.” Perhaps there was a hint of apology in his shrug.

  “You’d have seen Tanner hanged.”

  “Steada me.” He picked at a toenail. “Wanna live. ’Sides, never ...” He made an unmistakable back and forth motion with his hand. “Girl. Ain’ fair to die ’fore that.”

  Anavar caught my hand before I could loose my dagger. “It’s no jape, my lord. He means it.”

  I thought the blood would burst from my temple. I grated, “How do you know?”

  “Look at him.”

  Bollert squirmed with embarrassment. He looked up, quickly dropped his eyes. If it was mummery, he ought to join a troupe and astound lords and ladies.

  My ire fading, I peeled Anavar’s fingers from my wrist. “Who are you to stay my hand?”

  “Baron and privy councillor, sir.”

  I grunted. It was I who had made him so. “You owe Bollert no kindness.”

  “Nor will I give it.” He settled himself more comfortably. “I spoke for your sake.”

  Rustin came to the tent not long after, and his astonishment at the sight of us far outvalued my wasted delicacies. Ending our evening, Anavar shooed the churls to the campfire, not neglecting to secure Bollert’s hood and ropes, despite the older boy’s anguished protests. With a regretful last look at our tent, my ward joined the others.

  Yawning prodigiously, I sat again with a bowl of water. Stillsilver would have made the cavern more distinct, but it was costly stuff, and I preferred to safeguard it in Stryx.

  I settled into the familiar incantations. At last, in the distance, the dim contour of a cave. Chant as I might, I could go no closer, achieve no greater clarity. Defeated, I gave it up and settled to bed. At least, after a fashion, I could see the cavern. The Still was not wholly lost. I drifted to sleep.

  Moments later someone prodded me awake. I groaned. “What time ...”

  “Fourth hour,” said Rustin. “The earl’s men are gone these two hours. Here, wear these.”

  Feverishly, I dressed.

  Outside, the camp was a beehive of quiet labor. Men rushed about striking tents, dousing campfires, sheathing arrows. Under his hood Bollert called plaintively to be let out to piss, but no one had the time.

  Tanner brushed past, lugging my chest to the wagon. I stifled a yawn and asked Rust, “Where’s Ebon?”

  “Anavar saddles him for you. Be sure to thank him.”

  “Yes, sir.” I was too weary to be other than meek.

  Lady Soushire picked her way across the campground, leading her palfrey. “My lord Rodrigo.”

  “My lady.” A short bow, of courtesy.

  “How did you persuade me to accompany this excursion? I’ve never been so cold, so inconvenienced.” Nonetheless, a small, grudging smile. “I wish you well, sire. I’ll wait with the wagons, as before.”

  “Of course. Think you the earl’s yet mounted his attack?”

  She glanced at the waning moon. “Within the hour. He’s a man of ...” She blushed. “Great resolve.”

  “A match for yourself, then.” I said it out of gallantry, but she seemed discomfited.

  Groenfil was circling Danzik’s barricades and creeping up from the rear; our task was to attack along the road where before we’d failed to breech the Norland defenses. If we made enough commotion, perhaps Groenfil’s approach would go unnoticed until too late.

  We organized for our march: spearmen at the lead, archers behind, horse at the rear, where they could charge into me fray at a critical moment. Rustin took me aside. “Ride where I ride. Don’t show me that face; I won’t see you killed by a stray spearthrust.”

  “I’m king, Rust. I have to show myself.” I shifted my shield. Even Anavar was among the horsemen
awaiting our charge.

  “You gave me authority, my prince. I’ll use it to preserve you. Ride behind me, I say.”

  Fuming, I complied. How could men follow a coward?

  We advanced at a furtive walk, an army of ghosts flitting through the ebbing night. Bobbing spears brushed aside drooping branches. Beards glistened in the last rays of moonlight. Fists clenched and unclenched on the hafts of swords. Eyes flickered to the gaze of companions, building and fastening resolve.

  The last rise that concealed us was a hundred paces from the Norland barricade.

  Rust bent low, soothing his gray gelding, his shield dangling.

  Tursel’s raised sword flashed down. At the peak of the hill, our men broke into a silent run.

  For a moment, nothing but the thud of feet. Then, from the foe, shouts of warning. Behind the downed trees, torches bobbed. New flames spouted, as pitch sputtered and caught.

  Full two hundred of our spearmen careened down the road. A mass of archers followed. An instant before the first spearmen reached the trees, our archers began dropping to one knee. Their loosed shafts whirred into the night.

  Shouts, cries of pain.

  Behind us, the rumble of massed horse.

  Our spearmen clambered over the breastworks, jabbing fiercely. Some fell, kicking and twitching.

  Swarms of arrows shot into the first of dawn.

  Suddenly, as if recalled by an omnipotent hand, barbs whirred down from the sky, fell about us. As one, Rust and I raised our shields, huddled beneath.

  A drumbeat of hooves. Our horsemen swept past, swords drawn. Their mounts raced with bulging eyes, bits between their teeth. I soothed Ebon with a hissed word. “Now, boy.” I kicked. He shot toward the downed trees.

  Waving his sword, Rustin raced after. I would pay a price for this.

  On the whole, the enemy archers overshot; most of their arrows whizzed harmlessly overhead.

  I thundered toward the Norland breastworks.

  For once, we’d had the advantage of surprise; only a light guard had manned the hastily erected barricades. They’d given warning, but too late. Our initial charge had driven them off.

  One by one, our horses leaped over the unmanned barrier and galloped down the road. Norland archers stood their ground, loosed a deadly volley, but broke and ran even as our men tumbled. I leaned forward on Ebon’s neck and he sailed over a dead Norlander stretched over the barricade as if on a rack.