Jakulos shook his head. 'Tell you what, if the boat sinks, hold onto me. I'll keep you afloat.'
The big sailor looked so pleased, Fyn didn't have the heart to point out that he had parted with good silver on the strength of an unknown midwife's word.
'Go on, pour the wine.' Jakulos gestured to Bantam. 'Guess what? Palatyne's been made a Duke.'
'You don't say?' Bantam muttered. 'That jumped up spar warlord?'
A roaring filled Fyn's head. To think, the man who had murdered his family had been rewarded with a dukedom.
Jakulos nodded. 'When I left Merofynia six summers ago, there were rumours about the warlord from Amfina, as he was known in those days.' He grimaced. 'Never thought to see Palatyne made a duke.'
There was a knock at the door as the serving boy delivered their evening meal. And a fine meal it was too. If Fyn hadn't been eaten up with outrage and the need to get home he would have been enjoying himself.
He glanced out the window behind Bantam. The last rays of the setting sun picked out the tip of Mage Tower, making the white stone glow salmon-pink. He'd had time to think over what the sea-hounds' captain had said. Nefysto was right. Byren needed allies, strong allies, and the elector was no use to him.
But a renegade Power-worker like the mage?
Since arriving in Ostron Isle the arguments had gone around and around in Fyn's head until he was dizzy. Having Affinity of his own meant he was open to those who used Affinity for evil purposes. But he had been abbey-trained, and knew the wards to protect himself. He was ideally suited to meeting the mage and at least sounding him out.
But it would depend on what the mage wanted — no one offered an alliance without asking for something in return. Fyn could always refuse and walk away. He'd be no worse off than he was now.
And there it was. He'd decided to go against the teachings of Halcyon Abbey and seek out Mage Tsulamyth. Nefysto had been right, a desperate man couldn't afford to be picky. Besides, forewarned was forearmed.
'Another hand of cards before dinner?' Bantam asked.
'Food,' Jakulos said, the same as he'd done every night.
They laughed.
If there was a way to leave without killing at least one of these two, Fyn had yet to find it.
'Byren?' Orrade met his eyes across the fire circle, his mouth grim.
Rather than leap up and worry the others, Byren said, 'Watch this, Orrie. Go on, Vadik.'
The boy beamed and did the dancing-coin trick, running the coin over the fingers of his left hand, as if he'd been born left-handed.
Orrade laughed and clapped.
'My best student,' the player said. He'd been teaching all the maimed his tricks, to train their minds and coordinate their fingers.
Byren clapped his hand on the lad's shoulder then stood, wandering outside with Orrade. After their talk last night, he had barely seen his friend that day and now it was dark.
When they stood under the stars, out of hearing distance of those in the cave, Orrade turned to face him, voice low and tight. 'Word's come of a large force of Merofynians camped in the burnt-out remains of Waterford. Either the raid gave us away or they've had a tip-off.'
'Bound to happen eventually.'
'You can't wait for Fyn any longer.'
Byren nodded, mind racing. The last of the monks had reached them. Twenty-two of them boys under sixteen. He didn't want to send children into war. Neither did he want to appear before Warlord Feid as a supplicant, but he had no choice. 'With so many elderly and children, we can't travel fast.'
'There's no cloud cover to cloak the starlight. Send them over the Divide tonight with an escort. Keep your best warriors here. Buy time.'
Byren nodded, not happy with sacrificing his best to save non-combatants. But what kind of a leader would he be, if he left the defenceless behind?
'I know,' Orrade began. 'I'll take a dozen, lay a false trail and lure the Merofynians away. Maybe I can take out a few stragglers, make them suspicious of an ambush.' He grinned. 'That should hold them up for a day or two.'
Byren didn't want to put Orrade in danger so he didn't agree to, or refuse, his friend's plan. Instead he played for time, hoping something would come to him. 'Let the camp know. Oh, and Orrie, tell Florin I'm relying on her.'
In no time at all the camp was abuzz with movement. Since most people had carried their belongings on their backs, there was not much to pack. Adults hurried about, efficient and focused, while small children darted round them, excited for now. Soon they would be tired and grumpy.
Byren watched the proceedings. He had to leave the horses behind, turning them loose to fend for themselves. He regretted this, fearing Cobalt's men would recapture the animals and use them against him. There was an alternative, but it went against the grain to order the killing of good animals just to prevent them from falling into the enemy's hands.
Lence and his father might have done it, but not him.
Again the old seer's words came back to Byren. And he'd thought it simple to tell right from wrong.
As the last of Halcyon's monks shouldered their packs and buried the hot coals of their cooking fires, Byren wondered if he had what it took to be a leader in these desperate times. Was he ruthless enough?
Coming around the bend from the cave his honour guard shared, Byren met up with Florin on her way down, her travelling bag slung across her shoulders. There was a smudge of soot on one side of her nose. He wondered if he should tell her.
'Nearly ready to go?' he asked.
'Aye. You know the way as far as the big boulders.' She pulled several pieces of charcoal from her pocket with blackened fingers. That explained her nose. 'After those stones, I'll mark the trail so you can find it. Be sure to obscure the marks as you pass.'
He nodded. He wanted to take her chin in his hand and clean off her nose. But the very fact that he wanted to, meant he couldn't. 'There's a smudge on your nose.'
'Oh.' She hitched the sleeve of her jerkin over the heel of her hand and rubbed at her nose, then tilted her face for his scrutiny. 'Did I get it?'
'Yes.' He was right. She felt nothing for him and it caused him a wry pang, because so many girls in the past had been quick to lift their skirts and profess undying love, and he had accepted it as his due. That was before he realised how much Elina meant to him. Come to think of it, how could he even feel this way about Florin, when Elina was dead? He cleared his throat. 'Take care, Mountain-girl, I'm relying on you.'
'Eh, Da will be bringing up the rear. We'll be fine. It's you that has the dangerous job.'
He shrugged this off, thinking there had to be a way he could circumvent Orrade's plan. His best friend didn't know the secret way over the mountains. He'd be trapped on this side, forced to play cat-and-mouse with Cobalt until Byren returned with the warlords.
'I'm off then.' Florin left him. Not long after that, she led the way out of camp with Leif, the elderly, nursing mothers and children following. They were escorted by the majority of the able-bodied men. The path was narrow and they had to go in single file, so it was late by the time the last of them went. Luckily, it was a clear night. Above them a sky of blazing stars cast shadows on the silvered snow.
That left Byren with Orrade, his four honour guard and the mystics master plus a handful of battle-hardened monks. Byren looked around for the mystic.
'Where's Catillum?' Byren asked one of the monks.
'He and Orrade went to check the approaches.'
Byren nodded and headed down to the lookout, where he found the mystics master lying on his belly alongside Orrade as they both peered out over a cliff. Something about their concentration and stillness warned Byren. He crawled up to them, keeping low so as to present no silhouette.
'What is it?'