Time to join them and slip quietly into the background. Byren checked the edge on his hunting knife and slid it into its sheath. In the early days of father's reign it was customary to go armed at all times, but his father had forbidden the wearing of even ceremonial swords in the castle during celebrations. Too many duels between hot-headed warriors had resulted in deaths and blood feuds.
Byren turned to go outside.
The village's head couple stood in the doorway.
'Byren Rolen Kingson,' the old man said, giving a jerky bob of his head. His wife followed suit. 'We've come about Unistag Spar. My wife's cousin lives over the Divide on Foenix Spar and — '
'Unistag raiders have attacked her village three times this winter, took their store of winter grain and all the marriageable girls,' the wife interrupted indignantly. 'And I want to know what King Rolen's going to do about it.'
The husband sent Byren an apologetic look. Strictly speaking, this wasn't King Rolen's responsibility. The spars were ruled by petty princelings, warlords, who held power by hereditary right, enforced with the sword.
Byren knew what his father would say. In fact, it wasn't his place to take this to his father. He glanced past them to the campfire and Lence.
The old man took in the direction of his gaze. 'We came to you because you killed the leogryf.'
Byren was beginning to wish he hadn't.
'And it's no good saying my cousin should go to the Foenix warlord for help,' the old woman said, as if in answer to something Byren had said. 'Because there's no point their warlord protesting to the Unistag warlord. The warlord of Unistag is so frail he won't see spring. His heirs are fighting over who will wear his helm. Meanwhile their warriors, greedy for grain and glory, are raiding Foenix Spar.'
Byren nodded. Rolencia's spies had reported this. 'Look, I'll mention it to the king, but I can't promise anything.'
They nodded.
He grinned. 'You could always suggest your cousin move over the Divide into Rolencia. Nowhere's safer!' Even Merofynia had been rocked by civil war when his mother's younger brother died and more recently the Merofynian spars' warlords had fought a series of bitter battles.
'See,' the old woman said. 'The kingson agrees with me.'
Thanking him, the old man backed out, drawing his wife with him. Byren headed towards the feasting fire. The change of warlord on Unistag Spar could mean trouble for Rolencia. A young, ambitious man would set out to impress his followers and that could mean raids on the Rolencian valley people as well as other spars.
He felt a surge of purpose solidify. It looked like he'd be busy this spring. If Lence led the fleet against the Utland raiders, Byren would have to contain the spars. The warlord of Unistag Spar wasn't the only warlord testing King Rolen's strength. That reminded him, he must tell his father about the raiders he'd seen skating across the valley.
Before approaching the feasting fire, Byren slipped around the far end of the hall to relieve himself, his hot stream cutting a channel in the snow.
'You and Lence used to try to write your names in the snow but you'd always run out,' Cobalt said as he joined him, unlacing his breeches one-handed.
Byren laughed as he laced up. 'And we only had to write five letters!'
'Well, you were just lads of six or seven at the time.' Cobalt finished, managing to refasten his breeches despite his injured arm.
'Eh, Illien?' Byren felt he had started on the wrong foot with him because of the trouble with Orrade. 'I'm sorry to hear about your father and your — '
'Yes.' Cobalt cut him off. In the brilliant starlight his face creased into a grim smile. 'I used to dream of the day I'd return with a shipload of Ostronite treasure to lay at my father's feet. But when I did, it killed him.' He saw Byren did not understand. 'I was bringing my bride and a king's ransom of jewels home to Cobalt estate. In thirteen years I'd done well and married well and I was proud of it. I wanted to show my father that he had misjudged me so I converted my assets to jewels, portable wealth. But the raiders must have had a spy on Ostron Isle, because they knew. They demanded the jewel chest.'
Byren frowned. Raiders attacked the spars and the merchant ships. If they captured someone important they'd usually hold them to ransom, not murder them. The old lord had been unlucky. And, as for Cobalt's wife… raiders were always stealing girls and young women. Life was hard on the Utlands, women were precious. 'You were unlucky, Illien, that's all.'
'I believe we make our own luck,' he said. 'As you did today. You did well tackling that leogryf, Byren. Your bravery has inspired — '
'What else could I do? I couldn't let the beastie make a meal of Lence.'
Cobalt studied him. It was hard to read his expression in the starlight. He lifted his good hand to rest on Byren's shoulder, had to raise his chin only slightly to meet Byren's eyes, reminding him that the blood of King Rolence the First ran true in both of them. 'Lence is lucky to have you.'
Byren shrugged this aside. Singing from the feast fire carried on the still, cold air. The scent of roasting mutton made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.
'Some say it's a pity only seven minutes stands between you and the throne,' Cobalt remarked softly.
Byren stepped back so that Cobalt's arm dropped between them. 'I don't want — '
'Like I said. Lence is lucky to have you,' Cobalt cut him off and Byren thought he must have misinterpreted the comment. This was confirmed when Cobalt continued. 'Especially with the unrest in Merofynia. When he marries Isolt — '
'He told you about that?' The official announcement would be made Midwinter's Day.
'No, King Rolen told me.'
'Father?'
'I spoke briefly with him before we rode out, remember. I carried a message from the Elector of Ostron Isle.'
'You're that close to the elector?'
'My bride is… was his niece.'
'Ah, I'm sorry.' Byren realised he knew nothing about his cousin.
The level of good-natured revelry from the feasting fire rose another notch as two merchant sons raced to drain their tankards to the encouragement of the men. Most of them would be too drunk to stagger to bed tonight. Byren winced. He had a suspicion Rolenhold's court would appear uncouth to his cousin after Ostron Isle.
'The elector wanted your father to know that Warlord Palatyne has become overlord of all the Merofynian spars and King Merofyn has recognised his authority.'
'He never!' Byren insisted, then digested this in silence. After the last poisoning attempt the Merofynian king had never really recovered. The warlords, sensing weakness, had tried to snatch Merofynia. His father's spies had reported that Palatyne was the most powerful of them but… 'So this Palatyne succeeded in defeating the other warlords?'
'And he has half the lords of Merofynia on his side.' Cobalt hesitated, then went on as if deciding Byren was ready to hear this. 'If your brother marries Isolt he'll have to watch Overlord Palatyne. Or maybe he'll send you to Merofynia to keep Palatyne and the rest of the lords in line.'
'But King Merofyn — '
'Is old and frail. He's a spent force. The people are fed up with his taxes and his religious oppression. Meanwhile, Palatyne swaggers around Port Mero, king in all but name.'
Byren said nothing. This did not bode well for his twin.
Cobalt slid his good arm around Byren's shoulders and turned him towards the feasting fire. 'So, Lence is lucky he has you.'
As they approached the others Garzik saw them coming and darted over to Byren, drawing two youths with him.
'Woodend and Highfield want to join your honour guard, Byren,' Garzik beamed.
Both boys — sons of merchants — nodded eagerly and dropped to their knees, offering their swords before he could say anything. He wouldn't have been human if he wasn't pleased to have won their admiration. Byren grinned and the two youths promptly placed their hands over their hearts and began to swear the oath.