The Still

Chapter 42

I awoke on my straw without my fine clothes. when I stirred, Mother’s ephemeral hand flitted across my shoulder.

I yawned. Apparently the Still took something out of one. Absently I scratched my scar, and stretched. I hoped they’d let me wash again soon. The cell’s odor and my own were one.

My eye roved about the dismal cell. No iron links hanging from the wall, no bars I could reach. Nothing to seize upon, no projections, except the sconce used for torches. A mere nub of iron, hammered into the joint of the stone wall.

I paced my narrow confines, working hard to nourish hope.

Breakfast came. I sat on the pot, and until it was emptied, I couldn’t dream of using it to summon the Still. Agitated, I paced anew.

In midafternoon the door scraped, and two guards made way for Uncle Mar.

I jumped to my feet. “Good day, sir.” Best that he see no difference in my outlook. I wasn’t quite sure there was one.

He seemed preoccupied. “I may leave you for a few days.” Then he smiled. “I’ll have Stire take good care.” Despite myself, I blanched.

“Look at me, Roddy.”

I saw a burly, bearded man with a sullen mien, who studied me, watching my reaction. “Yes, Uncle?”

He slapped me hard, and smiled as I rubbed my cheek. “You have no idea what satisfaction that gives me.”

“Thank you, sir!” He was right. It gave him great satisfaction. Abruptly all I felt was contempt. A petty man, full of paltry hate. Is that you, Mother, who makes me see him so? “I wish you wouldn’t leave me,” I said humbly.

“So do I,” he answered, and I knew he’d spoken before thought. But he glanced at the sturdy cell and smiled anew. “Fear not, nephew, we’ll have long to play.” He stood.

“Uncle?” I stood respectfully. “Could you-if it please you, might you explain?”

“What say you?”

“About Pytor, and why I’m here. Oh, no, sir!” I jumped back, as his eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t reproaching you. It’s just … I don’t understand the statecraft. Why did Pytor come to be of more value dead?”

He considered. Then, “No harm in discussing it.” That didn’t bode well. “As you grew in stature and power, you see, Pytor’s worth dwindled. You were close to ending the regency; once you were crowned, he’d be but a puny rival. And Pytor was ailing; he wouldn’t eat, and pined for that foul-tempered biddy who raised him. But most important, his presence turned greedy eyes at my lands. Whenever I rode from Verein I risked a lunge from Soushire, or Eiber, or the Warthen, who perhaps saw more value in him than did I. So I simplified the game, as it were.”

I stood appalled, a mechanical smile frozen to my lips.

“Likewise, my boy, you diminish in value. Cumber’s near worn down; we’ll have at him any day. I might even hold off on your death and offer you in trade for their capitulation, letting them find they’ve ransomed a gelding. Who knows?” He shrugged. “I must be off.”

“Thank you for visiting, sir.”

When he left I pounded the wall until my fist was raw. Mother, you were supposed to help me stop gibbering. So what if I saw he was contemptible; why didn’t it lessen my fear?

Again I paced, running my fingers across the stones. My soul was stuffed with impatience, as Rustin had once stuffed my mouth with grass. I would bear it no longer. All Grandsir and Mother offered was words. A touch of understanding, perhaps, but nonetheless only words. I wouldn’t suffer Mar’s knife, or Stire’s blows. I would die this very day. I pulled at the slabs of the door until my fingers bled.

What if I kicked the door shut just as the guards opened it to bring dinner? I’d catch one man at least, perhaps even crush him. But there were always two, sometimes three, and always well armed.

Besides, I’d be in dark. If only they’d leave a torch in the sconce … I fingered the iron, stopped short. Did it move to my touch?

No more than a trifle, if that.

I worked the sconce back and forth.

Dinner came, and the guards went. In the dark, I worked endlessly at the sconce.

By early morn I was out of my straw, making sure the holder was replaced properly in its hole. Would they notice? Was it wedged tight enough to hold a torch?

I waited feverishly until the guards departed, and pulled my toy from its aperture. A rounded nub of iron, with a hole in the center in which to set a brand. My only implement, and what use was it? It might split a guard’s skull, if I smashed him hard enough. If I got close. If he didn’t first run me through.

Disgusted, I hurled it at the stone wall. A clang, as it fell. I stared, darted across the floor, snatched it up, hurled it again. Yes. Definitely a spark.

I fumbled at my straw. Was it too damp?

The afternoon passed with no visit from Mar. I nibbled at my dinner while the guards watched, knowing not what I ate, worried only that the sconce and its torch would tumble from the wall while they waited.

