The Usurper (2 page)

She ignored him. 'That's young Vadik. We're on our way to his ma's farm. He wanted to come with me into the mountains to serve you, Byren. But his ma thought he was too young to get involved in war.'

'Looks like the Merofynians didn't agree.' Byren's voice ground deep in his throat, tight with anger.

'I should have insisted,' Seela whispered. 'But his ma didn't want to leave the farm. Her man was killed when the Merofynians invaded. She thought, with Vadik and his younger brother's help, she could get the spring planting done. Now -'

'The look-outs will spot them by midday tomorrow,' Orrade muttered. 'They'll lay an ambush, but one or two of those riders might get away, and take word back. We have to kill them, Byren.'

He had come to the same conclusion, but how could he save the boy?

'They're beasts, treating a child like that,' Seela muttered. 'Worse than Utlanders.'

Byren frowned. 'There's something odd about the way the boy's moving.'

Vadik stumbled and put out one arm to prevent his fall. The other, his right arm, ended in a bloody, hastily bandaged stump.

Orrade hissed under his breath.

Seela gasped in horror.

Byren blazed with fury. For a heartbeat he thought of nothing but rending and tearing those men to pieces. The force of his reaction shocked him. Truly feral, it made him wonder if his time with the ulfr pack had affected him on some basic level, bringing out the beast that lurked in all men.

No point worrying.

If he was to save the boy, he needed a diversion to draw the Merofynians' attention away from Vadik. If only the ulfr pack were still following him. Imbued with Affinity, ulfrs were long-haired wolves the size of ponies and, Byren had discovered, they were more intelligent than anyone gave them credit for.

If only they were here now, they'd spook the horses...

Of course!

'Orrie, go across the far side of the ravine, hide and give the hunting cry of an ulfr pack. Make it sound like a large pack. See if you can startle the horses.'

'What will you do?'

Byren fixed on the Merofynian leader. The beautiful cloak of silver-grey lincis fur patterned with leopard spots rested on his broad shoulders. A trophy of war, no doubt it had been stolen from some rich Rolencian merchant or lord. 'I'm going to kill their leader and set the boy free. Seela, you whisk Vadik into the trees, keep him safe.'

She nodded.

'And then?' Orrie asked.

'See if you can take down a couple of men from a distance, before coming to my aid. None of them can be allowed to live.' Too many lives depended on keeping the whereabouts of their camp a secret.

They slid down from the ridge and Byren chose a spot for the ambush. He strung his bow and selected an arrow, then glanced to Seela. She looked grim, her hand at her waist where she kept her paring knife, ready to act. He hid a smile and prayed she would never have to use it.

First around the bend was the injured boy. Vadik walked like one asleep. Face white, eyes fixed, bleeding stump held to his chest.

Once again, rage boiled in Byren's belly. But it was with cold precision that he notched the arrow and waited for...

The ululating cry of an ulfr on the hunt sounded from the ridge opposite, echoing off the bluff behind Byren. All six horses startled. Two reared, their riders only just retaining control. Another howl came, differently pitched. One man was thrown, another fought his mount as it tried to bolt.

Byren aimed and dropped him from the saddle.

Even as Byren ran towards the invaders, he notched, aimed and loosed another arrow, taking down a second man.

In the confusion, the Merofynians had only just realised the attack came from men, not beasts. Their leader stood in the stirrups to yell an order. Byren rushed up, swung an arm around his waist and pulled him off, stabbing him through his surcoat and the side-lacing of his chest armour. As the man fell, spraying blood on the snow, Byren tore the chain's end from his hands and threw the chain to the boy.

Vadik caught the chain clumsily with his left hand and stared at it, then at Byren.

Seela appeared at his side, snatched his good arm and dragged him off towards the trees.

A warrior tried to cut them off. Byren leaped for him, pulling him off his horse and slitting his throat before the man could draw his sword.

