Piro's heart went out to her father. He was not the man he had been at midwinter. Back then King Rolen's deep voice had boomed across the great hall as he demanded a second serving. It was nothing for him to sit down to a meal that lasted for four hours, consuming great qualities of rich food and fine Rolencian red wine. She had always felt so safe with him but now... now he had been diminished by the renegade Power-worker Cobalt had placed in his service.
Under guise of treating her father's old war injuries, the man had been leaching the king's strength, making him dependent on a concoction of herbs that stole his will and left him a shell of the man who had saved Rolencia at eighteen. Piro and her mother had uncovered the trickery and removed the manservant, but the damage was done.
Despite her father's sudden frailty - no, because of it, Piro loved him fiercely.
She had to see him. She was certain she could do more than the healers. Back before these troubles began, one of the spit-turners had burnt his hand and she'd helped ease his pain, using her Affinity to draw it off, and no one had been any the wiser.
The cook glanced once in Piro's direction and dismissed the servants. Piro waited until they had gone and hurried out on soft slippers.
'I must go to Father,' she whispered, no longer hungry.
'Cobalt's sure to have told the guard to be on the look out for you,' the cook warned, plump jowls wobbling with worry.
'I know. But I must go.'
'Cobalt's offered a bag of gold for your recapture,' the cook revealed.
Piro frowned. 'Only one?'
The cook smiled briefly. 'Take care, kingsdaughter. Cobalt cannot be charmed.'
'I know,' Piro whispered. 'For he has no heart.' When she'd learnt how his bride had been murdered by Utland raiders, she had tried to ease his sorrow, and found only emptiness behind his tears.
The cook shook her head as Piro slipped away.
Byren woke with a smile on his lips. He'd come up with a simple, elegant way to save the child and the Affinity beast. True, he could not defeat a Power-worker, but the Utlander had revealed the very tool that could kill him. Byren should have seen it right away. His only excuse was that he had no Affinity, so he wasn't used to thinking in those terms.
He mustn't fall into that trap again.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Byren checked the position of the wanderers against the backdrop of stars. Good, it was nearly midnight. Rising carefully, he went to find the sentry. Another man had taken the same place as the other and was dozing at his post, shrouded in a thick fur cloak. From this angle he would not see Byren enter the seep.
The hollow glowed softly, lit by the accumulated power in the sorbt stone. Byren's skin crawled as he approached the stone. It was the knowledge that this thing pulsed with untamed Affinity that made him wary, not an innate ability to sense Affinity. He'd been tested as a child and found to be blind to it, unlike his brother. Poor little Fyn.
His mother had put on a brave face when the six-year-old had to go to the abbey, but she had wept when she thought no one was looking. As a lad of barely ten summers Byren hadn't known how to console her. All he could do was hug her and bring her pretty things he'd collected especially for her.
Now Byren picked up the sorbt stone, grateful for his gloves and his lack of Affinity, and tucked it inside his vest. He needed his hands free for the sentry.
Byren did not enjoy killing a man while he slept, but it was necessary. The sentry didn't know what happened. With luck, the others would not discover his death until dawn.
Body thrumming with the heightened state of awareness that came during battle, Byren glided down into the dip and approached the Utlander's snow-cave. It had been built on a slight slope. A man does not like to sleep with his head lower than his feet, so Byren guessed that the Power-worker would be sleeping with his head at the highest point.
Feeling at his waist for the hunting knife, Byren began to cut a window in the snow-cave. This was the most dangerous part, for if the snow had not been packed tightly enough, fine powder would fall on the sleeping Power-worker and wake him. Or, when Byren tried to ease his knife under the circular window, he could lose control and it might drop into the shelter.
He was lucky. The circle of packed snow lifted out without breaking. Byren turned back to the shelter to find the girl peering out at him, head through the gap. Silently, he cursed the luck that had led him to choose the side she slept on.
