The Usurper

by Rowena Cory Daniells

Tyro bowed. 'Mage Tsulamyth invites Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter to attend the elector's feast with him.'

  Piro and Isolt exchanged looks.

  'But you said Isolt was safe as long as she stayed on Mage Isle,' Piro countered. 'Why should we risk this?'

  'The elector is dying. The other four powerful families are preparing to choose a new elector. The mage will need the new elector's support. Tonight my master needs to show the powerful nobles that he holds the winning piece.' Tyro nodded to Isolt. 'The mage will be by your side and you will be under the protection of the elector himself.'

  Isolt released the foenix, which flew over to Piro. She caught him but had to put him down, as he was getting too big to hold. She knelt to stroke his long neck, noting how the brilliant red comb was already coming through on the crown of his head.

  'Is Mage Tsulamyth's position so precarious?' Isolt asked.

  'We are approaching nexus points in every kingdom.' Tyro turned to Piro. 'The mage asks that you tell him if you have any Affinity visions.'

  She nodded.

  'Then he knows who Piro is?' Isolt asked.

  Tyro barely hesitated. 'Of course.'

  He lied. Why? Piro wondered.

  'I don't like appearing before Ostronite nobles like a Kingdoms piece,' Isolt said. 'But then I've had to do a lot of things I haven't liked.'

  Piro straightened and came over to her. 'Don't worry. I'll be with you.'

  'Speak only Merofynian,' Tyro warned. 'Piro, let the nobles think you don't understand Ostronite. Report everything you hear.'

  She both nodded. Since the mage had taken them in and promised to protect them, spying for him was the least she could do.

  Fyn lifted his face to the morning sun and inhaled the sea breeze. A messenger bird gave its cry, alerting him, and he lifted his arm, adjusting for the bird's weight. It was marvellous how the picas could find this ship on the faceless ocean. They chose to come to him, because of his natural Affinity.

  According to the mage's spies three of the spar warlords had sworn to fight alongside his brother. Fyn had suggested they send a message directly to the spy in Feid's stronghold but Nefysto explained the Wyvern's Whelp pica would fly only to Mage Isle.

  'Then the mage must send a message to the kingsheir,' Fyn had said.

  'That is up to the mage. He may not want to reveal his spy.' Nefysto had shaken his head. 'Let the mage play the game his way, Agent Monk.'

  Now Fyn headed towards Nefysto, who was taking a reading of the height of the sun above the horizon to work out their position. 'A message, captain.'

  Nefysto put his sextant aside and offered his hand to the bird, taking her into his cabin, where the male sang sweetly in greeting.

  The bird knew it would not be placed with its mate until it delivered its message and began to warble in fast, garbled tones that Fyn found almost impossible to understand.

  Fyn watched Nefysto, trying to read his face. 'Bad news?'

  The captain walked the bird over to the cage, where its mate hopped around in excitement, singing loudly. He slipped the cage door open and the female fluttered over to the stand. The two birds wrapped their heads around each other and set up a soft cooing. And Nefysto slid the screen across.

  'Not bad news of Isolt and her maid?' Fyn pressed.

  'The warlord of Leogryf Spar promised to support Byren Kingsheir, but he has been seen moving his men over the Divide into Rolencia. And there is still no word from Cockatrice Spar.'

  'Leogryf has betrayed him?' Fyn cursed. 'When the Leogryf warlord hears of the elector's alliance he will regret his choice.'

  'You'll have to wait three days.' Nefysto laughed. 'The Wyvern's Whelp can't get you there any faster.'

  'A lot can happen in three days,' Fyn muttered, but he had to be content with that.

  Piro decided that she did not like the mage. He had a terrible temper. When Agent Tyro was late he told the coachman to set off without him. Isolt and Piro exchanged glances and huddled in their seats. The mage was the oldest man Piro had ever met - so frail and bent he was barely taller than her. His face was webbed with wrinkles, and bristly white brows hid his eyes.

  He grumbled when they had to walk from the coach to the chambers, where the elector's feast was being held. He grumbled while they waited in line to be received by the elector. But Piro was not fooled. His grumbling hid a mind as sharp as the winter wind.

  At last they stepped onto the dais to greet the elector, who lay on a daybed. The couch was cast from bronze, decorated with wyverns. Even the couch's legs ended in wyvern claws. Piro was aware of the nobles watching, listening avidly. At Isolt's name there was a ripple of reaction and excited speculation.