A blow whistled towards Byren's head. He ducked and turned in time to see his attacker clutch his chest, where an arrow bloomed. The Merofynian looked surprised as he toppled from his horse.

And that was it. No more mounted men.

Byren counted horses. Five. He swore.

Orrade came running through the trees, knife drawn. A man tried to rise, an arrow in his thigh. Orrade cut him down and kept coming. Without breaking his stride, he leapt into the saddle of a skittish horse and took off down the track, after the one that got away.

Being half a head shorter and lighter of build than Byren, Orrade was better suited to catch the fleeing warrior. But until he returned safe, Byren could not relax. He went around the churned-up clearing, checking the men for signs of life, dispatching the living without compunction.

Byren collected weapons - his people needed them as well as food and clothing - and tied the bundles to the horses' saddles. The dead men he left for the scavengers to clean up. This close to spring cusp the winter creatures were desperate for food and the ones that had hibernated were waking up, ravenous.

The frightened horses were inclined to scatter, so he led them away from the bloody snow and rapidly cooling bodies, into the trees where Seela had taken the boy.

He found the pair of them perched on rocks. While the old nurse rewrapped Vadik's stump, the boy shivered uncontrollably.

Byren draped the lincis cloak around his shoulders. 'This is yours now.'

'He needs a healer,' Seela said, voice thin with anger. 'They chopped off his hand to show they were serious, then told him to lead them to you.'

Vadik looked up at Byren. He still shivered, but there was some colour in his cheeks. Byren hoped it was not the sign of a fever developing. The boy's eyes looked glassy.

'I failed you. I shouldn't have led them up here,' Vadik said, young voice rising. 'I wanted to be brave, but they threatened to kill Mam and Tikhon. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't brave enough to -'

'You protected your family,' Byren said, throat tight. 'That's the best you could do.' The boy did not look convinced. Byren knelt in front of him. 'It's what I woulda done.'

Vadik blinked, surprised.

'I should have insisted they come with me,' Seela muttered, furious with herself.

'You couldn't have foreseen this,' Byren told her, coming to his feet. 'It's barbaric.'

'Did you kill them all?' Vadik asked.

'All but one. Orrie's gone after him.'

'He must catch him.' The boy came to his feet, an edge of panic to his voice. 'They said they'd go back for Mam and m'brother if I ran away.' Desperate, he searched Byren's face. 'You won't let them get Mam and Tikhon?'

Byren reached out, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. 'No one is going to hurt your family, I swear. I'll go and bring them back myself.'

Tears brimmed and the boy threw his arms around Byren, who rubbed his back wishing he'd been a day earlier and been lying in wait for those Merofynians. See how brave they were when faced with a grown man. But wishes wouldn't return Vadik's right hand. Everything Byren did was too little, too late. Since Cobalt returned... no, since the old seer told him he would kill his twin and take Lence's place, everything had gone awry despite Byren's best efforts to prove the crazy old woman wrong.

So he rubbed the boy's back and brooded, vowing to do better.

That was how Orrade found them, when he returned riding one horse and leading the other. Swinging his leg over, Orrade slid to the ground and tied the reins to a branch.

'Any trouble?' Byren asked.

Orrade shook his head once and glanced to the boy, who had subsided in relief.

'Vadik was worried about his family,' Byren said. 'But I'm going to fetch them now. I want you to take him up to camp. He needs a healer. And quickly.' When Seela nodded, Byren knew he was right. The boy's skin was too hot.

Orrade, however, was clearly unhappy about leaving him.

Byren laughed. 'I've managed without you guarding my back before.'

'Aye, and look what happened? I found you wounded in an Affinity seep!'

Which reminded Byren, now that Halcyon Abbey had fallen there were no monks available to capture the untamed Affinity leaking from new seeps across Rolencia. Instead of storing it safely in sorbt stones, it would leach out into the valley, affecting plants, people and animals in ways no one could predict. Although he was glad his wound had been healed while he slept in a seep amidst an ulfr pack, he was not sure if that was as far as it went. Like Orrade's visions, something else might arise, something he couldn't hide.

