Cobalt glanced from the overlord to the queen.
An inarticulate sound of protest escaped old Seela's lips.
Piro clutched the door frame, faint with horror. She couldn't stand still and let them kill her mother. But what could she do?
Unarmed, alone and also marked for death, she raged against her weakness.
Fyn skied around a bend then froze, unable to believe his bad luck. He had stumbled right into the path of a band of Merofynian warriors. What were they doing on the little-travelled foothills below Mount Halcyon?
'You, fisherman,' one addressed him in poor Rolencian.
Heart thudding, Fyn shuffled closer.
'Have you seen an injured man?
'No, I haven't seen anyone.' How would a lone fisherman react to a party of seven Merofynian warriors? Cautiously, that was certain. Better pretend that he thought they were escorting a pilgrim to Halcyon Abbey. 'Did your injured pilgrim get lost? Should I send him this way if I see him?'
They laughed.
'Yeah, tell the kingson we want to take him home to meet our mothers!' one muttered in Merofynian.
Fyn fixed a smile on his face and nodded, as though he did not understand but his heart raced with the knowledge that Byren (it had to be Byren for, if it was Lence, they would have said kingsheir) had met up with the Merofynians. At least he had escaped, albeit injured.
'This friend of yours, how will I know him?' Fyn asked.
'He's big and bad-tempered. If you see him, keep away from him. Ski up to the abbey and let them know. Their healers can help him,' the first one told Fyn.
The others nodded, exchanging looks that said they enjoyed a private joke.
Fyn nodded. All he wanted to do was get away from them before they saw through his disguise. The tattoos of learning were still visible through his sprouting hair. If his fur cap was knocked off… he must not think like that. He must act the part of a fisherman. It was customary to offer to share food with pilgrims.
'I'm off to see my sister who's expecting her first, come spring cusp,' he said. 'Our mam sent her some fish stew. There's not much but I'm sure — '
'So that's the smell,' the rude one complained in Merofynian. 'Mulcibar's balls, send him on his way before he offers us fish stew.'
The others chuckled. Fyn managed a chuckle of his own, as though he was trying to ingratiate himself with them, despite being unable to understand their speech.
'Be off with you and watch out for our pilgrim. Remember, he's bad-tempered so don't go near him. Let us know if you see him,' the spokesman insisted.
Fyn nodded. Relief made him lightheaded as he shuffled past them and slid down the slope, weaving through the evergreens until he was well and truly out of sight. By then his knees were shaking so badly he had to stop and bend double to clear his head, so he sat for a few moments in lee of a snow-skirted tree.
After a few moments he heard the Merofynians pass on the other side of the tree, returning to the abbey.
'…all as thick as him they deserve to lose their kingdom!' the rude one was saying.
'Do you think he'll report it if he sees the kingson?' a different one asked.
'The kingson is most likely dead,' the spokesman said. 'No one could lose that much blood and keep going.'
'True,' the rude one agreed. 'And with the ulfr pack in the area, anyone travelling alone and injured doesn't stand a chance. No wonder we can't find his body. We're on a wild goose chase!'
Their voices faded, drowned by the rushing in Fyn's ears. When his vision cleared he was bent double, staring at the perfect snow in front of his nose. Wracking shivers shook him.
Byren was dead. At least, the Merofynians believed he was. Cheeky, laughing Byren. Kindest, most thoughtful of his brothers…
Fyn's heart felt as if it would break.
Determination drove him to his feet.
If Byren was dead, it was up to Fyn to carry news of the abbey's fall to their father. He set off, his resolve renewed by grief.
Chapter Eleven
Piro swayed. Standing high on the mezzanine floor, she had a perfect view of the tableau below. Like a play, the actors said their lines, but it was her mother they planned to kill.
'You cannot mean to murder the queen,' Cobalt objected. He glanced from the overlord to Piro's mother and back to the overlord. 'She can be used to unite Rolencia.'
'He's right, my lord.' Lord Dunstany proved an unexpected ally. 'She's a valuable kingdom piece, make use of her. She cannot harm you if you are back in Merofynia.'
'Oh, no?' Palatyne rounded on him. 'You're the one who foretold Rolen's kin would be my downfall!'
Dunstany went very still.
Palatyne rounded on the nearest warriors, the ones who had been so eager to burn the Rolencian emblem. He stabbed one hand in the queen's direction. 'Well?'
'Overlord?' Cobalt covered the two steps between them in one long stride, caught the man's arm and said something in an intense, low whisper. They were about the same height, but very different men. Despite his Rolencian birth, Cobalt had the bearing of an Ostronite aristocrat, from his perfumed curls to his high-heeled boots. The overlord was a barbarian from Amfina Spar, and no amount of gold or brocade could hide it.
Before Cobalt could finish, Palatyne threw off his restraining arm.
'You think to bargain with me, Illien of Cobalt, or should I call you the Bastard's son? That's why you betrayed them, your uncle and cousins, because your father was denied the crown. Prove your loyalty to me. Kill her yourself!'
Piro gasped. All along Cobalt has sworn his love for her mother, but Piro did not doubt that it was a self-serving love.
'Let me relieve you of this troublesome woman, overlord.' The little Utland Power-worker strutted closer. With each step his staff struck the ground and its carven tip flared as though eager to shed blood.
Piro's stomach cramped.
'No.' Palatyne seemed to be enjoying himself now. 'The Bastard's son can prove his worth.'
Cobalt took a step back from the overlord, which took him closer to the queen, who was right behind him. Piro noticed how her old nurse's hand rested lightly on her waist where Seela kept her dagger hidden. No one would expect death from a plump, silver-haired old woman but Piro had seen Seela use that knife to kill Cobalt's spy only a couple of days ago. Pride filled Piro, then her spirits plunged, for in a few heartbeats her mother and nurse would both be dead.
The very intensity of her gaze must have alerted Seela, for the old woman's eyes lifted as she looked through the forest of columns, up to the mezzanine floor. The nurse was not fooled by Piro's cloak. She went very still, then her hand dropped from her waist and she took a step back from the queen, abandoning Piro's mother to her fate.
'Well, lord protector of the castle?' Palatyne mocked Cobalt.
'Let me save you from this dilemma, Illien!' The queen sprang forwards, drawing Cobalt's own sword before he could react.
Piro's heart leapt. Here was a chance to run Palatyne through. Destroy the head and the body would fall, leaving the Merofynian army leaderless.
'Death to betrayers!' the queen cried, swinging the blade in an arc that was aimed to cut through the side lacings of Cobalt's chest plate, driving deep into his heart and lungs. But before it could drive home Cobalt reacted.
Though he was only half-turned towards her, he leapt, cat-light, out of her strike path. The queen let the sword's momentum carry her around in a circle, springing forwards and bringing the blade down in a diagonal blow that would have severed his head from his shoulders had he not darted sideways again.
The blow took him on the shoulder joint of his armour, slicing clean through, severing his arm. Stunned, he stood there, blood pumping from the stump. The queen continued the arc of the strike, bringing the great sword around for the killing blow.