The King's bastard cokrk-1 Read online

  Byren sought Blackwing's eyes, hoping the experienced campaigner could offer him some hope, but there was only sympathy in his gaze. Byren felt sick to his stomach.

  Garzik's face went white. 'What will Father say?'

  'He'll say he's glad his son's not dead!' Captain Blackwing told them. 'Then he'll call for his healer. Prepare some hot food, Garza.'

  While the lad built a cooking fire, Blackwing took Byren aside. He glanced to the Dovecote brothers, who were crouched by the fire adding chunks of salted meat and spices to the pot. 'I can send a couple of men back with you — '

  'You'll need every man you have until you get to the village. Garza and I can manage, we're heading away from danger.'

  'Hmmm.' Blackwing considered this. 'We're not far from the Ridgetop Farm. They can loan you a horse and sled — '

  'I can skate. I'm not useless.' Orrade raised his voice. 'If Byren leads me, I can skate.'

  'Of course you can,' Byren said. He and Blackwing exchanged looks. 'Can we borrow skates from you?'

  The canals followed the lie of the land, weaving through the valleys. In midwinter, they formed frozen roads between the major settlements.

  'Certainly.' Blackwing studied Orrade, who had to feel around to find wood to feed the fire. The captain lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Are you sure you can manage, kingson?'

  'We'll tie him between us.' Byren said. 'He'll be fine.'

  And he was, for a while. They travelled overland, reaching Topaz Lake in the hour before dawn, and strapped on their skates. Fortunately for Byren, they were basic skates — a bladed sole, with straps — so he could tie them around his large boots. From Topaz they followed the shoreline, skating northeast to reach the canals, and wended their way south to Dovecote stronghold.

  They were skating three across when Orrade lost his balance. He sprawled on his belly, taking them with him. They laughed and lay there panting on the ice which reflected the brilliant stars. Then Byren realised Orrade was the only one not laughing.

  'You all right, Orrie?' he asked, scrambling over to him.

  'Sorry.' His friend struggled to sit up. 'It's my head… thumping fit to burst.'

  'Can you keep going?' Byren asked.

  'Of course I can. I'd do anything for a warm bath and bed,' Orrade said, but his smile was strained.

  Byren hauled him upright and they skated on.

  The second time Orrade fell, skidding full length on the ice, Byren slewed his skates side-on and came to a stop before he was jerked off his feet. Garzik did likewise, looking to Byren.

  'We can build a sled and pull him,' Byren answered his unspoken question.

  When they bent to help Orrade, he reared up on his knees like a startled deer. 'Quick, off the canal. They're almost upon us!'

  The panic in his voice made Byren spin around. He saw no one on the lake, but a bend obscured his view along the shore.

  'Hide!' Orrade lunged, his movements taking him towards the bank by chance.

  'What — ' Garzik began.

  'Help him,' Byren urged.

  They guided Orrade to the bank, but that wasn't enough. He began to climb it. 'We have to get out of sight, over the lip and lie in the snow.'

  'Why?' Garzik muttered.

  Then Byren heard the unmistakable, almost silent scissoring sound of many skate blades on ice. He ploughed up the slope, dragging Orrade with him. They rolled over the lip of the bank, lying flat on the snow with Garzik between them.

  Peering over the lip, Byren watched a band of thirty silent, armed warriors surge around the bend. They were travelling so fast that they went past in a matter of heartbeats, which was lucky because the frantic scramble up the slope had left tracks that led right to where Byren and the others hid.

  'Raiders, but which warlord sent them?' Garzik muttered in the silence left by their passage. 'Rejulas of Cockatrice Spar is closest, yet they did not wear cockatrice cloaks or carry his symbol.'

  'True, and why would he send a raiding party over the pass into Rolencia's valley when he could attack the easier prey in the high villages?' Byren wondered aloud. There were other reasons why Rejulas would not attack which he could not share with his friends just yet. 'Why travel at night in total silence when a raid is meant to be noisy and frightening?'

  'Because this is no ordinary raid?' Garzik guessed. 'I wonder where they were going?'

  'Or coming from. This close to dawn they should be headed back over the Divide.' Byren whispered slowly. 'Orrie. What do you…'

  He broke off. Garzik lifted onto his elbows as they both stared at Orrade's ominously still body.

