So he was not going to die. Amazing.
The healer must be blessed with great Affinity. He wondered if, by healing him, she had triggered some unpleasant side effect of Affinity, as the old seer had done when she healed Orrade. Since then his best friend had twice lapsed into visions and passed out, and had only admitted the truth to Byren the night they tackled Palatyne.
How was Orrade coping, leading the survivors of his father's estate into the mountains? Had he had any more visions? Concern for Orrade made Byren impatient with his weakness. He owed his friend an apology.
Others would turn on Orrade if they suspected he had Affinity, or if they realised he followed Palos's path. And suddenly, the fact the Orrade was a lover of men did not seem so important. Even the Affinity was a nuisance rather than a tragedy.
Had the Sylion healer triggered Affinity in him? Byren paused and searched his mind and body for some difference that he could sense. Nothing.
He was untouched by Affinity and he would live.
Yet he felt no joy.
At the door he had to pause and bend double to catch his breath. Voices came through from what smelt like the kitchen. Determined to tell them to leave him behind, he shoved the door open.
'He's awake!' the four-year-old piped up. He pushed his plate of hot oat cakes towards Byren. 'Have some. They're really good!'
Both the healer and dyer turned to Byren, startled. She had been rolling smoked meat in calico for travelling and the dyer was bent over, scraping mud off his boots by the door.
'I was hungry,' Byren said and realised it was true.
'I'll make up a plate,' the healer offered. 'Only reheated cakes I'm afraid. Not what a kingson is used to. Everyone's run off.'
'Oat cakes are my favourite,' he said, relieved there was no need to lie.
'How are you feeling?' She put a plate on the table in front of him, watching closely.
'Stiff and sore,' Byren admitted. 'But alive. You know your craft, that's for sure. I owe you my life.' This was also true, but his heart wasn't in it. He felt empty.
Still, the hot cakes smelt good and the syrup gleamed golden in the early morning light. He took a large serving, ravenously hungry.
Byren noticed the dyer catch the healer's eye.
'Come, show me where you left the harness,' the dyer said.
The healer nodded and Byren found himself alone in the kitchen with the little boy. Hadn't the man said his older son had come back? He was probably out in the yard preparing to leave with them.
Byren lifted a hot cake. 'Good as your mother makes?'
'Dunno. Ma died when I was born,' the boy answered simply.
'I'm sorry.' The loss of his own mother and sister returned to stab at Byren's composure.
'You finished, Rodien?' the dyer called. He appeared in the doorway. 'Don't want to hurry you, kingson, but we must be moving.'
Byren mopped up the last of the hot cake and washed it down with warm ale. 'That's just it. I don't want you to risk your family for me.'
He rose, meaning to tell them to leave him, but he must have stood too fast because his head swam and he nearly lost his breakfast. A strong arm with stained fingers caught him, supporting his weight.
'Come along now.'
Too weak and disorientated to argue, Byren yielded to the dyer as he helped him outside. The food felt good in his belly, now that it wasn't trying to come back up again, but his whole body ached as if he'd taken a tumble from his horse. He let himself be lowered onto the sled for now.
'But I'll walk when I can,' he insisted.
'Of course you will,' the dyer agreed.
The healer ran back into her cottage and came out slinging a travelling cloak over her shoulders. She bolted the door behind her.
'Is she coming too?' Byren asked, worried that she would also pay for helping him.
'No, I'm off to Waterford,' she nodded to the west, 'to warn them.'
Byren nodded. Someone was missing. 'Where's... what was his name, Miron? I heard you say he'd returned last night.'
The dyer lifted his little boy onto the pony's back, then turned to Byren. 'I sent him back to Rolenhold last night, kingson. I sent him to find your honour guard, give them your leogryf necklace and to tell them to join us at Cedar tradepost.' He ducked his head. 'With your leave, kingson.'
A smile tugged at Byren's lips. 'Without my leave, you mean. For a dyer you are an excellent warrior.'
The man beamed.
But his initiative would be wasted. Those honour guard who had remained loyal to Byren had come to save him at Dovecote and, if any of them survived, they would already be with Orrade in the mountains. A stab of pain hit Byren - they had lost Garzik that night. At fourteen Orrade's little brother had wanted to become a warrior and serve Byren, who had sent him to his death.