'What's wrong, Byren?' Orrade asked, perceptive as always and just a shade too intimate for a friend, even a best friend.

Byren shook his head, aware of Seela. He'd had enough trouble evading capture and overcoming his cousin, Cobalt, who had thrown in his lot with the Merofynians, without worrying about the effects of renegade power and Orrade's inconvenient love for him.

'Seela can lead me down to the farm. Orrie, you take Vadik up to the camp. Select a horse, let him ride in front of you. I'll be back by tomorrow evening, the next day at the latest.'

'Will you take the other horses?' Orrade asked.

Byren considered. Mounted, the brother and mother could travel faster, but horses were noisy and might give them away if there were more Merofynians about.

Vadik swayed, deciding Byren. Orrade would have enough to do, getting the boy to the camp, without trying to lead five horses as well, and Byren refused to leave them for Affinity beasts to devour. 'I'll take them with me. C'mon, Seela. Time for you to ride.'

'You know I can't ride,' she protested.

'Thirty years in Rolencia and you still can't ride? Time to learn, I'd say.'

The boy grinned, which was what Byren had intended. Seela played along, grumbling warily as Byren helped her into the saddle of the horse he judged to be the quietest. At least he thought she was playing along.

With her settled, he lifted Vadik to sit across Orrade's lap.

'Now, don't you be worrying, lad. I'll fetch your mam and brother and be back before you know it. You concentrate on getting better. That's an order.'

Vadik nodded, then his mouth twisted. 'But what good am I without my hand? I can't farm like Da, can't fight for you, can't do anything.'

His bitter words made Byren grit his teeth. 'You've already saved your mam and Tikhon, and led six Merofynians to their deaths. What other boy your age has done so much?'

Vadik looked surprised.

Judging the moment right, Byren sought Orrade's eyes, finding unwanted admiration and affection there. With a nod, Byren sent them off. His friend urged the horse out onto the track.

Byren watched them go, thinking that kiss had been a mistake. But he'd thought he was dying.

Only he hadn't, he'd lived. And now Orrade wasn't the friend who'd protected Byren's back since they were fourteen... well he was, but he was also a potential danger. If Byren's honour guard knew Orrade was a follower of Palos, the legendary warlord and lover of men, they would assume Byren was also one. They'd lose faith in him. He'd never retake Rolencia and avenge the murder of his family.

'War is a cruel thing,' Seela muttered. 'No respecter of age or goodness of heart. I'd hoped my little Myrella's sacrifice would bring an end to all this.'

Hearing his mother described as 'little Myrella' struck Byren as odd, but then Seela had been his mother's nurse, accompanying her from Merofynia, when she was sent as a child bride to ensure the peace after the last war.

The midwinter just gone, his parents had celebrated thirty years of peace, while hoping for another thirty with Lence's betrothal to the new kingsdaughter. Now his parents and Lence were dead, Fyn was missing and Piro... little Piro had been enslaved and sent to Merofynia. He only hoped she reined in her temper and kept her tongue between her teeth. But when had she ever done that?

Byren gathered the reins of the remaining horses and swung into the saddle of the largest. There wasn't a horse big enough to carry him easily. He would have to rotate mounts.

So much rested on him, the second son, the spare heir. He'd never wanted the crown, never thought he would have to right the wrongs of his generation.

Chapter Two

Merofynia

Piro had never expected to return to her mother's home as a slave. Breath misting, she gripped the ship's rail and stared at Port Mero, painted in dawn shades of grey, gleaming only where early workers had lit lamps.

Her skin prickled with foreboding and she did not need to turn around to know that the little Utland Power-worker approached. His smell was enough to warn her, that and the waves of Affinity, which rolled off him like cold off an icy forge.

