She found this unnerving so she confronted him. 'Lord Dun… Agent Tyro. I can understand why you let Palatyne give me to Isolt. You had no choice. But why did you leave Merofynia just when Isolt needed you?'
'The mage called me back. He has many irons in the fire.'
'Another thing,' Fyn said. 'If you knew Seelon was Piro all along, why didn't you tell me? Why did you send me off to… rescue Isolt?'
Piro caught the slight hesitation and guessed Fyn had not been sent to rescue Isolt, but to abduct her.
Lord Dunstany… Tyro knew Isolt. He had to realise she wouldn't want to marry Palatyne. Ahh, he had been testing Fyn. She let the revelation slide, eager to hear what Tyro had to say.
'Serving Isolt was the safest place for King Rolen's daughter. But I was not sure if Piro would be with her when you found her.' The agent drew something from his pocket, fingering it absently. Piro recognised a Kingdoms piece, a monk. 'The mage was testing you, Fyn. You had to pass or your piece would have been flawed.'
'You speak in riddles.' Fyn bristled.
'Forgive me,' Tyro said, but Piro could tell he didn't mean it. He meant, y ou have to forgive me, because you have no choice. She really didn't like him. 'Being obscure is a failing of those with Affinity and I was raised by the master of all mages.' He changed topic abruptly. 'Do you want to see your brother restored to the throne of Rolencia, Fyn?'
'Of course I do. But what is it to you, or the mage for that matter?'
'For you to understand, I must tell you a little about my master. Mage Tsulamyth has been playing the game of Duelling Kingdoms for nearly two hundred years, gradually building power and influence. A hundred and fifty years ago, he convinced the five powerful noble families of Ostron Isle to elect a ruler, instead of assassinating each other in a bid for power.
'Under this system Ostron Isle has prospered. Not that there haven't been attempts by ambitious nobles to set themselves up as kings instead of electors,' Agent Tyro admitted with a half-smile. He spread his hands. 'Then the mage spent many years trying to bring about a peace between Rolencia and Merofynia, only succeeding when Myrella Merofyn Kingsdaughter married King Rolen.'
Piro looked away, recalling the price her mother had paid for that peace. Rather than reveal her Affinity, Myrella had let her own father sail off to his death.
'So Rolencia is part of Mage Tsulamyth's Duelling Kingdoms game?' Fyn asked.
'It is hardly a game, Fyn Rolen Kingson. When Palatyne unleashed the hounds of war his warriors ravaged your kingdom.' Tyro lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. 'Palatyne is ruled by ambition. While playing Lord Dunstany, I did what I could to lessen Palatyne's evil influence, and I did save the kingsdaughter.' He nodded to Piro. 'Not that she wasn't doing a good job of saving herself.'
Piro flushed. Was Agent Tyro trying to charm her? She had instinctively wanted to trust Lord Dunstany, but he had never existed. Instead, this agent had played on her affection for an old man. At least that explained why Dunstany had entrapped her soul in the amber pendant. It was something Agent Tyro would do, because he did not truly trust anyone. How could he, when he was so good at deceiving people?
No one spoke. A ship passed by on the Ring Sea, the tips of its masts level with the balcony. They heard someone on board singing a song about parted lovers.
'So, do you want Byren to become king of Rolencia, Fyn?' the agent said.
'Of course.'
'What of yourself?'
'I was never raised to be a kingson. I was meant to renounce the world this midsummer when I became a monk.'
Fyn cast Agent Tyro a wary glance. 'Since the mage's spies know so much, they probably know that some of Halcyon's monks survived. My friends are waiting for me to return. When Byren is king we will rebuild Halcyon Abbey.'
'Very well. Captain Nefysto will take you to Rolencia.' Agent Tyro retrieved something from inside his deep sleeve. 'Take this to Byren Kingsheir. It will convince the remaining warlords to support him.'
Fyn eyed the brass message cylinder. From here Piro could see it was embossed with an image of the abeille, the butterfly-winged bee of Ostron Isle.
'What is it?' Fyn asked.
'An offer of alliance from the Elector of Ostron Isle.'
Relief flooded Piro.
But Fyn did not accept the cylinder. 'The elector is failing. He'll be replaced and this will be worthless.'
