Orrade stared, panting. 'Father…'
'He would've wanted it this way,' Byren said.
Orrade nodded as he brushed tears from his face. 'And Lence?'
'Saved our lives. He's holding them back even now. Come on. Garzik and Winterfall will be waiting at the water-wheel.' He hoped. But he'd sent them to light a beacon which had already been destroyed, if Palatyne could be believed.
As they ran Byren glanced back over his shoulder. Flames leapt from the upper windows of the hall where the hangings had been burning strongly. Byren was not convinced everyone would burn, but the hall would and it would be their warning beacon.
Fierce tears stung his eyes.
Elina would be satisfied.
Chapter Thirty-One
Below them, down around the frozen lake, Doveton burned fiercely. Rejulas's warriors ran about trying to drag friends and mounts from burning buildings. Avoiding the chaos, Byren and Orrade ran parallel to the shore towards the forest. It was a clear night. The stars formed an effervescent froth above them, strong enough to cast shadows on the snow.
They ran until the fires behind them were blotted out by the snow-covered evergreens, until they reached the dark building of the water-wheel, and there they stopped to catch their breath.
'Elina was right behind me,' Orrade panted. 'How — '
'Byren Kingson?' a voice piped up.
'Rifkin?' Byren answered softly.
'We're over here.'
They ran around the far side of the building to find a handful of people huddled near the frozen water-wheel.
'Garzik, are you there? ' Byren called. 'Winterfall?'
'He's not here,' Rifkin said. 'None of them are.'
'Didn't make it down from the tower,' the cook said. 'I waited as long as I could, but the town started burning.'
Orrade dropped to his knees in the snow, dry-retching.
'They may still get away,' little Rifkin insisted.
'Not Garzik, too,' Byren whispered.
The cook looked a question at him.
'Elina…' Byren could not go on.
Rifkin burst into the tears. The cook and her companions wailed, covering their mouths to stifle the sound.
Byren dropped down beside Orrade, one hand going to his back. 'Orrie…'
His friend pushed his hand away, rubbed clean snow on his face and straightened up. Byren stood up, suddenly tired.
The cook wiped her face and retrieved two travelling bags, the occasional sob still escaping her. 'Here's your packs. There's food for several days, some clothes and…' She could not go on.
Byren grunted his thanks, as she shoved the pack into his arms. He noticed two more and felt the loss of Garzik and Elina, sharp as a knife wound.
'We have to get out of here,' the cook said.
She was right. Byren focused. 'Orrie, listen to me. You must lead the servants and townspeople into the Divide. I still have to go the abbey.'
Orrade came to his feet with a nod. He turned to the Cook. 'Go, take the others. I'll catch up.'
She herded them away, taking the two spare packs, symbols of silent accusation. Byren felt sick to his stomach.
Orrade stepped in front of him. 'I'm not like Lence. I'd give my life for you. He betrayed you over and over. How could you compare me to him?'
Byren blinked.
'You said if you'd given up on Lence, you would have given up on me long ago. But I'm not like him. I'd never betray you!'
'He didn't betray me, not in the end.' Byren swallowed. He had proved the seer wrong about that at least. He had not killed his brother. 'Lence held the door so we could get away. He died to save us.'
Orrade said nothing.
'Orrie?' Byren whispered.
Orrade shook his head.
'Lord Dovecote?' the cook called softly as she scurried back. 'Merofynians are coming.'
'I'll be right there.'
'Yes, m'lord.'
Realisation hit Byren. Orrade was Lord of Dovecote now and, as for him, he was kingsheir. If there was anything left after this… if Rolencia survived.
He had to get to the abbey and enlist their aid. Somehow he had to convince his father that Cobalt was a traitor of the worst kind. But all he could think of was how he had alienated his best friend.
'Orrie, I — '
'Go, do what you have to do.' Orrade turned and walked off.
Byren fought the urge to go after him. Instead, he strapped on the skates the cook had provided, silently thanking her foresight.
If he skated night and day without rest, he would be at the abbey in two days and return to Rolenhold two days after that. He had to deliver terrible news. Lence was dead and he was kingsheir, whether he wanted the honour or not. Only by bringing the abbey warriors could Byren convince his father of his loyalty.
He set off.
Acknowledgments
I have been working on The Chronicles of King Rolen's Kin for a long time and many people have helped along the way. I must thank Chris McMahon and Lyn Uhlmann for their feedback, when we used to be the Thursday Critiquers. And I must thank the ROR writing group, Marianne de Pierres, Maxine McArthur, Tansy Rayner Roberts, Margo Lanagan, Trent Jamieson, Richard Harland and Dirk Flinthart for their support and advice. May we have many more ROR weekends of good wine, good food and in-depth writing craft discussion!
I'd like to thank my agent, John Jarrold, for taking a chance on an unknown author from Australia. And I'd like to thank my editor, Jonathan Oliver, for making me look a lot more intelligent and well informed than I really am. And a big thank you to Jennifer Fallon, Trudi Canavan and Karen Miller for their support of a fellow Aussie fantasy author.
And last of all my six children and my husband, for putting up with a mother and a wife who is always writing.
Read the next novel in King Rolen's Kin, the bestselling fantasy series from Rowena Cory Daniells and Solaris Books!