Now she wished Lord Dunstany had not gone down to his cabin. There was bad blood between the two Power-workers.

'You're just like him,' the Utlander whispered, hate making his voice thick and tight. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, to outward appearances a friendly gesture.

But Piro felt his fingers dig into her body, while his power burrowed into her Affinity, cold tendrils seeking the source of her power, seeking to steal it, just as he had stolen her mother's essence when she died, sealing it in the stone on the end of the staff that never left his side.

She tensed, shoring up her defences. During this last year, she'd built walls to keep her Affinity a secret from the abbeys' monks and nuns, and she had been safe. But the walls had never had to withstand an assault like this. Her body locked up, refusing to move as she bit down on her bottom lip and strained to keep him out.

'You think you're clever, but I won't be beaten by a pampered Merofynian noble and his pretty little spy. I know Dunstany's given you to Overlord Palatyne as a bride-gift for Isolt Kingsdaughter. I know you're a spy and I've warned Palatyne. You won't -'

'I see you've come on deck to catch a glimpse of Mount Mero, too. Poets have written odes to the dawn sun on these slopes,' Lord Dunstany said, as his hand came down to settle on Piro's other shoulder.

She felt a wave of warmth emanate from the noble scholar and roll through her, driving out the creeping cold of the Utlander. Her knees quivered. Nausea rode up her throat. She swallowed, but failed to keep it down. With a moan, she lurched forwards to retch over the side of the boat.

She shuddered, emptying her stomach in involuntary spasms. At last, she straightened up, wiping her chin on the back of her hand. Since she hadn't had breakfast there hadn't been much to bring up.

'I see your slave still suffers from sea-sickness,' the Utlander observed.

'I see what my slave suffers from,' Dunstany said, voice thin and stretched with fury. His hand rubbed in gentle circles between her shoulder blades. 'Hurt her and you hurt me.'

The Utlander stiffened, the bones woven into his waist-length plait clicking. Piro risked a look.

The Utlander's tilted eyes narrowed. 'What is she to you, Dunstany? By tonight she will be Palatyne's to use as he wishes.'

She felt the noble scholar's hand fall away from her. He'd had no choice but to gift her to the overlord. Palatyne planned to present her to King Merofyn's daughter, as a prize of war, a seven-year slave. Lord Dunstany, try as he might, could not protect her.

A smile parted the Utlander's thin lips, but it did not reach his narrow, sunken eyes. Satisfied, he slipped away.

Piro waited until he was out of hearing. 'He hates you. Why?'

'I wish I knew.' Dunstany sounded tired, as though keeping the Utlander out had cost him more than he liked to admit. 'I fear I haven't done you any favours, Seelon.'

Piro was so used to answering to her assumed name, she didn't even blink. And she knew what Dunstany meant. 'It's even worse. The Utlander told Palatyne I will be spying for you.'

'The overlord's no fool. He could figure that out for himself. But he underestimates women. He thinks Isolt will agree to be his biddable wife but he's very much mistaken.'

'She was betrothed to Lence Kingsheir,' Piro said. Lence was the one brother she was certain was dead, as Seela had heard from Byren and no one knew where Fyn was. A ferocious protective surge warmed Piro as she prayed, yet again, for his safety.

'Oh, Isolt knows her duty,' Dunstany said. 'But there is a world of difference between King Rolen's heir, a youth who was as sturdy and reliable as his father, and a jumped-up spar warlord who seeks to make himself emperor of the known world.'

His description of Lence and her father brought tears to Piro's eyes. As far as Dunstany knew, she was a palace servant with a touch of Affinity. If he discovered who she really was, would he use her as a tool to further his own goals?

She rather suspected he would. Despite herself, she liked him, but she had no illusions.

Going over to the water barrel, she took a mug to rinse her mouth and spat it over the side. She still felt shaky from the confrontation. How was she to survive in the Merofynian palace, if she could not protect herself from one Utlander Power-worker? According to her father's spies, King Merofyn surrounded himself with renegade Power-workers in his quest to prolong his life.

