Palatyne spun to face the hall, both arms raised. 'So falls Rolenhold. And they said it could not be done!' His deep voice carried, and he spoke Merofynian with the accent of the spars.
Even as his men dutifully cheered, one hurried forwards with the foenix wrapped in his cloak. 'A treasure for you, my lord.' He pulled the cloak back a little to reveal the foenix's brilliant neck and chest colours. 'A royal foenix, the pet of the kingsdaughter herself!'
The overlord stiffened, regarding the beast intently, then he smiled and his whole stance radiated satisfaction. He nodded to the noble scholar. 'See, Lord Dunstany. What was theirs, will be mine. This foenix will be a gift for my betrothed.' He pulled a ring from his finger and tossed it to the man, who caught it eagerly. 'Have the beast cared for.'
As the man hastily backed out, Palatyne raised a hand to stroke the pendant resting on his chest plate. With a start Piro recognised her father's royal emblem. And his death hit home. She bent double, her stomach cramping with pain.
Through the rushing in her ears she heard her mother's voice and straightened up to find the queen had stepped away from the servants to confront Palatyne.
'Queen Myrella greets you, overlord.' In the sudden silence her beautifully modulated voice carried through the great hall. 'On behalf of the people of Rolencia, I claim the rights of surrender, as it seems the castle's lord protector has failed in his duties.' Her royal demeanour faltered, voice growing rich with scorn. 'How could you, Illien?'
Cobalt lifted a hand as if to ward off her accusations.
Palatyne spun away from her, staggering back several steps so that he put a body length between them. 'What's this? I ordered all King Rolen's kin killed!'
Piro's heart missed a beat. Unable to breathe, she saw the warriors hesitate. From their expressions, none of them wanted to strike down an unarmed woman. A woman who was the daughter of their old king.
Cobalt glanced from the overlord to the queen.
An inarticulate sound of protest escaped old Seela's lips.
Piro clutched the door frame, faint with horror. She couldn't stand still and let them kill her mother. But what could she do?
Unarmed, alone and also marked for death, she raged against her weakness.
Fyn skied around a bend then froze, unable to believe his bad luck. He had stumbled right into the path of a band of Merofynian warriors. What were they doing on the little-travelled foothills below Mount Halcyon?
'You, fisherman,' one addressed him in poor Rolencian.
Heart thudding, Fyn shuffled closer.
'Have you seen an injured man?
'No, I haven't seen anyone.' How would a lone fisherman react to a party of seven Merofynian warriors? Cautiously, that was certain. Better pretend that he thought they were escorting a pilgrim to Halcyon Abbey. 'Did your injured pilgrim get lost? Should I send him this way if I see him?'
They laughed.
'Yeah, tell the kingson we want to take him home to meet our mothers!' one muttered in Merofynian.
Fyn fixed a smile on his face and nodded, as though he did not understand but his heart raced with the knowledge that Byren (it had to be Byren for, if it was Lence, they would have said kingsheir) had met up with the Merofynians. At least he had escaped, albeit injured.
'This friend of yours, how will I know him?' Fyn asked.
'He's big and bad-tempered. If you see him, keep away from him. Ski up to the abbey and let them know. Their healers can help him,' the first one told Fyn.
The others nodded, exchanging looks that said they enjoyed a private joke.
Fyn nodded. All he wanted to do was get away from them before they saw through his disguise. The tattoos of learning were still visible through his sprouting hair. If his fur cap was knocked off... he must not think like that. He must act the part of a fisherman. It was customary to offer to share food with pilgrims.
'I'm off to see my sister who's expecting her first, come spring cusp,' he said. 'Our mam sent her some fish stew. There's not much but I'm sure -'
'So that's the smell,' the rude one complained in Merofynian. 'Mulcibar's balls, send him on his way before he offers us fish stew.'
The others chuckled. Fyn managed a chuckle of his own, as though he was trying to ingratiate himself with them, despite being unable to understand their speech.
'Be off with you and watch out for our pilgrim. Remember, he's bad-tempered so don't go near him. Let us know if you see him,' the spokesman insisted.