When night deepened I rapped the sconce repeatedly against the base of the wall, near the bits of dry straw I’d so carefully shredded. I had but one good hand, and the task was maddening.

The sconce cast off sparks one strike out of three, and invariably they flew wild.

Surely someone would hear my drumming.

Time after time I struck the stone; on occasion my spark flew home. Desperately I frayed more straw.

A glower, that died. After a sweaty eon, another. With fingers that trembled I fed straw to the flicker.

In nothing but loincloth and boots, I screamed my terror, over and over in the night. No one came. My shrieks grew louder, more desperate. I crouched by the far wall, head touching the floor.

At last, a muffled curse amid the crackle of my blazing pallet and clothes. The door swung open. “What’s this?”

“I’m burning!” Smoke billowed. Howling, I scrambled to my knees.

The guard said, “Where are-”

I flung the chamber pot with all my might. It split the guard’s face and shattered. He dropped like a stone. I seized his torch, darted to the door. The second guard drew sword and lunged. His blade came within a hair of skewering me. I thrust the torch in his face. His head snapped back as his sword whirled to chop off my arm. Dropping the torch, I lurched at his backswing. I caught his forearm, held clear the sword, slammed him into the corridor wall. The sword fell.

We grunted in sweaty struggle. I kneed him, bruised myself on his mail. He clawed my eyes. Suddenly he clutched me in a hug. His fists knotted behind me. My feet left the floor. My eyes bulged with the effort to draw breath. Mother, where’s your demon-cursed Still when I need it? The guard’s grizzled face was near. The world swam. I lunged, sank my teeth into his neck.

Instantly he let go, struck at my face. I wrapped my arms round him and gnawed.

A cry of horror. We were on the floor, rolling and thrashing. Weaponless, I pummeled him. I dared not take breath.

After a time all was still. I lay beneath an inert form, choking on blood. Footsteps pounded.

I heaved free, sucked in barrels of air. Somehow, I tottered to my feet, and seized the nearest torch. I whirled. The footsteps skidded to a halt.

A moan of terror. Guards fell over themselves in their retreat. “It’s a demon!” Backing away, they made signs of propitiation.

Demons of the night! My heart seized. I lunged toward the stairs, and escape. The guards broke and fled. I risked a glance back, and saw no demon.

Leaning against the wall was the mirror Uncle Mar used to taunt me. I thrust it aside, not before catching a glimpse. I was bleeding half to death, but felt no pain. I wiped my mouth. My arm came away with blood.

I stumbled over the guard I’d fought. I turned him over, searching for a weapon. My back prickled. Some night beast had torn out his throat.

I backed away, unable to make a sound. What monster had done thus?

Again I wiped my mouth. I was quiet a moment, then doubled over to spew my dinner.

I was the demon.

I snatched up a sword, slippery with blood. Verein’s guard would soon rally.

At the corridor’s end, a long winding stairs. I took two steps upward, stopped short as shadows flickered. Another step and I could see them: a handful of guards at the landing, all with drawn swords.

Well, I’d chosen to die. I raised my sword high over my head, filled my lungs. With a bloodcurdling screech I charged the torchlight. Men clawed past each other to safety.

When I galloped to the top of the stairs the guards were gone. I raced on. From the width of the corridor, I guessed I must be at ground level.

A hue and cry echoed. Soon or late they’d rally, and take me down.

In younger days I’d visited Verein, but in my present state I had not the slightest idea where in the castle I was. But they’d expect me to head for the outdoors. Instead, I wheeled round the corner and charged up the second stairs.

I met men-at-arms rushing down from the sleeping floor, buckling on their gear. I slashed at one, tripped another and threw him to the ground.

I thudded down unfamiliar halls, flinging open doors. I needed a window, or a back stairs. I dared not risk going higher, to be trapped in the garrets of the keep.

I caught glimpse of a familiar face: Baron Stire, peering from a doorway. My teeth bared. Sword raised, I charged. He slammed shut the door. I pounded at the stout wood until I came to my senses. No time. Move.

I lunged past three doors, skidded past an open stairs. I plunged down, found myself in the kitchens. At this hour, no one toiled at the ovens.

I tore past guttering candles, found a likely door, heaved it open. The welcome breath of cold air. I rushed into the night, slammed into a barrel, rolled into thorny bushes.

My sword was gone. I slapped the ground, desperate to find it. A dull pain. I sucked a torn thumb, gripped the sword as best I could. Clutching a bleeding shin, I hobbled into the dark.