He was a failure over and over.
Because Byren hadn't returned to the castle with the warrior monks, no one at Rolenhold would believe he'd remained loyal, that is if anyone who knew him still lived. He couldn't imagine Captain Temor dropping his sword and surrendering to the Merofynians. Sorrow too deep for tears settled on him, smothering him in a blanket of despair.
He hoped Miron made it safely back to his father in the mountains. He knew only too well how rash boys on the verge of manhood could be. Poor Garzik.
They left Sylion's oratory and residence behind. At the end of the single street of empty dwellings the dyer embraced the healer, and Byren was struck by the resemblance as they parted. They were family separated by Affinity, he guessed.
The dyer had already done more than he needed to, risking his thirteen-year-old son twice for Rolencia. As soon as Byren was well enough he'd strike out on his own.
And then it hit Byren. His family were all dead and his home taken. The dyer expected Byren, King Rolen's only surviving kin, to raise an army in the mountains and retake Rolencia, but how could one man hope to achieve so much? Why would anyone follow him, when his own father had died believing him a traitor?
Elbow-deep in bread dough, Piro was grateful for the warmth of the kitchen. All day she had helped the cook, under Soterro's watchful eye. At first light Dunstany had been called up to the castle to treat Cobalt, who'd developed a fever. If she was lucky, Cobalt would die.
When she thought of Dunstany up there with Palatyne and the Utlander, she was surprised by a pang of concern for him.
It was evening now and they were expecting the noble scholar's return any moment. Piro planned to stay long enough to hear if there had been news of Byren, and then escape.
They shared the rear courtyard with several other fine houses, and there were four narrow lanes that led out to the main street. She was reasonably certain she could knock Grysha unconscious long enough for her to make it out into Rolenton. From there, well, she knew the town and they did not.
She twisted the bread dough into small lumps and dropped the raw buns onto the tray, careful not to look interested in what the others were saying. Grysha had been sent to buy supplies. Soterro and the cook had been helping themselves to the master's wine again and, believing she could not understand Merofynian, did not bother to guard their tongues.
'We'll be off home soon,' Soterro was saying. 'About time, too. The old king won't last long.'
The cook noticed Piro had finished. 'Brush the buns with milk and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the top.' He switched back to Merofynian. 'Palatyne'll be eager to get back to the king. After this victory the old man's sure to offer him a dukedom!'
'There's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip.' Soterro grimaced. 'Palatyne trusts no one, especially not our master. Dunstany's noble born and bred and the overlord can't forgive him that, not when he comes from the wrong side of the Divide.'
'Put them into the bread oven, girl. We want the buns for supper tonight, not next summer!' the cook snapped, then turned to Soterro, returning to Merofynian. 'But when Palatyne is a duke no one will remember where he was born.'
'I don't think he
plans to stop at duke.' Soterro's voice was heavy with meaning.
Cook's eyes widened.
The bell rang, signalling Dunstany's return. Soterro went to answer his summons. Just then there was a knock at the kitchen door.
'Don't stand there daydreaming, girl. Wash your arms, take off that grubby apron and answer the door!' Cook told Piro.
She hurried to obey. Opening the door she faced her old nurse with a tray of hot pies. Piro stifled a gasp.
'Hot pies, lovely hot pies for sale,' old Seela sang in a fair imitation of a street-seller. 'A copper a pie!'
'Hmm. What have you got?' The cook hurried over to take a look. He sniffed. 'They smell good. But my master expects the best.'
'There's eel, steak and kidney, steak and peas, bacon and chicken -'
'We'll take one of each. And if they're not up to standard you won't be getting my lord's custom again!'
The cook went out of the room to where he hid his money, to count out his coins.
'Bless me. It's good to see you, Piro,' her old nurse whispered. 'Quick now, while he's away, out the door -'
'I can't. Lord Dunstany just came back and he may have news of Byren.'
Before they could argue, the cook returned and counted out the coins as Piro transferred the pies to the table.