The sun's first rays had reached Mount Mero's snow-tipped peak, making it glisten a rich salmon-pink, but below that everything was still shrouded in shades of grey. Lamps gleamed on Port Mero's docks.

She returned to Dunstany's side as the overlord's ship - first in a convoy of eight, laden with stolen bounty from Rolencia - made its way towards the Port. The sea-hounds, four ships of fierce sea-warriors who had accompanied the convoy to fight off Utland raiders, still patrolled like anxious sheepdogs, only now they were anxious to collect their payment.

Piro could make out the still water stretching far ahead of them. It curved around the base of Mount Mero, reflecting the peak with hardly a ripple. It was a pretty sight but, privately, she thought this mountain did not compare with Mount Halcyon.

The two kingdoms were like mirror images, but there were differences. The fertile valley of Rolencia was dotted with five deep lakes, linked by canals, while in the centre of Merofynia's fertile valley lay a small inland sea which lapped at the far side of Mount Mero. Nearly two hundred years ago, the Landlocked Sea had been linked to Mero Bay by the Grand Canal, a feat of engineering the Merofynians were inordinately proud of.

The king's palace overlooked the Landlocked Sea. Port Mero sprawled around the base of Mount Mero, along the edge of the sea and out around the shore of Mero Bay.

Piro had never seen Port Mero, but she recognised it from her mother's stories. The roofs of the graceful, golden stone buildings were capped with snow now, but in the height of summer they glowed in the sun's fierce light.

Wharves stretched greedy fingers out into the bay, and crowded four-storey warehouses clustered along the shore.

Soon their ship entered the Grand Canal, which was wide enough for two seagoing vessels to pass each other comfortably. Tree-lined streets and buildings three or four storeys high lined the canal. It was a wonderful sight.

As the residents woke and began their day's work, people hung washing off balconies, chimneys smoked and the smell of cooking reached Piro.

'I heard that some of Merofynia's valley farms have been reclaimed from the Landlocked Sea,' Piro said, repeating her mother's tales. 'That in places the canals are walled. That you could step out your front door and see a boat sail by above your head.' She looked to Dunstany for verification.

He smiled. 'One day, if I get the chance, I'll show you.'

Piro thought that was an odd thing to say to a slave. Even odder considering that, later today, she would become Overlord Palatyne's property, and then Isolt's.

Piro held on to the ship's rail as the vessel left the Grand Canal and the Landlocked Sea opened in front of them. The sun had not yet reached it and a fine mist hung over the surface. But the nearest wharves were busy with life. Men waited as the ship's rowers backed their oars, slowing their progress. Ropes sailed across the cold water, drawing them in closer to the wharf.

She glanced thoughtfully at Dunstany. She wanted to ask him about the amber pendant. It still rankled to see her essence trapped there, hanging around his neck. He seemed fond of her. If she asked, would he release her?

Dunstany stiffened imperceptibly. Only Piro, who knew him so well, could sense his wariness. She turned, and sure enough Overlord Palatyne approached them.

Palatyne gestured to the clear, oyster-shell sky. 'Looks like it'll be a fine day to report my success to the king!'

The overlord was dressed in full battle gear, wearing the prized manticore chitin breastplate that had belonged to her father, King Rolen. A Merofynian crested helmet increased his already considerable height and a sword hung fron his waist. Since successfully invading Rolencia, Palatyne had adopted Merofynian royal azure, this time in his cloak. On his chest five of the royal emblems of her family glittered. Her own, Byren's and her mother's silver pendants, her bother Lence's electrum pendant and the king's gold pendant, embossed with the royal foenix. The last time she had seen her father use his seal, he'd stamped the image into an official decree and she'd wished he would hurry up so they could get on with the dancing. Seeing the emblems on Palatyne's chest made her so angry she had to look away.

