Byren's reply was equally soft. 'Be free with your measures of ale and wine tonight.'
The keeper nodded and retreated to the kitchen.
Byren forced himself to eat. If this failed, not only would he pay with his life but the keeper and his family would also die. He hoped Orrade attacked at dawn, as planned.
Fyn lay on a rock beside Orrade to study the fort in the fading light. Spar locals had known exactly where the fort's lookouts were posted and had eliminated them, preventing word of their approach from reaching the fort.
But all their precautions were pointless, for the fort was ideally situated. Built at the end of a narrow defile, just before the pass path opened out into the Rolencian foothills, there was only one approach and it was heavily guarded.
'This will be a slaughter,' Fyn muttered.
'It only needs to be a diversion for Byren,' Orrade said. But Fyn could hear the anger and regret in his voice. They were going to lose good men in a hopeless assault.
They climbed down, returning to where Aseel, Catillum and Bearclaw from Unistag Spar waited. Bantam and Jakulos were within hearing distance. They were never far from him.
For some reason Florin was present. Fyn had noticed she slept next to Orrade, in his fire circle, and assumed she was his lover, for all that they were being circumspect.
When Orrade explained the situation, the older warriors exchanged looks.
'We knew it wasn't going to be easy,' Catillum said. Fyn noted that he did not offer to cast an illusion to get them inside the gate.
'Let me lead the assault, with my honour guard,' young Aseel offered, eager to wipe out the shame of his cousin Rejulas's betrayal.
Fyn noticed Orrade flinch. He didn't want to send the untried youth to almost certain death, but to refuse Aseel would dishonour him. Fyn stiffened. It wasn't right, asking men to die for his brother while he sat back and watched.
'I'll lead the attack,' he heard himself say.
'You can't,' Orrade objected. 'Byren would kill me if anything happened to you. You're his heir now. I'll lead. We attack just before dawn.'
Towards dawn, Byren woke his three companions and they slipped out of the tap-room.
'Wait here.' He left them in the dark entrance, to stumble his way across the courtyard to the privies.
The fort was silent, no hint of trouble. And, lucky for Orrade, it was a cloudy night. Byren could barely see his hand in front of his face.
Across the courtyard, by the spar gate, the night watch congregated around a burning brazier. After relieving himself, Byren limped back to join the others.
'Six men guard the gate winch, none too alert. Take them down silently if you can. I'll distract them.'
They nodded their agreement and kept to the building's edge so they presented no silhouette.
Byren made the trek across the courtyard a second time.
'Here, you?' One of the night watch proved more alert than the others and strode over. 'Weren't you just out here?'
Byren shrugged, remaining bent over as he leant on the staff. 'I've the old man's curse, a leaky tap.'
The man chuckled and waved him on.
As he turned away, Byren whipped the end of the staff around and caught him in the back of his knees. Before the man hit the ground, Byren followed him, bringing the staff over in an arc to strike his head. All thanks to Florin and the days spent practising to best her. He mustn't think about her.
In that moment, he realised he was risking his life to make sure she didn't fall at the gate in some foolhardy attempt to prove she was better than his men.
If he was lucky, Orrade would never guess how Byren really felt.
A soft whistle drew his attention. He looked over to find the others had dealt with the remaining night watch.
Byren hurried to join them. 'Drag the bodies out of sight, winch the gate open.' As they did this, he lit a lantern and stepped into the open gateway.
Their lookout had reported activity. Fyn and Orrade tried to make sense of what they saw.
'The gate's opening,' Orrade muttered. 'I don't believe it.'
'Someone's signalling with a lantern,' Fyn said. 'We must have supporters inside the fort.'
Orrade scrambled to his feet. 'Quick, before they are discovered.'
With Aseel and the volunteers at their heels, they hurried down the narrow defile, trying to make as little noise as possible. Bantam and Jakulos followed Fyn.
As they came closer to the gate, the man with the lantern lifted it to reveal his face.
'I swear that's Byren!' Orrade said as he ran.
Fyn sprinted to keep up with him. What had happened to his brother? He looked terrible.
Orrade hugged Byren and pulled back, low voice rich with laughter. 'How did you do it?'
