The Usurper

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  She turned and joined Isolt, who was sitting cross-legged on the brilliant Ostronite rug in front of the fireplace with her wyvern's head in her lap. Piro sat stroking her foenix for reassurance. Isolt met her eyes, impatient with the delay.

  Piro glanced past her. Tyro was over near the war table. 'What are you -'

  He joined them, holding up a piece. 'It's Fyn.' He sat down. 'I'll use it to help me focus.'

  'I can help you find him,' Piro offered, recalling how Tyro, while playing Lord Dunstany, had inadvertently drawn on her Affinity back in Rolenton.

  'No need. Fyn wears the Fate. Its power will draw me to him.' Tyro closed his eyes.

  Piro watched him, his face lit by the glow of the fire. The lamp had been left near the war table and the room was dimly lit behind him. Dawn light filtered through the tall balcony doors.

  'The Fate is a great source of power, a channel for Affinity. It calls to me. Ah, there...' Tyro whispered. 'Now, I'll wake its sleeping owner. I...' he stiffened. His face twisted in a grimace of shock, then pain.

  Without another word, he toppled sideways across Piro's knees. Her foenix gave an indignant cry and darted aside.

  At the touch of Tyro's flesh on hers, a powerful force swamped Piro and she felt herself being sucked under.

  'Piro?' Isolt lunged across the carpet.

  Dimly, Piro felt Isolt catch her shoulders, shake her, call her... to no avail.

  Smack. A palm collided with her cheek, then another and another. Shock and pain made her eyes fill with tears.

  As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Tyro rolled off her lap onto the floor. Face down, he struggled to push himself up, arms trembling. The wyvern watched them all, tail lashing from side to side like a vexed cat.

  'Are you two all right?' Isolt whispered. 'What happened, Piro?'

  Piro looked to Tyro, who pushed his hair from his face with a shaking hand.

  'It was an enemy Power-worker. He nearly had me.' Tyro raised shocked black eyes to them. 'You two saved me, distracted him long enough for me to gather my defences.'

  'But you were looking for Fyn,' Isolt protested.

  'Does that mean he's been captured by a renegade Power-worker?' Piro demanded.

  'I found the Fate. I didn't find your brother.'

  'Fyn's dead?' Isolt went pale.

  'No. At least, I don't know.' Tyro confessed. 'The Fate has fallen under the power of an enemy.'

  'Fyn wouldn't give it up without a fight. It belonged to the abbey,' Piro insisted. 'Something has happened to him, maybe to both my brothers.'

  'I fear so,' Tyro agreed.

  'We must wake the mage and tell him,' Isolt decided, coming to her feet.

  Piro and Tyro exchanged looks.

  'I'll tell him,' Tyro offered. 'He hates being woken. No need for you two to catch the sharp edge of his tongue.'

  'It wouldn't worry me,' Isolt said.

  Piro stood and slid her arm through Isolt's. 'I think we should let Tyro tell him. Let the mage deal with the enemy Power-worker.'

  Isolt saw the sense of this. 'Come, Loyalty. Breakfast.' She turned to Tyro. 'But if there is any news you must send for us.'

  He nodded and gave Piro a grateful look.

  Fyn woke to the soft padding of heavy feet. A terrible sense of dread swamped him. He smelled wyverns and heard their harsh breath as they exhaled. They stalked him.

  He could see nothing, but he felt the stone under his hands and knees. Crawling along, he came to a wall and stood up. By the feel of it, he was in the caverns under the abbey. His hand grazed the embossed wyvern symbol and he fingered its shape. Follow the wyvern to get out, the abbot had said. He had to escape the wyverns. Terror rose up in him, threatening to choke him.

  Think!

  How had he become lost down here? Where were the others?

  Every time he tried to focus and find the answers, he came up against a kind of mental bruise that made him wince and gasp.

  What was going on?

  The soft padding of wyvern feet on the stone and their acrid smell came to him. No time to think. He must run.

  Follow the wyvern to escape the wyvern. If he kept that fixed in his mind he would be safe. Fyn ran.

  And kept running.

  Byren woke to find himself tied across a horse's saddle. His head ached. With each lurch of the horse's back his gorge threatened to rise. He couldn't breathe through his nose and suspected it was broken.

