'I watched my own back for years before you came along, Mountain-girl.'
She sniffed, then a thought occurred to her. 'Did Cinna admit to being the elector's spy?'
'No. Feid admitted only that someone spies for him, someone he trusts. That's why I need you here, for now. I need you to keep your eyes open.'
I need to keep you safe.
'Of course.' She glanced up to him. 'What is it?'
The words were on the tip of his tongue but he could not ask it of her. He would be denying who Florin was. Sylion take her, why did she have to be so stubborn?
'Be off. And keep out of trouble.' It was no more than he'd say to any of the lads.
She grinned. 'I'll serve under Orrie's command, but we'd better catch up with you in time to take Rolenhold!'
With that she was gone.
By mid-morning they were ready to leave. Men milled about in the stronghold courtyards, double-checking their travelling kits. Word of Leogryf's betrayal had spread, leaving a bad taste in everyone's mouths.
Byren caught Orrade's eye and led him into the shadows of the stable. It was quiet here. 'There's something I need you to do for me, Orrie.'
'Name it.'
But Byren hesitated. If he asked Orrade to watch over Florin, Orrade would know how he felt and Byren knew she loved one of his men. It might just be Orrade. In fact, it probably was, they'd spent enough time in each other's company. He didn't want his friend to hold back. Orrade enjoyed Florin's company and admired her. Let him marry Florin and settle the whispers once and for all.
It would be so much simpler if Orrade wed the mountain girl and made his wife available to his king. It wouldn't be the first time a king had come to such an arrangement with one of his loyal lords.
But Byren was not going to be that kind of king.
He cleared his throat, aware that he had taken too long to answer. 'Make it look like a concerted effort to take the fort, but don't waste lives.'
Orrade nodded, a half-smile lightening his sharp eyes. 'And?'
And nothing. If Florin wanted to be a shield-maiden, she had to face death just as his warriors did. 'It's Winterfall. I overheard him giving Florin a hard time -'
'So that's why you arranged for her to sleep in Lady Cinna's chambers.' Orrade grinned. 'Don't worry. I'll keep her close by me.'
Byren swallowed. This was not the outcome he wanted, but it would be for the best. So he nodded.
'By the way, I told Catillum you wanted him and his monks to march with me,' Orrade said.
Byren cursed. He had forgotten the monks in his preoccupation with Florin. 'I thought you'd want the mystics master as far from you as possible, Orrie.'
'And I thought you'd want to keep him as far from the renegade Affinity at the old camp as possible.'
'Good point.' He didn't want Catillum anywhere near those caves with their old, untamed Affinity. Byren grinned and squeezed Orrade's shoulders. 'What would I do without you?'
Orrade shrugged. 'Flounder on, I suppose.'
Byren laughed and thumped him. As they marched out of the stable a horn sounded.
Everyone froze.
Byren met Orrade's eyes. Were they under attack?
He bounded up the tower stairs with Orrade at his heels. Here they found Feid already holding the Ostronite farseer to his eye.
'What is it?' Byren asked.
Wordlessly, Feid passed him the tube and Byren looked through it. He spotted three ships bristling with warriors, their helmets and shields gleaming in the sun. The wind lifted the banners to reveal the rearing cockatrice. Relief flooded him.
Byren closed the farseer with a snap and shouted the news. People cheered.
They headed down to the wharf, where the first ship retracted its oars as ropes were thrown across and secured. A young man marched down the gangplank, hand on sword hilt.
'That cub's too young to be the new warlord,' Orrade muttered.
'Well, he brings three hundred warriors, whatever he is,' Byren said and went down the wharf to greet the boy-warrior who stood almost as tall as Byren, but looked no more than fifteen.
'Byren Kingsheir?' he demanded.
Byren nodded.
He dropped to one knee. 'I'm Aseel, younger brother of Warlord Hrost, of Cockatrice Spar. I've come with three hundred men to help you retake Rolencia.' He got up, dusting off his knees and added apologetically, 'Hrost has kept back the rest. He doesn't trust Leogryf Spar.'
Byren snorted. 'For good reason. Lord Leon promised to support us then rode over the Divide!'
'He betrayed you?' Aseel demanded. 'He joined Cobalt?'