'A little play acting. Eh, Fyn, don't you recognise me?' Byren gave his familiar crooked grin and Fyn threw his arms around his brother. His brother squeezed him so hard Fyn thought he'd break a rib. Byren stepped back to study his face, voice thick with emotion. 'We thought you dead, little brother.'
Aseel and the volunteers poured into the courtyard. They were excited, nervous, ready for action. Any time now, their presence would be discovered.
Byren glanced past Fyn's shoulder and Fyn turned to see the two sea-hounds. 'Uh, this is Bantam and Jakulos. They're…'
'We're his honour guard,' Bantam said. And Jakulos dipped his head in agreement.
'Good.' Byren offered his arm, pulling them each in for a hug and clapping them on his back. As he pulled back from Jakulos he grinned. 'Don't often meet a man I can look in the eye. How did you come to serve m'brother?'
But before they could answer, there was some sort of altercation and Aseel came over, dragging a prisoner.
'This man claims he knows you,' Aseel said.
'Let him go, lad. It's the tradepost keeper.' Byren turned to Orrade. 'Go with him. He'll show you where the Merofynians sleep.'
As the others left them, Byren turned back to Fyn, who took a few steps away from the sea-hounds and reached for the message cylinder inside his vest. 'Byren, I — '
'A moment, lad.' His brother strode off, after one of the warriors, caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. In the lantern light, Fyn recognised the mountain girl.
Byren glared at her. 'What're you doing here?'
'Orrie called for volunteers.' She glared right back at him.
'Did he know you were one of them?'
She lifted her chin.
For a moment, Byren seemed too angry to speak. Then he lowered the lantern. 'You can make yourself useful, Mountain-girl. Run back to the rest, tell them to come down here.'
'Yes, my king.' She darted off.
Fyn watched Byren watch her go. 'It's not Orrie's fault. He didn't know. He wouldn't have sent the girl he's bedding on a suicide attack.'
Byren stiffened, then let his breath out slowly and rubbed his jaw as if tired.
So much rested on Byren's shoulders. Fyn knew just the thing to cheer him up. He removed the message cylinder from inside his vest. 'Here. The elector offers you his support.' No need to mention that the old elector was dead.
'Better and better.' Byren took it then glanced to Fyn. 'So how is it that you bring an alliance with Ostron Isle?'
And Fyn lied to his brother.
Chapter Twenty
By dawn, Byren had called his captains together, and taken over the tap-room. He could smell spicy sausages, eggs and beans cooking, and his stomach grumbled. The traders had congratulated him, then backed out. They were happy, believing taxes would return to normal. They wouldn't be so happy when he had to confiscate their edible goods to feed his army.
Orrade was last to arrive and join them at the long table. 'The fort's secured. Your men took down the night watch. The rest surrendered without a fight.' He grinned. 'Hard to be brave when you're unarmed, barefoot and only half-awake.'
'Our losses?'
'None dead. One injured.' Laughter lit Orrade's thin f
ace and Byren felt an answering grin tug at his lips. 'He dropped a barrel of looted wine on his foot and broke it.'
'The barrel?'
'No, his foot.'
'Just as well.'
The others chuckled, as Byren meant them to. They were all pleased with the easy victory, but jumpy because they knew the real battle still lay ahead.
'What will you do now, Byren?' Feid asked. 'They say Rolenhold can't be taken by force.'
'It never has. Deceit opened the gates for Palatyne. Cobalt won't fall for that.' Byren was reminded of tactics lessons with Captain Temor. The old warrior's death was another he had to avenge.
'Word of Byren's return will spread,' Orrade said. 'The people will rise up and join us.'
'The Merofynians could sit in the castle and ignore us,' Bearclaw countered. He was from Unistag Spar and eager to prove his loyalty to Warlord Unace, by supporting Byren who had helped her gain leadership.
'I hope they do stay safe in the castle,' Byren said quickly. The secret to leading men like this was never to appear at a loss. 'It'll give me time to gather warriors, retake the abbey and wipe out any Merofynians not within the castle walls. In fact, they don't know we're here, yet and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Before Cobalt knows it, he could have lost Rolencia.'