It was two hours since my escape.

The castle was in an uproar. Dogs howled. Guards pounded the battlements, sweating grooms led horses, soldiers raced to their posts. Torches flared.

Double watches manned the gates. Cries of alarm and shouted orders made clear I was the goal of their search.

I lay low, perched on the slate roof of the smokehouse. My thumb wasn’t badly cut, but it smarted to distraction. I shivered. In my near month of captivity, winter had begun to settle on the land. It was too cold to lurk about in a torn loincloth.

I needed clothes. Warmth. And most urgent, a wash, or they wouldn’t need the dogs to track my bouquet. I was sweat-soaked, blood-covered, and grimy from my ordeal in the cell.

The smokehouse, behind the kitchen, was far from the walls of the keep. I stole down from my aerie, padded to the well, hauled up a bucket, scrubbed my face. There was nothing to wash with. Cursing, I stripped off my loincloth, rinsed and wrung it, used it to scrub off the worst of my filth.

If I’d thought I was cold before, I’d been mistaken. My teeth chattered. I poured out the bucket.

“Who goes?”

“Just me.” I turned, bucket in hand, and clubbed my interlocutor in the temple. He went down, moaned once, and was still.

I squinted in the pale moonlight. A groom, perhaps, or a houseman. No matter. I stripped off his clothes, donned them, tied and adjusted until I looked passable.

A sword gave the lie to my new garb, but I didn’t dare go without. Nonchalantly, blade pressed to my side, I strolled to the stable, waited in the shadows until it was unwatched, climbed into a loft, and lay to rest.

Come morning, my bones were chilled and I hadn’t slept a wink. I was girding myself for a foray to the kitchen when distant trumpets sounded the alert. The doors burst open, and soon the stable was cleared of mounts. I waited a few moments and jumped down to the floor.

Halfway to the door, the stall ahead opened, and a groom backed out with a barrow. I tensed, ready to strike.

He turned. We gaped.

“You!”

“Kerwyn?” Master Griswold’s man, from our stables at Stryx.

He backed away, mouth open to scream. I cried, “Wait!” Dropping my sword, I wrestled him down, put my hand across his mouth.

He bit down on my wounded thumb, and I nearly passed out.

“Idiot!” I wrenched my hand free, shook him ’til he rattled. “Are you trying to be killed?”

Outside, trumpets sounded anew.

“Let me go! They turned the castle upside down searching. They say you transmuted to a demon, that you ate a guard’s head. If I don’t give the cry …”

“If I don’t run you through …” Again I shook him. “What are you doing here?”

“Griswold sent me, when Duke Mar took most of the horses. Said he’d have no need of me. Prince, your face …”

“A gift from your new lord. Why the alarum? Are they sending horse to track me?” Cautiously I eased off him, gave him a hand to stand.

His eyes widened. “You don’t know? Tantroth’s racing home to Eiber. The siege of Cumber is lifted. Our men retreat to Verein, and Tursel harries their heels.”

“We won!” I loosened my grip on his jerkin. “It’s over.” I could scarce contain my elation.

“No, my lord. It’s the Norlanders.”

Ice chilled my veins.

“They overran Eiber, sire. They descend in force on Caledon. Stire is off to garrison Llewelyn’s keep, and Duke Mar goes to reinforce Stryx.”

I sank onto a roll of hay. The Norlanders? Mother, look what calamity our disunity called down on us. No fools they; with Tantroth looting Caledon, the road through Eiber was open. Tantroth might have held them at the passes, if he’d had his full force to throw into the battle. But his army had been chasing me. Now he’d be hunted in his own land.

As I was in mine.

I raised my head. “Where do they strike?”

Casually, Kerwyn edged toward the door. “They say Earl Cumber leads his men to the northern reaches. Norland sail’s seen south of Stryx, well clear of the Eiberian fleet harbored under the castle.”

“South?” Then there was time yet to defend Stryx. I’d have to get word to Tursel, send for Groenfil and Soushire …

Kerwyn brought me to earth. “You’ll have to hide, sire. Any guardsman will gut you on sight. Are you”-he hesitated-“really a demon?”

I sighed. “No, Kerwyn. Just a tired youngsire with a blade-split face. Don’t fear me. Help me of your own will, if you would. I need food, and quiet.”

He approached me with caution. “Truly? You’re just Prince Roddy?”

“King, now. But, yes.”

His relief was pathetic. “Aye, sire. I’ll see what Cook has. Stay hidden.”

