The King's Bastard (29 page)

He caught her hands in his. 'Don't worry. If there's any trouble Mother will help hide your Affinity.'

'She hates me!'

'Nonsense, Piro.'

'She does. I'm always doing the wrong thing. I'm a disappointment to her.' The immensity of it made Piro's eyes sting and she gulped back a sob. 'I've insulted Rejulas so the other warlords will defy father and -'

'Enough.' Fyn released her hands and clasped her shoulders, giving her a little shake. 'Everything's going to be all right. Lence will sweet-talk Rejulas and Byren will keep the warlords under control. Lence is betrothed to the Merofynian kingsdaughter which means we can look forward to another thirty years' peace. So your vision was wrong.'

'You think so?' She searched his face.

'Of course. Just keep out of Father's way until he's calmed down.'

Chapter Fourteen

Byren watched Piro and Fyn slip into the great hall. Tonight Fyn did not join the monks, but came to the high table with the rest of the royal family, taking his seat at the end beside Piro.

King Rolen muttered under his breath.

Byren hid a grin. With the allegiance oaths about to begin their father could not reprimand Piro. Clever girl. By the time he'd had his dinner and drunk too much rich Rolencian wine, the edge would have gone off the king's temper.

Byren sipped his drink and began to relax. With Lence gone he did not have to watch everything he said and did. He was shocked how bad things had got between them. You'd think saving his brother's life twice in a matter of days would improve Lence's temper. But no.

What more could he do?

He wished he'd never met up with that old seer. But, if he was honest, he had to admit she'd made him aware of something that had been developing for a while, so he should really thank her because, now that he was aware of it, he had a chance to fix things with Lence.

Come to think of it, where was Lence? He should have returned from Rolenton by now. Byren's stomach tensed.

Though his twin was accompanied by his honour guard, he was still vulnerable to a lone archer... Knowing Lence, he would say there was no point in worrying and refuse to live his life shadowed by fear.

Byren told himself Lence was probably dismounting in the stables right now.

But who had sent the assassins? Not Rejulas, he had been expecting to marry into the royal house of Rolencia. Not Unistag Spar, they were too busy with internal power plays.

No, the assassins had to have been sent by the warlord from Manticore. Even now, the man strode up to the dais to make his bow. Middle-aged, but still vigorous, he wore his iron grey hair in two battletales, both laden with gold rings. Heavy black brows made him look angry. With his gleaming black armour and vivid red cloak, he looked arrogant, standing there in fabulously expensive manticore chitin chestplate. Even King Rolen did not own a suit of chitin armour.

Hand on heart, the warlord of Manticore Spar renewed his pledge of loyalty to King Rolen.

If this warlord made a move in the spring, Byren would have to lead a punitive war party over the Dividing Mountains against him. Odd, Corvel of Manticore Spar was almost his father's age, had come to the warlordship at fifteen and held it for thirty years. He had at least four strapping sons to help him now, so he had nothing to prove. The spar's emblem, the blood-red-furred Affinity beast with the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion, glinted in the light of many candles. Repugnance filled Byren. What kind of warrior would swear allegiance with one breath, while sending assassins in the next? Or perhaps he wronged Corvel.

Corvel of Manticore came to his feet but, before the next warlord could take his place, a youth of about seventeen shoved through the servants who were clustered near the kitchen entrance and ran into the centre of the hall.

'He lies!' the young warrior accused, his voice ringing in the arched vaults above. 'Even while Warlord Corvel was dining at the king's high table, his raiders attacked my village.'

There was a hushed intake of breath.

'Rubbish!' Corvel dismissed the accusation.

'You can prove this?' King Rolen asked the youth.

He nodded and pulled a torn spar symbol from inside his jerkin. Byren noted how the youth's hands trembled, but he did not think it was with fear.

With a flick the youth unrolled the emblem to reveal a red manticore on a field of black.

