The Usurper (6 page)

Fyn wished his head didn't hurt so badly. 'Why? Why do you care what I do?'

Nefysto lifted his elegant fingers in an oblique gesture that told him nothing. 'Orders, little monk. What will it be?'

Anger flushed the stupor from his body. 'I won't give my word.'

'That's what I thought.'

As Fyn turned to walk out, he wondered why he hadn't lied. It would have been so simple to agree, then slip away. It was not as if he owed the
Wyvern's Whelp's
captain a debt of honour. After all, the man had forced him to serve against his will.

'That's a lie. Take it back!'

Byren tensed, his lunch sitting heavy in his belly. Not Winterfall again. He peered around the bend to find his honour guard had met up with the maimed on the crossing of two narrow paths.

The player lifted his hands in a no-threat gesture. 'I'm only repeating Cobalt's decree.'

Byren caught Orrade's eye, with a slight nod.

No words needed, Orrade went forwards, while Byren hung back to listen in.

'What decree is this?' Orrade asked.

'Lord Dovecote.' The player acknowledged his rank with a nod. 'It was all over Rolenton. I'm surprised you haven't heard.'

Orrade made no answer.

The player's tone, when he continued, said that he was only repeating what he had heard. 'Regent Cobalt announced that Queen Myrella had untamed Affinity. According to Rolencian law this annuls her marriage to King Rolen, making their children illegitimate. Since Cobalt is the son of King Rolen's older illegitimate brother, this makes his claim to the throne as good as, if not better than, Byren Kingsheir's claim.'

'A lie. A scurrilous lie,' Winterfall insisted. 'If you'd heard the things Cobalt said, the way he twisted words to serve him, you'd -'

'Enough.' Orrade held up a hand. Byren could hear the annoyance in his voice. 'Since Queen Myrella, may Halcyon shelter her, was murdered by Cobalt at Overlord Palatyne's orders, she can't defend herself. And I don't think I'd trust anything Cobalt said. Not when it favours him. Come on, Winterfall, back to weapons practice.'

Orrade led Byren's honour guard off, while Byren held back, cursing Cobalt under his breath. Trust his cousin to muddy the waters. Fancy accusing his mother of untamed Affinity - if ever there was a dutiful daughter and loving wife, it was Queen Myrella.

Later that afternoon, Byren was walking the camp when he heard Old Man Narrows' bellow. As the tradepost keeper had taken the maimed aside to begin training, Byren was curious. He left the track, following the sounds to the hollow where they trained, well apart from the others.

Careful to present no silhouette against the sky, Byren stretched out on a rock scoured clean of snow and watched the clearing below where half a dozen youths watched Old Man Narrows. He held a wooden sword and faced Florin, who was half a head taller. She met his blows with a wooden sword of her own. While she had the advantage of youth, agility and reach, he had experience and formidable strength.

'See, a left-handed man has an advantage against a right-handed warrior, who has only ever fought with a right-handed opponent.' Narrows grunted between blows. 'He won't be expecting attack from this quarter.'

Florin obligingly left her guard down on that side and took a blow to the ribs. Byren could hear the impact of the flat of the sword from up here.

'Now, who wants to have a go? Don't be rough on her, she's only a girl.'

Florin grinned.

One or two of the youths lifted their wooden swords.

That was another thing. Their weaponry consisted of anything they could scrounge, from weapons used in the war thirty years ago, to farmyard implements. Byren didn't have enough swords to arm the warriors Orrade was training, let alone the maimed.

'Come on,' Old Man Narrows urged. 'I'll tell her to go easy on yer.'

They laughed.

'It looks like I'm first,' the player said, stepping forwards. He moved lightly on the packed snow.

Florin nodded and waited.

His first blow was careful, testing his strength and speed, or perhaps testing hers.

Byren frowned as he watched the player deliver his strikes. The man was a dancer. A trickster.

As the player improved, the other maimed warriors straightened up and began calling encouragement. With a feint, the player distracted Florin, swung a leg behind her knee and tripped her.

The maimed cheered as she went down.

She sprang up, ready for more, but Old Man Narrows waved her back.

'Now see that?' His deep voice carried easily to Byren. 'This battle will be nasty. Take every opportunity your enemy gives you. Trip him and run him through, if you can. He'll be underestimating you, because you're one-handed. Use that to your advantage.'

They nodded, looking earnest and eager.

'Right, who's next?' Not waiting for a response he chose the butcher and the scribe, setting one against Florin and one against himself.

Byren slid off his perch and wended his way down to the hollow, coming up beside the player, who stood on the far side of the clearing.

For a few heartbeats, they observed Old Man Narrows and Florin deflect clumsy if enthusiastic blows.

'When are you going to tell them you're left-handed?' Byren asked the player softly.

He grinned and winked. 'No need. Just as there was no need to tell the Merofynians.' He shrugged and nodded to the youths. 'Besides, they need to be inspired.'

'You're not wrong there.'

The others parted and Byren stepped in to offer a word or two of encouragement, before Old Man Narrows called up two more, leaving Vadik for last.

Byren joined the boy, wishing his new-found Affinity could heal wounds other than his own. And he wasn't even sure if it could do that, as it seemed to be tied in with the ulfr pack. 'Show me that stump.'

Vadik complied without hesitation. It was an affront to see a stump where a perfectly good hand had once been, but at least it wasn't enflamed.

'A good clean wound,' Byren told him. 'No more slacking. Get to work.'

Vadik grinned and Byren turned away to hide his pain.

Chapter Six

Piro had endured several miserable days serving Isolt Kingsdaughter as her unwanted, ignored slave. She tried to make herself useful, but the kingsdaughter had a servant for everything.

Every day more ships arrived from Rolencia laden with treasures stolen from her people. Greed rode the city, as wealth was flaunted and gifts exchanged. The greater the gift, the greater the giver. Then, this morning, Duke Palatyne announced he had a special gift for the king.

So the whole court gathered before the evening feast to see this new marvel. Piro looked for Dunstany, but he wasn't present. She hadn't seen him since that first night and she was surprised by the depth of her disappointment.

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 believed 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!'