Standing behind Isolt's chair, Piro watched as Palatyne's men wheeled in two objects covered by cloth. From their size and shape she knew what they were, and she ground her teeth in impotent fury.
'My king, I bring you a most unusual gift.' Palatyne clearly enjoyed the attention. 'Creatures so cunningly preserved they look as if they could spring to life!'
With a flourish he pulled off the cloths to reveal King Rolen's stuffed wyvern and foenix. The courtiers gasped and clapped.
Piro schooled her face to betray nothing.
A small cold hand closed on her wrist. 'You were not surprised by the duke's gifts, Seela. Why?'
Piro hid her dismay. These last few days had taught her one thing. Isolt was much cleverer than anyone gave her credit for.
'I used to dust them in King Rolen's trophy chamber,' Piro improvised.
The answer satisfied Isolt.
The old king clutched the arms of his chair. 'They are dead, you say?'
'Couldn't be deader, though cleverly lifelike!' Palatyne assured him.
The king stood and walked around the table, but he did not approach the creatures.
'Touch the wyvern, Palatyne. Put your hand in its open mouth,' King Merofyn commanded, voice thin.
His order made no sense to Piro. Although she wasn't supposed to be able to understand Merofynian, the king's fear was clear from his stance, so she asked, 'Why does the king fear a dead wyvern?'
At first she thought Isolt would not reply. Then she sighed and whispered. 'When he was a boy, Father was almost killed by a pet wyvern. His father had all the wyverns on the estate killed.'
While she spoke, the duke placed his hand in the beast's mouth with a flourish, then laughed and bowed to his king. Piro thought the bow a very nicely timed insult.
She glanced to Isolt to see if the kingsdaughter had read the same meaning into this. Their eyes met and they shared a moment's perfect understanding. Duke Palatyne definitely held King Merofyn in contempt.
The king stepped nearer and prodded the stuffed wyvern. He and Palatyne began to discuss the creatures. The rest of the courtiers crowded round and even Isolt left her seat, joining the others.
Unlike the courtiers, she was more interested in the foenix. She stroked its coat, whispering in Rolencian. 'So soft. Surely it cannot be like this in real life?'
'It's even softer,' Piro said, then added quickly. 'The kingsdaughter had a pet foenix. I used to feed it.'
'Father never let me have a pet,' Isolt said, then seemed to regret the admission, for she drew away from Piro.
Feeling lost amidst the pack of overdressed courtiers, Piro followed Isolt and remained by her side. As she watched the nobles chatter to either the king or the duke, depending on their allegiances, Piro felt her lips curl with contempt. No wonder Isolt trusted no one. None of these people were worth trusting, all too eager to flatter and win favour with the king or the duke. Dunstany would have flattered neither.
And, as if her thoughts had called him up, there he was, slipping into the feasting hall and making his way towards the gathering.
Isolt nudged Piro, gesturing to where Palatyne preened, enjoying the attention.
'The duke outdoes himself,' Isolt remarked, putting heavy emphasis on the title. She said the words loudly, as though baiting Palatyne.
Piro did not think Isolt expected an answer from her, but chose to give one. 'Naturally, he sets out to impress you.'
'Naturally?' Isolt looked at Piro. 'You placed extra emphasis on that word. Why?'
With a jolt Piro remembered that Isolt did not know Palatyne meant to marry her. Surely King Merofyn's daughter realised her betrothal to Lence had ended with his death? And, as far as Isolt knew, all of King Rolen's sons were dead, relieving her of any obligation, so that left her free to make a new match. Anger made Piro's pulse race as she hardened her heart towards Isolt. 'It was a word, nothing more. Forget it.'
'I don't know what manner of maids they have in Rolenhold but here, in Merofynia, no one speaks to the kingsdaughter like that.' With a toss of her head, Isolt turned away from Piro.
Just then, Palatyne called the kingsdaughter to take a closer look at the wyvern's sapphire eyes and Piro noticed Dunstany signal to catch her gaze. She wandered casually around the outskirts of the crowded courtiers to join him.
'A fitting gift,' he said, adding softly, 'watch over Isolt. She desperately needs a friend.'
