The King's Bastard (30 page)

Better get out quick.

Byren let Lence take his weight. Clutching his stomach to hide the paper tucked in his hand, he groaned. 'Don't feel so good, Lensh.'

'That's all I need!' Lence muttered.

'I'll take him home,' Orrade said quickly, joining them.

'Yes, take him home,' Cobalt urged. Byren could hear the unspoken, 'before he can do any more damage' and bristled, even though this was exactly what he wanted.

'I should go back to Rolenhold now, swear my fealty oath,' Rejulas said. He stood and signalled his men.

Lence called for the innkeeper.

Byren had to keep up with the pretence of being a nauseous drunk, while the rest of the party gathered and Lence borrowed a carriage to take him back to Rolenhold. Rejulas called for their horses, intending to follow with his men.

Lence helped Orrade lift Byren into the carriage, none too gently. He sprawled in a dark corner as Orrade sat opposite him.

'What possessed you, Byren?' Lence demanded from the doorway. 'You know how important Rejulas's support is. It's just as well I'd already won him over. Your stupid behaviour has gone a long way towards undoing the good I've done!'

Byren said nothing. Lence should have known better. Cobalt hardly knew him and even he'd been suspicious. Byren wanted to justify himself but if he revealed the ruse now it would only make Lence furious. Seething, Byren remained silent.

'Well?' Lence demanded.

Byren produced an effective snore.

Lence swore. 'Get him to bed, Orrie.'

He slammed the door and walked off.

Orrade said nothing until the carriage began to rattle over the cobbles.

'Well, what did it say?' Orrade prodded.

'What?' Byren muttered, still fuming. Usually it was he who helped Lence to bed after a night of too much drinking.

'The paper you grabbed from under their table.'

'Eh?' Byren sat up. 'Did anyone else notice?'

'I doubt it. You should have been a player, Byren.'

He grinned and pulled the crumpled paper out from inside his vest. By the silvery starlight coming through the window, he and Orrade tried to interpret the drawings. It seemed to be a scribbled map of Cockatrice Spar in relation to Rolenhold, with the major estates, roads and canals marked. It had been drawn with smudged charcoal and was hard to interpret, with arrows and splotches that may have represented fighting men on the march.

'They were discussing strategy,' Orrade said.

'Working on the best way to defend Rolencia,' Byren agreed. His twin had been safe all along, looking out for Rolencia's future. Perhaps tomorrow, when Lence cooled down, he'd reveal the subterfuge and they'd laugh over it.

He rubbed his knee which still ached from the impact after Lence had shoved him into the carriage. Then again... perhaps he would never reveal the ruse.

'You'll have to go straight to bed,' Orrade said. 'I'll return to the great hall, let you know how it goes.'

'Huh?' Byren had made himself look a fool in front of Lence, Cobalt and Rejulas, and was beginning to regret it.

'The call to arms. King Rolen will announce the punitive raid on the Utlanders tonight and call for support.'

He was right. The warlords and nobles would each swear to send a certain number of men and the merchants would supply ships and supplies, then they would drink to the raid's success. And he would be in bed, supposedly too drunk to attend. Not that he was comfortable with the idea of the raid.

'They don't even know which Utland raiders killed old Lord Cobalt,' Byren muttered. 'But they'll kill a few and burn some miserable little cottages to the ground to teach the Utlanders a lesson.'

'I agree, it's not fair. But unless Lence punishes them, the Utlanders will become a problem. Can you think of a better solution?'

Byren frowned. He couldn't. But it still felt wrong.

When Byren took his seat at the war table first thing the next morning, Lence leant closer to whisper, 'No headache?'

Byren glanced away, annoyed, because Lence's waist length hair was loose on his shoulders, Ostron-style, instead of held in a warrior's plait.

'No. No headache.' He wasn't going to lie.

'You deserve one, if ever -'

Captain Temor cleared his throat then nodded to their father.

