Palatyne grimaced with annoyance but released Elina. She dropped to her knees, gasping for breath. She was only a body length from Byren, yet he was powerless to help her.
'Yes,' Palatyne agreed. 'His suffering will add to my enjoyment.'
He strode towards Byren, a boot swinging for his head. Though Byren threw himself to one side, the tip caught him a glancing blow, sending him sprawling on the floor.
When his vision cleared, Palatyne had Elina's bodice in his hands. With one heave he tore it open and swung her around so that Byren could see her naked breasts. 'Look what I will be enjoying tonight!'
Though every man present stared at her she lifted her chin, staring past them all, her gaze defiant.
Byren's heart swelled with pride.
Palatyne fixed on Byren, triumphant. 'Take him away and lock him up.' He turned to the noble Power-worker. 'See, Lord Dunstany, your prophecy will not come true. I'll kill every last one of King Rolen's kin. They will not be my downfall. I make my own destiny!'
Lord Dunstany's reply was lost to Byren as they dragged him out of the hall, past the sullen, subdued kitchen staff and into the stable yard. Behind the stables, the road rose to the old keep with its warning tower, every window lit. As it loomed over Byren, despair welled up in him. How would Orrade reach him now? How would he light the beacon and save Elina?
He would never get to Halcyon Abbey to deliver his father's message and no one would ever know that he had died loyal to Rolencia.
'Drink, my lord?' a throaty female voice piped up.
The Merofynians stopped and turned around to see a pretty serving girl standing in the kitchen doorway. She held a tray laden with tankards and a steaming jug of mead.
'This is for them in the keep, but they've been guzzling all evening.' She nodded towards the warning tower, where men could be heard singing loudly off key. 'Want a sup?'
'Don't mind if I do.' The leader of their group strode back towards her, followed by the other four guards with Byren in the middle.
Byren noticed a familiar face peering out from behind the serving girl's skirt. Rifkin, the kitchen boy. As the honour guards grabbed themselves a tankard, the lad caught Byren's eye, holding his gaze with desperate but impenetrable meaning.
A body barrelled into Byren's back, driving him to his knees. The Merofynian groaned and collapsed beside him, blood dark as night, pooling on the churned up snow.
'Hold still,' Orrade whispered, grabbing Byren's arms.
His shoulders protested. Then he felt the blessed release as the pole was pulled out and the ropes fell off his hands. 'What took you so long?'
Orrade laughed and hauled him to his feet. Two bodies shot past them, locked in desperate combat.
Byren blinked recognising one of them. 'Winterfall?'
Orrade nodded. 'Eight of your honour guard. Chandler and Winterfall convinced them that you were wrongfully accused.'
Crack. Mead showered Byren's left leg as the serving maid smashed the jug over the last struggling Merofynian. Young Chandler cut his throat, then cleaned his knife.
'We couldn't let you down,' he said.
Byren grinned and tried to massage feeling back into his hands.
'We're in luck,' Orrade whispered. 'Only Palatyne and his lordlings are housed in New Dovecote. His honour guard refused to sleep under the same roof as Rejulas's honour guard. Couldn't stomach traitors. So they've taken the old Keep and Rejulas's men have the town.'
Byren grinned. 'You've been busy.'
'Servants hear everything.'
'What of the townspeople?'
'Turned out of their own beds. They're sleeping in the servants' quarters in New Dovecote. Here's your hunting knife. It was all Rifkin could steal.'
'I'm obliged,' Byren said, slipping the knife into its customary place. If he were Palatyne, he would have Rejulas and his warriors killed the moment they were no longer useful. Anyone who could betray their sworn oath of allegiance was a worthless ally. 'Where's the healer and Affinity warder?'
'Willowtea's dead. The Affinity warder took a blow from one of Palatyne's Power-workers. They thought it had killed him but he was just knocked out. The cook hid him. Unfortunately he's too weak to help us.'
'Too bad.'
By the time Byren could use his fingers, they'd dragged the bodies away to hide them and Rifkin was raking the snow to disguise all sign of the skirmish.
Winterfall returned with a broken nose and a sheepish grin. 'I neber doubted you.'
Throat tight, Byren hugged him. 'Pack snow on that nose.'
As the maid took Winterfall off to apply the snow, Chandler said, 'You've eight more swords at your back.'
Eight honour guards, some of them mere callow youths, townspeople and servants… Byren ran his hand through his hair. They were vastly outnumbered; subterfuge was their only hope. 'We need a plan.'
'This way.' Orrade led them back into the new wing, through the kitchen and down a long hall where the able-bodied townspeople huddled. They touched Byren as he passed and whispered a welcome to Orrade and Garzik. Byren's bloodied honour guard impressed them.
Orrade led Byren into the cold-cellar. Great blocks of ice lined the walls to preserve food all year round. Amidst the frozen meat and stores, about two dozen men and half as many women waited, their breath steaming. Byren surveyed them by the light of the single lamp. He recognised stable lads, household servants and gardeners; most of the males were under sixteen or over sixty. At ten, Rifkin was the youngest.
Orrade gestured. 'This is all that remains of Dovecote's defenders.'
'Captain Blackwing?' Byren asked.
'Amongst the first to fall.'
'I'm sorry — '
'What should we do first, Byren?' Garzik asked. The boys of thirteen and fourteen had gravitated to him, eager to follow his lead.
Byren's heart sank. They were all going to die. He glanced to the old gaffer who used to look after the chickens. From his expression, it was clear he knew it too but he still clutched the garden scythe in his gnarled hands and waited for orders.
'Byren?' Orrade prodded.
'Right,' Byren muttered. 'We need to light the warning beacon. Is it prepared?'
'The Old Dove always keeps it ready,' the chicken keeper said.
'But the tower was the first place the Merofynians took over,' a stable lad piped up. 'It's full of them!'
'They're nearly all drunk,' the serving maid announced, eyes sparkling.
'We've been keeping them well supplied,' the cook explained. 'They think they're safe because no one knows the Merofynians are here except for Rejulas and his men.'
'Good.' With everyone watching him, Byren felt the weight of their expectation.
'We need to get Elina away from Palatyne,' Orrade said. 'He's taken the Royal Chamber.'
'I'll go save her,' Garzik offered, 'then kill Palatyne!'
'Let me go,' Winterfall offered.
Orrade caught Byren's eye. Garzik wouldn't stand a chance against a warrior of Palatyne's experience and Winterfall was not much better.
'No, I need you two to lead the youths. Dress as servants and sneak up to the top of the warning tower to light the beacon,' Byren told him. 'But don't do it until you get my signal. Once the beacon is alight the Merofynians will know we've risen.' He caught the cook's eye. 'I want to get the household servants and townspeople out into the forest and hidden before then.' He was thinking aloud. Seeing the fate of Lord Dovecote and his birds had convinced Byren that Palatyne would not hesitate to take his anger out on the servants, women and children alike. 'I want everyone hidden before we light that beacon. Just as well the tower guards are drunk.' He smiled at the cook and she blushed as if she was fifteen, not fifty. 'This will make it easier for Garzik and my honour guard to get past them to the top of the tower.'