  Men on horseback rode around him, visible in the light of the setting sun. He recalled waking more than once, tied across this horse's back. Each time he'd woken they'd knocked him senseless.

  Now, judging by his upside-down glimpse of the world, they were nearing the top of the steep switch-back road that led to Rolenhold.

  He bit back a groan as it all came back to him.

  He'd been captured. He'd failed Fyn and Orrade. Soon he would face his traitorous cousin, Cobalt, and execution.

  At least Florin was safe. He hoped she was safe.

  Merofynians cheered as the returning warriors entered the castle courtyard. Someone jumped down and reached under the horse, cutting the rope that held him in place. They shoved him and he slid backwards off the horse, staggering, arms still tied at the wrist. His knees almost gave way. But he found his feet and looked up, blinking blood from his eyes.

  Behind the cheering Merofynians, he saw the silent, sad faces of his father's people, watching from vantage points around the courtyard. They'd put their hopes in him. He'd failed them and now they were a subjugated people, slaves in their own land.

  Lord Leon shoved Byren between his shoulder blades, driving him ahead of them into the stronghold, through King Rolen's great hall and up the stairs to the trophy chamber.

  Here, his cousin waited across the other side of the war table, which had been shifted from its original room. He wore royal Rolencian red in the Ostronite style - nipped waist, lace at the collar and wrists. One sleeve hung loose and his long hair was threaded with red garnets, so that it gleamed in a shaft of setting sun that streamed through the oriel window.

  Behind him, to one side, stood a Mulcibar monk, perhaps the very one who had sent the fire to consume Narrowneck and the warlord of Leogryf Spar.

  Once, Byren had been blind to Affinity, but now he could sense power exuding from the monk's skin, so he had to be a mystic. Avoiding the monk's unnerving black gaze, Byren vowed to give Cobalt no satisfaction. He wouldn't plead for his life.

  'A present for you, King Cobalt,' Lord Leon said. 'The pretender, Byren Kingson.'

  So he was a pretender now? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

  Cobalt looked him up and down. 'Not so fine now, are you, cousin Byren?' A cruel smile lit his handsome face. 'Looks like I've won this game of Duelling Kingdoms!'

  As Byren stood, hands bound in front of him, he did not regret trying to avenge his parents and brother's murders. But he did regret failing the men who had followed him. At least Piro still lived and she knew Cobalt for the treacherous liar he was. Which reminded him...

  'The game's not over until the king takes a queen,' Byren said. 'Piro will never marry you. My mother cut off your arm. Piro will cut off your -'

  'I'll cut out your tongue!' Cobalt lunged across the war table, grabbing Byren's vest, pulling him off balance and jerking him forwards so that their faces were only a hand's breadth apart. 'I'll cut off your balls and see how cocky you are then! Won't that make your lover weep?'

  Byren's stomach lurched. Death he could face, disfigurement and torture he dreaded.

  Mulcibar's mystic touched Cobalt's shoulder. It was enough to make Cobalt release Byren with a shove, so that he fell backwards, into Lord Leon's arms.

  'How is Orrade, by the way?' Cobalt asked. 'Did you know he spied for me, reporting on your every move?'

  'I know that's a lie.' Just as Byren knew denying Orrade was his lover would achieve nothing. 'And I know the people of Rolencia will never accept you as their rightful king, not
as long as Piro could be their queen.'

  'Speaking of queens...' Cobalt sneered. 'You'll never get the chance to claim Isolt. Palatyne has plans for her. And,' he glanced to the mystic, 'as much as I'd like to spike your head over the main gate of Rolenhold, Palatyne has plans for you. You're going to Merofynia, where you'll be tried for treason.'

  'Against Rolencia? A child could see through that ploy!' Byren threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed off the trophy chamber's high ceiling.

  His laugh startled his enemies, who stared at him.

  'You won't be laughing when Palatyne's finished with you!' Cobalt bristled.

  'Now that I've delivered the pretender, I want my reward,' Leon announced. Clearly, he'd grown tired of waiting. 'You promised to appoint me overlord of the spars.'

  'Overlord of the spars?' Cobalt echoed. 'You seek to emulate Palatyne. Very well, come here.'

  Lord Leon thrust past Byren as he went around the table to stand before Cobalt.

