'What decree is this?' Orrade asked.
'Lord Dovecote.' The player acknowledged his rank with a nod. 'It was all over Rolenton. I'm surprised you haven't heard.'
Orrade made no answer.
The player's tone, when he continued, said that he was only repeating what he had heard. 'Regent Cobalt announced that Queen Myrella had untamed Affinity. According to Rolencian law this annuls her marriage to King Rolen, making their children illegitimate. Since Cobalt is the son of King Rolen's older illegitimate brother, this makes his claim to the throne as good as, if not better than, Byren Kingsheir's claim.'
'A lie. A scurrilous lie,' Winterfall insisted. 'If you'd heard the things Cobalt said, the way he twisted words to serve him, you'd — '
'Enough.' Orrade held up a hand. Byren could hear the annoyance in his voice. 'Since Queen Myrella, may Halcyon shelter her, was murdered by Cobalt at Overlord Palatyne's orders, she can't defend herself. And I don't think I'd trust anything Cobalt said. Not when it favours him. Come on, Winterfall, back to weapons practice.'
Orrade led Byren's honour guard off, while Byren held back, cursing Cobalt under his breath. Trust his cousin to muddy the waters. Fancy accusing his mother of untamed Affinity — if ever there was a dutiful daughter and loving wife, it was Queen Myrella.
Later that afternoon, Byren was walking the camp when he heard Old Man Narrows' bellow. As the tradepost keeper had taken the maimed aside to begin training, Byren was curious. He left the track, following the sounds to the hollow where they trained, well apart from the others.
Careful to present no silhouette against the sky, Byren stretched out on a rock scoured clean of snow and watched the clearing below where half a dozen youths watched Old Man Narrows. He held a wooden sword and faced Florin, who was half a head taller. She met his blows with a wooden sword of her own. While she had the advantage of youth, agility and reach, he had experience and formidable strength.
'See, a left-handed man has an advantage against a right-handed warrior, who has only ever fought with a right-handed opponent.' Narrows grunted between blows. 'He won't be expecting attack from this quarter.'
Florin obligingly left her guard down on that side and took a blow to the ribs. Byren could hear the impact of the flat of the sword from up here.
'Now, who wants to have a go? Don't be rough on her, she's only a girl.'
Florin grinned.
One or two of the youths lifted their wooden swords.
That was another thing. Their weaponry consisted of anything they could scrounge, from weapons used in the war thirty years ago, to farmyard implements. Byren didn't have enough swords to arm the warriors Orrade was training, let alone the maimed.
'Come on,' Old Man Narrows urged. 'I'll tell her to go easy on yer.'
They laughed.
'It looks like I'm first,' the player said, stepping forwards. He moved lightly on the packed snow.
Florin nodded and waited.
His first blow was careful, testing his strength and speed, or perhaps testing hers.
Byren frowned as he watched the player deliver his strikes. The man was a dancer. A trickster.
As the player improved, the other maimed warriors straightened up and began calling encouragement. With a feint, the player distracted Florin, swung a leg behind her knee and tripped her.
The maimed cheered as she went down.
She sprang up, ready for more, but Old Man Narrows waved her back.
'Now see that?' His deep voice carried easily to Byren. 'This battle will be nasty. Take every opportunity your enemy gives you. Trip him and run him through, if you can. He'll be underestimating you, because you're one-handed. Use that to your advantage.'
They nodded, looking earnest and eager.
'Right, who's next?' Not waiting for a response he chose the butcher and the scribe, setting one against Florin and one against himself.
Byren slid off his perch and wended his way down to the hollow, coming up beside the player, who stood on the far side of the clearing.
For a few heartbeats, they observed Old Man Narrows and Florin deflect clumsy if enthusiastic blows.
'When are you going to tell them you're left-handed?' Byren asked the player softly.
He grinned and winked. 'No need. Just as there was no need to tell the Merofynians.' He shrugged and nodded to the youths. 'Besides, they need to be inspired.'
'You're not wrong there.'
The others parted and Byren stepped in to offer a word or two of encouragement, before Old Man Narrows called up two more, leaving Vadik for last.
Byren joined the boy, wishing his new-found Affinity could heal wounds other than his own. And he wasn't even sure if it could do that, as it seemed to be tied in with the ulfr pack. 'Show me that stump.'
Vadik complied without hesitation. It was an affront to see a stump where a perfectly good hand had once been, but at least it wasn't enflamed.
'A good clean wound,' Byren told him. 'No more slacking. Get to work.'
Vadik grinned and Byren turned away to hide his pain.
Chapter Six
Piro had endured several miserable days serving Isolt Kingsdaughter as her unwanted, ignored slave. She tried to make herself useful, but the kingsdaughter had a servant for everything.
Every day more ships arrived from Rolencia laden with treasures stolen from her people. Greed rode the city, as wealth was flaunted and gifts exchanged. The greater the gift, the greater the giver. Then, this morning, Duke Palatyne announced he had a special gift for the king.
So the whole court gathered before the evening feast to see this new marvel. Piro looked for Dunstany, but he wasn't present. She hadn't seen him since that first night and she was surprised by the depth of her disappointment.
Standing behind Isolt's chair, Piro watched as Palatyne's men wheeled in two objects covered by cloth. From their size and shape she knew what they were, and she ground her teeth in impotent fury.
'My king, I bring you a most unusual gift.' Palatyne clearly enjoyed the attention. 'Creatures so cunningly preserved they look as if they could spring to life!'
With a flourish he pulled off the cloths to reveal King Rolen's stuffed wyvern and foenix. The courtiers gasped and clapped.
Piro schooled her face to betray nothing.
A small cold hand closed on her wrist. 'You were not surprised by the duke's gifts, Seela. Why?'
Piro hid her dismay. These last few days had taught her one thing. Isolt was much cleverer than anyone gave her credit for.
'I used to dust them in King Rolen's trophy chamber,' Piro improvised.
The answer satisfied Isolt.
The old king clutched the arms of his chair. 'They are dead, you say?'
'Couldn't be deader, though cleverly lifelike!' Palatyne assured him.
The king stood and walked around the table, but he did not approach the creatures.
'Touch the wyvern, Palatyne. Put your hand in its open mouth,' King Merofyn commanded, voice thin.
His order made no sense to Piro. Although she wasn't supposed to be able to understand Merofynian, the king's fear was clear from his stance, so she asked, 'Why does the king fear a dead wyvern?'
At first she thought Isolt would not reply. Then she sighed and whispered. 'When he was a boy, Father was almost killed by a pet wyvern. His father had all the wyverns on the estate killed.'
While she spoke, the duke placed his hand in the beast's mouth with a flourish, then laughed and bowed to his king. Piro thought the bow a very nicely timed insult.
She glanced to Isolt to see if the kingsdaughter had read the same meaning into this. Their eyes met and they shared a moment's perfect understanding. Duke Palatyne definitely held King Merofyn in contempt.
The king stepped nearer and prodded the stuffed wyvern. He and Palatyne began to discuss the creatures. The rest of the courtiers crowded round and even Isolt left her seat, joining the others.