The King's Bastard (66 page)

'He'll be my Grand Vizier. I'll need someone to govern Merofynia in my absence.'

'And what of Ostron Isle?' Orrade mocked. 'Do they figure in your plans?'

'Of course.' Lence failed to see the mockery. 'Ostron Isle will pay me homage as their High King, as will the city states of the Snow Bridge. They dare not resist. I will be King Lence the Great.' He focused on Byren. 'I'm only completing what King Rolence the First began.'

Byren swallowed. Lence and his conspirators had expanded the game of Duelling Kingdoms to carve up the world. They were mad. 'What of Mother and Fyn?'

'Fyn will be abbot and support me, if he knows what's good for him,' Lence said. 'As for Mother, she denied me Merofynia. She only ever had eyes for you. Don't deny it!' He overrode Byren's objection. 'As for you -'

'What of Elina, Lence?' Orrade asked quickly, edging another step closer to Byren, who realised he was manoeuvering so they could protect each other's backs. 'My sister is innocent of any wrongdoing. Palatyne has her right now. You don't want him raping her. With your influence you could suggest she retire to Sylion Abbey. She'd be safe there.'

Lence tilted his head, giving this some thought. 'No... she's been too arrogant. If Palatyne swives her she'll be doubly grateful when I come to her rescue.'

Molten fury poured into the pit of Byren's stomach racing up his spine into his brain, clouding his vision, making it hard to breathe.

'I'm not a love-blinded fool like you,' Lence told him. 'She's been leading us both on, playing us off against each other for years.'

'That's not true.' Byren's hand tightened on his sword hilt.

'Enough, Lence,' Rejulas snapped. 'Kill them before the Merofynians wake.'

Suiting his actions to his words, Rejulas leapt for Orrade with a strike that should have skipped over his blade and plunged straight through his throat, but Orrade deflected and side-stepped neatly. They eyed each other warily.

Byren searched Lence's face. How had his twin grown into this stranger?

'I know I have to kill you, brother,' Lence grimaced. 'But who would have thought it would be so hard?'

'It doesn't have to be this way,' Byren whispered. He knew that as soon as Orrade and Rejulas struck out at each other the ring of steel on steel would bring the Merofynians running. 'We can still escape, return to father and defeat Merofynia.'

Lence shook his head as though Byren was a foolish child.

Meanwhile, Orrade circled Rejulas, both stepping as light as cats, deadly as manticores about to strike.

'Why do you want Piro?' Orrade taunted Rejulas. 'She's already turned you down once!'

The Cockatrice warlord grinned, a cruel smile lighting his handsome face. 'I want her because I intend to make her sorry.'

'You'll be the one who's sorry,' Orrade countered. 'Or didn't Lence tell you about her Affinity?'

Rejulas's gaze flew to Lence. 'Aff -'

In that instant, Orrade lunged, running him through. Rejulas dropped his sword. Sagging to his knees, he stared up at Orrade in disbelief.

'Piro would have been the death of you,' Orrade told him. Then he pulled his blade free and turned to Byren. 'I had to kill him quietly.'

Byren grinned and shook his head. 'You -'

Lence scooped up the blade Rejulas had dropped, lunging for Orrade's belly. Only his quick reflexes saved Orrade. On the back foot, he retreated. Byren darted around behind Lence, kicked his knee out from under him and disarmed him as he fell. Lence's sword skittered away across the floor.

Orrade stamped on it, flicked his boot under the hilt and kicked it up, catching it in mid-air. It was a trick they'd practised when they were Garzik's age.

On his knees, Lence stared up at Byren.

'Kill him,' Orrade urged. 'Now.'

'I can't.' Byren would not prove the seer right.

'Then I will.' Orrade strode forwards.

'No!' Byren reversed his sword, bringing the pommel against his twin's head. Lence slumped to the floor.

'You should cut his throat,' Orrade whispered.

'If I was the sort of person to give up on him, I would have given up on you by now,' Byren muttered.

Orrade's mouth dropped open.