  'A man who will send his own uncle to his death cannot be trusted,' Cobalt said, and nodded to the mystic.

  'What?' Leon protested. 'You said -'

  'Look out!' Byren yelled. Too late, the mystic caught Leon around the neck and drove a knife through his ribs.

  Behind Byren the chamber erupted as Leon's five honour guards leapt to defend him and were cut down by Cobalt's swordsmen.

  Byren ran around the far end of the table, meaning to fling his bound hands over Cobalt's neck from behind and use him as a hostage to escape. But Cobalt was already turning.

  Cobalt brought his one good arm up in a blow aimed for Byren's temple. Byren tried to duck but Cobalt's fist caught him on the ear and he went down, clipping his head on the edge of the table so that he knew no more.

  Piro had been waiting on news for three days now. She sprang to her feet as Tyro walked into the grotto. 'What of Byren and Fyn?'

  Isolt went very still. Attuned to her, the wyvern slowed in its play and swam to the side, slithering out, skin gleaming. Reflected sunlight filled the grotto, playing on the oyster-shell ceiling and walls.

  'Captain Nefysto sent word.' Tyro looked grim.

  Despite the warmth rising off the water Piro went cold.

  'Fyn was wounded,' Tyro said. 'Nefysto is on his way back with him.'

  'Then he is safe.' Isolt brightened. 'Piro and I are both versed in the healing arts. We...' She ran down, seeing Tyro's expression.

  'It's not that kind of wound.' The look Tyro sent them made Piro's heart falter. 'From what I've pieced together, it seems the abbey mystics master was consumed by the Mulcibar mystic. Fyn tried to stop him betraying them. From Nefysto's description of Fyn's state I think I know how to reverse it. The Power-worker used Fyn's own Affinity against him. We have to hope he has the strength to last until he gets here. Bantam is caring for him, dribbling water into his mouth, massaging his throat to make him swallow.'

  'Poor Fyn. If only -'

  'What of Byren?' Piro asked.

  It was clear Tyro did not want to answer.

  'Dead?' she whispered, stricken.

  'We don't know. It was a slaughter. Some of Byren's men escaped. They were supposed to meet back at Warlord Feid's stronghold. He was meant to join them there but...'

  'He's survived before,' Piro said. 'I won't give up hope.'

  'You're right.' Isolt squeezed her hand. 'And the mage can cure Fyn.'

  What mage? Piro felt like shouting. Tyro should have let her tell Isolt. He should have trusted her.

  She turned away to stare through the grotto entrance. Outside, brilliant sunshine made the Ring Sea sparkle. Anger and confusion churned in Piro's stomach.

  'I'm so sorry.' Isolt hugged Piro. 'I never had a brother, but I would have loved to have someone to look after me.'

  Piro snorted. 'Tease you, you mean.' Tears spilled down her cheeks. She held Isolt's eyes. 'You would have loved Byren. He had a good heart. He brought me the foenix egg and helped me hatch him. He...' A sob shook Piro and she fought to speak. 'At least Fyn still lives.'

  'And he will be back soon. The mage will fix the mystic's Affinity curse and we'll nurse him back to health,' Isolt said with conviction. She smiled through her own tears. 'You will see.'

  Tyro put a hand on Piro's shoulder. 'She's right. We'll do everything we can for Fyn.'

  Piro stared up at him. This renegade Power-worker had her soul trapped in an amber pendant. If it hadn't been for that she would have trusted him. But now...

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Byren had a miserable sea voyage to Merofynia, chained at the ankle and wrists, but otherwise free to wander about his cabin. They did not fear him, for what could he do? One man couldn't take over a ship and sail it. And if he jumped overboard he would drown or be eaten by wyverns.

  Now, he knelt on the window seat watching Mulcibar's Gate grow distant behind him. It was dusk and the fiery finger of falling lava was reflected in the sea.

  Soon they would be in Port Mero and Palatyne would have his circus of a trial. He was a duke now, this Palatyne. In reality he was no more than a warlord whose ambition was to crown himself king.

  Byren snorted. How Duke Palatyne could justify charging him with treason was beyond him, but he knew the men of law that Palatyne hired would make it appear legal. Then they could execute Byren with a clear conscience, not that men like that had a conscience.

