The King's Bastard (17 page)

He glanced to the other tables and saw that the warlords' honour guards had already selected a champion. He was a grizzled warrior from Manticore Spar, not as tall as Lence but broad through the chest. By the old burn scars on his brawny arms, Byren guessed he was a blacksmith when not leading raiding parties. The man grinned and yelled a challenge, revealing a gap where three teeth were missing.

Byren searched the eager faces of the warlords. Only four of the five were present. If Rolencia was the hub of a half wheel, then Manticore Spar was the first spoke on the wheel whose people were considered little better than Utlanders. Living on the farthest of the spars, they were fiercely independent, and they had to be, as they were constantly preyed upon by Utland raiders.

The next spoke on the wheel was Leogryf Spar. Their current warlord was a steady man who could be relied to keep his word and, so far, he had always supported King Rolen.

The third was Foenix Spar. Over the last three hundred years, their warlords had generally been loyal to Rolencia. Just as well, since they guarded the pass over the Divide that led to Rolenhold itself.

The fourth spoke was Unistag Spar and their warlord was dying with no clear successor.

Last of all was Cockatrice Spar. Another crucial spar, their warlord held the lands which bordered closest to Merofynia. If he turned traitor, Merofynia's invading army could cross Cockatrice Pass and march deep into Rolencia's soft underbelly before the king could muster his defences.

Of the five current warlords the loyalty of only two was guaranteed. The Unistag warlord's failure to appear and renew his loyalty would be noted.

There was a shout as Lence defeated his challenger.

'Come, Byren,' King Rolen beckoned. 'It's down to you and Lence now.'

Garzik and several of the youths started chanting his name. 'Byren Leogryfslayer. Byren...'

'Lence Kingsheir. Lence Kingsheir!' Cobalt started up a chant and Lence's supporters joined in.

Though Lence was heavier through the chest than Byren, their arm wrestling ability was about the same. And Lence had beaten everyone else so he would be tired. Byren caught Lence's grimace as he flexed his arm. The last thing he wanted was to upstage his brother again. On impulse he decided to refuse.

There, it wasn't so hard to prove the old seer wrong.

'Sorry,' Byren muttered, massaging his shoulder. 'Pulled something when that leogryf rolled on me.'

'Right.' King Rolen clapped his hands together. 'Then Lence must uphold our honour. Come on.'

The grizzled blacksmith and his supporters marched over, heckling and jeering as the man took his seat opposite Lence.

The hunt-master joined Byren. 'You didn't mention that injury when we were on the Dividing Mountains. I would have put some arnica on it.'

Byren opened his mouth to lie but the hunt-master, who had known him and Lence since they were boys, had already read his face.

'Better put some on,' he advised in a low voice. 'Lence won't thank you for going easy on him.'

Byren nodded. He hadn't thought of that. By trying to avoid the seer's foretelling, he had almost made things worse. His head spun.

The men were chanting now - 'Rolenhold! Rolenhold!' - as Lence and the blacksmith battled, massive fists locked, forearms flexed so that the muscles stood out like cords under their skin.

The blacksmith's face grew darker as he strained. It was obvious he would not let Lence win to curry favour.

'Manticore! Manticore!' the spar warriors bellowed.

Byren found his hands had curled into fists as he willed Lence to win. His brother hated losing.

The blacksmith's massive biceps jerked with strain, veins stood out on forearm and at his temples. His arm trembled.

With a sudden grunt, he lost the battle.

Lence slammed the blacksmith's fist onto the table top. Rolenhold cheered. His followers swung Lence up onto their shoulders.

Byren stepped back to let them pass as they made a victory march around the great hall. Lence raised his arm in a fist. Byren grinned.

'Remember the arnica,' the hunt-master said, before he walked off.

Yes. Arnica. With a start Byren realised he was going to lie to his twin to keep the peace. How had it come to this?

