'I challenge you, Palatyne, to prove yourself worthy of ruling Merofynia!' Lord Dunstany cried and he slammed his staff on the stones. The tip flared to life. At the same moment, Dunstany sought Fyn's face in the crowd.
Fyn leapt forwards, using the end of his jester's staff to knock out the nearest guard. Orrade dealt with the other one.
Byren flung his cage door open. Orrade tossed the sword to Byren. He caught it and laughed to feel its weight in his hands.
'Save Isolt!' Fyn pointed.
'Kill Palatyne!' Orrade urged.
Byren swung onto the cage roof, leaping from there onto the table top.
Fyn undid the tie and stripped the bells and ribbons from his staff, revealing a sword. 'For King Byren! For Rolencia!'
'King Byren!' Orrade echoed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Byren's heart leapt for joy as he vaulted onto the dais, landing on the feast table. He planted his feet amidst the food and faced his tormentor at last.
The upstart spar warlord gaped.
'Fight me, Palatyne Or would you rather kill defence-less women and children? Show your true colours. Show the people of Merofynia how you attacked Rolencia while my father was negotiating peace.'
But Palatyne grabbed Piro, holding her in front of him as a shield. He backed away from Byren, pressing his sword tip to her throat. A horrified hush fell over the crowd.
Byren stalked Palatyne, stepping lightly amid the food platters down the length of the table top. He couldn't risk Piro but all he needed was one opening and he would have Palatyne.
Lightning flickered through the heavy, low clouds. An ominous rumble of thunder growled above them. From the corner of his eye, Byren saw the abbot of Mulcibar make a grab for Isolt. She ducked under his arm, lunging towards the table. Byren caught her hand, pulling her up beside him. 'Release Piro, Palatyne, and I will return Isolt.'
'Kill her for all I care!' Palatyne laughed.
His bluff called, Byren cursed. He slipped his bare toes under a goblet, driving its contents into Palatyne's face. Piro dropped her weight and, quick as a cat, ducked away from her captor.
As Palatyne backed off, blinking wine from his eyes, Byren jumped for him. Metal on metal rang, shrill in the horrified silence, when their swords met.
Too close to strike, they sprang apart, swords lifted, taking each other's measure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Byren saw Mulcibar's abbot climb onto the table and lunge for Isolt. She lifted her skirts and ran down the long table, her gown tearing with a sound that was almost a cry of pain as the train came away. Her hair spilled from its silver net as she leapt over the bowls of fruit and whole roasted pigs.
'Stop her,' Palatyne bellowed. A dozen of his supporters blocked the end of the table. Two climbed onto it.
Isolt hesitated, trapped.
Even as Isolt ran, Fyn followed on the terrace below. She stopped running, trapped and desperate above him.
'Come to me!' he cried.
She looked down. It was a drop of more than two body lengths. Fyn tore off his jester's cape. Orrade took one corner without needing to be told, and Bantam and Jakulos took the other corners.
'Jump!' he cried. If she hesitated she was lost.
But no. She trusted him. Isolt leapt, her azure silk flying up around her slender legs. As she hit the cape, one of the corners pulled free, but the others held. Fyn caught her, setting her on her feet.
Stunned, Isolt stared at him.
He never wanted to look away.
'Heads up, Fyn,' Bantam called. 'Here comes Palatyne's private bullies.'
Fyn cursed. 'Orrie. Take the sea-hounds and help Byren. I have to get Isolt to safety.'
Fyn grabbed her hand and headed for the Wyvern's Whelp, taking the stairs to the lower terraces at a run. People parted, cheering them on and impeding their pursuers.
Vessels were packed so tightly near the shore that, after Fyn climbed onto the first, he was able to leap from deck to deck, steadying Isolt as she landed next to him.
Fyn looked up, fixing on the Wyvern's Whelp's mast. They crossed another two ships, ending up on a small vessel next to the larger sea-hound ship. Catching Isolt around the waist, he lifted her above his head. Nefysto grabbed her arms and hauled up onto the ship's deck. Fyn scrambled up beside her, then bent double to catch his breath.
Isolt's wyvern gave a piercing cry and ran to her. Rearing on its back legs, it nuzzled her face. Isolt laughed so much she cried. The foenix gave its happy cry and butted her, trying to get her attention.