Fyn nodded. Relief made him lightheaded as he shuffled past them and slid down the slope, weaving through the evergreens until he was well and truly out of sight. By then his knees were shaking so badly he had to stop and bend double to clear his head, so he sat for a few moments in lee of a snow-skirted tree.
After a few moments he heard the Merofynians pass on the other side of the tree, returning to the abbey.
'...all as thick as him they deserve to lose their kingdom!' the rude one was saying.
'Do you think he'll report it if he sees the kingson?' a different one asked.
'The kingson is most likely dead,' the spokesman said. 'No one could lose that much blood and keep going.'
'True,' the rude one agreed. 'And with the ulfr pack in the area, anyone travelling alone and injured doesn't stand a chance. No wonder we can't find his body. We're on a wild goose chase!'
Their voices faded, drowned by the rushing in Fyn's ears. When his vision cleared he was bent double, staring at the perfect snow in front of his nose. Wracking shivers shook him.
Byren was dead. At least, the Merofynians believed he was. Cheeky, laughing Byren. Kindest, most thoughtful of his brothers...
Fyn's heart felt as if it would break.
Determination drove him to his feet.
If Byren was dead, it was up to Fyn to carry news of the abbey's fall to their father. He set off, his resolve renewed by grief.
Chapter Eleven
Piro swayed. Standing high on the mezzanine floor, she had a perfect view of the tableau below. Like a play, the actors said their lines, but it was her mother they planned to kill.
'You cannot mean to murder the queen,' Cobalt objected. He glanced from the overlord to Piro's mother and back to the overlord. 'She can be used to unite Rolencia.'
'He's right, my lord.' Lord Dunstany proved an unexpected ally. 'She's a valuable kingdom piece, make use of her. She cannot harm you if you are back in Merofynia.'
'Oh, no?' Palatyne rounded on him. 'You're the one who foretold Rolen's kin would be my downfall!'
Dunstany went very still.
Palatyne rounded on the nearest warriors, the ones who had been so eager to burn the Rolencian emblem. He stabbed one hand in the queen's direction. 'Well?'
'Overlord?' Cobalt covered the two steps between them in one long stride, caught the man's arm and said something in an intense, low whisper. They were about the same height, but very different men. Despite his Rolencian birth, Cobalt had the bearing of an Ostronite aristocrat, from his perfumed curls to his high-heeled boots. The overlord was a barbarian from Amfina Spar, and no amount of gold or brocade could hide it.
Before Cobalt could finish, Palatyne threw off his restraining arm.
'You think to bargain with me, Illien of Cobalt, or should I call you the Bastard's son? That's why you betrayed them, your uncle and cousins, because your father was denied the crown. Prove your loyalty to me. Kill her yourself!'
Piro gasped. All along Cobalt has sworn his love for her mother, but Piro did not doubt that it was a self-serving love.
'Let me relieve you of this troublesome woman, overlord.' The little Utland Power-worker strutted closer. With each step his staff struck the ground and its carven tip flared as though eager to shed blood.
Piro's stomach cramped.
'No.' Palatyne seemed to be enjoying himself now. 'The Bastard's son can prove his worth.'
Cobalt took a step back from the overlord, which took him closer to the queen, who was right behind him. Piro
noticed how her old nurse's hand rested lightly on her waist where Seela kept her dagger hidden. No one would expect death from a plump, silver-haired old woman but Piro had seen Seela use that knife to kill Cobalt's spy only a couple of days ago. Pride filled Piro, then her spirits plunged, for in a few heartbeats her mother and nurse would both be dead.
The very intensity of her gaze must have alerted Seela, for the old woman's eyes lifted as she looked through the forest of columns, up to the mezzanine floor. The nurse was not fooled by Piro's cloak. She went very still, then her hand dropped from her waist and she took a step back from the queen, abandoning Piro's mother to her fate.
'Well, lord protector of the castle?' Palatyne mocked Cobalt.
'Let me save you from this dilemma, Illien!' The queen sprang forwards, drawing Cobalt's own sword before he could react.