'But he'd still be safe in Rolenhold,' Corvel muttered.
'If I were Cobalt, I'd ride out to do battle before you're at full strength,' Feid said.
'But Cobalt doesn't know we're here yet.' Byren knew Palatyne had left a third of the Merofynian army under Cobalt's command, plus Lord Leon's warriors had joined him. He was outnumbered three to one. 'And that's why I need a secure base to strike from.'
'Dovecote's overrun with Merofynians,' Orrade began, 'but — '
'The Narrows is empty,' Old Man Narrows suggested. 'And it's secure, surrounded by the lake and cliffs on three sides. The palisade on the fourth side would have to be rebuilt — '
'We've got the men to do that. Excellent.' Byren turned to Orrade. 'See how many horses we have. Take twenty or thirty good men and the Narrows family. Go prepare the tradepost for us.' That would get Florin out of his sight and, hopefully, out of his thoughts. 'We'll follow on foot.'
As the keeper and his family brought out breakfast, Byren noticed that Catillum had slipped out of the tap-room. He'd have to catch him later and ask his advice on retaking the abbey. Recapturing Halcyon Abbey would inspire the valley people, and it was an easier nut to crack than Rolenhold.
Fyn stood on the fort's gate-tower. Looking across the valley, he drank in his homeland. It was good to be back. To his right the sun had just risen. So far it only picked out the tip of Mount Halcyon and, much nearer, Rolenhold itself. The Rolencian valley lay shrouded in early morning mist, with only single spires and tall trees spearing the fog. It was all so peaceful.
But not for long.
'Your brother did well, but winning one battle doesn't win the war,' Bantam muttered. 'He has a long, hard haul ahead of him, before he can call himself King Byren the Fifth.'
Fyn shrugged. 'Byren's up to it. Before summer's over, you'll have good news to report to Nefysto.'
'How do you know we won't claim lordships, riding on your coat tails?'
Fyn laughed. 'You have salt-water in your veins, not blood. I can't see you settling down on dry land, Bantam. But as for Jaku here — '
'I plan to settle on Ostron Isle. I bear Merofynia no love after the way she treated me, and Rolencians bear me no love, after the way Merofynia began this war. No, it's Ostron Isle for me.'
Below him, barely visible through the mist, Byren's army was cooking breakfast. Soon they would pack their kits and march out. Fyn should find Byren and see what his plans were.
Footsteps on the wooden ladder told him someone was coming.
Feldspar climbed up. 'Master Catillum wants to see you, kingsheir.'
His former friend's gaze skimmed past Fyn, who wanted to explain, why he was keeping his distance, but then Feldspar would have to denounce him for associating with renegade Affinity. So he held his tongue and hardened his heart.
Fyn nodded. 'I'll be along soon. Where is he?'
'Behind the stables.'
Fyn turned away from Feldspar's disappointment and heard him go down the ladder.
'What does the mystics master want?' Bantam asked.
Fyn's hand went to his chest but the Fate was gone. Odd how he missed its warmth over his heart. 'I don't know. I've already returned the abbey's Fate.'
Had he somehow given away his association with the mage? He didn't think so. Bantam and Jakulos followed him down the ladder as he headed for the stables. They waited just out of sight around the building.
'You sent for me, mystics master.'
'Ah, Fyn.' When Catillum turned, Fyn was struck by how much worse he looked. He had always been thin and intense, now he looked positively gaunt. Was the master sickening from something? He hoped not. Catillum was the only master-level monk left alive. When they retook the abbey, he would be their abbot. 'There is something I must ask you, kingson.'
Fyn waited.
'You are torn by two loyalties now, the abbey and your brother. Byren Kingsheir intends to retake the abbey. Only you and I know about the secret passage. I don't want rough warriors traipsing through the goddess's Sacred Heart. I want you to leave this to me. Don't tell him what you know.'
'Of course.' It was none of his business, now that he had turned his feet away from the goddess's path.
'Very good. Thank you, kingson.'
The mystic master left and the sea-hounds joined Fyn.
At Bantam's raised brows, Fyn explained. 'Abbey business.'