  'Orrie?' Byren rolled his friend onto his back and tore off his glove to check Orrade's pulse. It beat steadily under the pad of his fingers. 'Out cold again.'

  'He saved our lives. They would have killed us quick as look at us,' Garzik whispered. 'How did he know they were coming?'

  How indeed?

  'Must have felt the vibration when he hit the ice,' Byren guessed.

  Garzik nodded slowly, accepting this.

  But Byren was not so sure. He feared Orrade's prescience was a by-product of the old seer's healing. Had his friend lost his sight only to gain Affinity sight?

  Never trust untamed Affinity, the old saying came back to taunt him.

  'Come on, Garza, I'll carry him on my back. He can't spend another night in the cold.' If they skated all day they'd reach Dovecote stronghold by early evening.

  But Byren didn't need to carry him. Orrade recovered as Byren hauled him down the slope. Though groggy, he was able to skate, so they went on.

  All day, as they passed gaps in the snow-shrouded evergreens, they caught glimpses of the distant warning tower, tallest of Dovecote's old stronghold towers. Built on the outcrop of a defensible ridge, Dovecote Keep protected the lands within a day's hard ride as well as the pass to Cockatrice Spar.

  Anticipating the old lord and Elina's reaction, Byren was feeling the strain by the time they reached Doveton. Little more than a village, it was built at the base of the ridge next to a small lake which was linked by canals to the major lakes. Everyone had retired for the night. The Old Dove did not approve of drunkenness and loose morals so their one tavern was already closed. There was no locked gate to stop Byren entering the single main street. Unlike the fortified farmhouses this village did not have high walls and gates. The people expected to have enough warning to take shelter in Dovecote Keep.

  'Doveton looks deserted. Half the houses have no lights in the windows,' Byren observed, slinging his borrowed skates over his shoulders.

  'That's because most of the young people have gone to Rolenton and Port Marchand to make their fortunes,' Garzik said.

  'And to get away from father's dour rule,' Orrade muttered. Now nearly eighty, the Old Dove had been a contemporary of King Byren the Fourth. He'd outlived two wives and four sons. All his hopes rested on his heir, Orrade. Byren felt the weight of this.

  'Come on,' Orrade muttered. 'Might as well get this over with.'

  Garzik looked to Byren but there was nothing he could say so they trudged up the slope towards the lights of New Dovecote. Old Dovecote had been built and added to over the three hundred years since King Rolence united the valley people. It was dark and draughty and the plumbing was terrible.

  Since the peace with Merofynia the great lords had all built themselves modern residences and Lord Dovecote was no exception. New Dovecote sprawled on the ridge below the old stronghold. With its large windows, parquetry floors, gracious rooms and hot running water from cisterns on each floor, it was considered as fine as any Merofynian palace.

  The original dovecote, which the estate had been named after, had been moved into the new great hall. Its ornate cage boasted doves bred for their beauty. Their frothy tails and plumes made them works of art. From New Dovecote's great hall double doors overlooked a terrace. On a fine day you could see Rolenhold. In pride of place two great royal foenix bronzes stood guard, one to each side of the doors. They'd b
een gifted to Lord Dovecote by King Byren the Fourth, in gratitude for his support quelling the spar warlords' uprising fifty years ago.

  New Dovecote was not defensible but the old lord had maintained his original stronghold so that the family, their retainers and the townsfolk could all retreat to it if threatened.

  Usually Byren would have gone around the back to the courtyard and entered through the kitchen. This place had been a second home to him while he was growing up. Tonight he headed straight for the double doors, too exhausted to delay. As they stepped onto the terrace he noticed the glow of a lamp in the window of Elina's ground-floor study. On second thoughts, he did not want to rouse the servants to answer the main doors. The commotion would drag the frail old lord out of bed and might trigger another brain spasm. Last spring the Old Dove had suffered a spasm which left one side of his face and his left arm useless. Elina could let them in and she would know how to handle her father.

  'Wait here.' Byren went over to the window and peered in. There she was, poring over the papers spread across her cedar desk, imported from Ostron Isle. Either she was checking the estate's accounts, or she was writing the history of the last Merofynian War. Byren had no trouble admitting Elina's scholarship surpassed his.

