The King's bastard cokrk-1

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  It wasn't as if he'd meant to steal Lence's glory. He could hardly have let the beast kill him. Halcyon forbid it, that would make him the kingsheir!

  When the others went out to the feasting fire Byren remained in the village council hall to think. The building had been dug into the mountain side for protection from the winter's cold so one wall and half the roof were made of natural stone. With a chimney at each end and a series of narrow shuttered windows tucked under the steep roof, it could house all the adults of the village. Right now it held the hunting party's belongings. He rolled his bow in oiled cloth and tucked it away with his pack. You had to look after your weapons. It might mean the difference between life and death. It nearly had today when the bow string broke.

  It was strange. As twins he and Lence were very similar, yet so different. Sometimes Byren felt closer to Fyn. Almost midwinter. Fyn would be coming to the castle for the ceremonies and celebrations. It would be good to see his serious younger brother again and Fyn's arrival was sure to make Piro's face light up.

  Just then, the hunters broke into a drinking song and Byren glanced through the open door to see the others sitting around the feasting fire, eyes alight with laughter, cheeks reddened by the flames. Lence was in the midst of them, drinking and laughing loudest of all.

  Time to join them and slip quietly into the background. Byren checked the edge on his hunting knife and slid it into its sheath. In the early days of father's reign it was customary to go armed at all times, but his father had forbidden the wearing of even ceremonial swords in the castle during celebrations. Too many duels between hot-headed warriors had resulted in deaths and blood feuds.

  Byren turned to go outside.

  The village's head couple stood in the doorway.

  'Byren Rolen Kingson,' the old man said, giving a jerky bob of his head. His wife followed suit. 'We've come about Unistag Spar. My wife's cousin lives over the Divide on Foenix Spar and — '

  'Unistag raiders have attacked her village three times this winter, took their store of winter grain and all the marriageable girls,' the wife interrupted indignantly. 'And I want to know what King Rolen's going to do about it.'

  The husband sent Byren an apologetic look. Strictly speaking, this wasn't King Rolen's responsibility. The spars were ruled by petty princelings, warlords, who held power by hereditary right, enforced with the sword.

  Byren knew what his father would say. In fact, it wasn't his place to take this to his father. He glanced past them to the campfire and Lence.

  The old man took in the direction of his gaze. 'We came to you because you killed the leogryf.'

  Byren was beginning to wish he hadn't.

  'And it's no good saying my cousin should go to the Foenix warlord for help,' the old woman said, as if in answer to something Byren had said. 'Because there's no point their warlord protesting to the Unistag warlord. The warlord of Unistag is so frail he won't see spring. His heirs are fighting over who will wear his helm. Meanwhile their warriors, greedy for grain and glory, are raiding Foenix Spar.'

  Byren nodded. Rolencia's spies had reported this. 'Look, I'll mention it to the king, but I can't promise anything.'

  They nodded.

  He grinned. 'You could always suggest your cousin move over the Divide into Rolencia. Nowhere's safer!' Even Merofynia had been rocked by civil war when his mother's younger brother died and more recently the Merofynian spars' warlords had fought a series of bitter battles.

  'See,' the old woman said. 'The kingson agrees with me.'

  Thanking him, the old man backed out, drawing his wife with him. Byren headed towards the feasting fire. The change of warlord on Unistag Spar could mean trouble for Rolencia. A young, ambitious man would set out to impress his followers and that could mean raids on the Rolencian valley people as well as other spars.

  He felt a surge of purpose solidify. It looked like he'd be busy this spring. If Lence led the fleet against the Utland raiders, Byren would have to contain the spars. The warlord of Unistag Spar wasn't the only warlord testing King Rolen's strength. That reminded him, he must tell his father about the raiders he'd seen skating across the valley.

  Before approaching the feasting fire, Byren slipped around the far end of the hall to relieve himself, his hot stream cutting a channel in the snow.

  'You and Lence used to try to write your names in the snow but you'd always run out,' Cobalt said as he joined him, unlacing his breeches one-handed.

  Byren laughed as he laced up. 'And we only had to write five letters!'