After a meal-the first of my liberty-I thanked him fervently and bid him go about his business. But Kerwyn was no mummer, bringing oft-told tales to the castles. Soon or later, he’d betray me by word or look.

When he was gone I bundled my sword in a blanket, and trudged across the courtyard, eyes low. Somehow, I made it to the rampart unchallenged.

I curled up between two rain barrels stored behind an arrowport. From time to time I glanced about, and risked a sally from my rude base.

The bulk of Margenthar’s troop was gone. The castle gates were barred. Peasants and soldiers passed through the small doors set in the gate, but I didn’t dare present myself to the guards. My scar made me unmistakable.

No, I’d have to climb the wall. For that, I needed a rope, and night.

I crept about the least-guarded ramparts. In a store tower I found rope, and stuffed a coil under my clothes. When I thought it safe, I would tie it round the stone tooth of an arrowport, and lower myself to the ground. Somehow, I’d acquire a horse, no matter whom I had to kill in the doing.

Now that Mar was gone, the excitement of the castle subsided into routine. Haymen brought barrows of fodder, washerwomen took great baskets of clothes to the stream, boys played loudly while their elders cursed the bother. The rampart guard relaxed. On the opposite wall, a few played at dice, under the indulgent eye of a sergeant.

I dallied on the rampart. After a time I noticed a depression in the stone of the rampart deck. With cupped hands I spooned water from the rain barrel, until it filled the hollow. I waited patiently until it was Still.

I sat, back against the wall, staring at the tiny pool between my legs. Slowly I lowered my palms. I whispered words now familiar. The bright cold sun beat on my head. I closed my eyes, said again the encant.

“Now, lad, how say you?”

I opened my eyes. The cave was yet hazy, though much brighter than before. I could see my progenitors more clearly. “Grandsir.” I bowed.

“Your mother is adrift. She’ll be with us presently.” Tryon studied me. “You’ve composed yourself.”

I blushed. “I’m not squalling with panic, you mean.”

“I say what I intend, living one.”

“I’m sorry, Grandsir.” I bowed. “I meant no offense.” Now I sounded the terrified boy in Mar’s cell.

He grunted. “Father Varon, would you speak with the young King?”

A rumble. “No.”

I stammered. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. I’ve escaped. I’m on the ramparts of Verein.”

“What need have you?”

“Wisdom. Safety. A horse.”

He chuckled. “In that order? Wake yourself, Varon. He’s amusing, and now he’s using water so we can see.”

Other spirits drifted near. I said timidly, “You’re all my ancestors?”

The waspish one who’d spoken at my cell said peevishly, “Think you I sired such a malformed outcast?”

“But I-Mother said …”

Tryon waved the creature silent “They’re kings of the land, as you are. Varon is the first of your ancestors. He overthrew the previous clan.”

“Perfidy it was, and treason!”

“Give it rest, Cayil.” Tryon rolled his eyes. “Some folk never abide their overthrow.”

“Nor will my line, ’til time ends and-”

“Your line’s mostly extinguished.”

“That’s true,” Cayil admitted, glumly. “But I can bedevil your crimes through eternity.”

“Not my crimes, Varon’s. I wasn’t born when-”

“Silence, whelp!” Varon’s rumble quivered the floor. “I did no ill deeds.”

Cayil’s voice rose an octave. “My tribe did you strike, my house crumble, my-”

“Deserved!”

I covered my ears, but Varon spoke no more.

Tentatively, I said, “Grandsir, what is my station? Am I still King, as to the Still?”

“You’re here.” It seemed an answer.

“About the True … must I still keep it? Must I never deceive?”

He frowned. “Elena should have explained all that.”

I flushed. “I didn’t listen well.”

“Deceive not your friends. Enemies …” He pondered. “If they demand you speak True, you must else we’ll lose you.”

“It’s a great strain.”

A glint of a smile. “So I found it.”

“Grandsir, what ought I do?”

Tryon frowned, and eased himself to sit, legs crossed, on the dirt floor. “Tell us your tale, boy. We’ve had but glimpses, when you’ve sat bemused.”

Slowly at first, I spoke of what had befallen Caledon. Sometime during my recital, I felt Mother’s arm drape gently across my shoulder. When I stumbled, she stroked my nape in reassurance, recalling dim memories of childhood.

“… so the Norlanders are upon us,” I said. “I’m free of the cell, but have no crown, no horse, no army. No escape.”

Mother said, “Forget the coronet. The crown isn’t a hat, it’s acknowledgment of your lords that you’re rightful heir.”