'Yesterday convinced me that we need to ensure each of the warlords' loyalty,' King Rolen said. 'Thanks to Lence, Rejulas has reconsidered. By the time he comes back for the Jubilee, Piro had better be ready to give her betrothal vows. As for the Manticore raiders... Corvel denied all responsibility, but he's sending some men over the Divide to rebuild the youth's village to prove his loyalty -'

'I still think the raid is suspicious,' Byren protested.

'You went off drinking instead of staying to hear the evidence, so no one cares what you think,' his father snapped.

Byren felt heat creep up his face. His mother caught his eye with a worried look but he had no intention of revealing his subterfuge now.

'Since Rejulas has sworn fealty and agreed to come back for the Jubilee, Piro will have another chance with him,' the queen said, filling in the silence. 'She's a good girl. She knows her duty.'

But would she do it? Byren wondered. And should she have to? For the first time he wondered how Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter felt about having to marry his twin.

'We have four of the five warlords behind us. They've sworn to send men with Lence when he goes to teach the Utlanders a lesson,' King Rolen said. 'Yet the warlord of Manticore Spar swears fealty with one breath while, for all I know, one of his sons sends raiders behind our backs. If Unistag does not elect a new warlord and swear loyalty before the Jubilee, Rolencia will look weak. We can't afford -'

'I agree.' As Lence sat forwards something glinted in his hair, dark semi-precious stones, onyxes. Byren blinked, surprised and dismayed. 'Since Byren nearly spoilt my efforts with Rejulas, I suggest he approach Unistag. Let's see if he can bring in a warlord's loyalty!'

'It's not the same,' Byren protested. Lence's approach to Rejulas had been from a position of power in his home town, with the might of the castle behind him. He hadn't been asked to go marching into an enemy camp as an ambassador. 'If I go to Unistag Spar it will seem Rolencia is trying to interfere with the choice of warlord. It's not like I could enforce it anyway, not without a small army.'

'So now you need a small army?' Lence mocked. 'Your honour guard not enough?'

Byren bit back a sharp retort and caught his mother's troubled gaze across the table.

'Well, Byren?' his father prodded.

Byren sprang to his feet. 'Very well. The sooner I go, the better. I'll be back with the warlord of Unistag's loyalty before the Jubilee or I won't be back at all!'

Captain Temor came to his feet. 'With your permission, Rolen. I'd like to go with him. An older, wiser head could offer advice.'

His father hesitated, then nodded.

Byren marched out, torn between relief and mortification to have the captain of his father's honour guard accompany him.

'Wait, Byren,' Temor called.

He paused at the top of the stairs.

Temor joined him. 'I'll select a dozen men-at-arms, veterans who know what they're doing -'

'You're right, my honour guard are all too callow.' Byren faced the truth. 'How many should we take?'

'Around twenty-five. Another twenty will do us no good if the Unistags turn on us, and twenty-five is small enough to travel light and fast.'

Byren squeezed the older man's shoulder. 'I'm lucky to have you, Temor. I plan to ride across the foothills and hire mountain ponies at the tradepost.' Horses could not make it over the steep terrain of the Pass.

The captain nodded.

'We can leave first thing tomorrow.'

That evening, Byren slipped into Halcyon's chantry to burn a candle and ask the goddess to watch over him and his men when they ventured into Unistag Spar. Since the god Sylion had symbolically handed over their world on Midwinter's Day, the goddess Halcyon was now the dominant force as they headed towards spring. Besides, you prayed to Sylion if you were going out on a raid like the one Lence would be leading against the Utlanders. Sylion dealt in death. Halcyon dealt in life and Byren hoped he wouldn't have to kill anyone to win the spar warlord's loyalty.

The chantry was cold and empty. Row upon row of glittering icons represented Halcyon's bounty, stylised goats heads, bulls, cocks and sheep, wheat, rye and barley, all painted in rich colours, decorated with gold leaf, lined the walls. Above the central dais a mural depicting King Rolence the First bestowing Mount Halcyon on his Affinity warder told the story of the founding of Halcyon Abbey.