Byren lifted his finger to his lips and gestured the girl aside. Her head sank back into the snow-cave and he peered inside. By the glow of the brazier, he made out the sleeping Utlander. Such was his awe of renegade Power-workers that for a heartbeat Byren doubted his plan.
The calandrius stirred, uttering a soft interrogative sound. The girl hushed it.
Too late for doubts. Byren cut away at the snow-cave, widening the window with great care. Too much and the roof would collapse. Then he pulled the sorbt stone out of his jerkin and showed the girl. Her eyes widened. Byren pointed to the Power-worker and mimed placing the sorbt stone in the Utlander's arms.
The Affinity-slave nodded.
Licking dry lips, Byren watched as she wrapped a blanket around her hands and accepted the stone. With great care, she knelt next to her sleeping master and slid the stone under the Utlander's bare hands. He slept on his side, so that he was now curled around it.
Byren knew the sorbt stone would absorb the Power-worker's latent Affinity while he slept. At best it might kill, at worst it would weaken him severely.
The girl looked to Byren, who nodded and smiled to show that she had done well, then held out his arms. He was a head taller than most men and easily big enough to lift her out of the shelter.
Without a word, the girl crawled back to the calandrius and gathered it in her arms. She passed the bird to Byren, who sat it on the snow. It seemed very docile, fed, warm and weak from injury. Even so, Byren suspected the girl had been using her Affinity to soothe it.
Then he turned back to lift the girl out. But she held up the chain and glanced resentfully at the Power-worker. Byren realised the end was fixed to the man in some way while he slept.
'I can prise open the links,' he whispered in Merofynian, drawing his knife.
The girl looked doubtful but crept over, offering her thin neck with the collar and attached chain.
Byren studied the chain. It was well made and so was the metal collar. The weakest point was where the chain had been soldered to the back of the collar. Slipping a finger inside it, he put the tip of his knife in the solder and exerted pressure at an angle. Careful not to slip and cut the girl or push too hard and cut his own finger, he increased the pressure until the solder gave way. The chain fell away but he caught it before it could make any noise. The girl placed it carefully on the blanket, so as not to wake the Utlander. Though she hated him fiercely, she obviously had a great deal of respect for his power.
Byren could do nothing about the metal collar. If he had time he could work on the joint, but, for now, he slipped his hands under the girl's arms and hoisted her out. She weighed less than he'd expected.
He set her on her feet and, with a signal for silence, led her away from the camp and the seep, towards the lake. He only had one set of skates and he was carrying out his father the king's orders. The best he could do was give her some food and send her on her way. The calandrius was almost too large for her to carry so she wouldn't be able to travel fast. But the Power-worker's escort would not be concerned with her. They'd return to report to their overlord. If the Utlander died, Byren would have dealt Palatyne a serious, though not devastating, blow. He knew the overlord was accompanied by at least two more Power-workers, rivals for their leader's trust.
'Here.' Byren paused at the lake's edge to strap on his skates, then stood up and dug into his pack, pulling out the last of his food, cold meat and two-day-old bread. The girl put the food away for later. He checked the wandering stars... midnight. He still had a long way to go.
Pointing across the lake to the mountain, which was a dark triangle against the foaming stars, he spoke in Merofynian.
'That's Mount Halcyon. Aim for it. Go around the base. On the far side is a fishing village. Tell them Byren Kingson said that they're to take you across to Sylion Abbey. The nuns will look after you, protect you.'
A shiver ran through the girl's thin frame.
Byren undid the clasp of his cloak and swung the heavy fur over her shoulders. She raised wondering eyes to him.
'We do things differently here in Rolencia,' he told her. 'For one thing we don't chain up children.'
'You're a kingson and yet you speak Merofynian?'
'My mother taught me.'
'Queen Myrella? They say her father was a good king. No one likes the new King Merofyn,' she confided, then cast a quick look at Byren to gauge his reaction. 'They also say the nuns of Sylion steal children who have Affinity and turn them into slaves.'
'It's not true. My brother has Affinity and he's been with the monks in Halcyon Abbey for ten years now. He comes to visit us every feast day. They feed him and teach him a trade. And his Affinity will be used to make Rolencia a better place for everyone.'
