The King's Bastard (31 page)

'I'll leave Rolencia before I betray Byren,' he called after Cobalt.

The older man stopped and turned to face him, his features barely visible in the single lamp light. 'Go, and not only will I tell King Rolen why you were disinherited, but I'll tell him Byren is your lover -'

'That's not true!'

'Truth is highly overrated,' Cobalt told him. 'King Rolen nearly lost Rolencia because of the Servants of Palos. When I was growing up, they still whispered of how he stood stone-faced during the executions. Even my father, his own half-brother, was afraid of him. Do you think the king would hesitate to order Byren's execution if it meant saving Rolencia for his precious Lence?'

'The king would never believe -'

'Oh, I can be very convincing, Orrade. I'm sure I could persuade my uncle, especially when it is half true.'

Orrade dragged in a ragged breath. 'You bastard!'

'No, my father was the bastard. It was the only thing that stood between him and the throne!'

Orrade said nothing.

Cobalt laughed softly, turned and left. His mocking laughter hung on the air after he had gone.

Shaking with fury, Orrade paced back and forth across the chantry. Finally he dipped his fingers in the font which held water from Halcyon's sacred pool, splashing it on his face as if to wake himself.

Muttering a string of inventive curses, Orrade spun and stalked out of the chantry.

Byren waited a few moments then left the royal box. His first thought was to warn his father, but what could he tell King Rolen without implicating himself and Orrade? It was clear now that Illien of Cobalt was a manipulative, cunning man who could not be trusted, but any proof would mean revealing the true reason for Orrade's disinheritance. Though this had nothing to do with the Servants of Palos, their betrayal was still too raw and recent for his father to separate the two.

But there was still his mother.

Byren left the Chantry, heading straight for the queen's private chamber.

When Seela met him at the door her worried face creased into a fond smile of welcome. 'Ah, Byren, so good of you to drop by and visit your old nurse.'

He flushed, amused by her pointed teasing. 'Is Mother in?'

'Yes, but she's having one of her bad turns. I've put her to bed with some dreamless-sleep. Mayhap that will bring her some peace.'

'I hope so.'

'Was it something important? Do you want me to give her a message?'

He shook his head. When his mother had these turns she would rise late the following afternoon and be groggy for a day or two. There was nothing the healers could do for her. 'I don't want to worry mother. I'll see her when I get back from Unistag Spar.'

Seela nodded. 'Give your old nurse a hug and may Halcyon watch over you.'

He hugged her, surprised to discover her flesh was thin over her bones. She had always been the rock in the centre of his childhood, a haven of safety and understanding. Now she needed protecting.

'Goodbye, Seela.' He kissed her forehead.

She flushed with pleasure. 'What was that for?'

He smiled. 'No reason.'

As he went off to pack, he decided it was just as well he had not spoken with his mother. For some reason he could never keep anything from her. She would have wormed the reason for Orrade's disinheritance from him and it was not his secret to share.

He found himself at the door to his father's private chamber. Because of his mother's turns they had separate sleeping chambers. Maybe if he just put in a word or two to make his father more careful of Cobalt...

He knocked and swung the door open to find his father lying face down, naked on his bed, while Cobalt's manservant massaged the king's massive shoulders, scarred skin gleamed with Ostronite oil in the golden lamplight.

'Father?'

'Eh, Byren. What is it?' King Rolen asked, lifting his head and blinking as though waking from a dream.

Byren said the first thing that came into his head. He could hardly suggest the king watch out for Cobalt in front of Cobalt's servant. 'I came to see how the knee was, Father.'

'Enough for now, Valens,' King Rolen said, swinging his legs off the bed and tucking the towel around his waist. He stood beside the bed, one hand on the upright to steady himself as he tested the knee. A smile broke across his weathered features. 'Eh. I can bend it without pain.'

'The pain will come back, King Rolen,' Valens warned.