Nefysto laughed and helped her disentangle herself.
'What now, Fyn?' Nefysto asked.
He looked around at the sea-hounds, masquerading as honest merchant sailors. They'd all come to know Piro and had grown fond of her.
'We must go back, help Byren save Piro. Save Seela!' he corrected. Fyn tore off his jester's tunic, dunked his head in the water barrel and scrubbed off the paint.
Captain Nefysto handed him the farseer. 'Take a look.'
Fyn leapt to the rail, holding the farseer to one eye. The Utlander had Piro. He only prayed he could get there in time.
Fyn jumped to the deck, amidst the remaining sea-hounds. 'This way!'
Piro ran the instant she was free of Palatyne. But she only managed three steps before the Utlander stopped her, not with his hands, but by using her own Affinity to rob her limbs of movement. She toppled forwards, unable to save herself.
He caught her, his cruel eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that instant she recognised the moment in her dream - oppressive dark skies, churning people and the sense of being trapped.
Pinning her shoulders against his chest, the Utlander held his staff in front of her face. The carved wyvern's head on the tip seemed to stare into her eyes. He pressed his thumb on a hidden catch on the stone and a needle sharp spike emerged from the wyvern's forehead.
'This spike contains foenix-spur poison. One scratch and you'll die in agony,' the Utlander told her. He raised his voice. 'I've caught the kingsdaughter, Lord Dunstany. Tell your men to stand back. I don't know how you survived the last time my brother and I killed you, but you won't be able to save your pretty little spy!'
Fearing a duel between the two Power-workers, the nobles fled the dais. King Merofyn lifted his head, blinking as if he had just woken from a drugged sleep.
Byren dodged as the abbess and three white-gowned nuns dragged Mulcibar's abbot off the dais and down the terrace. No love lost there.
He lunged for Palatyne, intent on provoking him to attack. There was no sign of Isolt. Byren had lost track of her while concentrating on Palatyne. The spar upstart edged backwards, circling until the table hit his thighs.
Palatyne scrambled onto it, never taking his eyes off Byren. He began backing away down its length, kicking plates and bowls into Byren's face as he followed.
On the edge of his vision, Byren was aware of movement on the terrace.
'To me, men,' Palatyne yelled. 'Kill the traitor!'
Byren cast one swift glance behind him. At least twenty of Palatyne's loyal spar warriors charged across the terrace towards the royal table. Byren backed off, trying to keep both Palatyne and his guards in his line of sight.
Down the far end of the terrace Byren saw men running up the stairs from the gardens below. Orrade and Fyn and a dozen sea-hounds.
'To me!' Byren cried, just as the first of Palatyne's guards attacked him, hacking at his legs.
Piro flinched as the Utlander spoke from just behind her ear.
'Come, Lord Dunstany.' His voice was strained and thin with hatred. 'Let's finish what we began. If you believed you could best me, you would have confronted me before this. I think you are all bluff. And today I call your bluff!' He waved the poisoned spike close to Piro's throat. 'Or must I kill her, first?'
Lord Dunstany... Tyro, met Piro's eyes. What she read there told her that he believed he was no match for the Utlander. 'Let her go and I will duel you.'
'No
. I set the terms of our duel,' the Utlander crowed. 'Throw all your power at me. See if you can stop my hand from moving!'
Piro strained away from the spike as the Utlander brought it closer to her throat. She could feel the pulsing of the Utlander's power and another force battering against it like waves beating on a rocky shore. But Tyro's force was breaking on the Utlander's defences.
With all of Tyro's reserves channelled into breaching the Utlander's defences, Tyro's disguise wavered and dissolved. Dunstany's aged features faded to reveal the tall, thin youth she knew.
Piro felt the Utlander's surprise and anger. He attacked with renewed force. His fingers wound so tightly through Piro's hair that she had to blink back tears of pain.
Tyro fell to his knees.
Piro gasped. He was not strong enough.
He must not fail!
Once before, he had called on her strength to bolster his own. Gathering her concentration, she focused on Tyro and opened her Affinity to him. Because the channel was already there, she only had to focus for the process to begin. And, at the same time, she found herself drawing off the Utlander's Affinity, much as the renegade Power-worker had drained Nun Springdawn back in Rolenhold.