'If these are good we'll take some more tomorrow. Do you have any sweet pies, apple or blueberry?'
Her old nurse nodded. 'Whatever you wish.'
Piro hid a smile. The castle pastry cook was renowned for her pies. She'd be horrified to know they were being sold for a copper each.
'I'll be back tomorrow, then,' Seela said, catching Piro's eye meaningfully, before heading off.
'Well, shut the door, girl, you're letting the cold in!' the cook snapped. Just then Soterro returned. 'What news?'
'Mulled wine for two. The overlord's with him.'
Piro's heart skipped a beat. Another missed opportunity to poison Palatyne because she hadn't stolen the hellsbane. She should steal some tomorrow and kill Palatyne first chance she got.
Yes, that's what she would do. Then she'd run away.
Relieved to have a plan, Piro put cheese and bread on a plate while Cook checked the spiced wine. She dried her hands then picked up the tray to follow Soterro down the short hall.
When Piro entered she found Dunstany stood by the fire listening to Palatyne. Soterro poured the drinks and was dismissed, which left Piro to wait by the sideboard.
Dunstany sipped his mulled wine, clearly enjoying the delicate mix of spices.
'...so it looks like Cobalt will make a full recovery,' Palatyne was saying. He gulped his steaming goblet. 'I could use some good news. The Utlander can't get a fix on Byren Kingson. He claims you cursed Rolen's finger, says it will point to Rolenton and nowhere else.'
'I'd be a fool to do something so obvious. No, the Utlander seeks to lay the blame for his incompetence on me. He hasn't the skill to differentiate between living and dead kin, as we saw last night.' Dunstany laughed softly and Piro looked down, hiding her triumph. If only they knew.
'So much for the Utlander. What about you, have you found Byren Kingson?' the overlord asked.
'I spent all day nursing your puppet king,' Lord Dunstany pointed out. 'I will seek the youth this very night.'
There was a clatter of booted feet in the front room and someone rapped on the connecting door, then marched straight in. A tall thin woman, wearing the white of a Cyena mystic, entered. She was young, but her hair was completely white and her eyes were pale pink. Piro had heard of such people, born without colouring, but never seen one. Just looking at the woman made her shiver.
'Overlord Palatyne.' The mystic afforded him a shallow bow. 'I bring word concerning the kingsons.'
Piro froze, then schooled her face to look blank, since she wasn't supposed to understand what was being said. Luckily no one had noticed her slip.
'Here is a list of what was found in the abbey.' The Cyena mystic nodded to one of her escort, who presented a written dispatch that Palatyne did not bother to open. Piro wondered if he had to sound out the words to read.
'What news of the kingson at the abbey?' the overlord demanded.
'The bodies were carefully searched. There were many youths of the right age, but none of them wore the royal emblem.'
Palatyne frowned, while Piro cheered inside. Fyn could still be alive.
'It is most curious,' the mystic said softly, 'for no small boys were found, only old men and lads nearly old enough to be monks.'
'They're hiding.'
'Obviously.'
As the mystic's odd pink eyes skimmed past Palatyne, Piro realised the mystic was blind, at least blind to the Seen world. Her Affinity would give her Unseen sight. Piro instinctively reinforced the walls she had used to hide her Affinity from the castle's nuns and monks.
'We sealed the abbey and checked every chamber, but we found no sign of them. There was not a single sorbt stone in the mystics master's inner sanctum and we did not find the way into Halcyon's Sacred Heart with its recurring seep.'
'Perhaps it is a myth?' Dunstany suggested.
Blind, pink eyes moved towards the sound of his voice. 'Our spies report otherwise. Such a treasure would be well hidden. I suspect that's where the small boys are, along with the missing sorbt stones. Someone was quick enough to warn them and I suspect this missing kingson is hidden in some deep secret chamber under Mount Halcyon.'
Palatyne smiled. 'Well, they'll have to come out sooner or later, or starve. You.' He pointed to one of the mystic's escort. 'Go back. Tell Mulcibar's mystic not to leave the abbey until he finds them.'
The man nodded and remained where he was.
'Now!' Palatyne roared and the man ran out. 'As for you,' he turned to Cyena's mystic. 'You can come up to the castle and try your luck at locating Byren Kingson.'
