David Feintuch: The Still

I glanced back to the silent stairwell. Upstairs, the north wing housed our favored courtiers and staff such as Willem and Griswold. The south hall held the Queen’s own chambers and above them, my own, my brother Elryc’s, and the nursery where Pytor still dwelt.

The servant finished polishing the sconce. With a familiar slight bow of acknowledgment, he went about his business. I trotted down the half flight to the massive, carved outer door. The guard swung it open with proper deference. Ignoring him, I snatched a cloak from the cupboard to shield me from the downpour.

“Your brother asked for you, youngsire.”

I glared. “Which one?” Why did the guard still call me “youngsire”? If I corrected him I’d only look petulant. Reluctantly I let it pass.

“Lord Elryc. He wanted-”

“I care not.” I skipped down the stone stairs and crossed the rocky courtyard. At the outer wall, where the horsepath turned sharply to break the charge of an invader, a gatesman opened the small daily door set in the huge weathered portal of state. Holding my cloak tight, I left the grounds.

Castle Stryx. Set against the high cliffs of the Estreach, it was accessible in force only by Castle Way, or above from the rocky foothills that sloped from cliffs to our ramparts.

I strode down the hill toward the city. The rain was abating, but not soon enough. I’d be soaked ere long.

Thinking of Mother’s admonishments, I snorted with disgust. Of course the Still wouldn’t fail, were I True. That was its nature. So I’d been taught for as long as I could remember.

Great kingdoms possessed great Powers, small realms only minor encant.

Each Power had its own properties. When carried into battle, the Rood of Norland lent our northern neighbors ominous strength. The White Fruit of Chorr was said to make whoever ingested it forever a servant, and secured for the King of the Chorr the loyalty of his intimates. In Parrad, the very trees could be made to speak. The Powers followed crown and land, inseparably. Within every kingdom it was so. Our vassal earls themselves had some small Powers; Lady Soushire’s ire spoke to dogs, and drove them to rage.

Our own endowment was the Still. Of little use at war, it nonetheless had its merit. Carefully wielded, it was said to bestow some degree of foresight. And Mother said it embodied the age-old wisdom of the rulers of Caledon. Just how, she’d not made clear.

How would I feel, when at last it was mine to wield? I shivered. I couldn’t know until Elena Queen was gone, and despite the Powers I’d gain, I dreaded that day.

Perhaps even after Mother’s death I’d not know the Still. The Power was conferred with the crown, and it wasn’t certain I’d live to wear it.

I bent, picked up a small stone, and flung it up the hill. A slim figure in cloak and hood ducked behind a tree. I snarled, “Walk with me, lout, or run to your nurse, but don’t skulk behind me, sniffling!”

Sheepish, my brother Elryc came forth, a forearm raised lest I concealed another stone. “Let me go with you.” At eleven, his voice still piped. His limp brown hair was cut as if a bowl had been laid over his head.

My voice was sharp. “I suppose Pytor’s just past the bend?”

“He’s at fencing.” We all had our lessons. Even I, who no longer needed them.

I grunted. One shadow was less bothersome than two, and Mother would be annoyed if Elryc complained again. “Come, if you must.” I set forth down the hill.

“Where to?”

“Rustin.” My tone was curt.

“Why not send for him?” My friend Rustin, son of Llewelyn, Householder of Stryx, was a nobleman in his own right. His House was autonomous and no fief. But nonetheless Rust would still have eagerly answered my call.

“Too many eyes watch, near the castle.”

Elryc sniffed. “As if there were fewer in the city.”

I glanced at him with new respect. “Well said. You learn.”

“What are you and Rustin up to, that you don’t want watched?”

“Talk. Whatever.” Sometimes a young lord wanted to be by himself, or with his own kind. Elryc nodded as if he understood. We trudged along the muddy path.

The City of Stryx nestled at the foot of the winding supply road, called Castle Way, that twisted upward from the wharfs toward the castle gate. Tradesmen who struggled with loaded carts and sweating oxen cursed Castle Way’s narrow turns and steep banks. No matter, our concern wasn’t their convenience, but our security. The Norland was but two days sail from our harbor, and Hriskil’s hostile ships had more than once scudded into the bay, bristling with pikemen and shieldbearers.

The midsummer sun battled with the persistent drizzle. I considered abandoning the road, crashing through the underbrush, sliding down the steep hillside. Less distance, but more work, and I’d muddy my breeks. On a drier day, without Elryc, I’d walk by way of Besiegers’ Pond. A shallow pool, hidden by brush, it lay but a few dozen paces off the road. Oft I lounged on its banks beside the inviting still waters, and thought private thoughts.

“What did Mother tell you?” Elryc plodded beside me.

“That I’m to have you thrown in the cells, the moment I’m King.”

He started with alarm, but realized I couldn’t be telling truth. Sullen, he muttered, “I hope you lose the Power!”

I jerked him to the side of the road, flung him against the rocky shoulder. “So says my brother?” I raised my arm.

“Don’t, Roddy!”

I punched him in the chest; he squealed his pain. He hadn’t much flesh between skin and bone.

“The brother who begged me to hide him from Uncle Mar, the day you poured wine into his boot?” I jabbed him again. “Lose the Power? What would come of you, little one? Would you be heir, or a corpse thrown in the gutter alongside mine?”

“Stop or-I’ll tell!”

I cuffed him again for good measure, let him slide sobbing to the soggy ground, knowing it wasn’t a good day for the Queen to hear I’d lost my temper.

I crouched, waiting while he wiped his tears. “Did I say you’d learned, Elryc? I was wrong. Hold your feelings tight. What when I’m King? How, if I remember this day, and hold it against you?”

His breath came in a shudder. “You won’t.” I glared, but his reddened eyes rose and held mine. “You bully me and make me cry, but you won’t really hurt me. You never have.”

“Fool.” I scuffed at his knee with my toe. “Come along, or I’ll leave you bawling in the dirt.”

He got to his feet. “About the Power-”

“Don’t start again.” I moved on, and he scurried to follow.

“I don’t really want you to lose it. But what of the True? You lied to me, Roddy.”

“That doesn’t count.” A moment’s doubt, which I resolutely quenched. “Not between us.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mother told me.” Another lie. I fell silent, before I ruined myself utterly.

The week passed quietly. I visited mother, once with my brothers, then alone. She seemed less ill.

Meanwhile, preparations were under way for the meet of our Council of State. Duchess Larissa rode in from Soushire; the other members were expected anon. To escape the hubbub I waited until Elryc was at lessons, sternly bade little Pytor stay behind, and crossed the stony courtyard to the stables.

Kerwyn the groomsman bent into the half bow, that of a household servant to his masters. “An hour, my lord. Ebon’s at his oats, and Genard is combing him.”

The afternoon was young and I had no errands, but I stamped my foot with irritation at the delay. “I’m ready now.”

“Ebon is not.” Kerwyn gave an apologetic shrug. “Truly, my lord, Griswold is most insistent that the horses be fed.”