Befriend that treacherous schemer? Piro stared at Dunstany. Was he mad?
'Careful, your face betrays your thoughts. I've come to tell you I must leave Port Mero for a while. If you have any news, or are in trouble, send word to my servants and they will let me know. I have instructed them to obey you.'
This surprised Piro. Then it hit her. Dunstany was going. Without him there was no one she could trust. But then, she reminded herself she should not really trust him either.
Piro swallowed. 'Where are you going?'
'I have a finger in many pies, and one of them is burning.' He gave her a conspiratorial wink and slipped away.
Piro watch him go, feeling bereft. No one else noticed the noble scholar leave, except for the Utlander. Thinking himself unobserved, the Power-worker's expression contained calculating hatred.
The Utlander's eyes narrowed and he turned to stare directly into Piro's face. She'd been mistaken, he knew she was watching him, but he thought her so insignificant he believed he could bully her. Piro swallowed and tried to hide her fear. With a smile that was more a sneer, the Utlander joined his patron, Duke Palatyne.
King Merofyn's palace was a dangerous place to be a slave, let alone a kingsdaughter. Piro's gaze was drawn back to Isolt as she listened to Palatyne, her face a polite mask. Isolt was good at masks and the removal of her eyebrows had made her face harder to read, cloaking those little quirks of expression that conveyed so much.
Piro sighed. Since he'd taken her for his slave, the noble scholar had been nothing but kind to her, if she omitted trapping her essence in the amber pendant. She would watch over Isolt for him, but even he could not force her to be Isolt's friend, not when her dead parents and brother lay between them.
Byren stood on the edge of the lookout, dragging in greedy lungfuls of sharp mountain air. Orrade had set a bruising pace to reach the outcropping of rock facing down into the valley. In the distance, Byren could see the drift of smoke from Waterford, the closest village, if six houses and a tavern could be called such. Not far away, he could hear the clack of wooden practice swords, as the loyalists trained.
Behind him, Orrade sat, with his back against the rock, legs stretched out. 'Four families in as many days, thanks to Seela. Two maimed, plus nine able bodied men, if you include the fourteen-year-old boy and the gaffer.'
'Accompanied by fifteen women and children,' Byren reminded him. 'More mouths to feed.'
'You weren't always such a grouch.'
Byren sighed. With Orrade he didn't have to pretend a confidence he did not feel. 'I was the second son, the spare heir. All I had to do was stay out of trouble and lend Lence a hand, putting down spar rebellions. I never wanted to be king.'
'We can't all have what we want.' Orrade folded his hands behind his head and let out a sigh. 'I swear I can feel the first touch of spring's kiss.'
Byren laughed. 'You should have been a poet.'
Neither of them spoke. Byren was thinking of his love poem to Elina and its disastrous consequences. He didn't want to know what Orrade was thinking.
'Nine able-bodied men, but untrained,' Byren said as he sat beside Orrade, back to the sun-warmed rock.
'They're willing to learn,' Orrade said.
All well and good, but he did not have long to turn these farmers and shopkeepers into warriors. Because he'd asked them, they'd left their fields unplanted, their shops and farms empty or manned by their womenfolk and children, and crept like thieves across their own country into his mountain hideout. Not because he was the rightful king of Rolencia, but because they believ
ed he could lead a mostly untrained, poorly armed lesser force against his cousin Cobalt.
Byren rubbed his jaw. How many of them would live to return to their farms and shops? As Orrade had said, they weren't here because of some altruistic concept of rightful kingship, they were here because they could not live under an oppressive tyrant.
That reminded him of Fyn, who had suffered under the bullying acolytes at the abbey. There was still no word from his youngest brother, or word of him. It was not looking good. Byren could only hope Fyn was lying low. But surely, if he lived, his brother would come to him?
Byren frowned. 'It's only a matter of time before someone reveals our whereabouts. Then I'll have to lead everyone over the Dividing Mountains onto Foenix Spar.' He was not looking forward to that.
'Warlord Feid is loyal to Rolencia,' Orrade said Then his expression cleared. 'Ahh, it's appearing before him as a supplicant, that's what you can't stomach.'