  'Well, you were just lads of six or seven at the time.' Cobalt finished, managing to refasten his breeches despite his injured arm.

  'Eh, Illien?' Byren felt he had started on the wrong foot with him because of the trouble with Orrade. 'I'm sorry to hear about your father and your — '

  'Yes.' Cobalt cut him off. In the brilliant starlight his face creased into a grim smile. 'I used to dream of the day I'd return with a shipload of Ostronite treasure to lay at my father's feet. But when I did, it killed him.' He saw Byren did not understand. 'I was bringing my bride and a king's ransom of jewels home to Cobalt estate. In thirteen years I'd done well and married well and I was proud of it. I wanted to show my father that he had misjudged me so I converted my assets to jewels, portable wealth. But the raiders must have had a spy on Ostron Isle, because they knew. They demanded the jewel chest.'

  Byren frowned. Raiders attacked the spars and the merchant ships. If they captured someone important they'd usually hold them to ransom, not murder them. The old lord had been unlucky. And, as for Cobalt's wife… raiders were always stealing girls and young women. Life was hard on the Utlands, women were precious. 'You were unlucky, Illien, that's all.'

  'I believe we make our own luck,' he said. 'As you did today. You did well tackling that leogryf, Byren. Your bravery has inspired — '

  'What else could I do? I couldn't let the beastie make a meal of Lence.'

  Cobalt studied him. It was hard to read his expression in the starlight. He lifted his good hand to rest on Byren's shoulder, had to raise his chin only slightly to meet Byren's eyes, reminding him that the blood of King Rolence the First ran true in both of them. 'Lence is lucky to have you.'

  Byren shrugged this aside. Singing from the feast fire carried on the still, cold air. The scent of roasting mutton made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.

  'Some say it's a pity only seven minutes stands between you and the throne,' Cobalt remarked softly.

  Byren stepped back so that Cobalt's arm dropped between them. 'I don't want — '

  'Like I said. Lence is lucky to have you,' Cobalt cut him off and Byren thought he must have misinterpreted the comment. This was confirmed when Cobalt continued. 'Especially with the unrest in Merofynia. When he marries Isolt — '

  'He told you about that?' The official announcement would be made Midwinter's Day.

  'No, King Rolen told me.'

  'Father?'

  'I spoke briefly with him before we rode out, remember. I carried a message from the Elector of Ostron Isle.'

  'You're that close to the elector?'

  'My bride is… was his niece.'

  'Ah, I'm sorry.' Byren realised he knew nothing about his cousin.

  The level of good-natured revelry from the feasting fire rose another notch as two merchant sons raced to drain their tankards to the encouragement of the men. Most of them would be too drunk to stagger to bed tonight. Byren winced. He had a suspicion Rolenhold's court would appear uncouth to his cousin after Ostron Isle.

  'The elector wanted your father to know that Warlord Palatyne has become overlord of all the Merofynian spars and King Merofyn has recognised his authority.'

  'He never!' Byren insisted, then digested this in silence. After the last poisoning attempt the Merofynian king had never really recovered. The warlords, sensing weakness, had tried to snatch Merofynia. His father's spies had reported that Palatyne was the most powerful of them but… 'So this Palatyne suc
ceeded in defeating the other warlords?'

  'And he has half the lords of Merofynia on his side.' Cobalt hesitated, then went on as if deciding Byren was ready to hear this. 'If your brother marries Isolt he'll have to watch Overlord Palatyne. Or maybe he'll send you to Merofynia to keep Palatyne and the rest of the lords in line.'

  'But King Merofyn — '

  'Is old and frail. He's a spent force. The people are fed up with his taxes and his religious oppression. Meanwhile, Palatyne swaggers around Port Mero, king in all but name.'

  Byren said nothing. This did not bode well for his twin.

  Cobalt slid his good arm around Byren's shoulders and turned him towards the feasting fire. 'So, Lence is lucky he has you.'

  As they approached the others Garzik saw them coming and darted over to Byren, drawing two youths with him.

  'Woodend and Highfield want to join your honour guard, Byren,' Garzik beamed.

