Rythe Falls (26 page)

Chapter Fifty-Three

'I'm glad to see you, Lady A'm Dralorn.'

             
He was surprised to see his smile returned, though he'd hoped for it. She's always seemed...distant.

             
'How did you know to wait here?'

             
She laughed. 'King Esyn...this is your home. You're the King, this is the castle.'

             
'Oh...' he felt a little daft.

             
'I also told about twenty people to let you know I'd be waiting here, too. Sure that didn't hurt.' She grinned, and he noticed her broken tooth. It made her look slightly less...daunting.

             
'You're letting me off lightly, Lady,' he said, but he appreciated it. He was too damn tired to quibble. If she'd wanted him to get on all fours and pretend to be a horse right there, he'd have done it, just as long as sleep waited at the end.

             
'Our...friends? Are they well?'

             
'Just fine,' said Tirielle, smiling once again. 'My king...would you...walk with me?'

             
The rain poured still, and Renir was beginning to feel, at last, his pains. 'As long as it's toward my bed.'

             
She raised an eyebrow at that.

             
'I mean...I only meant...!'

             
'Renir Esyn, I'm teasing you. Let's walk...there is much to discuss, and...'

             
'Really? I'm not lying, my lady...I'm so tired anything you say will likely just fall back out my ears.'

             
'Then just a little. While we walk.' She laughed. 'You have an...interesting...turn of phrase. Is this how your people think and speak?'

             
'Honestly? I don't know. I think most people speak before they think.'

             
She smiled again. He couldn't read her smile, but he was a tired and sore and soaked to the bone, so he didn't try. But he did take her arm, gently, and together they walked through the mess of now-soaked dead, not really looking, but not entirely able to look away, either.

             
'This will need to be dealt with...' she said, but it seemed to Renir she was merely thinking aloud, rather than making any kind of conversation.

             
'In the morning,' said Renir. 'I've been thinking.'

             
'Best sleep on your ears then. Don't want it all falling out again.'

             
They walked together, through the halls of the castle, to Tirielle's room. A few people were still about, not sleeping. Renir and Tirielle together caused a stir. 'They'll talk, in the morning.'

             
'I hope so,' said Tirielle. 'Better than simple whispers, I find...good honest gossip can work wonders. You'll learn.'

             
'What, guile?' Renir shook his head, at her door. 'Not sure I want to.'

             
'Well, then you'll need someone else who's good at it. Tirielle A'm Dralorn, at your service.'

             
'You're...looking for a place in my council?'

             
'Ah...' Tirielle grinned. 'No mere barbarian...you have been thinking.'

             
'Plenty. I've been Kinging.'

             
'Kinging? Is that a word?'

             
Renir gave her a bow. 'It is tonight. Good night. Until the morning.'

             
She returned the bow, deeper. 'My liege. A small piece of last advice, if I may?'

             
'You may.'

             
'Even a king needs to stop Kinging, sometimes. Sleep. Morning will be soon enough.'

             
He nodded, then turned and walked away. He couldn't stop thinking, he found, as he wandered toward his room. But slower, now. Slower.

             
When he reached his room a servant waited, a young man no more than fourteen.

             
'I can manage to undress myself,' he said and sent the boy away. 'Tell your master I was pleased,' he added. He didn't know the rules.

             
Time to learn them, he thought, as he slipped into his bed, dirt and soot and sweat and blood and all.

*

Chapter Fifty-Four

After his time on the road Renir had become accustomed to early starts, rude awakenings and any number of nightmare sleeps. Still, being woken in the dark by the young lad who turned out to be his very own servant, the youngster coughing politely, was probably the worst. Not terrifying or even a rude awakening...but all the more horrible for the politeness of it. Renir's first instinct was to whack the phantom cougher with his axe and let the day light sort out the mess. But he was a king, now, wasn't he? Don't start out on the wrong foot, he thought, carefully opening his eyes. Consider this urchin a...test. A warm-up for the day. If a man can deal with a morning cougher, he can probably run a country.

             
'Hmm...' mumbled Renir, not sure about his own early morning wisdom.

             
'Your Grace?'

             
'What?'

             
'You said something?'

             
'No I didn't. I made an exclamation of sorts, at best. Anyway, why are you looming over me like that, at this ridiculous hour in the morning?'

             
'I...your Grace. I...'

             
'Who are you, anyway?'

             
'We met last evening, I'm your manservant.'

             
'Yes, but who are you?'

             
'My name, your Grace?'

             
'Grace? King'll do. Yes, your name, lad. I believe it's customary in these situations.'

             
'Small Peter...er...my King?'

             
'Small Peter?'

             
'My brother is Tall Peter.'

             
'Your mother named you both Peter?'

             
'Our father, sir. He was drunk. Mother died birthing us. Twins, sir.'

             
'And Tall Peter...he's taller than you, is he?'

             
'No, sir. A slight part shorter.'

             
Renir stared at the lad for a moment, unsure if he was able to process quite so much not two minutes after opening his eyes. Still wondering if, in fact, his axe might not have been the wiser option.

             
But he clapped his hands, making the lad jump. 'Right. Might as well get dressed, see about sorting out this mess, eh?'

             
'Yes, your King.'

             
Renir let that pass.

             
'Bath?'

             
'Me?' said Renir.

             
'My king...yes.'

             
'Is it ready?'

             
'I drew it this morning, sir,' said Small Peter carefully.

             
'It's barely a new day...you been awake all night?'

             
'I...'

             
Renir looked at the lad, saw his red eyes and his narrow cheeks. The boy looked bloody starving.