The girl blinked. The bird stirred.
Byren glanced at it. 'They'll care for the bird, too. I must leave. Remember, go that way.'
'Can't I stay with you?'
'I'm off to war.'
'I've been to war.'
Byren didn't doubt it. 'In Rolencia we don't send children to war. You'll be safe at the abbey.'
'I -'
'You'd slow me up. I'm on the king's business.'
The girl clutched his arm but said nothing. A light snow began to fall.
He squeezed her hand. 'The snow will cover your tracks. I've got to go now.'
She nodded, but her eyes never left his face.
There was no more he could do for her. 'What's your name?'
'Dinni.'
He realised she would be very pretty once she was fed and cleaned up, even with the lopsided eye.
'Halcyon's luck be with you, Dinni.'
'And with you, kingson.' She let him go at last.
He was wide awake now, so he set off at a good pace. If he skated all night, he should reach the abbey by mid-morning.
Chapter Three
Piro lifted the key ring at her waist and unlocked the back stair to the royal wing. Before the troubles, she had done nothing but fight with her mother, but now she was grateful for Queen Myrella's quick thinking. With the queen's keys of office, Piro had access to every door. Every door, but the one that was kept locked in the top of the mourning tower, where the queen was being held prisoner.
Cobalt had convinced her once-proud father that his beloved Myrella was a spy under the influence of a Merofynian Power-worker.
Well, that was partly Piro's fault.
In front of everyone her mother had been about to slip into a seer's trance and reveal her hidden Affinity. If she had, her marriage to King Rolen would have been annulled and their four children declared illegitimate. This would have left the way open to Lord Cobalt. As the legitimate son of King Rolen's illegitimate older brother, Illien of Cobalt's claim to the throne would have been as strong as Lence's. Again Piro was grateful to her mother, this time for insisting she study Rolencian law. At best the ambiguity would have been enough for Cobalt to claim the succession and force a civil war.
To hide her mother's Affinity, Piro had darted forwards and disrupted the trance, claiming Queen Myrella had been taken over by a Merofynian Power-worker.
Everyone believed her, everyone but Cobalt. He'd seen through her because he was a master of the art of deception. He'd caught Piro on the back stairs and asked his servant to see if she had Affinity. Only an abbey warder could discern Affinity, a warder or a renegade Power-worker.
Piro had remembered Fyn's self-defence tricks and escaped. She'd run straight to her father to warn him about Cobalt, only to discover he believed his nephew over her. That was a bitter blow.
Now she crept down the hall, one hand over the keys so they would not clink. Hopefully the healers would both be asleep, but there was still one of the king's honour guard at the door to her father's chamber.
A soft snore greeted her and she bit back a relieved giggle.
It was old Sawtree, asleep on duty. She didn't know how he managed. The seats were built at an angle sloping down so that a man might rest his weight a little, but if he relied on the seat to take all his weight, he'd slide off. This wing of the castle had been built by her namesake, Queen Pirola the Fierce, in the last years of her reign and the seat's wooden surface had been polished by a hundred and thirty years of guards' bottoms to a glossy, slippery finish. Yet somehow this man, one of her father's original honour guard - which made him at least fifty - had wedged his sturdy legs at just the right angle so that his shoulders took enough of his weight against the wall for the seat to support him.
Piro smiled to herself. She was fond of old Sawtree. Like Temor, the captain of the king's honour guard, he had always been part of her life. As a small child, she used to tease him mercilessly.
Tonight, she was glad he had been chosen to guard her father. She watched and waited for his doze to deepen, trying to judge the moment before his legs relaxed and the sliding action of the seat woke him.
She didn't think any the less of old Sawtree for dozing at his post. There were rumours of a Merofynian invasion, but there'd been no confirmation. Last night they'd seen a glow to the south, possibly from the Dovecote estate. The next beacon hadn't been lit, so it was probably just a house fire. House fires were common in winter, in a land where almost every home was made of wood.