Across the great hall he noticed the abbot, with several of his masters and the castle's Halcyon Affinity warder. Without intending it, he found himself weaving through the tables towards their quiet corner.

He had to know if a seer's prediction could be avoided.

The masters and the abbot all rose as he approached. He gave them a bow, acknowledging their age and learning. 'I have a question regarding Affinity.'

'Slaying beasts like the leogryf releases the Affinity that animates their physical bodies, returning it to the Unseen world. But don't worry. It cannot affect you unless you have Affinity and we know you don't,' Autumnwind, the castle Affinity warder, assured him. 'And the correct atonement to Halcyon was made so you have not slighted her.'

'Eh, it's not that,' Byren admitted.

'Ask.' The mystics master gestured, looking interested.

Byren took a moment to frame his question. He could hardly blurt out that the seer said he'd kill his twin to claim the throne. 'Have you heard about the renegade seer who confronted us in Rolenton Square?'

They nodded.

Byren cleared his throat. 'She said some things about my mother that have upset her. Can a seer's prediction be avoided?'

The Affinity warder glanced to the mystics master.

'Seers see possible paths and often only nexus points of great importance. We must put clues together to make sense of what they have seen,' the master said, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. 'I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.'

Byren waved this aside. 'Does that mean we can't avoid -'

'Not at all. The future is a road with many destinations, not all of them will eventuate. Tell the queen I am happy to consult with her, if she needs me.'

'I will.' Relieved, Byren bowed and went to back off but another thought occurred to him. 'Farmer Overhill says his son's Affinity came on him at fifteen. How can Affinity suddenly appear in someone who has shown no sign of it?'

'We are still discovering the ways of Affinity, kingson,' the castle Affinity warder admitted.

'But we know this much,' the mystics master said. 'If it doesn't show by the time a child is six years of age, it may surface at times of life-changing events, the birth of a child or escape from certain death.'

'Could a healer with Affinity accidentally trigger Affinity?' Byren asked, getting to his real question at last.

The Affinity warder glanced to the master.

'According to the abbey records this hasn't happened for a hundred and twenty years,' he said. Eyes that were far too keen fixed on Byren. 'Why do you ask?'

'Just curious.' Byren quickly thanked them and backed off, his worst fears confirmed. He would have to watch over Orrade and make sure no one realised his friend now had Affinity. If they were lucky it would never show again. He could only hope that he had not done Orrade a disservice, insisting that the seer heal him.

And as far as he and Lence were concerned, Byren did not have to worry for he would never kill his twin. Maybe Lence was a little annoyed because the glory of the leogryf kill should have been his. That was only natural, but they'd shared too much to let something like this come between them. It was time for a peace offering. As Byren crossed the hall he noticed Orrade. His friend lifted a tankard and beckoned him. All the young men who had sworn fealty to Byren were with him. How would they feel if his supposed connection with Palos came out? Byren hated the thought of letting them down so he shook his head. Orrade stiffened imperceptibly, then turned his back on Byren.

Byren finished drilling the hole through the base of the second leogryf incisor. The tooth was as long as his index finger and a dull ivory colour, part of a matching pair. After threading the two incisors on each side of a row of smaller teeth he tied the ends of the leather thong, then headed out intending to present it to Lence. The trophy necklace had taken him most of the morning to complete. His real betrothal gift wouldn't be ready for a while yet. He'd gone down to Rolenhold first thing this morning to see the silversmith, who promised to have both the matching rings and the lincurium pendant ready soon.

Striding down the castle corridor, Byren dodged busy servants scurrying past with buckets of steaming water drawn from the hot-water cistern at the end of the hall. Others bustled by with freshly pressed clothes and polished boots. The smell of polish, crisped cotton and lavender-scented wool filled the air. The abbot would stage the race for Halcyon's Fate at midday and everyone wanted to see it. Byren had to find his twin before they left for the township, because after that their day would be taken up with ceremony and feasting.