             
'Well, Small Peter, I'm going to give you an order. You can follow orders, right?'

             
'I can.'

             
'Then go and have that bath. Get some food, from the kitchens. Any man gives you a  hard time, tell them to come to me. Then...get some sleep. I presume you've got a room?'

             
'I...I sleep outside your door.'

             
'On the stone? In the autumn?' Renir shook his head.

             
Start this day like you mean to go on,
he reminded himself. 'Well, bath, eat. Then sleep. But not on the bloody floor. In here, this bed. We'll sort something out for tonight, but if you're going to be my man, then you're not sleeping on the stone anymore. Got it?'

             
'Sir,' said the lad. Renir wasn't sure if he looked mortified, or pleased, or if both expressions were simply the same on Small Peter's face.

             
'Go on then, I can dress and feed myself, thank you.'

             
The lad bowed, clumsily, but it seemed heartfelt, then scuttled out the door.

             
Renir sniffed himself.

             
'Bath. Nonsense,' he said to the empty room, and began to dress.

*

Renir Esyn (King Esyn, he supposed, but he'd be damned if he'd start thinking of himself by title rather than name) stared at the human wreckage strewn around the courtyard. Bodies and parts of bodies. Burned and stabbed, hacked or smashed. Death everywhere. The night's rain dampened the corpses' hair, gave the dead a sheen, rather than a pallor. Eyes were open, staring. Moist.

             
A few men in armour milled around, some servants. People going about their day. Checking over their shoulders, like the dead were watching and judging.

             
Renir settled his aching shoulders and looked around for a good spot. Strangely, his finger and ribs still pained him, but where his finger had seemed...loose, now it was moving when he told it to.

             
Hertha,
he thought.
Still meddling.
But this thought, for the first time, caused him to smile.

             
A good spot...where everyone can see me...

             
There, above the front gates, the battlements were low. A few stones were loose or even blown clear. A body leaned out between the crenelations, a Drayman arrow in his back.               Renir took the steps up, strode along the walkway and then heaved the unfortunate man down to the courtyard. Then, first job done, he called to a guardsman who he saw limping along on some errand or other.

             
'Name?' He should probably learn to recognise men by their rank, but name would suffice for the morning.

             
'Deitor, my lord,' said the man, pausing in along his way, standing uncomfortably on a bad leg.

             
'Is there a bell, or a horn, or some such? To rouse the castle?'

             
'My lord?'

             
Renir sighed. 'I want to wake everyone up, Deitor, and I don't want to have to shout my lungs out like a hawker or a fishmonger.'

             
'Sir,' said the man, snapping out a sharp bow. Then the man bellowed at the top of his voice. 'Rise! Rise at the King's command! Rise, one and all!'

             
Renir covered his ears.

             
'Anything else, my lord?'

             
'No. No. Very good,' he said.

             
Second order of the day. Get a horn.

*

Bear made a show of sniffing Renir as he stood beside him, facing the morning crowd. Tirielle smiled behind her hand.

             
'Bit ripe, my lord.'

             
Renir bit back a retort and made yet another note. Bath. Sometimes.

             
'Where are the others? Drun?'

             
Quintal stood at Renir's right, resplendent. Probably never even needed a bath, thought Renir. Neat trick.

             
'Sorely tired, King Esyn. Drun is...sorely tired.'

             
Renir nodded. He wasn't blind. He knew the priest was sick with something. 'Let him rest. Has anyone seen the mage? Garner?'

             
Tirielle nodded. 'Saw him first thing, taking his breakfast with his brothers. Shall I send for him?'

             
'Please,' said Renir.

             
Next note...you don't have to do everything yourself.

             
So he allowed Tirielle to find a messenger and send them to find Garner.

             
'What you thinking, Renir?' asked Bear. Bear's hair was...clean. Renir didn't think he'd ever seen Bourninund with a patina of grease covering every inch.

             
Definitely time for a bath...

             
Renir inclined his head toward the remains of the inner, walled, city. Pointed out, further still, to the flattened mess that was the outer city, once little more than slums, now nothing but mud, littered with dead and burned things.

             
People were beginning to gather.

             
'I'm thinking we need to start cleaning up. Before people get sick, or bored and turn to looting. I'm thinking people like a good speech. And there are a lot of people. I want them to hear, if they can. I'm thinking so much, friends, that my head's liable to fall off any minute with the weight of all these thoughts.'

             
'A king doesn't need to think of everything himself,' said Quintal. 'Nor do everything.'

             
'I know,' said Renir. 'I'm learning. I'll need a council, too. I think my friends should definitely share in my...joy.'

             
'By joy, you mean misery, don't you?' said Bear, not looking enthralled at the prospect.

             
'That's the word, Bourninund. Yes. You're learning already.'

             
Renir winked, and Bear groaned.

             
Garner approached along the battlements, and bowed deep and slow before Renir. The young mage seemed tired, but he wore his robe and his back was straight.
In short
, thought Renir,
he looks like a bloody mage.
Which was just the job he wanted...and a little extra.

             
'Garner, thank you. Can you...lend my words strength?'

             
'Yes,' said the wizard, simply.

             
Renir looked out at the city...his city. But his people, within it. Hurt, tired. Homeless, probably, and the euphoria of living never did last long, especially when you found you had no home, no food, and maybe lost those you love, too.

             
'I always did enjoy a rousing speech,' said Bear, nudging Wen, who'd come to watch.

             
'Well, you might want to nap through this one,' said the King, and began to speak.

*