Besides, they were safe in Rolenhold. The castle had never been taken, not since King Rolence built the first tower three hundred years ago, so old Sawtree was welcome to doze at his post.
But how long before he was woken by the seat's design? Piro decided she could wait no longer.
She sidled past him. Eyes on the sleeping man, her fingers found the door latch. Silently, she slipped into the chamber. The smell of powerful herbal remedies hung on the still, hot air. Someone had built up the fire and left it to burn down, so the room was stifling.
There was no sign of the castle's two healers, though the door to the connecting chamber was a hand's breadth ajar. No doubt they were sleeping lightly, ready to spring to the king's aid. Rivalry between the nuns of Sylion and the monks of Halcyon ran too deep for one healer to let the other gain an advantage.
By the glow of the banked hearth, Piro studied her father. King Rolen was still a big man, a head taller than average. But, since they had exposed the manservant for the manipulative Power-worker he was, the king's flesh had shrunk to reveal his bones.
Now that she saw him for herself, tears stung her eyes. Even in his sleep her father looked troubled. A frown gathered between his heavy brows. He shifted, rolled over and moaned with the pain this caused him, but did not wake. The servant had said the king couldn't sleep so they must have given him something, probably dreamless-sleep, to ease his pain.
He looked so deeply under that Piro doubted if she would be able to wake him. It didn't matter. She could still ease his discomfort. In a way it was lucky he was unaware, for he would have hated her to use Affinity on him. Ever since he'd watched helplessly, while his father and older brother were murdered by renegade Merofynian Power-workers, he had hated all Affinity and only suffered those with it to remain in Rolencia if they served the abbeys.
The irony of this struck Piro as she lifted one hand, reaching for her father's forehead.
A hand closed over her mouth and an arm swung around her waist, lifting her off her feet. In desperate silence, she writhed with all her strength but she was small for thirteen summers and her captor was a full-grown man.
Remembering Fyn's lessons, she threw her head back, connecting with his chin. Her captor gave a grunt of pain but did not release her.
'For Halcyon's sak
e stop struggling, Piro. I'm trying to help you!'
Recognising the castle warder's voice, she stopped resisting and he set her feet back on the ground.
'Monk Autumnwind?' Turning in the circle of his wary arms she met his eyes. The Halcyon monk had served her family since the previous warders died trying to protect her grandfather and uncle thirty years ago. Piro had never been close to Autumnwind, but she believed he was an honourable man. 'Can -'
He signalled for silence and led her to the far side of the room, away from the connecting door. They stepped behind a sandalwood screen into an alcove where the healers had set up their herbals. A mortar and pestle made of white stone gleamed in the dimness.
'What are you doing here, Piro?'
'I came to see Father.'
'He's suffering.'
'I know, that's why I came.' That, and because she had hoped he would see reason and reconcile with her mother. 'When will he be better?'
Autumnwind hesitated then gave her a pitying look that made her stomach curdle with fear. She didn't want to hear what he was about to tell her.
'The healers are doing all they can, but King Rolen may not get better.' He lifted his hands, turning them palm up. 'You must realise, Piro, a man's life force is held in his body by more than health alone. The heart's gone out of the king. His queen betrayed him...' He silenced her with a gesture before she could object. 'Whether she meant to or not, the effect is the same. Lence Kingsheir refused to heed his advice and called him a coward, said he was too old to rule. And Byren is a Servant of Palos, a lover of men -'
'Lies! Byren's loyal,' Piro whispered, fiercely. 'Just as I am.'
'I believe that you believe this. But it is what the king believes that's important. And he believes his wife and children have betrayed him. I was sent to serve him after the great battle. I've seen how he strove to rebuild Rolencia these last thirty years. Now it is all falling apart around him.'
'Only Cobalt has betrayed him. Don't you see -'
'I see a frail king who trusts no one but his nephew, who he named lord protector of the castle before his health began to fail.'
The Uncrowned King Page 3