Dressed in full armour the overlord appeared very grand and noble, but Piro knew that what was inside did not match the fine exterior. He was not quite as tall as her father, but still a fine figure of a man. His nose had been broken long ago and its flattened bridge gave him a belligerent aspect that suited his temperament. Palatyne... now that had to be an adopted name. It harkened back to myths that predated Merofynia's history. She knew he was a barbarian warlord from Amfina Spar. Much more likely his birth name had been something like Strong-arm or Snake-sight.

She turned away to hide a bitter smile.

'Mark this day, Dunstany,' Palatyne said. He never used the noble scholar's title. 'This is the dawn of a new era for Merofynia, for the Twin Isles.'

Her mentor said nothing.

'What? No fawning congratulations, Power-worker?' Palatyne prodded.

'You will only get the truth from me, overlord,' Dunstany answered. 'Look to others for ass-licking, I don't offer false coin.'

As Palatyne stiffened, Piro's heart did a double beat of terror.

At that moment the gangplank rattled into place and sailors started shouting. Palatyne gestured to Piro, looking right through Dunstany. 'Bring her to the feast tonight. I want her decked in the finest Rolencian clothing.'

'No kingsdaughter could look better, I promise,' Lord Dunstany said, with a shallow bow that did him more honour than the overlord. Only Piro could hear the mockery in his words.

Palatyne turned and strode off. Eager to bask in the overlord's reflected glory, the Utlander hurried across the deck just as Palatyne went down the gangplank. The Power-worker scurried after him, having to take two steps to each of the overlord's.

Piro smiled despite herself and caught Dunstany's eye. His lips twitched, one side of his mouth lifting. It reminded her of Byren's lop-sided grin, and fear for him diluted her happiness. It was days since she'd sent Seela into the mountains to find Byren.

And there had been no word of Fyn. Palatyne had been furious when his body hadn't been discovered amidst the corpses in the abbey.

She must take heart and trust to her brothers' quick wits to keep them alive, for it seemed the goddess had abandoned them.

Dawn saw Byren packing the family's belongings onto the horses. Pots, pans and bed linen, all of which were needed up at camp. Leaving the horses ready in the barn, he returned to the farmhouse. It was a good size and had been prosperous, but the invasion had robbed it of its workers, leaving just the mother and two boys. How would they cope with the eldest boy now a cripple?

Anger gnawed at Byren.

Even the smell of honey-oat porridge failed to lighten his mood, but somehow he managed a smile. Vadik's mother, Esfira, greeted him warmly, indicating the place she had set in his honour at the table. Day-old bread, spicy sausage, warm beer and a bowl of hot porridge with honey.

As Byren thanked her, he wondered how she could bear to have him at her table, when he was the reason her son had been crippled. If the Merofynians hadn't been searching for his camp, they wouldn't have come here and forced the boy to lead them into the mountains. Yet, she had been nothing but kind to him.

Tikhon climbed up on the chair beside Byren. He was small for his age and his feet swung free, unable to touch the floor as he chattered on about one of the farm dogs which would have puppies soon. Meanwhile, Seela helped the mother rinse the cooking pot and pack the last of the kitchen implements.

When it was all done, Esfira wiped her hands and hung her apron over the back of a chair, just as she must have done every day after breakfast.

She gave an odd laugh. 'Here I am, thinking it's good the kitchen is tidy, and I'm about to leave the farm.' With the back of her hand she brushed tears from her cheeks. She was a small thing, plump with sun-kissed skin and the creases of easy laughter in the corner of her eyes.

The dogs barked.

They all stiffened.

'Strangers?' Seela asked softly.

'Aye. I know that bark,' Esfira whispered.

Byren thrust his bowl aside, catching Seela's eye. 'Go out the back door, over to the barn. Lead the horses out the back way. I'll distract them. If you hear fighting, don't wait for me, head for the hills.'