'A fair point, Fyn, but the warlords don't know that,' Tyro countered. 'While they're fighting for your brother in the belief that Ostron Isle supports him, the mage will be negotiating the support of the new elector.' He offered the message cylinder again.
Fyn accepted it, speaking stiffly. 'I thank you, Agent Tyro. It seems I have misjudged you and your master. I'm sorry. I was not trained for the game of Kingdoms.'
'Sometimes our path chooses us. Perhaps it is not your fate to renounce the world, Fyn Kingson. Here.' Agent Tyro passed Fyn the Kingdoms piece he had been toying with. 'Your piece.'
'But I wasn't playing,' Fyn said, taking it. 'It's warm to touch.' He glanced down at the piece and his eyes widened. 'Why, it looks just like me!'
Piro and Isolt hurried closer to study the Kingdoms piece. It was unmistakably Fyn. Did that mean…
Piro ran to the far end of the war table, locating Ostron Isle. The elector's piece wore his turbaned crown and there was a hooded piece, the mage. Amongst the many others were also two female pieces. 'Come look, Isolt. It's you. Why, it has your high forehead and small nose.'
'Don't touch,' Tyro warned, as he joined them.
Isolt leaned close. 'Why am I holding a sword?'
Agent Tyro gave her a rueful smile. 'The war table is Mage Tsulamyth's invention. According to this you are on the way to becoming a warrior queen.'
'Me? But I hate war!'
Fyn laughed. 'What about you, Piro? What does your piece reveal?'
She blinked, skin suddenly cold. 'Why do I have no face?'
As Tyro glanced to the piece, she read surprise and alarm, quickly hidden.
Isolt slid an arm around her shoulder. 'Don't worry, Piro. It is only a game.'
But they all knew it was much more. Fyn turned to the agent. 'What will happen to my sister and Isolt while I'm gone?'
'They will be safe here on Mage Isle. Even the elector has no power over this island. Wait.' Tyro held up his hand. 'Before you go. You wear a pendant around your neck?'
'Yes.' Fyn tugged on the chain, bringing Halcyon's Fate into view. 'Do you want it? You let me keep it in Port Marchand.'
'I've been hiding King Rolen's kin from the Utlander since Rolenhold fell. That Fate was nearly your undoing, Fyn. It was lucky I was the one who sensed it the first time you used it. I've felt it each time since, and others will feel it too. Don't use it again until I can train you in the art of defence.'
'That's it!' Isolt announced suddenly. They all turned to her. ' Tyro is an old Merofynian word for apprentice. You are Mage Tsulamyth's apprentice. That is why you have such strong Affinity.'
Agent Tyro gave her a mocking bow. 'You have exposed all my secrets, kingsdaughter.'
And still Piro didn't like him.
Byren watched Warlord Corvel as the gangplank was lowered. The sight of Corvel's fabulous manticore chitin armour reminded Byren how he had killed a manticore pride and given the chitin to his father, to be fashioned into armour. There had only been time to make a chestplate before the castle was besieged, and it hadn't helped King Rolen when Palatyne killed him under a flag of truce and confiscated the chestplate for himself.
Byren returned his attention to the warlord of Manticore Spar.
The spar's emblem, the red manticore, glistened on a field of black. Corvel was half a head shorter than Byren but thicker around the chest. The long temple plaits that hung from his helmet were iron-grey and bound with many gold circles, celebrating the enemies he had killed.
Last midwinter, when Corvel should have been swearing allegiance to King Rolen, he had been accused of slipping ov
er the Divide to raid Rolencian villages. The warlord had denied it, claiming anyone could have planted the Manticore standard to implicate his warriors, and had eventually given his allegiance. But it had left Byren wondering about his loyalty.
Now they stood on the wharf in Feid Bay, Byren Kingsheir, his loyal Warlord Feid and Orrade, captain of his honour guard, along with their most trusted men-at-arms. Byren had thought they looked impressive in their armour, cloaks lifting in the breeze, until he got a good look a Corvel's ships.
Each must have held at least a hundred warriors. The sides bristled with oars and the deck could not be seen for shields and helmeted heads. The message was clear. Warlord Corvel would make a good ally or a very bad enemy.
What could Byren say to win this canny old warrior's support?
'Corvel must have sailed as soon as he got my message,' Feid whispered to Byren. 'That's a good sign. But he doesn't look too friendly.'