Byren hadn't been aware that his father's knee hurt with every step. He crossed the room. 'If it's your knee that's the problem, why massage your back?'

Valens flicked a disdainful glance to Byren. 'I must massage the knee, hip and back every day. The knee throws the back out -'

'And don't I know it!' the king muttered.

Valens nodded. He took several dark bottles from his case. Measuring a little from each he poured the liquid into a goblet of wine and stirred. 'And you must drink this every morning and night to bring down the swelling in the joint.'

King Rolen accepted the goblet, sniffed and took a sip. He looked relieved then drained the lot. 'Ah, that's better than any of the herbals my healers give me. I was afraid you'd ruined a good wine.'

'Never, King Rolen. We Ostronites know the value of Rolencian red!' With a bow, Valens continued to pack his tools away in a leather case.

'So, can I offer you a drink, Byren?' his father asked.

'No. I'm off to bed. I want a clear head for an early start tomorrow.' Byren hesitated but Valens showed no sign of leaving. He had begun polishing his father's boots. 'I'm glad your knee is feeling better.'

'My knee? My whole back feels better. It's never been the same since that riding accident.' His father slung an arm around Byren's shoulders. The king was nearly fifty now and he was a big man, deep through the chest with a bit of a belly on him, but Byren could feel the strength in his body and the vigour as he walked him to the door. 'I swear I feel twenty years younger!' Then he grew serious. 'While you're dealing with Unistag's warlord, I want you to listen to Temor's advice. He's had thirty years, dealing with spar leaders.'

'I will, Father. Good night.'

Byren headed back to his chamber relieved that his father was feeling better but frustrated with the meeting. If only he could reveal the truth about Cobalt's attempt to blackmail Orrade.

Orrade's sudden declaration of love had endangered them both. What was wrong with his friend? Orrade had certainly enjoyed women in the past.

Byren's hands itched to grab his friend and knock some sense into him. If only it was that simple!

Chapter Fifteen

Fyn found Rolenhold strangely empty without Byren. His brother had ridden out the day after midwinter with a Captain Temor, a dozen men-at-arms and his honour guard of twelve likely lads, Orrade and Garzik amongst them. Enough to deter treachery, but not enough to be a threat to a newly elected warlord, was how Byren had described it to him.

Several days ago his mother had taken one of her turns. Complaining of sleeping badly, she had retreated to her private solarium, which made his father worry. Lence went around like a bear with a sore tooth, while Piro hardly spoke and seemed preoccupied.

The four days of formal celebrations to welcome back the goddess Halcyon were finally over and, for once, Fyn was glad to return to the abbey.

'What will you do,' Piro whispered, 'now that you can't join the mystics?'

They stood to one side of the royal party, who were farewelling the abbot and the masters. It was early morning and the nuns of Sylion had already left Rolenhold, hitching the sails of their sled-boats to catch the breeze.

'Don't worry, I'll find a branch of the abbey to take me,' Fyn said. 'Maybe the clerics. Then, when I become abbot, I can send the weapons master to serve Lence.'

He expected her to laugh at this, but she nodded seriously. 'That way you wouldn't have to do the killing.'

No. He'd just send others to their death, he realised with a sickening lurch. How did leaders live with their decisions?

'Oh, Fyn. Last night I dreamed of Byren. He was running through the forest, running away from wyverns,' Piro whispered urgently. 'Do you think it was a vision?'

'That's silly. Wyverns live near water, not in the forest,' Fyn argued.

'They could have been freshwater wyverns.'

She looked so miserable he wanted to shake her.

'Byren will be fine. If you had a dream about a unistag confronting Byren, that might have been a vision. But not a wyvern.'

She managed a smile. 'You must be right. But, Fyn, I think my Affinity is getting stronger.'

Bitterness churned in him. He'd had to give up family and position because of his Affinity. He was the superfluous third son, when the king already had an heir in Lence, with Byren in reserve. Worse, his family didn't trust him. This midwinter at Rolenhold had convinced Fyn his place was with the abbey.