'Don't worry.' Seeing himself only a few years ago, Byren slung an arm around Aseel's shoulders and turned him towards the others. 'A warrior from the spar is worth two from the valley. Come meet Orrade and Warlord Feid.'
Chapter Nineteen
Fyn studied the map. At last, they had entered the deep narrow bay that would bring them to Feid's stronghold. By midday he would see Byren and bring him the good news. He couldn't hold back a smile.
'Bad news.' Captain Nefysto walked into the cabin, with a messenger bird on his wrist, his expression grim. He crossed the cabin and placed the bird in its cage, behind the screen. 'The old elector is dead and there's been fighting in the streets of Ostron Isle. As yet there is no elector and we don't know if the new one will honour the alliance.'
Fyn came to his feet, mind racing. 'Only we know about this and, when the new elector is named, the mage will endeavour to win their support. Tell no one, Nefysto. Understood?'
'I was serving the mage when you were an abbey brat, little monk.' But there was a smile in his eyes.
Fyn had the grace to grin then remembered a comment Tyro had made. 'I gather the mage has a spy on this spar. Will Feid know about the elector's death?'
Nefysto shrugged. 'I'm not privy to the mage's machinations and I certainly don't know the identity of his spies.'
Midday saw Fyn on the deck of the sea-hound, studying the warlord's stronghold as they approached. Below it, a collection of cottages clung to the steep slope that led down to Foenix Spar's only harbour. Even from here, he could see pigs and chickens wandering the muddy streets, squabbling and squawking. After Ostron Isle the comparison was not favourable.
Their ship had been sighted, and as it drew near, mothers called for children to come running. The women retreated, clutching the little ones' hands, and closed up their houses, to watch no doubt through peek holes. The spars were wary of everyone and the sea-hounds owed them no allegiance.
Word must have been sent up the steep road to the stronghold. By the time the oarsmen had guided the
Wyvern's Whelp
into its berth and made the ship secure, a delegation strode down the slope. Fyn searched for Byren's broad shoulders but could not find them.
'My brother isn't there,' Fyn said to Nefysto. Had Byren fallen foul of his injuries after all? Then he spotted Orrade. He would know. Fyn waved. 'Orrie!'
As his brother's best friend sprinted along the wharf, Fyn charged down the gangplank. They collided, laughing and hugging.
'You've grown, Fyn,' Orrade said, stepping back to look at him.
'I'll never be as big as the twins...' Fyn broke off, remembering Lence's loss all over again. He looked around for Byren. 'Where's -'
'You missed him. He's gone ahead to attack the fort across Foenix Pass. And I'm leaving tomorrow to aid him.'
'Then I'm coming with you. I've news for him.' Fyn patted his vest where the message cylinder was hidden. He glanced over at the waiting men. 'I don't see Garzik?'
Orrade's thin features tightened with sorrow and his voice grew rough. 'He fell the night Palatyne took Dovecote. We lost Elina and Father that night, too.'
Unable to find the words, Fyn hugged him again.
As he pulled back, Orrade managed a smile. 'So where have you been? Playing sea-hound-and-Utland raider?' It was a game they'd indulged in as children.
Fyn laughed. 'I've much to tell you, Orrie.' He nodded past Orrade's shoulder to the spar warriors. 'Can we trust them?'
'As far as we can trust anyone from the spars.' Orrade slung an arm around Fyn's shoulders. 'Come on. I'll introduce you. Ah, but you're a sight for sore eyes. We heard Piro lived, but no one knew what'd happened to you.'
'About Piro...' Fyn fell into step with him, then remembered the sea-hound captain. 'First, you must meet Nefysto.'
They'd agreed to pretend the sea-hound had delivered Fyn for a fee and the chance to trade. It felt wrong to lie to Orrade, but the mage's secrets were not his to share.
By now the rest of the delegation had reached them, and Orrade made the introductions. Most notable amongst them was the handsome youth, who turned out to be a mountain girl called Florin, and the warlord's new lady, Cinna. When Nefysto greeted Lady Cinna, he acted as though they'd never met, but there was a hint of laughter in his black eyes, which was echoed in hers.