  Piro stood behind Isolt, as a maidservant should. The elector's couch was only a body length from her. When Isolt and the mage stepped aside, she caught sight of the elector for the first time. Her vision shimmered and shifted to Unseen sight. The bones of the elector's skull showed through his skin. She gasped and glanced around. Had no one else noticed?

  'And who is that behind Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter?' the elector asked in Ostronite.

  'Her maid, Seela.' The mage gave Piro a nudge forwards, speaking Merofynian.

  Struggling to hide the fact that she viewed the Unseen world, Piro somehow remembered her role, gave a servant's bow and said the first thing that came into her head. 'Your wyvern couch is a wondrous thing.'

  'Do you like wyverns?' The elector spoke Merofynian out of courtesy. Since his face was little more than a talking skull, Piro found it hard to meet his eyes.

  'A big male nearly killed us.' Piro winced. He was going to die and all she could talk about was death.

  'They're not all like that. You must see my pet wyvern. She's a beauty.'

  'You are very kind,' Piro said, and he was, to notice a mere servant. She bowed, and they stepped down from the dais as other nobles claimed the elector's attention. Piro tore her gaze away from him.

  'What is it, girl?' the mage asked. But before she could answer a beautiful middle-aged woman approached them.

  'This is Comtissa Cera. Her husband, the Comtes, died last year and she fancies herself the next elector,' Mage Tsulamyth whispered to Isolt and Piro. 'Beware this cat. She has claws.'

  'Mage Tsulamyth?' The comtissa bestowed a bow on him.

  'Comtissa,' the mage greeted her with no more than a nod.

  Comtissa Cera ignored Piro, who dragged in a ragged breath and tried to control her Affinity-induced sight. The world no longer shimmered.

  'I hear your father grows weaker every day, my dear,' the comtissa said to Isolt. 'What will you do when he dies? You cannot let a barbarian duke claim the throne of Merofynia.'

  Piro stiffened. But Isolt was used to dealing with this kind of courtier.

  'Oh, Father is much better than he appears,' Isolt replied. 'It is the elector's health I fear for. What will Ostron Isle do when they lose him? With the Twin Isles in upheaval, Ostron Isle needs a strong leader.'

  The comtissa's eyes narrowed.

  Just then another group came over to meet Isolt and the mage introduced them. Comtes Abeillus began to pay Isolt extravagant compliments, which Piro knew would bore her silly.

  Piro glanced out through the arches to the courtyard where a fountain played over a pool. Servants had poured oil on the pool's surface and lit it. Statues of wyverns frolicked in the flames as if frozen in stone. Such extravagance.

  Behind her two old noblemen, who thought Piro could not understand their language, spoke frankly of Duke Palatyne. For all they cared he might conquer Rolencia and the Snow Bridge. They did not fear him, because of the logistics of attacking Ostron Isle. The Merofynian army would have to sail across the Stormy Sea and enter the Ring Sea. But they would never get that far because Ostron Isle had the greatest navy the world had ever seen and, as a last resort, they could tighten the chain across the entrance to the Ring Sea.

  All around her the nobles jostled and jockeyed for position, shoring up alliances. They
were like carrion birds waiting for the elector to die so they could pick over the bones.

  Piro felt a touch on her back.

  'We have been seen and discussed, we can go now. My bones are too old for these late nights.' The mage leant heavily on Isolt's arm. 'But first we must take formal leave of the elector.'

  Due to the crowd, they had not moved more than a few steps from the edge of the dais. Piro looked over at the elector.

  In a blink, her sight shifted to the Unseen world again. The elector was just a skull, bare bones, no skin, no life. With a start she realised this was one of the nexus points Tyro had spoken of and she had failed to heed her Affinity.

  The elector was going to die tonight.

  Piro slipped through the nobles, running lightly to the dais, where she dropped to her knees. The elector clutched his chest, straining to breathe. His eyes were frightened. His hand seized hers, squeezing so hard her bones hurt.

  'Mage,' Piro cried, her high voice cutting through all conversation. 'The elector needs you!'

  The musicians stopped mid-note. The elector's breath rattled in his throat. Once, twice, he gasped. Then no more. As his spirit left, Piro's sight returned to normal.