'That tattered thing?' Corvel sneered. 'That could have been taken during a raid any time these last thirty years. I admit I've sent raiding parties over the Divide before, but I'd be a bloody fool to let my warriors raid while King Rolen's guest.'

'You thought you'd be gone before the news came,' the youth insisted, voice rising. Tears glittered in his furious eyes. 'You didn't gamble on me skating day and night to get here. I want justice for my village, for my kin!'

'Justice,' voices echoed from the watchers, moved by the youth's conviction.

'I am falsely accused!' Corvel roared.

'It is possible,' the queen whispered. 'One of his own sons, ambitious to impress his men, might have gone raiding without asking Corvel's permission.'

'Father?' Byren leant past his mother, having to raise his voice to be heard above the talk of the crowd. 'What if he's telling the truth? Remember the raiders I saw skating across Rolencia's valley?'

'Proof is easy,' King Rolen muttered, then slammed his fist down on the table and the hall fell silent. 'I gather your villagers defended their homes, lad?'

'With their lives!' he bristled.

'Then we can identify the bodies of the raiders killed. That will prove who...' he ran down as the youth was shaking his head.

'They took their dead with them. Those of us who could run fled into the caves. While we were hiding, they took their dead and burned the village.'

Byren stiffened. Raiding was commonplace, but the warlords didn't destroy the villages they raided. They left enough intact for the people to rebuild, otherwise there would be no village to raid the next time.

'This is a new development,' Queen Myrella whispered.

'Captain Temor, take this youth aside,' King Rolen ordered. 'We'll hear his case after the loyalty pledges.'

As Temor escorted the youth to a private chamber, the words his mother had spoken echoed in Byren's mind and a kernel of worry solidified in his gut. Sending assassins into Rolenton had been a new development, too.

What was keeping his twin? Lence knew he was supposed to sit on their father's left while the warlords swore their fealty. What if he had become separated from his honour guard? What if spies had reported Lence's riding out? What if whoever sent the last assassins seized this chance to send more?

'What is it?' his mother whispered.

'It's Lence, I -'

'I know, he's late!'

'I should go down to Rolenton. He might be in trouble.'

'Yes... but if he's not, he won't thank you for coming after him.'

She was right. Byren couldn't just turn up and announce that he was there to take Lence home. At least he knew where they were. Temor had reported that Rejulas had taken over a private chamber at the Three Swans. But if Byren knew, others would know too. The more he thought about it, the more Lence's absence worried him.

'But it would be perfectly natural for you and your friends to celebrate Lence's betrothal tonight by going down to Rolenton's taverns,' his mother suggested softly.

'And meet up with Lence at the Three Swans.'

'Exactly!'

At that moment the last warlord finished his oath and the musicians began to play as great plates of food were carried up from the kitchen.

'Suddenly I'm not hungry,' Byren muttered. 'Wonder if the others feel like celebrating...'

Less than an hour later, Byren and half a dozen friends strode into the entrance of the Three Swans, calling for a private chamber, hot mead and food. Since the Three Swans was the second largest inn in Rolenton, it was their second stop. The delay had gnawed at Byren's composure, but he didn't want to arouse suspicion, not with Lence, not with Rejulas or any of the other warlords' spies.

'A private chamber,' Garzik insisted, enjoying himself. 'And be quick about it.'

The serving girl ran off, only to have the innkeeper bustle out, wiping her hands on her apron.

'Ah, Byren Kingson,' she greeted him. 'I don't have a chamber to spare. I've already had to turn out half a dozen merchants for warlord Rejulas and Lence Kingsheir -'

'Lence? My brother's here? Where is he?' Byren repeated. Pretending to be a trifle drunk he raised his voice. 'Lence?'

'Lensh?' Garzik echoed, not having to pretend.

'Hush, Garza,' Orrade warned. Only he knew the real reason for their roistering.