'Aye, it's that. I have to ask him to shelter a rag-tag mob of old folks, women and children, who outnumber my fighting force three to one. Food's always scarce on the spars.'
'Can't be helped.' Orrade shrugged. 'Feid's one warlord. You can count on Unace, too.'
The warlord of Unistag Spar had sworn her allegiance, after Byren helped her regain her leadership, with a clever ploy that kept his interference secret. Byren trusted Unace to keep her word.
'The warlords of the other three spars won't swallow any of this nonsense about Cobalt being the true heir.' Orrade lowered his arms and sat forwards. 'Was there any truth in the accusation, Byren? I loved your mother, but there were times when she seemed to know what we were thinking before we did.'
Byren laughed. 'No one could ever put anything past her.' At least no one had until Cobalt returned. He'd been the queen's one blind spot. Surely, if she'd had Affinity, she would have seen through Cobalt?
'Pity Seela left so quickly. There's some things I'd like to ask her,' Orrade muttered.
But Byren was off on another train of thought. It wasn't that he had to convince the spar warlords he was the rightful king, but more he had to prove he was the most powerful contender for the title. 'Force is the only thing the spar warlords respect. If the other three don't stand behind me, they could wait for me to exhaust myself defeating Cobalt and his Merofynians, then march over the Divide and attack when I'm weakened.'
A whistling bird cry carried up the valley. Orrade tensed and scurried forwards to peer down at the trail.
'More loyalists?' Byren asked, joining him.
Orrade nodded and pointed. 'Fifteen men.'
Byren sighted along his arm. Each man carried a pack and they marched with their hoods drawn over their heads. Byren tensed. Was this the betrayal he had feared?
'Not our usual desperate families, fleeing Cobalt's bully boys,' Orrade said thoughtfully.
'If they aren't Merofynians foolish enough to try to infiltrate the camp, they're welcome.'
'They must have convinced Longarm they're genuine, else he wouldn't have sent them on. They look like fighting men. A few more of them and we could have a real army!'
Some army. With his twin brother, Lence, Byren had led larger strikes against upstart warlords.
'Come on.' Byren took to his heels, hearing Orrade's light footfalls behind him.
At the base of the lookout they met Florin and her brother coming down the track.
'We heard the signal,' she said.
Byren wanted to tell her to take her brother and head back to camp but, at that moment, the newcomers rounded the bend and looked up to see them. As the first man threw back his hood, Byren knew the face, although he could not place him.
'You don't recognise me, Byren Kingson?' the man asked, his smile flashing white against his beard. They all wore beards now. No time to shave.
'Should I?' Byren's hand went to his sword hilt. There were fifteen of them, but he had Orrade and twenty men within shouting distance. And Florin had her staff, a seemingly innocuous walking aid but deadly in her hands. Somehow he'd have to get Leif out of the way.
'The last time you saw me I had less hair. We all did,' the newcomer said. And, as the others dropped their hoods, he flicked back his cloak to reveal his withered left arm.
'Master Catillum.' Relief flooded Byren, followed closely by fear. Would the abbey mystics master sense Orrade's new Affinity and denounce him? Come to that, would he be able to sense that Byren had taken shelter in a seep and been infected by Affinity? Byren cleared his throat. 'And Halcyon Abbey warrior monks. Welcome!'
So few.
The mystics master bowed. 'At your service, kingsheir.'
'I thought none of the monks had survived. We'd heard -'
'That we were lured into ambush.' Catillum nodded. 'Some of us escaped. We've been hunted across Rolencia. The others will arrive in the next few days. I didn't want to draw attention to your hideout.' He paused. 'There are things you should know.'
'I know the abbey fell. I found out the hard way.' Byren had gone there to call on the warrior monks to help defend Rolenhold, only to find Merofynians held the abbey. He'd barely escaped with his life. 'Are you hungry?'
They grinned.
'Come this way.' How was he going to feed everyone?
Byren left the others in the cook's cave, sent Leif to fetch his father, then walked the mystics master back to Old Man Narrows' cave. Florin strode along beside them, either unaware or deliberately obtuse to the curious glance the mystics master cast her.