The Utlander went rigid with concentration, trying to block her. His breath rasped in his chest.
Power poured through Piro, heady and addictive.
Fyn jumped from deck to deck with the sea-hounds at his heels. Once on land, no one obstructed their mad dash as they pounded up the terraces.
'Up the stairs!' Fyn sent them to each side of him, up the terrace steps, while he leapt onto Byren's cage. Swinging his weight onto the roof, he peered over the balustrade across the table top.
Piro was pinned by the Utlander, his staff to her throat, but Tyro was coming to his feet, taking each step forwards as though he ploughed through a thigh-high snowdrift. The Utlander backed away. Fyn could feel the waves of Affinity coming off them with such force that it made the hairs on his body rise and his teeth ache. This was a battle Fyn was not trained to fight.
He looked for Byren. Palatyne's spar warriors filled the terrace. Orrade, Bantam and Jakulos fought to reach Byren.
Just to Fyn's right with his back to him, Palatyne stood, legs planted on the table, laughing as his warriors closed in on Byren.
Fyn was halfway onto the table when Palatyne noticed him and went for his head. He only just managed to scramble across and hit the terrace tiles in a crouch.
He gulped in a breath.
'Fyn! You took your time.' Byren grinned, chest heaving.
He glanced over his shoulder, fearing Palatyne would attack them from behind, but he was content to let his spar warriors do his killing.
Fyn cursed. The sea-hounds were still making their way up the stairs. Twenty spar warriors filled the terrace, avoiding the Affinity battle at the far end.
'I should have executed you when I had the chance, Byren Kingsheir!' Palatyne roared. 'Now the little brother turns up. Good riddance, I say. All King Rolen's kin will be dead by sunset. Kill them both!'
Two of his spar warriors charged Fyn. He dodged and cut past them, opening a path for Orrade and the two sea-hounds to join them. They broke through the warriors' defences, coming to Byren's side.
Fyn poised on the balls of his feet, ready to attack, but Palatyne's warriors pulled back, glancing to their leader.
A shout from the far end of the terrace heralded the arrival of the rest of the sea-hounds.
Palatyne's warriors turned, swords lifting as they prepared to fight on two fronts.
'We'll mop up these warriors, Fyn,' Byren yelled. 'Then I'll go after Palatyne!'
Grimly, Fyn put his shoulder to his brother's. 'Watch our backs, Bantam.'
With Orrade on one side of Byren, and Fyn on the other, they confronted the enemy. The spar warriors charged. In the mad mêlée Fyn saw Jakulos grab two men by the shoulders and crack their heads together. Orrade took a man down. Fyn saved his neck, cutting down another who was about to run him through from behind. The odds were getting better.
'Fyn!' Isolt screamed. 'Watch out.'
Isolt? He'd left her on the ship. He glanced over his shoulder to find she'd scrambled up onto the table from Byren's cage.
'Freezing Sylion, Isolt!' Fyn began.
Something whistled towards his head. He ducked instinctively, avoiding a sword to his head. The warrior recovered and swung for Fyn's throat. He threw himself sideways, tripped over an injured man and fell heavily on one knee. The impact sent his sword flying. The spar warrior closed in for the kill.
Behind the warrior's head and shoulders, Fyn saw Isolt pick up a jug of wine and throw it. The pottery smashed on Fyn's attacker.
The unconscious man fell across Fyn, knocking the air from his chest. The fight seemed to have moved on, leaving him like a beached whale. As he lay there gasping, he looked up at Isolt, two body lengths away on the royal table. Why had she followed him? She'd been safe on the ship.
She stood on the table with her wyvern at her heels, closing on Palatyne.
'So you came back to your husband?' Palatyne leered.
'Husband? Never. You are a barbarian warlord who dreams too high!'
'Where I come from a wife who runs away can expect a beating!' Palatyne lunged.
'Loyalty!' Isolt cried and dropped to her knees. The wyvern leapt over her, going straight for Palatyne's throat. The force of the wyvern's attack drove him off the end of the table onto the terrace. Fyn heard the thump as Palatyne hit the ground, then a terrible scream and the crunch of his bones. A hush fell and Fyn imagined the crowd drawing back, horrified.