A muffled shriek of despair came from the next room, the Royal Chamber.

'Elina!' Byren shoved past Orrade, running for the door.

Byren cursed himself for delaying so long. What horrible act was Palatyne committing on Elina?

He thrust the door open and stopped. Orrade barrelled into him. By the light of two tall stands holding lamps on each side of the bed, Palatyne held Elina, his knife under her chin. Naked, her pale skin gleamed through hip-length black hair and tears glittered on her cheeks, but her eyes held a fury that would never surrender.

Palatyne appeared to be naked but for the knife. 'Ah. So that was your plan, vixen!'

'My plan was to slit your throat!' she hissed. 'But you sleep like a cat.'

'Amfinas never truly sleep, one head is always awake,' Palatyne told her.

'But you are only a man,' Byren countered.

'You know nothing of Power-workers!' Palatyne spat.

Elina whimpered as he pressed the blade into her flesh. A single trickle of blood ran down her slender throat, over the rise of her breast.

Byren's mouth went dry with fear. 'You won't hurt her.'

'Why not? I've already had her.'

'Release Elina and we may let you live,' Byren bluffed. 'My men are already lighting the warning beacon. King Rolen will be here by dawn with more than enough warriors to crush your advance party.'

'King Rolen is in Rolenhold waiting for a signal and that won't come. I destroyed the beacon fire.' Palatyne countered. 'Drop your weapons.'

Orrade cursed under his breath.

'No!' Elina cried. She elbowed Palatyne in the ribs, ducked under his arm and leapt across the bed, long hair flying. Before anyone could move she'd grabbed the lamp, tipping it so that burning oil flew in an arc across the bed. Drops hit Palatyne's naked shoulder, neck and face. He screamed, beating at the stinging spots. Flames licked up the velvet bed curtains, across the sheets and covers.

The door from the hallway swung open. Lord Dunstany stood there, his staff in one hand, a robe hastily thrown over his nakedness. Merofynian lordlings jostled behind him, frightened, fascinated. The Utland Power-worker shoved through them, cursing fluently.

'Kill them!' Palatyne roared.

Elina gave a cry of despair and flung the other doors open, running onto the mezzanine balcony.

'Elina, no,' Byren called, fearing she meant to jump to her death. With warriors blocking the corridor she would be trapped, unable to reach the stairs. He cast one glance to Palatyne, who was hastily dragging on his breeches, and ran after her.

'We'll be trapped.' Orrade ran at his side, sword in hand.

But Elina had already swung one long leg over the balcony. As Byren watched she grabbed the embroidered emblem and lowered herself over the drop.

'Clever girl!' Orrade said, following her.

Byren heard footsteps, turned, blocked Palatyne's attack and avoided another stroke from one of three lordlings who jostled to kill him. The nearest died on the edge of Byren's blade, but even as he fell another stepped into his place.

Without looking, Byren placed his left hand on the rail and leapt over, reaching for the emblem. It screeched as it tore, falling with him. But it was enough to absorb his momentum and Orrade helped steady him as he landed on the floor below, only a body length from the dove aviary. He had a glimpse of dead birds amidst feathers and blood as Elina hugged him. Wearing Orrade's shirt, which revealed her long thighs, she looked every bit the Old Dove's warrior daughter. Byren hugged her fiercely, wondering if she would still speak to him if Orrade ever revealed how they'd delayed rescuing her.

'Hurry,' Orrade urged, pulling them towards the far doors and the terrace. 'They'll be down the stairs in a moment.'

Byren backed up with Elina at his side. 'You two get out. I'll hold them. I'll meet you at the water-wheel.'

'We still need to light a warning beacon,' Elina protested. Pulling away from him, she ran to the fireplace and stood on tiptoe to grab the firestone. Before Byren could stop her, she ran to the other stand and tossed the first firestone up to join its mate. Byren had never seen two firestones meet. They exploded in a ball of blue-white fire. The wall hangings burst into flames, hungrily racing up to the vaulted ceiling above.