  Byren stared at the black water, Mulcibar's flames dancing on the waves. Maybe he should have jumped overboard to prevent their triumph.

  But he had never been one to give up. He would fight with the last breath in his body. He would never give Duke Palatyne the satisfaction of breaking him.

  To think Affinity had been his downfall, just as it had been his grandfather, King Byren's. He should have surrounded himself with abbey-trained mystics. Then Fyn and Orrade wouldn't be... no, he had to hope they lived, just as he hoped Feid had managed to slip back over the Divide with Florin.

  When they carried her brother in, Piro had to hide her dismay. Fyn had never been big like Byren and Lence but, without his personality animating his body, he seemed dangerously fragile. Isolt said nothing, her fingers biting into Piro's arm.

  'Tell the mage I've done everything I could for him,' Nefysto said. 'Sometimes he moans and his eyes dart about under his lids. I don't know -'

  'This way,' Tyro ordered. He led them upstairs to the chamber next to his. The bed had been made with fresh sheets and a fire laid in the grate, though it was warm enough without one. Tyro dismissed them all except for Piro. 'You go too, Isolt.'

  'I can help. I'm a trained healer.'

  'Later, if all goes well, then we will need you. What I must do now calls for a different sort of skill.'

  'Why isn't the mage here?'

  'He told me what to do.'

  Piro took Isolt's hand to lead her to the door, where Isolt glanced back to the bed. 'He'll be all right won't he, Piro? I mean if it were really serious the mage himself would be here.'

  Piro couldn't bring herself to answer. She shut the door and turned to Tyro.

  'I should tell her the truth.'

  'She has enough to worry about. Now come here.' He beckoned Piro to the bed, where he sat holding Fyn's hand. 'Take his other hand. He has done well to hold on this long. It is not the lack of food and water that is most dangerous, but what he faces.'

  Piro's mouth felt too dry to speak. She went around the far side of the bed and took Fyn's hand.

  'Using Fyn's Affinity the Power-worker trapped him in his own mind, trapped him with what he fears most.' Tyro met her eyes. 'Do you know what that is?'

  'Fear. He fears that he is a coward.'

  'Amazing!' Tyro's eyes widened. 'Nefysto said he never faltered, not once. He saved them from the Utland raiders when they ventured into the Skirling Stones.'

  All this was news to Piro, so she just nodded. The last time she had faced the Power-worker with Tyro it had almost crushed her. She dreaded what they must do now but... 'Te
ll me what to do to save Fyn.'

  'He knows you, he trusts you. I will lead you into his mind. You must convince him to face his fear. Only then can he escape.'

  Piro gave a relieved laugh. 'To escape he must face his fear? Is that all?'

  Tyro nodded. 'Face it and die, or face it and live. Only by facing it will we know.'

  'Oh Fyn...' Piro smoothed her brother's hair from his forehead. At seventeen, his cheeks were still as smooth as a boy's. It hurt her to think he wouldn't live long enough to need to shave. As she watched, his eyes moved under his lids as if he dreamed.

  'Piro?'

  She looked across Fyn's vulnerable form to Tyro.

  'I must be honest,' the half-trained mage whispered. 'If he confronts his fear and fails, I may not be able to bring you out. You don't have to do this. I can go in on my own and -'

  'No. You're right. Fyn trusts me. I must do it.'

  'You are very brave, Piro. I knew it from the first moment I saw you.'

  She shook her head. 'Once I thought I was brave. But not now. Now that I've known true fear, I...' She shivered and summoned a smile. 'Let's do this.'

  Tyro nodded and reached across Fyn's chest to her free hand. Their fingers entwined. 'Close your eyes and imagine you are walking down a path with me.'

  Piro dropped her guard and found herself on a forest path. It was very grey and overcast and the big pine trees loomed above them. Tyro held her hand, leading her to a granite outcropping. He pointed into a narrow cave mouth.

  Piro did not want to go in there. 'I don't have a lamp.'

  He cupped his hands and a small ball of light appeared. 'In this place you make your own light, Piro.'

  She held up one hand and the ball of light came to her, settling on her wrist like her foenix used to do, before he grew too big.

  Tyro cupped her cheek with his hand. 'Be brave, little Piro.'

  She brushed his hand away. Why did he have to be kind all of a sudden? It was easier if he was abrupt with her.