After everything he'd gone through to see justice done, Palatyne's death struck Fyn as ironic. To think the man, who had caused so much destruction, should be killed, not by one of King Rolen's kin, but by one of the goddess's Affinity beasts, as if she was setting the world to rights.
'Freezing Sylion, what a way to die!' Byren muttered as he cleaned his sword and sheathed it. He pulled the unconscious man off Fyn and hauled his brother upright.
Beyond him, Orrade and the sea-hounds chased down the last of the spar warriors, but Fyn had eyes only for Isolt. As soon as he was on his feet, he brushed past Byren, running to Isolt. He pulled her off the table, swinging her to the ground. 'What possessed you? You were safe on the ship. You could have been killed!'
She ignored him, trembling but triumphant. 'I did it, Fyn. I set him up. I knew my wyvern would go for Palatyne!'
She laughed unsteadily, tears glittering in her eyes.
Fyn wanted to shake her. No, he wanted to kiss her.
'Well done.' Byren clapped Isolt on the back. 'You have a cool head. Present me, little brother.'
It took all Fyn's resolve to release Isolt and turn her towards his brother. 'This is Byren, your betrothed.'
Isolt blinked, her lashes matted and damp with tears. 'King Byren?'
Fyn actually looked at his brother. He hadn't shaved for days, his hair was matted, he was covered in blood and he smelled. He looked like the worst Utland barbarian.
It was probably not the best time to introduce them.
Fyn turned at Piro's whimper of pain.
Chapter Thirty
Piro's head pounded as if two giants were trying to battle their way out of her skull. She was dimly aware that the Affinity battle had centred on her.
When she opened her eyes, flashes of light obscured her vision, flickering like the after-images of lightning. Bile rose in her throat.
She tried to focus on Tyro, willing him strength with every beat of her heart. The Utlander had found a way to stop her drawing on his Affinity, and now he sought to steal hers, while assaulting Tyro. She felt the Utlander's body tremble with the effort, but he did not falter.
She was fully extended, had no more to give Tyro.
And it was not enough.
Beyond Tyro, she could just make out her brothers and Isolt staring in horror, not daring to intervene. From the corner of her eye, sh
e saw King Merofyn come to his feet, clutching the arms of his litter to steady himself.
And Piro realised, with so much of the Utlander's concentration focused on the battle with Tyro, he could not maintain his hold over the old king. But what could one sick old man achieve against Affinity of this magnitude?
Face contorted by manic fury, King Merofyn launched himself at the Utlander. 'Curse you!'
He barrelled into the Utlander, knocking him sideways. That was all it took for Piro to drop and twist out of the Utlander's grasp. She threw herself forwards, avoiding the poison tip. Tyro caught her and she turned to face their attacker.
Before the Utlander could straighten up, King Merofyn grabbed the staff, driving its poisoned tip into the old Power-worker's throat. The Utlander collapsed backwards, mouth open in a silent scream.
As King Merofyn staggered, falling to the tiles, Fyn and Isolt ran to him, helping him to his feet.
Meanwhile, Piro ran to the Utlander. Before she could reach him, the carved stone on the tip of his staff flared bright enough to blind her momentarily. She tripped, landing on her knees. As a rush of stolen Affinity poured past her, she felt her mother's essence. For one fleeting heartbeat, Queen Myrella seemed to touch her cheek in blessing, then she was gone.
Tears rained down Piro's cheeks. Her mother was free of the Utlander's trap.
When her vision finally cleared, she found Tyro, now in his Lord Dunstany guise, kneeling beside the Utlander to check his throat for a pulse.
'Dead.'
'Killed by his own trick,' Piro whispered, meeting Tyro's eyes. 'Why pretend to be Lord Dunstany? Everyone knows who you really are.'
'Not so. People see what they expect. Only you and the Utlander pierced my disguise.'
'Father!' Isolt's despairing cry made them turn. King Merofyn clutched his chest and gasped, his skin going grey as he staggered back to collapse in the chair.
'Dunstany?' The old king beckoned Tyro, clutching his vest, tendons straining. 'Watch over my daughter.'
The Usurper Page 34