From the marble pillars to the decorated ceiling above, Byren's steps echoed softly. Halcyon's Affinity warder was with his abbot, along with Springdawn and the abbess. All the representatives of the gods had been called together to discuss the number of Affinity seeps and work out a strategy for containing them. Three in under a year was a bad omen.

Byren had chosen to come to the chantry at this moment because he knew he would be alone. He didn't want to be caught by either Halcyon's Affinity warder or the healer. Both were elderly men who'd seen him grow from a babe in arms and were inclined to offer a great deal of well-meant advice.

The sacred lamp burnt under the central dome giving off its familiar, aromatic scent of vanilla and sandalwood, reminding Byren of endless ceremonies. The lamp was never extinguished and had been lit from the original flame, which was kept burning deep below Halcyon Abbey. Byren picked his way through the pews to the royal devotional box. It was only just deep enough for the chair which could seat a member of the royal family, with a single sconce to burn a devotional candle. He closed the cherrywood-carved screen and prepared to light his candle.

Soft footsteps made him stop. Had Lence followed him to apologise? He waited for the cherrywood screen to open. But no, Orrade knelt just on the other side of the screen and lit a candle, standing it in the large sconce there. As the flame flickered, a tendril of fine smoke rose in the still air, dreamless-sleep scented smoke. Orrade leant forwards to inhale it. The effect of the mild narcotic would bring him closer to Halcyon and help focus his thoughts.

Byren considered letting Orrade know he was there, then decided to wait. He'd already heard how everyone cheered Lence and Cobalt, volunteering to go on the Utland raid. He felt excluded and he had only himself to blame.

'May Halcyon protect and watch over this venture to Unistag Spar,' Orrade whispered. 'May she care for Elina and my father, may she protect Garzik and stop him from doing anything rash. May she keep Byren safe from harm -'

'How touching,' Cobalt said, his voice too soft to echo.

Orrade went very still, then turned slowly. He would have risen but Cobalt had already reached him and placed one hand on his shoulder, holding him on his knees.

Orrade cleared his throat. 'I pray to Halcyon for success -'

'You pray for the kingson's safety,' Cobalt cut in. 'I know your secret.'

Orrade went very still. 'I don't know what you -'

Cobalt lifted the smaller man to his feet, swinging him around hard so that the carved screen creaked with the impact. Orrade was pressed against it only a hand's breadth from Byren. He went to move but they blocked the door and besides, Orrade could protect himself. Byren's name had been mentioned and he feared if he came out of the devotional box now it would confirm everything Cobalt suspected. Besides, he was shocked by Cobalt's sudden violence, which seemed so out of character.

'Don't play the innocent with me, Orrade. I've seen the way you look at him, or don't look at him,' Cobalt whispered. 'Does he know why you were disinherited?'

'I don't know what -'

Cobalt silenced him with a kiss that was not gentle. He persisted until Orrade stopped struggling, then he pulled back with a soft laugh. 'Deny all you like, your body betrays you.'

Orrade said nothing. Shame for him heated Byren's cheeks. Now he could not venture out and look them in the eye.

'Good.' Cobalt all but purred. 'I want to know what Byren is planning. You will report to me. Don't deny me.' Cobalt jerked Orrade so that his head thumped against the wood. 'I could ruin you with one word -'

'And I could ruin you!'

'I don't think so.' Cobalt smiled. 'I am the injured party, my bride and father cruelly murdered.' When he said this Byren realised he was using his supposedly injured arm to prod Orrade in the chest. 'No one will believe a word against me. But you... you have refused to reveal why you fought with your father, and you are Byren's shadow. Why, you are closer to him than his own twin!'

Orrade did not try to argue.

Cobalt released him. 'Now we understand each other. Report to me and I'll keep your secret.' His voice dropped. 'I may even reward you.'

He stepped back, his soft indoor slippers silent on the marble tiles.

Freed, Orrade lifted one hand to his mouth, staggering slightly. He stared after Cobalt's retreating back.