“But the symbol is taken for-”

“Don’t lecture me!” Her tone was sharp. “Was I not Queen?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I bowed, as I would in life.

“Have you raised your standard?”

“Not formally. I was taken in Cumber.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, madam. But who’ll answer the call? Since my crowning I’ve been boxed in Cumber Castle, done nothing except quarrel with my lords-look at me.” I rubbed my scar. “I’m grotesque! Who would follow such a king?”

“Men see past a face. If it troubles you so, buy a Return from the Warthen, and undo the moment!”

“Could I?”

“Of course. Though the cost-worry later about a petty scar.”

Tryon said gently, “He’s new at this, Elena.”

“’Twas you who called him lame of brain, a nit-”

Tryon colored. “When he was acting the role. But still he’s King.” Tryon turned to me. “Raise your standard, yes. No matter your previous state. With the Norlanders upon us, the bones are recast. New alliances will follow. Even Mar will seek treaty, either with you or the Norland.”

“You suggest I ally with him, after his perfidy?”

“He’s greedy, but no fool. He’ll know his best chance is to throw in with one of you.”

“I can’t, Grandsir. Forgive me.”

Mother said, “Then gather Pytor and Elryc to safety, lest they be made pawns.”

“Pytor’s dead. And Elryc.”

Mother raised her head, let out a shrill cry that made my bones throb. She drew fresh breath and keened.

Tryon watched without moving. In the dark corner, something stirred. A great form arose, drifted across the cave. Even in the heightened light, I couldn’t make out more than a hint of features. It rumbled, “Death comes to men.”

Mother’s lips moved. “My boys …”

I felt rather than heard the response. “Comfort her, child.”

I took Mother in my arms. She beat against my shoulder. She scratched. I stood stolidly. After a time, her mourning eased.

I prompted Mother to sit, and crouched alongside. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

“Who killed them?”

“Your brother, madam.”

Elena closed her eyes.

Tryon said, as if in apology. “At times when you’re not with us we sense your fears. But we haven’t your knowledge.”

I looked past him. “Varon? Sir? Would it be right-”

An angry blast knocked me flat. “Who is he that dares?”

Mother said quickly, “He didn’t know.” To me, “Don’t speak directly to Grandfather. Let him attend you.”

I sat cautiously. “Why?”

“He’s gone far.” It seemed an explanation.

Tryon said, “Save Caledon, while you’ve time. Look for new allies against the Norland.”

“Who?”

“Tantroth of Eiber. The Warthen. Margenthar. Caledon’s a small boat in a stormy sea. Seek shelter.”

“But not with Mar.” I appealed to Mother. “He killed my brothers. He’d have castrated me.”

Mother said, “Tryon’s right.” She shook her head at my disbelief. “We can’t hate, Roddy. We’re practical. Not as in life.”

“Have you no emotions?”

“I grieve.” Her eyes teared. “Pytor was so small. Hester loved him so.” She met my gaze. “But I’m in the cold ground. It’s Caledon that counts. Ally with Mar.”

“No, I won’t have it!” With tremendous effort, I knotted my fists, tore my hands from the pool of rainwater. “I defy you!”

My palms were warm; I rubbed them in a gentle soothing motion, and stretched against the parapet wall.

I blinked. Much of the day had passed. Night was upon us.

Would they speak to me again, after my insolence?

I looked about, in moonlight and shadows. Interesting, that Mar valued Stryx more than his own domain. There were guards aplenty, but not enough to withstand determined assault. But the army he’d left at Cumber would swell his ranks at Verein, when they made their way home. Across the field four riders plodded. I wondered if they were the forerunners of his Cumber troop.

They rode for the wall, but not to a gate. In fact unless they veered, they’d be far from any portal.

Abruptly, as if reaching a decision, they spurred, cantered to the dark rampart. Their leader reined in, a long stone’s throw from where I sat. He unwound a rope from his saddle, attached a hook, swung it upward until it caught in an arrowport. His companions stood back, scanning all quarters. I ducked low. I couldn’t afford to be seen, no matter who breached the wall.

The agile young soldier swarmed up the rope. I risked another glance.

I stiffened.

Heedless of discovery I raced along the rampart, reached the climber just as his comrades hissed a warning. As I loomed above he snatched out his short sword.

“Take my hand, Rust.” I reached to gather him over the wall.

A sound came from him, that was no word. He almost fell from the rope. I clung to him until he gained his balance. He swarmed over the parapet. “You’re free!” His hand darted to my injured face. “Lord, no …”

Below, Genard held Rustin’s mare. Alongside, Anavar sat his steed proudly, sword in hand. Captain Tursel beckoned us down.