The innkeeper glanced to the second door of the private chambers. Garzik interpreted her look and weaved over before Orrade could stop him. Flinging the door, Garzik revealed a crowded private room. The solid oak door shuddered on its hinges. A sudden silence filled the room.

At a glance Byren saw that Lence and Cobalt were at a table with the warlord himself, while two dozen Cockatrice men cast dice with Lence's honour guard.

'There he izh!' Garzik announced. 'Hey, Byren. I found Lensh. Want to come drinking with us, Lensh?'

Lence muttered something under his breath and sprang to his feet, striding towards them.

The innkeeper wisely hurried off, leaving Byren to face his irate brother. There was nothing for it. He had to carry on now.

'Lence!' Byren swung a friendly arm around his shoulders, his new ceremonial knife digging into his ribs. He wouldn't be able to draw in a hurry. Pretending to lurch drunkenly, he shifted to give himself access to the weapon. If there was nothing wrong he would look a fool, but he didn't care as long as his twin got home safe.

'What are you doing here?' Lence demanded.

Byren glanced at his friends, who had wandered into the room and were laying bets on the outcome of the dice. Tankards were being passed around. Orrade tried to intercept Garzik before he took one, without success. Rejulas's men seemed to have overcome their enmity, though they were quick to raise a bet and mutter an oath. For all that it appeared a friendly scene, Byren could sense a lot of tension even from this quick jumble of impressions.

'What are you doing, Byren?' Lence repeated.

'Why, we're celebrating of course! Can't celebrate your betrothal without you.' Blinking owlishly, Byren fixed on Rejulas as he joined them. He went to pat Rejulas on the shoulder but missed and clutched at him to steady himself. Leaning closer, he spoke secretively. 'As for you, you made a lucky escape. Our sister's no angel, more like a cockatrice.All smiles one moment, spitting poison the next. But maybe that's the kind of woman you fancy, coming from Cockatrice Spar!' He went off into a peal of laughter.

Cobalt's eyes narrowed, but Rejulas obviously decided he was too drunk to take offence and laughed along with him.

Lence looked disgusted. Of them all, he should have known Byren would never jeopardise an alliance.

Byren sensed Cobalt watching him closely and was careful not to let his cousin catch his eye.

'So let's share a drink!' Byren linked an arm around Lence and Rejulas's shoulders and stumbled towards the small table, away from the dicers. A single lamp illuminated this end of the room. Three tankards and a scrap of scribbled paper lay on the table. 'What're you drinking?'

He swooped a hand down to grab the empty tankard and sniff it, while trying to see what was written on the back of a torn broadsheet, the sort that advertised minstrels. But before he could make sense of it, Cobalt swept the table clean as though the paper had only been rubbish and called for more hot mead.

Byren spun a tavern chair around and dropped his weight onto it, hearing it creak in protest. Even though he sprawled his forearms on the back of the chair, he made sure his knife was free of obstruction and his back was to the wall.

'Yes, a toast to your betrothal, Lence Kingsheir,' Rejulas said. 'Or would you prefer Rolencian red?'

'No more drinking,' Lence objected. 'Byren's had quite enough. I should get him back to Rolenhold.'

That was what Byren wanted, but it wouldn't look right if he agreed too easily.

'Can't go back yet, not without celebrating,' he objected. 'Just one tankard and then we'll go.' He fixed on Rejulas. 'So are you coming for the Jubilee? Going to give little Piro another chance? If you take my advice -'

'We don't need your advice, Byren,' Lence spoke up quickly. 'Rejulas has agreed to come back to the castle tonight and renew his vow of fealty. It was all a misunderstanding, caused by a thoughtless, spoilt brat.'

Piro was no spoilt brat, but Byren let this pass for now. He lurched out of the chair and extended his arm across the table towards Rejulas. 'Then let me be the first to -'

He deliberately overbalanced and fell under the table. Where was that scrap of paper? His hand closed over it, just as Lence reached under and hauled him upright. Cobalt was still watching him. Did their cousin see through this act?