Piro's heart leapt. Here was a chance to run Palatyne through. Destroy the head and the body would fall, leaving the Merofynian army leaderless.
'Death to betrayers!' the queen cried, swinging the blade in an arc that was aimed to cut through the side lacings of Cobalt's chest plate, driving deep into his heart and lungs. But before it could drive home Cobalt reacted.
Though he was only half-turned towards her, he leapt, cat-light, out of her strike path. The queen let the sword's momentum carry her around in a circle, springing forwards and bringing the blade down in a diagonal blow that would have severed his head from his shoulders had he not darted sideways again.
The blow took him on the shoulder joint of his armour, slicing clean through, severing his arm. Stunned, he stood there, blood pumping from the stump. The queen continued the arc of the strike, bringing the great sword around for the killing blow.
Piro understood the problem. Her mother was a small woman. The weapon was almost too heavy for her to hold, once it had momentum she could only guide it.
This blow would have surely killed Cobalt, but one of Palatyne's warriors sprang in behind her, running the queen through. Pinned upright, she stood stunned as the sword flew from her hands. People dived out of its path. It clattered on the stone, loud in the terrible silence.
Piro whimpered.
Her mother stared at the blade which protruded between her breasts.
'Myrella?' Illien cried. He'd clamped his remaining hand over the stump of his arm, despite this, he bled copiously, swayed and dropped to his knees.
Piro's sight wavered from the Seen to the Unseen, triggered by the gathering of her mother's innate Affinity.
The queen stiffened. One hand lifted to point at Palatyne and her eyes rolled back in her head. 'You will die, knowing you have lost everything.'
Triggered by her mother's words, Piro saw Palatyne on his knees, the twin amfina heads writhing as one turned on the other.
'You will die at the hands of my children,' the queen said. 'Piro Kingsdaughter, I call on -'
'By the mother of all amfinas, she's radiating Affinity!' Palatyne came to life, springing back behind his advisors. 'Stop her before she can curse me!'
Before Dunstany could move, the Utland Power-worker swung the carved tip of his staff so that it connected with the tip of the sword that pierced the queen's chest. Unable to look away, Piro watched as the last remnants of her mother's Affinity-driven life force were drawn out of her into the staff's greedy stone tip.
The logical part of her brain told her that the carving had to be made from some kind of sorbt stone, something the mystics of Rolencia had not discovered yet, or perhaps kept a secret.
The Utlander tilted the staff upright and slammed its base into the floor. The carved tip glowed with power and the queen dropped like an empty husk, her essence and Affinity now the Utlander's captive.
Hollowed out, fragile as glass, Piro stepped back into the safety of a darkened archway. She wanted to run down the stairs and across the hall, and smash that stone so her mother could have a clean death, but that would mean her own death. She stood poised on her toes, outrage warring with self-preservation.
Common sense won out.
Palatyne straightened, daring to step closer to the fallen queen. 'She's safe?'
'Her Affinity's settled,' the Utlander confirmed.
Yes, cannibalised by him! A surge of fury strengthened Piro's fragile limbs.
Palatyne bent down and dragged the royal emblem from around the queen's neck, dropping it over his own head to join the others.
Piro touched hers. It felt like a brand, emblazoned with her identity, condemning her to death.
Cobalt moaned, still swaying on his knees, clutching the bloody stump of his arm.
Palatyne studied him for a moment, and Piro felt Cobalt's life hang in the balance.
'Save him if you can. I can still use him.' Palatyne turned his back on the injured man and beckoned Cobalt's new servant, the one who Piro was sure was also a Merofynian spy for, the day her mother was arrested, she had seen the flash of a wyvern tail in the back of his mind when he confronted her on the stairs.
As the Utland Power-worker organised three men-at-arms to carry Cobalt away, Palatyne confronted Cobalt's servant.
'Has there been word of the kingson?' Palatyne asked, his hand going to his chest to stroke the three royal emblems that lay there.
Three?
Piro's heart faltered. Her mother and father's. Whose was the third?
Not Fyn, he was safe at the abbey. If Lence had been at Dovecote then he'd have been in Palatyne's path. If one of her twin brothers were to die, let it be Lence!