'Fyn?' Piro prodded. 'What's wrong?'

The weapons master blew the horn, signalling that it was time to go. Piro gave a little start of fright.

He hugged her. 'You'll be all right. Mother's been able to hide her Affinity all these years. You will too!'

Her tears felt wet on his cheeks as she kissed him.

'Oh, Fyn. I have such a bad feeling!'

He wanted to stay and reassure her but... 'Piro, I must go.' The abbey contingent was already marching, taking him with it.

'I know. Goodbye, Fyn,' she called, running a little way out the gates with him.

Then she fell behind as the masters marched the monks and acolytes down the steep road to Rolenton. They sang in time to their steps, the masters leading the chant. With the crisp morning air stinging his face and his fellow monks around him, Fyn felt a sense of belonging and realised, until today, he had not given up hope of returning home. Well, from now on the abbey would be his home. He had to forge a place there or be overwhelmed in the battle for position.

They were still high enough on Rolenhold's pinnacle for Fyn to look out across the fertile crescent valley of Rolencia. The Dividing Mountains curved away behind him, forming a half circle. In its hub was distant Mount Halcyon. The snowy-tipped peak stood like a beacon, glinting in the sun. In three days he would be there, safe in the abbey built into the side of the mountain.

As soon as they returned to the abbey, he would ask Master Wintertide's advice. As an acolyte, Fyn should have consulted the acolytes master, but he was a close friend of the history master. And that master had been watching him since they spoke on Midwinter's Day, smiling when their eyes caught. It worried Fyn more than he wanted to admit.

On Rolenton wharf they loaded up their sleds, strapped on their skates and prepared to set off across Sapphire Lake. Once across the lake they would travel the canal to Viridian Lake and Halcyon Abbey.

Because Fyn and Lonepine were the same height, they were usually paired together to pull a sled. Fyn helped his friend with his straps then turned so that Lonepine could buckle his.

'Don't bother,' Feldspar called, jumping down from the wharf to a snowdrift on the ice. 'I've been sent to find you, Fyn. Master Firefox wants you.'

'The acolytes master?' Surprised and a little worried, Fyn climbed back onto the wharf and wandered through the monks.

He found the acolytes master speaking with the history master and waited at a polite distance for them to finish. Farmer Overhill's son stood to one side, looking uncomfortable. Fyn felt sorry for him. It was bad enough joining the abbey as a six-year-old, but to be fifteen and to know as little as a six-year-old would be a nightmare.

The history master glanced once at Fyn, nodded in reply to something Master Firefox had said, then hurried away.

'There you are, Fyn Kingson,' Firefox greeted him, jovially. 'I can recall how troubled I was the year I had to find my place amid the priests, so I thought I'd put you out of your misery. This midsummer, when you give your vows, I will take you into my service. Training the minds of young acolytes is one of the most important tasks in the abbey.' He gave Fyn a friendly smile but his eyes were hard and meaningful. 'You could go far with me as your master. Few have the influence I wield.'

Firefox hinted that Master Wintertide's friendship would not further Fyn's career. But he had never expected that kind of return from friendship. Hiding his distaste, he gave the bow of an acolyte to a master.

'I thank you.' He didn't want to actually say no, the acolytes master could make his life miserable. 'I will think deeply on this.'

'You do that. Meanwhile, take this youth with you.' He nodded to the Overhill boy. 'Escort him to Master Wintertide when we reach the abbey.'

Fyn nodded. By ordering him to mind the new boy, Firefox was reminding him how little control he had over his own life.

Young Overhill shifted uneasily. Fyn took pity on him. 'What's your name?'

'Joff of Overhill, but... I suppose I'll have a new name at the abbey.'

'Not until you are ready to become a monk.' Fyn led him towards the waiting sleds. 'I haven't chosen my monk name yet. Come on. We'd better strap on the sled.'