While the sea-hounds were setting up their goods on the wharf and the inhabitants of Feidton gathered, eager to begin bargaining, Fyn slipped over to speak with Nefysto.
'So you do know the mage's spy,' he said.
A smile tugged at Nefysto's lips but he didn't answer.
'Orrade tells me she was a kitchen maid in some merchant's house when Feid met her, and it's a love match,' Fyn pressed for a reaction. 'Does the mage deal in love potions now or is she such a fine actress she'll bear his children?'
Nefysto caught Fyn by his vest, swung him behind some tall bales and thrust him up against them. 'That's my cousin you're talking about.'
Fyn gulped. 'My apologies, captain. I meant no insult.'
Nefysto let him slide to the ground.
Fyn adjusted his clothing. The women of the five families were renowned for handling finances, driving hard bargains and marrying to cement alliances. 'If Lady Cinna comes from one of the five families of Ostron Isle, what's she doing spying for the mage?'
Nefysto looked as if he wouldn't answer, then he let out his breath in a huff of annoyance. 'Cinna was born the wrong side of the blanket, so she can never be acknowledged, but she could have served the family safely. She would never have gone hungry. Cinna, however, always preferred excitement. If she's married this spar warlord it's because she loves him. And he's a lucky man.'
'Yet, she's still spying for the mage?'
'Be glad she is, for your brother's sake.' And Nefysto strode off, offering the Lady Cinna his arm to show her the sea-hounds' wares.
Fyn watched Nefysto and his by-blow cousin. If Feid married her after meeting her in a merchant's kitchen and was unaware of her connections to one of Ostron Isle's wealthiest families, then he'd married her for love. Fyn almost envied him. It was something a kingson would never be sure of.
A kingson had to be careful where he spread his seed. Not that Byren or Lence had been particularly careful, if the stories were true. You'd think they would have learnt from King Byren's mistake.
When he was only sixteen, their grandfather had dallied with a passing player and produced a son. Born the wrong side of the blanket, destined never to inherit, Spurnan's very existence had triggered a civil war. Then Cobalt, Spurnan's son, betrayed King Rolen for his chance at the crown. Seventy years on, they were still paying for his grandfather's indiscretion.
'There you are.' Orrade found him. 'Something wrong?'
'No.' Fyn mustered a smile.
'Then come up to the stronghold and tell me what's happened to you since Merofynia invaded.' Orrade had only taken three steps when he came to an abrupt stop. 'Fyn, the abbey mystics master is here with us.'
'Good, I -' Fyn registered Orrade's serious expression. 'What?'
'One of the monks told me he struggles with renegade Affinity. He could betray us.'
'Catillum? Never!' Fyn pulled away from Orrade. 'Are you sure?'
'It was your friend Feldspar who warned us.'
Fyn digested this. He'd misjudged Cobalt, but then he hadn't known his cousin well. He did know Feldspar and Catillum. Could his friend be mistaken? They hadn't begun their monks' training, how could Feldspar judge the mystic master's true state?
Besides, now that Fyn had met renegade Affinity in the form of the mage's agent, he knew Power-workers could live outside the abbey's teachings and not succumb to evil. Come to think of it, there had been some shining examples of evil within the abbey. If the monks were wrong about Power-workers, what else did they have wrong?
'Fyn?' Orrade prodded. 'Can I trust the mystic?'
Then it came to him. This was the meaning of the vision back on the
Wyvern's Whelp
, when he'd seen Catillum battling a wyvern. 'The mystic master won't betray us. He'd die before he bowed down to Merofynia.'
'You sound certain.'
'I had a vision.' Fyn's hand went to his chest, to where the Fate lay hidden under his vest. Even as Fyn did this, he realised that if Catillum discovered he was the mage's agent he would denounce him. Fyn's skin went cold as his mind raced. He'd been so focused on reaching Byren, he hadn't thought this through. He could never go back to the abbey. It would mean living a lie.
His head spun as he tried to make the mental adjustments. If anyone from the abbey asked how he came to be here on Foenix Spar with the sea-hounds he'd tell them he'd fallen in with one of the elector's agents and leave it at that.
'The vision told you Catillum is trustworthy?' Orrade pressed.