Piro experienced a surge of guilt.
'Byren Kingson has not been heard of since he was sent to bring help from Halcyon Abbey,' the man reported.
'Don't worry about him. What of Pirola?' Palatyne demanded. 'The kingsdaughter?'
'It was thought she had been sent to Sylion Abbey, but Cobalt recognised her hiding amongst the townsfolk.'
'You know her face?'
He nodded.
'Go to the gate. I've ordered the townsfolk sent back to Rolenton. If she gets past you, I'll have your head. Understand?'
The man nodded, his face growing pale.
As he scurried off, Palatyne turned to the servants. 'Is she hiding amongst you lot? Come on, give her up!'
No one spoke. They froze, staring at him like rabbits enthralled by a snake.
He threw back his head and laughed.
A voice piped up in the echo of his laugh. 'It takes a brave man to kill defenceless women and children.'
Piro winced as she recognised the blind spit-turner.
Palatyne nodded to his men, who dragged the old man over to the overlord. 'Repeat that.'
'I said, it takes a brave man to murder women and children,' he said, voice wavering only with age.
'What would you know? You can't even see!'
'I don't need eyes to see into your heart. Your men must be blind to follow -'
His words died on his lips as Palatyne thrust a hunting knife through his heart. The overlord kicked the body aside dismissively but Piro could tell the blind man's words had made the men uneasy.
'Tonight we break open barrels of the castle's best Rolencian red to celebrate in King Merofyn's name!' Palatyne roared. 'But first - a bag of gold for the man who brings me the kingsdaughter, dead or alive.'
Dozens of them scrambled to do his bidding.
As if freed from a spell, Piro turned and fled, cursing the rich embroidered gown which proclaimed her status.
She knew the castle intimately. As a child she'd played hide-and-seek with her brothers. Now, moving on soundless feet, she ran down the storage passage, heading for her usual hiding places. Then she stopped.
Hiding was pointless. Eventually she would have to come out for food. Palatyne's men would search until they found her.
What could she do?
Men yelled, their voices coming closer as they slammed doors and thundered up stairs searching room by room. This was her nightmare come true. The dreams had become reality. She should have been f
orewarned!
No time for regrets.
Desperate, Piro sprinted down the long corridor, darting through a stillroom into the castle laundry beyond. Here she almost tripped over a girl, whose head lay at a funny angle.
Piro turned her over. Someone must have struck her - her nose was broken. The lower half of her face was obscured by blood. Piro felt the girl's throat. No pulse. Then she noticed the overturned chair and the narrow window. The poor thing had been trying to climb out when her chair tipped and she had fallen, breaking her neck.
Biting back a sob of despair, Piro ran on, but in the storeroom beyond she caught sight of men tossing aside cured meats and smashing preserves as they searched.
Trapped.
Ducking back into the laundry, Piro stood over the slight, dark-haired girl, thinking furiously. Palatyne had sent his men to bring back King Rolen's daughter. Here was a dead girl of the right age.
Her own life hung in the balance. This was no time to be squeamish.
The poor girl's skirt and shirt weren't bloodied, but the apron was. Piro flung off her own red gown, then knelt and undid the girl's garments, begging her forgiveness for this desecration.
First, she freed the girl's hair from its bun and pinned her own cap of red velvet and gold lace in place. With no time to make a neat bun of her own hair, she twisted it up and knotted the thick length once.
As she went to pull her dress onto the girl's limp form, her emblem swung forwards. Must not forget that, and the Keys of Office. Piro tugged the emblem off and slung it over the girl's neck. Luckily the poor maid was slightly smaller than Piro so it was easy to get the costly gown laced up and belt tied with the Keys of Office in place.
She tugged on the girl's skirt and shirt, then barely had time to toss the bloodied apron onto a pile of dirty washing and pluck a clean one from the laundered clothes, dropping it over her shoulders before the overlord's men flung the door open, startling her.
Piro gave a shriek of real fear and dropped to her knees next to the body of the girl in the red velvet dress. 'Don't touch 'er, don't you touch the kingsdaughter!'
The Uncrowned King Page 13