The force of it flung Elina back off her feet. Byren and Orrade ran to her, dragging her to safety. Byren could feel the heat beating on him from three body lengths away.

'Elina, are you all right?' Byren turned her hands over to reveal her burnt palms. 'Oh, Lina.'

She managed a smile.

'Here they come,' Orrade warned.

Byren looked up to see Palatyne, the Utlander and his warriors race through the door under the mezzanine into the great hall. He caught Elina by the arm, hauling her to her feet and thrust her towards Orrade. 'Take her. Get out.'

But when they turned to face the great doors he saw the Merofynian servants had escaped the wine cellar and cut them off.

'The cook should have cut their throats,' Orrade whispered.

Seeing their predicament, Palatyne laughed and lowered his sword. 'Surrender and I'll let the girl live.'

'First man to come within range of my sword dies!' Byren raised the sword tip.

'Stay back. I have sent for archers, Overlord Palatyne,' Lord Dunstany called from the balcony above.

Byren cursed.

Palatyne smiled. 'Work your power on them. First one to make them suffer earns my gratitude.'

Orrade cursed under his breath. Byren gripped his sword tighter, ready for anything.

There was a moment's tense silence as both Power-workers sent out mental probes.

'Power-working is a lot like metal working, overlord. A smithy can't fashion a sword from thin air,' Lord Dunstany said. 'These three are without Affinity so there's nothing for me to work with.'

'Not so, Dunstany, I sense something,' the Utlander insisted.

'By all means expend your power on a hopeless task. It will only make me stronger,' Dunstany urged.

The Utlander glared at him.

'Byren, I think I can bluff the perfumed parasites between us and the door,' Orrade whispered. 'Those servants'll run at the first sight of blood.'

'Well, Dunstany?' Palatyne demanded.

'The archers will be here soon.'

'Useless Power-workers,' Palatyne swore. A nasty slow smile spread across his face and he left the mezzanine calling, 'Bring me the kingsheir.'

'What's he doing?' Elina whispered as they waited.

Byren did not know. But he suspected he would not like it.

In no time at all, the overlord strode into the hall as his men marched Lence over to stand in front of Palatyne. He looked groggy. There was blood on his shirt from the blow Byren had delivered to the back of his head.

'Give him your sword.' Palatyne gestured to one of the lordlings.

Lence lifted the weapon, blinking fiercely to clear his head.

'Now prove your worth, kingsheir. Kill them or die with them!'

'No, Lence,' Elina pleaded.

Byren's mouth went dry as his twin turned and strode towards him. He read determination in Lence's eyes.

No regret. No doubt. No last-minute signal.

Orrade swore. 'You should've killed him when you had the chance, Byren.'

'So, I'm a fool,' Byren muttered bitterly. 'The moment he attacks, charge the servants. Get Elina out of here.'

'Give me your hunting knife, Byren,' Elina ordered. 'It's long enough for me to use as a sword.'

He handed it over and wiped his palm on his thigh, sweating from the heat. Already the wooden panels were well ablaze.

Byren focused on Lence as his brother brought his sword around for a huge, two-handed swing. Lence always had preferred strength to subtlety, relying on his size to carry the encounter.

Byren ducked and deflected, but did not follow through.

'Fight me!' Lence roared. His blade leapt in an arc for Byren's throat.

Again, he deflected, staggering back two steps. He could hear Orrade yelling as he charged the servants. His sword arm throbbed with the impact of Lence's strike. Using his twin's momentum, Byren took his sword down and around in a classic deflection arc. The blades sang as they parted.

'Join me, Lence. Don't die a traitor.'

'You think you can better me?' Fast as a viper, Lence snatched a fallen chair, throwing it at Byren.

Dodging the chair, he lost his balance and went down on one knee. Lence bore down on him.

Byren knew he had waited too long. If he wanted to live he would have to prove the seer, right but he didn't want to kill his twin.

Something darted in front of him, taking the impact of Lence's strike. Fine black hair brushed his face, long legs. Blood on white linen.