They passed the smithy, hammering away.
'You're well set up,' Catillum said, as the noise faded behind them.
'We've been here since Dovecote fell,' Orrade explained.
'Mainly old folks and children...'
'Everyone who can be is out patrolling, hunting for game, or at weapons practice,' Byren said. He gestured into the cave. 'We can be private here.'
Orrade led the way in and took his seat at the empty fire circle, as though he didn't have to worry about revealing his Affinity. Byren sat between him and Catillum, just in case proximity gave Orrade away.
A moment later Old Man Narrows arrived. Byren introduced him to the mystics master and he settled down next to Florin.
Catillum glanced to the cave entrance, as if waiting for someone else.
'What news?' Byren asked.
'Don't you want to wait for Fyn?'
'Fyn lives?'
'He's not with you?'
Byren shook his head.
The mystic let his breath out slowly. 'Fyn lives. Or he did the night we were ambushed. I haven't heard from him since. He kept his head when the abbey was attacked, led the youngsters out of Mount Halcyon, saved their lives and stopped the sorbt stones falling into the hands of the Merofynian Power-workers. You can be proud of him.'
'Fyn...' For a moment Byren could not speak. Then he cleared his throat. 'Where is he?'
'He set off to warn the king, that was before we knew the castle had fallen. I only contacted him the once and a renegade Power-worker severed the connection.' Catillum paused, his dark eyes worried. 'Fyn can't risk contacting me again. His best bet is to keep his head down and stay out of trouble.' The mystics master looked up, summoning a smile. 'He'll come to you when it's safe.'
But Byren was not so sure. What if Fyn went to Cobalt for help? Only Byren and Piro had seen through their cousin. Cobalt had turned Lence and his father against him. And Fyn didn't know what Cobalt had been up to. Their cousin could be very convincing. He might trick Fyn into betraying himself or Byren's whereabouts.
Short of sneaking into the castle and killing Cobalt, there was nothing Byren could do about this. And he had seriously considered assassinating Cobalt, before deciding it was too much of a risk.
Byren poked the ashes of last night's fire. For the time being there was nothing he could do for Fyn or Piro. He had enough troubles of his own looking after an army of loyalists. At least, now he had the mystics master's support, he need not fear Merofynian Power-workers.
He did not want to die, as his grandfather and uncle had, in a battlefield tent, killed by unseen Power-workers.
'What news from the valley?' Orrade asked.
'The Merofynians ride across it like lords, taking what they want, searching for you, Byren. They maim all those unfortunate enough to get in their way. It's only a matter of time -'
'I know. I need to move over the Divide, onto Foenix Spar.'
'You haven't heard? The Merofynians have taken over Cedar tradepost and added to the defences, turning it into a fort. They've ordered forts built to block all the spar passes. You won't be able to retreat to Foenix Spar. It may already be too late.'
Orrade cursed softly.
'We can still escape,' Florin spoke up. 'We don't need to take the Cedar tradepost pass. I know a secret pass over the mountain. An old one.'
'There is no secret pass,' Byren said, even as he caught the look Old Man Narrows sent Florin and recalled her mother had been a mountain girl. 'My tutor made me memorise every pass and canal the length and breadth of Rolencia.'
She smiled. 'A king's son would be the last person to know about this pass. It was used to smuggle men and arms over the Divide back when the Foenix warlord was not on good terms with King Rolen's line. It's too steep and narrow for horses, or even donkeys. It takes the better part of two days to walk it.'
Byren grinned. 'What would we do without you, Florin?'
Chapter Seven
Byren stood back from the fire while the monks cooked the food they had brought with them. It would be crowded in Old Man Narrows' cave tonight. Tomorrow he would have to send the mystics master and his monks up the ravine to the higher caves.
He glanced over to Florin, where she was arguing with her brother, insisting he wash in a bowl of warmed water.
'But I'm not dirty,' he protested.
Florin put a finger under his chin and lifted it to inspect his neck. 'Hmm, just as I thought. I could grow potatoes in there!'
Leif grinned and began to scrub. Florin noticed Byren's gaze and rolled her eyes, as if to say little brothers, what can you do?
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