  Her midnight hair and moon-pale skin gleamed in the lamplight. She was beautiful, with her wide cheekbones and tilted black eyes, but it was her expression of intense concentration that made Byren smile. He pulled off his glove and tapped his nails on the nearest square pane.

  Elina looked up, frowning, then smiled and pushed back her chair, running over to unlatch the window.

  Byren stepped back as it swung open, then he stepped in towards her as a rush of warm air caressed his face.

  'Byren? What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you until the midwinter ceremony.'

  He smiled despite himself, then sobered. 'I've bad news, Lina. Orrie's been hurt.'

  She glanced past him to her brothers standing on the terrace. The taller leaned on the shorter. 'He's walking. Can't be too bad. Come around to the stable yard door.'

  Without giving Byren a chance to explain, she swung the window shut, latched it and ran off taking the lamp with her.

  Byren returned to the others. 'Elina's going to let us in the stable yard door. Don't want to give your father a shock.'

  Orrade and Garzik nodded. They went along the terrace which wrapped around the building. At the rear, modern stables had been built to house the Old Dove's prize horses. A much-used door opened from the house to the stable yards and it swung open now as Elina appeared with a lamp turned down low.

  'Come in, quickly. I'll clean Orrie up and see if we need to wake the healer. Better come up to my chamber.'

  She ushered them in, leading the way through the storage rooms and into the kitchen where half a dozen kitchen children, no older than ten, slept in a huddle in front of the ovens.

  Lifting one finger to her lips she beckoned Byren and her brothers.

  One child raised his head, a sleepy query on his lips.

  'It's nothing, Rifkin, go back to sleep,' she told him.

  Without waiting to see if Byren and the others followed, she slipped out of the kitchen and into the corridor which led to the public rooms.

  This end of the building housed the library and music room, both Merofynian affectations. The family's bed chambers were on the floor above and servants slept in the attics. Elina headed straight for the private family stairs.

  They had just reached the halfway landing when they met with the Old Dove coming down in his night shirt with a single candle.

  'F-father,' Elina greeted him.

  Chapter Three

  The fierce old lord raised his candle, straining to identify them with his failing sight.

  'I see my wild boy's hurt himself.' Lord Dovecote spoke slowly to conquer the slight slurring caused by the brain spasm which had slowed him down, though no one could say he had lost his wits. 'What have you been up to, Orrie? And you, Byren. I suppose you and Lence are to blame for this. As for you, Garza, I seem to recall sending you off under Captain Blackwing's care. What're you doing back already? No ulfr pelts?'

  'We found the pack attacking Byren and Orrade,' Garzik explained. 'If we hadn't — '

  'Stories later,' Elina announced firmly, reminding Byren of the Old Dove. She glided up the stairs to take her father's arm. 'Orrade's bumped his head, father. I'm just going to clean — '

  'I'm blind,' Orrade announced in a flat voice.

  The good side of the old lord's face drooped to match the paralysed side.

  'What?' Elina whispered, then rallied. 'I'll send for the healer, she — '

  'There's nothing she can do, Elina. I'm blind,' Orrade snapped.

  Elina ran down the two steps to search his eyes for any sign of response and, finding none, sent a stricken look to Byren. His heart contracted.

  Her gaze returned to her brother. 'Oh, Orrie…'

  'Blind?' Lord Dovecote echoed, coming down the steps.

  Orrade looked towards the sound of his father's voice. 'I took a blow to the head. I've been like this since I woke up.'

  Lord Dovecote's step faltered and he almost stumbled. Byren grabbed his arm and felt him tremble with shock. Garzik ran to take his father's other arm. For once the fierce old man did not brush them off.

  'We can have Willowtea take a look. Can't we, father? She's an excellent healer,' Elina insisted, her tone bracing. 'Come, Orrie, let me clean you up.'

  Orrade held out his hand. 'You'll have to lead me.'

  Elina caught Orrade's hand in her own and led him up the steps. Byren followed slowly. Lord Dovecote gripped his arm as he mount the steps, his age suddenly showing.

  'I'm sorry, grandfather.' the term was an honorific. 'He nearly died. I just wanted to get him home.'

  Lord Dovecote squeezed his arm. 'Garzik, go fetch the nun. We'll be in your brother's room.'