  Both boys — sons of merchants — nodded eagerly and dropped to their knees, offering their swords before he could say anything. He wouldn't have been human if he wasn't pleased to have won their admiration. Byren grinned and the two youths promptly placed their hands over their hearts and began to swear the oath.

  'A Fealty Ceremony?' Cobalt muttered. He strode around to where Lence now stood. 'I insist mine is the honour to be first to formally join Lence Kingsheir's guard!'

  Sinking gracefully to one knee, he lifted his good arm to place his injured hand on his heart. The other castle youths, young lords like Cobalt and elder sons, jostled to be next. Lence accepted their fealty with obvious satisfaction.

  Younger sons and merchant sons hurried to Byren's side of the fire. With a sinking heart, he realised the castle's defenders were choosing sides in a battle he did not want to fight. But he accepted the fealty oaths with good grace, for he could do no less. The feasting continued and, while the others drank and laughed, Byren thought on what he'd learnt from Cobalt.

  Much later, as they bedded down in the Council Hall, the village women presented him with their prettiest maiden. She beamed, pleased with the honour of sharing his bed. Her eyes had been painted to make them look huge and glass beads had been threaded through her waist-length hair. They tinkled as she bowed and the men — those who weren't already snoring — made appreciative noises, joking about his prowess.

  Byren knew she would have been chosen because she could not conceive tonight so he need not fear creating another bastard. Many a time he and Lence had enjoyed a village's gratitude for chasing off spar warriors or Affinity beasts, but tonight he realised he could not bed this girl, not when he could still feel Elina weeping in his arms, heartbroken over Orrade's blindness.

  Fool! He should have sent word that Garzik was safe with them when they returned to the castle, and that Orrade's sight had returned. He should have put Elina's mind at rest but they'd left to hunt the leogryf in such a rush…

  'What's wrong, Byren? Have you forgotten how to do it?' Lence teased.

  He glanced up, startled. The women of the council had left and the girl waited expectantly, a smile lighting her eyes.

  No. He could not bed her, not here in the hall where the dark was their only privacy, not ever, not when it was Elina he wanted.

  He lifted his hands, wondering how to do this without hurting her feelings. She blinked in dismay, the smile slipping from her face as she read his expression.

  Byren caught her hand, bowing over it, using his best court manners to ease the rejection. 'I'm sorry. But my heart is already taken.'

  'What about your prong?' some wit shouted.

  Heat stole up Byren's face as he released the girl's hand.

  Her face crumpled and she fled. Silence fell as the door slammed shut behind her.

  'You've disgraced her,' Lence hissed, taking a step closer. 'What's wrong with you, Byren?'

  'Enough, Lence,' Cobalt intervened. He cast Byren a curious glance, then led Lence away.

  Byren hesitated. He wanted to call his twin back and explain but he couldn't. He was not formally betrothed to Elina and with the way things were between him and her father, he might never be.

  So he turned away, grabbed his bed roll and retreated to the far fireplace where he lay down with his back to the others and stared at the flames. After a moment he heard Orrade and Garzik loyally join him and the others bedding down. The last lamps were doused, then the hall became quiet except for snores and sleepy mumbles.

  Chapter Seven

  Tension crawled across Piro's shoulders, as she wished herself invisible. Here she was, trapped between her parents and Sylion's mystics mistress whose tapping cane grew ever closer as she approached. The abbess kept pace with the old mystic so they would arrive together to formally greet her parents. Piro had tried to avoid this meeting, claiming she needed to feed her foenix, but her mother had insisted that it was time to put away her childhood things.

  I must not give myself away. I must not…

  She halted the litany running over and over in her mind for fear it might attract the attention of the mystics mistress. Neither of the castle's Affinity warders had noticed the change in her since autumn cusp. But, although the mystics mistress was blind, she was said to be even more powerful than Halcyon's mystics master. Piro feared her many years of experience.

  Think of something else.

  Fyn! Yesterday Fyn arrived with the abbot and the monks but she hadn't had a chance to speak with her brother yet so he didn't know about the sudden blossoming of her Affinity with the gods.

  There she was, thinking of it again.