  There was absolute silence and, though she hadn't known him, tears stung Piro's eyes.

  Mage Tsulamyth knelt at her side to gently close the elector's eyes, smoothing the lines of pain from his face and placing his hands neatly on his chest.

  A sob escaped Piro. She had not wept for her father and mother, or Lence. There had been no time. Now she wept for a man who had been kind to a maidservant, someone who could do him no favours.

  'Murderer!' roared a voice.

  Piro wiped tears from her eyes and spun to see Comtes Abeillus pointing an accusing finger at Tsulamyth.

  'I saw the mage slip something into the elector's drink earlier,' Comtes Abeillus claimed. 'He killed the elector. Arrest him!'

  'Rubbish.' Piro leapt to her feet, forgetting she was not supposed to understand Ostronite. 'The mage gave him nothing.'

  Tsulamyth placed a restraining hand on Piro's arm, struggling to his feet with great dignity.

  Comtes Abeillus ignored her, calling for his private swordsmen. A dozen armed men in emerald-green cloaks barged into the room with their weapons drawn.

  'They came too quickly,' Isolt whispered as she joined Piro and the mage. 'This was planned.'

  'I fear you are right,' Tsulamyth muttered. He raised his voice, suddenly finding strength. 'Comtissa Cinnamome. I am accused of murdering your kinsman. What do you say?'

  'The accusations are false. My uncle died of natural causes.' The comtissa spun to face the other nobles. 'Abeillus only accuses Mage Tsulamyth because he seeks to discredit the mage. He knows Tsulamyth doesn't favour him and won't vote in his favour. The elector's death was a natural death and by law, I propose Comtissa Cera of Cerastus House as the new elector.'

  'I accept.' The comtissa stepped forwards.

  'I propose my uncle, Comtes Abeillus,' a youth announced. 'House Abeillus is due to hold the electorship.'

  'It is not a child's game, to be taking turns. The position requires competence and reliability,' Comtissa Cinnamome snapped.

  'What of Merulus House?' a youth with prematurely silver hair spoke up. 'I propose myself for the position. Cerastus House held the electorship before Cinnamome's.'

  'Transport my uncle's body back to his chamber,' Comtissa Cinnamome ordered.

  'No,' the youth from Abeillus House objected.

  'Will you fight over my uncle's dead body?' The comtissa signalled the elector's swordsmen. 'Show some respect. Throw these buffoons out.'

  The chamber erupted. Hired swordsmen clashed, tables overturned. People screamed and fled, others drew their own weapons and sought to settle old scores. The mage grabbed Piro and Isolt, displaying unexpected strength as he ran from the room. A single swordsman blocked the doorway, weapon drawn. Piro came to an abrupt stop, heart thundering.

  'Do you want to live out the rest of your life unable to make love to your wife?' the mage asked, soft voice filled with menace.

  The man stepped aside.

  They ran down a corridor. Servants fled alongside them. Caped swordsmen ran in the opposite direction, as they went to aid their masters.

  The mage hesitated at the courtyard to the city. The main gate was closed and around fifteen swordsmen waited, obviously ordered to stop anyone from leaving.

  'Back this way.' Tsulamyth led them up a flight and down another corridor. At the end of this, they had to wait for a dozen caped swordsmen to settle what appeared to be a private dispute over a woman, before they went up another stair. An eerie howl rang through the palace, making Piro's skin prickle. Thrusting open carved double doors, the mage led them into a chamber. It was simply decorated by palace standards.

  The Comtissas Cinnamome and Cera, and two others, had gathered around a bed. All of them turned at the intrusion. The howl came again, haunting and bereft.

  'Comtissa Cinnamome,' Tsulamyth greeted her, hardly out of breath.

  'We brought his body back here, to have a healer proclaim it is a natural death -' Another howl cut her short. Stepping away from the bed, she revealed the dead elector and a young wyvern no bigger than a large wolf hound. The Affinity beast lifted its head and howled again, forelimbs on the elector's bed.

  'Will someone get rid of this creature!' the comtissa demanded.

  'Abeillus will claim you bribed the healer. The matter will have to go before the Council of Five,' Mage Tsulamyth told her. 'Ask each of the major houses to send their own healer to verify your man's verdict.'