'Absolutely.'
'Good. Because I don't want to battle renegade Affinity without his support. The Merofynians are sure to have brought one of Mulcibar's mystics with them.'
Fyn nodded. Unlike Halcyon, the Merofynian god of summer was the patron god of war. A bull with a coat as hard as stone, its breath could incinerate. In the last great battle the Merofynians hurled burning balls, known as Mulcibar's dung. Anything they touched burst into flames.
'So, Fyn,' Orrade said, resuming their walk up to Feid's stronghold. 'Where have you been and how did you come to be sailing with sea-hounds?'
And Fyn began to lie.
That evening, after the meal, as he stood on the mezzanine overlooking Feid's great hall, Bantam and Jakulos joined him. When Nefysto had assigned them to accompany him as his honour guard, neither had been particularly impressed to learn who he really was. Fyn was relieved they treated him no differently.
'Did you make a pretty profit?' Fyn asked.
Bantam grimaced. 'No profit to be made from spar trading. They're too poor. Cap'n's taking the
Wyvern's Whelp
around to Port Marchand.'
Fyn nodded. No doubt Nefysto would be reporting to the mage on the state of affairs in Rolencia. Fyn was glad to have the two sea-hounds watching his back and wanted to tell them, but before he could, Feldspar and Joff sought him out.
'There you are, Fyn,' Feldspar said, eyeing the two sea-hounds warily. Bantam gave Fyn a nod and he and Jakulos moved off as if they hadn't been told to shadow him. Joff and Feldspar joined Fyn at the rail, overlooking Feid's great hall.
'Catillum wants to see you,' Feldspar said. 'What happened after you left us? How did you end up with the sea-hounds?'
Fyn straightened up. This was what he'd dreaded, but for their own good, he must deny his old friends. 'That's between the king and I.' He'd never given Byren this title before. 'Did you say Master Catillum wants to see me?'
Feldspar stiffened and took a step back. 'Yes, kingsheir.'
Fyn wanted to tell him to drop the title. But it was better to let Feldspar think he was too ambitious to maintain friendship with a monk, who could do him no favours, rather than have Feldspar tainted by association if Fyn's relationship with the mage was ever revealed.
So Fyn nodded dismissively. 'I'll be along soon. Where is the mystics master?'
'In his chamber. It's -'
'I'll find it. Thank you.' Fyn turned away from them. It was hard, but it had to be done.
What could the mystics master want with him? He stayed and watched the hall, until enough time had passed for Joff and Feldspar to go back downstairs, then he went in search of Catillum.
'You sent for me, mystics master.'
'Ah, Fyn.' Catillum turned with a tired smile. His eyes were red-rimmed and the skin below them bruised but he was still the man Fyn remembered. As Catillum glanced to Fyn's head of dark hair, Fyn noted the mystics master had shaved his head. Now that he thought about it, so had Feldspar and Joff. 'It is good to see you. Feldspar and Joff expected you to bunk down with us, but I told them you might feel you had to serve your brother, before coming back to the abbey.'
Fyn nodded. He was grateful for Catillum's tact, but he couldn't dedicate himself to the abbey now. He couldn't live a lie.
'If you mean to serve your brother until he is restored to the throne, you should return Halcyon's Fate,' Catillum said. 'As mystis master, it is my responsibility.'
'Of course.' Fyn should have thought of this. Since he no longer meant to go back to the abbey, he had no right to the Fate. His hand went to his chest, where the Fate rested beneath his vest. It was with a surprising reluctance that Fyn undid the clasp and removed the Fate from around his neck.
'Thank you for keeping it safe.' The mystic's fingers closed around the Fate and he hung it around his own neck, tucking it away safely. 'Any visions I should know about, lad?'
Fyn looked up. He could hardly admit to seeing Catillum's possible death. He swallowed. 'No.'
Since the mage had opened his gates, Piro had cared for the sick and wounded, while the battle for the electorship raged across Ostron Isle.
As she finished her day shift, Isolt arrived looking fresh and determined for the night shift. Following Merofynian royal custom, she was also trained as a healer.
'I saw Agent Tyro outside. Is there news of your brothers?' Isolt asked.