  If the mystics mistress wasn't specifically looking for it, could she sense the change in Piro from a distance? Piro didn't know.

  There was so much she didn't know about having Affinity.

  'And have you been doing any more paintings, Piro Kingsdaughter?' the abbess asked kindly, once the formal greetings finished. She always treated Piro as if she was seven, not almost a woman at thirteen. The abbess was plump and pink-cheeked with sharp, brilliant eyes, and looked as if she should be a successful shrewd sweets merchant, not the spiritual leader of an abbey that served the cruel, hard god of snow and ice.

  'Such skill with a brush in one so young is a gift from the gods.'

  Piro flushed. She must not look at the mystics mistress. But she felt as if her deception was branded across her forehead.

  'Pirola,' her mother admonished. The queen always used her full name when she was annoyed.

  Piro opened her mouth to speak but her father stepped in.

  'We discovered a renegade Power-worker in Rolenton just a few days ago.'

  'We heard,' the abbess said. 'A terrible business. My sympathy, Queen Myrella, it must have been — '

  'Lence dealt with her,' King Rolen said. 'Our Affinity warders made sure her body was disposed of safely.'

  Piro hid a smile. There had been a fierce argument between Springdawn and Autumnwind over who would lay the old woman's spirit to rest, with Springdawn winning because she held supremacy over all things to do with winter and women. Piro had been crossing the courtyard between Sylion's oratory and Halcyon's chantry when she overheard them going at it like cats and dogs.

  'Tell me, mystics mistress.' The queen lifted one hand. 'Are the predictions of seers always hard to understand?'

  This had been worrying Piro too. She'd even considered asking Springdawn when the nun returned from the hunt but had discarded the idea because she did not want to be lectured for hours on end. The nun was a terrible bore and Piro had been delighted when her tutoring finished the day she turned twelve.

  The mystics mistress shook her head. 'There are very few seers and they are generally avoided, as they will speak only the truth.'

  Piro glanced to her mother who had gone pale.

  'I don't think she was a true seer,' Piro said quickly.

  'Why's that, child?' the mystics mistress asked, turning her blind but oddly penetrating eyes on Piro.

  Because I have Affinity and
she said I was like my mother.

  Piro swallowed. 'Because she claimed mother's loved ones would die since we did not make war on Merofynia and take the throne when King Sefon died. But I don't see how refusing to make war could lead to — '

  King Rolen laughed. 'There will be no war with Merofynia. The seer was mistaken.'

  'That is quite possible,' the mystics mistress agreed. 'The greatest scholars of both Sylion and Halcyon Abbeys have been studying past prophecies and have come to the conclusion that the future is a many-branched tree, while the past is a single trunk. So you see the seers' visions often go down paths that may not happen.'

  Her father chuckled. 'Then what good are seers?'

  'They warn us of what might be, if we are not vigilant,' the mystics mistress explained patiently.

  'A wise king knows he must be ever vigilant.' Rolen patted the queen's arm. 'As Myrella and I are. Plans have been made to ensure — '

  A shout from the back of the great hall cut him off and the growing commotion silenced the chatter on the king's dais. Everyone peered through the forest of columns, their embossed foenix pattern picked out in gold leaf, red carnelian stones and black marble. Several of the king's old honour guard, men who had served him in those terrible early days, reached for their absent sword hilts out of habit. The ambassador from Merofynia looked around uneasily. His little page took a step closer, eyes wide.

  Piro experienced a vivid flash of memory, as she saw the seer fly through the air to strike the wall and her crumpled body sliding to rest on the snow bank. Piro's heart raced and her palms grew damp with fear. Was this new threat something the seer had tried to warn them about?

  But when she strained to hear, the voices sounded surprised rather than angry. Then she heard her brothers' names and relief settled her stomach.

  'The twins are back!' Queen Myrella exclaimed. 'Just in time for the festivities tomorrow.'

  Everyone turned to see Lence and Byren march down the centre of Rolenhold's great hall. The warlords and their honour guards stepped aside. These warriors were decked out in all their finery, fur cloaks and spar surcoats, but none were as fine as her brothers even in their rough hunting clothes.