He went looking for Lence. In the great hall he headed for the knot of drinkers by the fireplace, identifying his father and Captain Temor. Who was that with them?

Illien of Cobalt. He'd recognise those padded shoulders anywhere. There was nothing wrong with Cobalt's shoulders so why pad them? He supposed his cousin hadn't had time to get Rolencian-style clothes made up yet.

'...because it's never happened here, Captain Temor, that doesn't mean it can't happen in Merofynia,' Cobalt was saying. 'Palatyne's a canny man, as befits the warlord of Amfina Spar, the two-headed snake. He let the rest of Merofynia's warlords tear each other to pieces like a pack of wild dogs so that when he stepped in they had nothing left to throw against his men. That's how he became overlord of the spars. And, by keeping them under control, he's earned King Merofyn's gratitude. But the ordinary people of Merofynia are sick of this upstart overlord strutting around, taking what he wants. They were fed up with King Merofyn anyway, with his greedy taxes and his religious fervour. Now that he stares death in the face, he's turned to the gods, calling on those with untamed Affinity to find a way to bargain with death itself. Why, they say there are more renegade Power-workers in Port Mero than bakers!'

'Filthy Untamed Affinity,' King Rolen muttered. 'Execution or banishment is all they deserve.'

'Very true,' Cobalt agreed. 'I was telling Lence Kingsheir only yesterday how the people of Merofynia look back on the rule of Queen Myrella's father with great longing. I swear, Uncle, if you were to march into Port Mero right now the people would cheer you as a saviour!'

'More the fool me. What of the lords and their men, Cobalt? You can bet they won't lay down their arms and welcome me into their Great Halls!' King Rolen laughed. 'Besides, soon we'll have Lence betrothed to King Merofyn's daughter. All Rolencia wants from Merofynia is peace and a chance to grow prosperous.'

'Yes, Merofyn's daughter,' Cobalt muttered looking worried.

'What have you heard about Isolt?' Captain Temor asked.

Cobalt gave a delicate shrug. 'You know what they say, what's suckled at the breast cannot be forgotten. For all that she's a pretty thing, she is her father's child.'

'Cunning and cold?' Rolen pressed.

Cobalt shrugged. '"Be careful what you whisper on your pillow. It will find its way back to your wife's father and brothers."'

Temor nodded. 'Wives taken to cement alliances always owe their loyalty to their family, not their husband.'

'Ha! My Myrella has proven the exception to that rule.' King Rolen grinned. 'Don't worry, Illien. I'm sure Lence will make the most of Isolt. She's only fifteen, young enough to mould.'

'We can hope so,' Cobalt agreed, and for the first time Byren wondered if his father had made the right decision. An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. All his life, his father had been a legendary figure who had saved Rolencia from invasion at only eighteen years of age. But what if the king had misjudged the balance of power this time? There had been times recently when Byren hadn't agreed with his father's decisions. The Utland raid was one example. It struck him that for many years now his father had trusted his old honour guard as advisors, men who were certainly loyal but they had never lived outside Rolencia. Was his father...

'Byren, I didn't see you there,' Cobalt greeted him, his dark rippling curls travelling across his back as he turned. Small jewels had been woven through the hair at his temples and they winked as they caught the light.

Why didn't he tie his hair back like a warrior? Byren repressed that thought as unworthy, while Cobalt's sword arm was still in a sling.

'Would you like a wine, cousin?' Cobalt asked.

'No, thank you. Have you seen Lence?' Byren addressed the question to the group as a whole.

'He went to Eagle Tower to clear his head,' Temor said.

'Tell him not to be late,' King Rolen advised, then caught Cobalt's eye. 'You know Lence, always chasing something pretty in a skirt.'

'And very good at catching them, from what I hear.' Cobalt winked.

King Rolen gave a great belly laugh. 'More luck to him!'

Cobalt topped up the king's glass, then Temor's. Again, he offered Byren the decanter. 'A cup of Rolencia's finest for you, Cousin?'