  'I'll send for mine,' Comtissa Cera said, and spoke with a servant, while Cinnamome beckoned one of her servants.

  The wyvern sank its head onto the elector's chest and whimpered.

  'Why, the poor thing's sad,' Piro exclaimed. 'I didn't know wyverns could be so devoted.'

  'Their nature grows to resemble their owner's,' Isolt said. 'At least, that is what I've read.'

  'Get her out of here,' the comtissa ordered, shocking Piro until she realised Cinnamome meant the wyvern, not Isolt.

  A youth, who looked enough like the comtissa to be her son, tried to drag the wyvern off the bed, but the Affinity beast planted her claws in the covers and the elector's body nearly fell to the floor.

  'Fool!' Comtissa Cinnamome shrieked.

  'I was only trying to help, Mother,' the youth protested.

  The healer arrived. The wyvern howled. Screams and smashing glass echoed up from the courtyard below. Piro fought a rising panic. They had to get out of here. At any moment Comtes Abeillus's swordsmen might overcome the elector's and they could be arrested.

  'Poor pet,' Isolt whispered, as she stroked the wyvern's neck.

  'Behind the ears,' Mage Tsulamyth told her. From the table by the bed he took a glass jar filled with odd-shaped fruit and gave it to Piro. 'Open this jar, my old hands are too weak. Give Isolt a wyvern-nip for the beastie.' Then he went to speak with the healer.

  When Piro opened the jar a vile fish smell almost made her gag, but it caused the wyvern to leave the bed and sniff hopefully.

  Isolt put her hand into the jar, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'They're all soft and squishy. Ugh. Some sort of sea food?'

  'Sea fruit,' the mage corrected, returning to them. 'Give the wyvern one and come with me.'

  Isolt fed the wyvern who took the wyvern-nip delicately in her claws. She sat on her haunches, which made her as tall as Isolt, to nibble the treat. Piro sealed the jar and went to return it to the table.

  'No, bring it and the wyvern,' Tsulamyth said.

  Half a dozen swordsmen barged into the room, wearing yet another noble family's colours.

  'Ahh, the House Picollus,' the mage muttered. 'I think it is time we slipped away.'

  Isolt waved her fishy fingers under the wyvern's snout. 'Come, my pretty.'

  The comtissa began a shouting battle with the old woman leading the Picollus swords
men.

  Tsulamyth led them further into the elector's chambers, to a wood panel on one side of the fireplace. He unhooked a lantern and pivoted the silver hook. The mahogany panel rolled aside to reveal a secret passage. Seeing Piro's surprised expressions, one corner of his mouth lifted in crooked smile. 'A secret passage. No respectable Ostronite noble would be without one. Come.'

  The mage went first, then Isolt with the wyvern at her heels, and lastly Piro. Before the panel slid shut after her, Piro heard something smash and a shrill cry from the comtissa. Ostron Isle's run of peace and prosperity had come to an abrupt end.

  She followed the others down the secret passage, which eventually led out to a deserted alley. In the next square they hired carry-chairs to take them back to Mage Isle. Tsulamyth declared he could not walk another step. Piro was amazed he had been able to lead them so far.

  There was a short argument with the carry-chair men, who had to be paid double to carry the wyvern in Isolt's chair. Piro had no idea why the mage was taking it with them. What would they do with the Affinity beast?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Piro stood on the gate tower, hands gripping the stone. Smoke rose from the palaces atop Ostron Isle. All night the fighting had raged.

  She'd thought it through. The upheavals did not matter to Fyn for, as long as the warlords did not know the elector was dead, the document he carried would still be useful to Byren. And since the heads of Ostron Isle's five great houses would hardly be sending messenger birds to the spars, no profit there, news of the elector's death would have to travel by ship.

  The big question was, would the mage be able to convince the next elector to honour the alliance? How long before the fighting settled down and they knew who the new elector was?

  No time soon, judging by the way people were still fleeing.

  From up here she could see boats laden with families and their possessions fleeing across the Ring Sea to the safety of the outer island.

  A child's cries carried to her and she looked back to the inner island. On the low wharf not far from the bridge to Mage Isle a woman was pleading with a captain to let her onto their boat. She carried an infant and its cries were what had attracted Piro. Several more children hung onto her skirts, all looked tired, hungry and dishevelled.