'I'd be happy to.' The Cyena mystic reached into the folds of her long white robe. 'Meanwhile, I do have something for you.' She held out a drawstring bag.
Palatyne snapped his fingers at Piro. 'Bring it to me.'
She swallowed. The thought of approaching the albino mystic made her uneasy. But she went over and retrieved the bag, passing it to Palatyne. At least she was braver than him!
He tugged the strings open, tipping the contents into his palm. 'A foenix emblem? I thought you said -'
'No, we couldn't find the priestly kingson's body. This one belongs to the other kingson,' the mystic said. 'About midday, on the day after we took the abbey, a man entered the courtyard and marched into the stables waving the royal emblem around and demanding to see the abbot.
'The men realised he must be the missing kingson. They tell me he went as white as me when he found Merofynian warriors inside the abbey!' The mystic allowed herself a reptilian smile. 'They tried to grab him but he fought his way out, grabbed a horse and rode off. They managed to get the emblem. And they injured him. Badly. We sent the men after him. They followed his blood trail until they lost him. That night we heard an ulfr pack on the hunt. Then his trail disappeared along with his body.'
Sickened, Piro turned away. She could not see the pastries for the tears. To think Byren had reached the abbey, as he had promised to do, only to find Merofynians had laid claim to it.
'There was just one of him and dozens of my warriors. They should have killed him!' the overlord snapped.
'He's dead. The ulfr pack finished him off.'
'You don't know that for sure. I want his body. I need proof that he's dead or the Rolencians will spread rumours about him leading an uprising,' Palatyne growled at the mystic, who looked uncomfortable.
Palatyne gestured with frustration, snapping his fingers at another of her escort. 'Chase after that other fool. Let it be known through Rolencia that I'm doubling the reward for Byren Kingson's head and that of the priestly kingson.'
Piro nursed a flicker of hope. If Palatyne feared her brothers' survival enough to double the reward they still stood a chance. She woul
d not give up.
The man left and Palatyne dismissed Cyena's mystic. When she had gone, he turned to Dunstany. 'See, Dunstany, I help myself. A man can trust a blade to do what it's told. This Affinity of yours twists and turns so much you never give me a straight answer.' He took a step closer, glaring at the old Power-worker. 'I know where your loyalties lie, noble scholar. But you forget, King Merofyn is a sick old man. He has promised me a dukedom if I conquer Rolencia in his name.' Palatyne laughed. 'But why should I settle for a dukedom when I could have a kingdom? I'll marry his daughter and -'
'She is already betrothed.'
'Lence Kingsheir is dead.'
'The second son, Byren, is the uncrowned king of Rolencia now and honour-bound to marry Isolt.'
'If he lives. If he can escape my men. If he can raise the warlords against me. If he can retake Rolencia.' Palatyne dismissed this possibility with a sharp movement of his hand. 'No, I am here and I am the conqueror of Merofynia's ancestral enemy. In three hundred years no one has managed to crush the Rolencian royal line. No one but me.' Palatyne tossed back the last of his mulled wine. 'I'll make King Merofyn an offer for his daughter that he can't refuse.' Palatyne's eyes narrowed. 'And if you want a place in the court of Emperor Palatyne the First, ruler of Merofynia and Rolencia, then you must prove your loyalty!'
Dunstany spread his hands. 'I am at your command, overlord.'
Palatyne's eyes narrowed. 'We will see.'
He thrust his goblet aside and strode out.
Piro sagged, dizzy with relief. Dunstany met her eyes across the room. They heard the overlord's boots on the apothecary's shop floor and the slam of the front door.
'Mark my words, Seela,' Dunstany said in Rolencian. 'Palatyne is a very dangerous man. He cannot be trusted, because he trusts no one. If he wins the throne, there will be no peace for Merofynia or anyone else. So where do you think Byren Kingsheir is?'
Piro went very still as she tried to remember what she was supposed to know. They'd spoken Merofynian so she wouldn't have understood anything but the names. She decided it was best to claim ignorance. 'A serving girl like me knows nothing of kingsons.'
The Uncrowned King Page 18