Bantam did not look pleased.
Just then there was a commotion from the front of the stables, so Fyn headed around to see what was going on.
Through a gap in the crowd, Fyn saw Byren with the warlords. His brother laughed at something Corvel said, and the man's sons laughed along with him. These violent men respected his brother for the good-hearted warrior he was. But did Byren have the cunning to beat Cobalt, who according to Piro was both brilliant and devious?
There was always Orrade. As if his thoughts had conjured him up, his brother's best friend thrust through the horses and men to join Fyn.
'We looked for you at the war table,' Orrade said.
'I was speaking with Master Catillum.' Giving up the Fate had been hard, but being excluded from retaking the abbey brought home to him that he was no longer going to become a monk. Strange how much that hurt.
'I've set aside three horses for you.' Orrade's glance included Bantam and Jakulos. 'We're riding ahead.'
The mountain girl approached, with her travelling kit slung over one shoulder.
'Over here, Florin.' Orrade beckoned her, explaining to Fyn as she approached. 'We're making for Narrowneck. Byren is going to reinforce its defences and make that his base until he can take back Rolenhold.'
'Good idea.' Fyn nodded to Florin. He didn't know what Orrade saw in her. She was half a head taller than Fyn and could look Orrade in the eyes. Handsome rather than pretty, she moved and spoke with none of the unconscious grace that made Piro and Isolt so desirable.
Florin eyed the horse Orrade had selected for her. 'If I fall off this beastie and break my neck, I'm never speaking to you again.'
'You rode well enough the night we fled Merofynians in Waterford.'
'That wasn't riding. That was holding on for dear life!'
Orrade grinned, winked at Fyn and offered Florin a leg up.
She tossed her braid over her shoulder, slipped her boot into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle.
As Fyn mounted up, he heard her muttering under her breath.
'…can't be any harder than facing down a manticore pride.'
And he hid a smile.
Piro lay in wait for the mage's return all morning, eager to hear if the new elector would honour the last elector's alliance.
All morn
ing people left Mage Isle, returning to their homes. The Ring Sea was busy with small boats ferrying people back to Ostron Isle.
By midday Piro was starving, but she would not leave her post. Her patience was rewarded with the return of the mage in his closed carriage.
When the horses came to a stop, she was there opening the door. 'Mage Tsulamyth?'
'Who?' He glared at her. 'Oh, it's you. Can't an old man have a moment's peace?'
She offered her hand to help him out. 'Did you see the new elector? What did she say?'
'Manners, that's what young people lack today. Won't even let an old man rest his feet and take a sip of mulled wine to ease the bone-ache.'
His Affinity rolled over her, making her skin tingle and the hairs on her arms lift. He was powerful but frail, so she let him lean on her shoulder. As she guided him across the courtyard, a family hurried past, pausing to make a low bow of deference to the mage.
He waved them off. 'And good riddance. Eating me out of house and home — '
'You mustn't be angry with Tyro. It was my fault,' Piro told him. 'I opened the gate.'
'That boy…' The mage's mouth lifted in a wry smile. Tyro's smile. Dunstany's smile.
Piro saw through the disguise in that instant.
Just as he had pretended to be Lord Dunstany on the mage's orders, now Tyro was pretending to be the mage. But why?
Poor Tsulamyth must be so sick. Perhaps he could not leave his bed. Or perhaps the mage was somewhere else tending to one of his other 'irons.'
She hid a smile. This pretence would explain the mage's rumoured ability to be in two places at once. More likely, he was sick. The excitement the night the elector died must have been too much for him. So he'd sent Tyro to see the new elector today.
Hiding her discovery, she asked, 'Did the elector see you?'
'One-track mind, that's what you have, girlie. But to answer your question, yes, she did. When I pointed out that Palatyne's next invasion would be of Ostron Isle, with the might of both Rolencia and Merofynia at his back, the elector agreed to support your brother in — '
'Wonderful.' Piro hugged him.
Tyro disguised as the mage pushed her off, wincing as if his back hurt. She hid another smile. Tyro was such a good actor. In fact, he seemed more comfortable acting a part than being himself.
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