On the far wall, a cry. A guardsman shouted orders. Horns blew. “We’re seen!” I climbed the parapet, swarmed down the rope. Rust kicked my head in his eagerness to follow. Burning my palms, I slid to the ground. I clawed at the waiting horse’s pommel.

“No, m’lord! I’m lightest!” Genard tore the reins from my fingers. “Ride here.” He let loose his stirrups, squirmed to make room in his saddle. I climbed onto the black stallion. Genard wrapped his arms about me so tight I thought I couldn’t breathe.

Rustin leaped atop his mare. A spear whizzed inches from my head. We dug in our heels, shot across the field. On the battlements, trumpets blared in frenzy.

We tore toward the distant hedgerow. I prayed there be no moles in the field; if my horse stumbled, I’d break my neck.

Squeezing my ribs, Genard bounced in the saddle. We neared the sanctuary of the trees. I craned over my shoulder, saw nothing but Genard. He yelled, “You ride, I’ll look.” Then, “Horsemen pouring out the gate, m’lord. A dozen. No, a score. They’re wheeling off the road. They-Look where you’re going!”

I swerved, barely avoiding a low branch that would have knocked us senseless. I waved to Rust. “Where’s a road?”

“Right this-whoops!” He reined in, hard. The thicket sloped down to a wide trail, on which a hundred horse and riders trod their way home to the castle. Desperately, he hauled on his reins, forcing his horse to retreat or throw him. “This way!”

We plunged into the copse, brambles tearing at our legs. From the west came the cries of our pursuers.

After a time, we halted, knowing we had to rest our steeds or lose them. Genard gibbered in my ear. “We’ll dodge them, have no worry. Can you see from that eye? Your face is torn like a-” I jabbed him with my elbow. “You were so pretty, before. Why is your hand crooked? Can you hold reins with-”

I hissed, “Get this toad away from me.”

“Hush, the both of you!” Rust’s tone brooked no argument.

Clouds passed across the moon. The weary horsemen trod on, those who didn’t join our pursuers. We stole back and forth amid brambles and bush, never able to lunge across the road. We spoke in whispers, walked more often than rode.

At last a dull fury wrapped me like a cloak. I was no boar to be trapped by beaters. I peered down the slope. My voice was a hoarse whisper. “At the first chance, cross the road at that ravine. I’ll join you on the far side.”

Rust only shook his head. Anavar said, “Are you daft?”

I snarled, “Obey the King!” I hoisted Genard from my saddle, held him while his feet found the ground. “Ride with another.” I wheeled my mount.

Rust cried, “Roddy, where go you?”

“Where you may not.” I spurred my stallion toward the flickering lights of Verein.

In the pale moonlight I saw parties of seekers combing the fields. Many bore torches. Somehow, they beheld me not. My horse was black, and my raiment dark.

I trotted to the gate, straight as a bee to the hive. Fear roiled my mind, and a rage so fierce I’d never felt it prior.

Outside the gate, pikemen stood alert. Horsemen clattered in and out. I stood in the saddle, reached past the nearest sentry, pried a torch from the wall. The man gaped. I spat at his feet. He recoiled.

I turned, rode twenty paces, turned again to face Verein.

I took breath, and screamed.

My mount started, and I soothed him with my legs. I held my shout ’til I was bereft of air, and took new breath. Again I shrieked, a long wordless sound of nightmare.

Men appeared on the wall, jostling to see what phantom beset them.

Slowly, I rose in the saddle. I held the torch near my face. “Look upon me, and rue your treason!”

From the castle, utter silence. Behind me a rider spurred toward me. I spat, “Come nigh at thy peril!” He stopped short, as if he’d struck a wall.

An arrow thunked at my feet. I sat motionless. If this was my time, I would die. But I’d be hunted no more.

“King am I, of all Caledon.” My voice echoed from cold stone. “I ride to Cumber to raise my standard. You who would live, join me on the third day hence. Else guard your throat, for my bite is sharp!”

Another arrow plucked my shirt.

I made a sign of warding. “Think ye a barb can harm me? Shoot, and wither, and die!”

Somewhere, a horse whinnied. I screamed again, until my throat was raw. From the wall a score of torches crackled and smoked, a hundred faces watched unmoving. Someone hissed an order. Arrows whipped past. First a few, then swarms.

“King Rodrigo am I. AND I WILL HAVE CALEDON!”

I wheeled, and galloped into the night.