'He never does,' Orrade muttered. 'It's the eyebrow. Most people have two.'
Byren snorted and swallowed his laughter.
'Corvel gathered his warriors right away and sailed. Either he comes to aid me,' Byren whispered grimly, 'or he comes to wipe me out.'
He felt Feid shift uncomfortably. They were exposed on the wharf with a ceremonial guard. The Foenix warlord had not called his men in from their outlying farms. In the township women and children far outnumbered those who could defend themselves from seasoned warriors.
Corvel's boots thudded on the wharf as he strode towards Byren and his supporters. He came to a stop just beyond arm's length, with four of his seven sons at his back.
'This time we meet in very different circumstances, Byren Kingsheir,' Corvel said. 'This time I am not defending my name against baseless accusations.'
'It's the king's duty to protect his people.' Byren held the warlord's eyes, making no apology. 'Someone ordered the raid on that village.'
'Not me. Yet, I rebuilt it as a sign of good faith. Now, King Rolen's dead and you come crawling to me, needing my support.'
Corvel indicated the leogryf-tooth necklace which rested on Byren's chest. 'They call you Byren Leogryfslayer, say you killed the beast with your bare hands.'
'I had a knife,' Byren admitted. 'And the beastie was old.'
'But not toothless?'
'He was when I finished with him.' Byren grinned, determined not to beg Corvel to join him. This old warrior respected strength.
Corvel studied him. 'Now your cousin Cobalt sits on your father's throne, with the backing of Merofynia. Cobalt is not old and toothless.'
'Cobalt is a snake,' Byren said. 'Toothless but dangerous.'
Corvel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'You talk well, second son, but can you lead an army?'
Since Byren had asked himself the same question he had no easy answer. 'Only Halcyon's Fate knows. And, since the mystics master does not have the Fate, he can't glimpse the future. As I see it, you have two choices, Corvel. Break your oath to my father, give Cobalt your loyalty and let him tax your spar to line his pockets, or join me and throw him out of Rolencia.'
'Perhaps I have a third choice. Break no oath and resist Cobalt myself.'
'You cannot stand alone. If Cobalt chose, he could chase your people down the length of Manticore Spar, raiding and looting until he drove the last warrior into the sea and took your women and children for slaves. United, we can defeat him. He can't fight on five fronts. If the warlords don't unite behind me, he can pick you off one by one.'
Corvel considered this, then he held out his right hand. 'They say you can be trusted, Leogryf Slayer.'
Relieved, Byren took his hand off his sword hilt and stepped forwards to grasp the warlord's. Without warning Corvel pulled him off balance, sweeping his legs from under him. It was a wrestling move Lence had used on him many times.
Byren reacted without thinking. Even as he went down he scissored his legs, trying to catch Corvel, but the older man's sons saved him, hauling him back and steadying him.
Orrade drew Byren upright. 'Say the word.'
At his signal there would be bloodshed, a pitched battle on the wharf. Byren waited, watching the warlord's face. If Corvel had meant to kill him he could have.
The warlord eased his shoulders, threw back his head and laughed. His laughter echoed up the steep-sided bay, echoed by the cries of the gulls circling overhead.
Corvel opened his arms and Byren stepped in, ready for anything, but this time Corvel clapped him on the shoulders, leaning close.
'Your father belittled me. My men would not have respected me if I hadn't done the same to you.' And he went off into another deep belly-laugh.
Blood roaring in his ears, Byren joined him. It seemed he had passed the old warrior's test.
But now he had to strike soon. No doubt Corvel would have brought food. Even so, Feid would be making up the shortfall, supplying wine and ale. The warlord could not afford to keep this up for long.
Chapter Seventeen
As Fyn stepped off the gangplank onto the deck of the Wyvern's Whelp, Bantam nudged Jakulos, who straightened up. Both men grinned at him.
'Did you have your way with the pretty little maid?' Jakulos asked.
Fyn shrugged. 'She's not my type.'
'What, you fancy the kingsdaughter?' Bantam asked. 'Think she'll lift her skirts for a common sailor, even if he was a monk?'
Fyn's hand shot out, fixing on Bantam's throat, lifting him off his feet. Jakulos grabbed Fyn, his sheer strength breaking his hold.