  He nodded and ran off.

  'So Willowtea's still dispensing infusions?' Byren asked.

  The old lord nodded. An estate the size of Dovecote could have had a healer from both abbeys, just as they could have had two Affinity warders, but their healing monk had died of old age two years ago and Lord Dovecote hadn't asked for a replacement. Byren suspected he was comfortable with nun Willowtea, who was almost as old as him, and couldn't be bothered with an ambitious young monk.

  Elina bustled about the chamber, lighting lamps, sending Byren to fetch hot water from the spigot at the end of the hall. When he returned, she had settled Orrade in the chair by the fire and unwound Byren's hasty bandage

  The sight of the ugly wound made Elina wince, but she began to sponge the blood from around it, picking long strands of matted hair out of the way.

  She had cleaned the area by the time the healer arrived. Byren watched the old nun check the wound, then test Orrade's sight by holding a candle in front of him, trying to detect movement or response to light.

  One of Sylion's nuns, the healer had been with the family since the lord brought home his first wife. Willowtea had helped with the births of their four children, seen them through their childhood illnesses, then laid out their crushed bodies when three of the sons were returned from the battlefield. The eldest, who had been executed as a Servant of Palos, had been buried in an unmarked grave. When the old lord's second wife had died giving birth to Garzik, Willowtea had laid out her body. And now, after examining Orrade, there were tears in her eyes as she put the candle down, turning to them.

  'You have Affinity, Willowtea, is there anything you can do?' Lord Dovecote asked.

  'I can hasten healing, my lord, but I cannot change what will be,' Willowtea whispered. 'We will have to wait and see. He's been in contact with something odd — '

  'Untamed Affinity,' Byren explained quickly. He didn't want to admit he'd pleaded with a renegade Power-worker to save Orrade's life. He would be tainted by association. 'There's a fresh seep up near the new tin mine.'

  'That's th
e third in less than a year,' Elina whispered. 'The last time so many new seeps occurred was the summer the Servants of Palos tried to assassinate King Byren the Fourth.'

  There was a moment's charged silence.

  'Aye, seeps sprouted like sores on a diseased body that summer,' Willowtea whispered, then gave herself a shake and turned to Byren. 'So you stumbled into one?'

  'While hunting a lincis. The seep was what attracted the ulfr pack down from the Divide.' Byren swung to face the old lord. 'That's where Captain Blackwing is, in the foothills, hunting down the pack.'

  'Now is not the time for tales of hunting,' Elina announced. 'We need to get a clean bandage on Orrie and put him to bed.'

  'What about some food? I'm starving,' Orrade insisted. 'I'm blind, not dead you know.'

  Elina gave an unsteady laugh and glanced to the healer, who nodded.

  'Garzik and I will raid the pantry,' Byren offered, hungry despite everything.

  Twenty minutes later, he and Garzik came back upstairs with a plate of cold meat, cheese and a slice of fresh-baked apple pie for Orrade.

  They found Elina sitting with him, a shawl around her shoulders. 'Father and Willowtea have gone to bed. I said I'd wait up with him.'

  Byren put the tray on the chest next to Orrade's bed. 'Cold food but fresh.'

  'I'm not complaining.' Orrade's fingers sought the plate. Byren had to stop himself from offering to help. No one spoke as Orrade found a slice of lamb roast and lifted it to his mouth.

  'I'll sleep in here tonight,' Garzik announced. 'Orrie won't want his sister waiting on him.'

  Elina smiled, then leant over the bed to brush her lips on Orrade's forehead. 'I'll be in first thing tomorrow.'

  He nodded, feeling for the right end of the knife to cut the cheese. Byren found it painful to watch. He should have thought ahead and chopped it up. Not that Orrade would thank him for that.

  'Sleep well, Orrie.' Byren opened the door for Elina and walked out into the hall with her. 'Where are the upstairs servants?'

  'The old ones are asleep in the attics.' Elina's dark eyes twinkled, reflecting the candlelight. 'They snore so badly we do without their services in our bed chambers. As for the young ones…' Colour crept up her cheeks. 'Father has been laying down the law, saying who can marry who, that sort of thing. Why would they stay when they know they can work for wealthy merchant families who won't interfere with their lives and pay them twice as much?'