'A jest, little monk. 'Twas only a jest,' Bantam rasped, massaging his throat and watching him warily.
'Come here, Agent Monk,' Captain Nefysto called, frowning from the cabin door. Fyn hurried over to him. Nefysto closed the door after them. 'Don't threaten my crew, kingson. As far as they are concerned, you're the mage's agent, a monk out for revenge.'
'He insulted the kingsdaughter,' Fyn said.
'He's an ignorant man but he's a good sailor, and loyal. Something a deposed kingson should appreciate.'
Nefysto was right. 'I'm sorry.'
'So you should be. We're risking our lives so you can play Kingdoms and we are not even your men-at-arms.'
Nefysto gestured for Fyn to enter his cabin. As the captain placed a rolled-up map on his desk, Fyn wondered how much Tyro had revealed. Obviously not Piro's true identity.
Nefysto spread out the map, holding it in place with an inkwell and several books. 'The Wyvern's Whelp will avoid the shipping lanes. When we approach land again we will be deep inside Rolencian waters. We'll make our way around the spars to Foenix Spar. Byren Kingsheir has taken refuge with Warlord Feid.'
'Good.' The sooner he reached Byren, with the offer of support from the Elector of Ostron Isle, the better were his brother's chances of winning over the other four warlords. 'How long?'
'Nine, ten days.'
'So long?' The warlords might turn on Byren and hand him over to Cobalt.
Nefysto placed a hand on Fyn's shoulder. 'The Wyvern's Whelp is the fastest ship of her size on the seas. No one could get you there sooner!'
Piro crept into the war table chamber to look at her piece. They had been on Mage Isle five days and the little carving still had no face. Did that mean she was going to die?
She wished she'd never seen the war table. Going to the balcony, she stepped out and looked across at the steep slope of the encircling island, Ostron Ring. It was covered in terraced gardens and villas. A strange bird cried above her and she turned to look up at the tower. From the top floor she saw someone release an Ostronite messenger bird. The Pica's black wings and white vest flashed as it arrowed out in search of its mate. The female could find her way anywhere in the world to her mate. And, if either died, the other sang a song of love and lay down beside them, refusing to eat. Since only Agent Tyro went to the top of the tower, he had to have released the bird.
Piro took to her heels, waiting in the shadows for Tyro to come down the stairs. They'd hardly seen him since the
initial meeting. She suspected he was avoiding them.
Hearing his footsteps, she moved to confront the agent. 'Was there news from Fyn?'
He shook his head.
'News for Fyn?'
'Not this time. The mage has his fingers in many pies, Piro.'
She bristled. Every time he said her name, he made it sound like he was laughing at her.
Tyro kept walking, so she followed. They came out into a courtyard where Isolt sat feeding the foenix.
Tyro bowed. 'Mage Tsulamyth invites Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter to attend the elector's feast with him.'
Piro and Isolt exchanged looks.
'But you said Isolt was safe as long as she stayed on Mage Isle,' Piro countered. 'Why should we risk this?'
'The elector is dying. The other four powerful families are preparing to choose a new elector. The mage will need the new elector's support. Tonight my master needs to show the powerful nobles that he holds the winning piece.' Tyro nodded to Isolt. 'The mage will be by your side and you will be under the protection of the elector himself.'
Isolt released the foenix, which flew over to Piro. She caught him but had to put him down, as he was getting too big to hold. She knelt to stroke his long neck, noting how the brilliant red comb was already coming through on the crown of his head.
'Is Mage Tsulamyth's position so precarious?' Isolt asked.
'We are approaching nexus points in every kingdom.' Tyro turned to Piro. 'The mage asks that you tell him if you have any Affinity visions.'
She nodded.
'Then he knows who Piro is?' Isolt asked.
Tyro barely hesitated. 'Of course.'
He lied. Why? Piro wondered.
'I don't like appearing before Ostronite nobles like a Kingdoms piece,' Isolt said. 'But then I've had to do a lot of things I haven't liked.'
Piro straightened and came over to her. 'Don't worry. I'll be with you.'
'Speak only Merofynian,' Tyro warned. 'Piro, let the nobles think you don't understand Ostronite. Report everything you hear.'
She both nodded. Since the mage had taken them in and promised to protect them, spying for him was the least she could do.
The Ursuper cokrk-3 Page 19
