Chapter Eighteen
Piro stood on the gate tower, hands gripping the stone. Smoke rose from the palaces atop Ostron Isle. All night the fighting had raged.
She'd thought it through. The upheavals did not matter to Fyn for, as long as the warlords did not know the elector was dead, the document he carried would still be useful to Byren. And since the heads of Ostron Isle's five great houses would hardly be sending messenger birds to the spars, no profit there, news of the elector's death would have to travel by ship.
The big question was, would the mage be able to convince the next elector to honour the alliance? How long before the fighting settled down and they knew who the new elector was?
No time soon, judging by the way people were still fleeing.
From up here she could see boats laden with families and their possessions fleeing across the Ring Sea to the safety of the outer island.
A child's cries carried to her and she looked back to the inner island. On the low wharf not far from the bridge to Mage Isle a woman was pleading with a captain to let her onto their boat. She carried an infant and its cries were what had attracted Piro. Several more children hung onto her skirts, all looked tired, hungry and dishevelled.
Piro couldn't actually hear the words, but she could read their actions. The captain refused her. No room. The woman climbed wearily back up to the road. Where it met the bridge she hesitated undecided. Obviously she could not go back. One of the small boys climbed onto the bridge's rail and stood there, yelling abuse at the boat that had refused them passage.
Just then a dozen riders, magenta cloaks flapping, rode past at a gallop, heading for Mage Isle. Tyro had been turning them away all night. The mage would not interfere with the five families. They had to choose the next elector. Piro anticipated these men would also be turned away. People scattered to let them pass.
Startled by the horses' clattering hooves, the boy toppled off the bridge, falling into the sea. Only Piro noticed. His mother was too busy with the other children. He bobbed up again but he struggled to keep himself afloat and the current started to take him away from the shore.
Piro looked about. No one had seen. No one else could save him. She darted down the stairs from the tower, onto the wall-walk. As she ran she tore off her over-dress and sprang onto the stone rim. She was a good swimmer. Judging the distance and direction of his drift she dived out and down, dropping two storeys into the sea.
The water was shockingly cold, and deep. She fought her way up, towards the light that danced on the wavelets above. Tossing hair from her face she turned, looking for the boy. From the bridge she saw the mother waving frantically. Alerted by her screams, people on the boats were starting to turn, but they were at the wharf.
Now that the boy realised he was being swept away, he panicked and floundered. Piro struck out for him. Six strong strokes and she was there. Surprisingly strong arms wound around her neck. He clung to her like a limpet, dragging her down. Shivering and sobbing, he coughed up sea water.
She soothed him, treading water until he had calmed enough to follow her instructions, then she turned him about, hooked an arm across his chest and set off for the shore.
The mother had clambered down onto some seaweed-strewn steps by the time Piro reached the stones, and several people helped them out. The woman alternately hugged and scolded the boy, who stood there, miserable and shaking.
Piro brushed the mother's thanks aside.
'I don't know what I'll do. My house has burned down. I've nowhere to go. Two of these children aren't even mine. I found them wandering in the street, after their family was killed.'
'Do you have people on the outer isle?' Piro asked.
'No. I hoped someone would take us in.'
Piro pushed wet hair from her face. 'Come with me.' She scooped up one of the smaller children and marched up to the steps to the road and across the bridge to Mage Isle.
Five warriors in magenta cloaks waited at the gates, their mounts stamping impatiently. Agent Tyro stood on the gate tower, in discussion with their leader.
Piro strode through the men, dripping wet, followed by the children and their mother and more homeless townspeople, who had come to watch.
'Open the gates!' Piro had lost her shoes, or she would have kicked the wood.
The warriors muttered at her effrontery.
Tyro stared down at Piro, looking stunned. 'I can let you in, but not the townspeople, by the mage's orders.'
'By the mage's orders?' Piro was furious. 'My father never turned people away. It is the mage's duty to take these people in and protect them. Let me in and I'll tell him so, if you're afraid to.'
Tyro looked grim. After a moment he said something to the men behind him and turned back to the bridge. 'Stand aside, captain. Mage Tsulamyth offers asylum to the people of Ostron Isle.'
Even as he spoke the gates swung inwards and the soldiers backed their horses with bad grace. The captain shook his fist at Tyro.
'I'll report this to the comtissa!' he roared and rode off.
Piro ignored him and marched onto Mage Isle with a dozen people at her back. By the time Tyro came down the stairs she'd sent the children and their mother to the kitchen and ordered a hot bath run for the half-drowned boy. Word was already spreading back to the crowded wharf.
'The men can bed down in the stables,' Piro told the gate-keeper. 'Women and children can go through to the hall.' She turned and found Tyro beside her. 'If that's all right with you.'
'It's the mage's decision,' he said, then his eyes widened as he saw the number of people flocking towards the bridge.
'They're desperate. You did the right thing,' Piro told him. 'Sometimes you have to do what you believe to be right, even if other people don't understand.' She bit her bottom lip. She had no reason to like Tyro, not after the way he had tricked her. But… 'Will you get in trouble with the mage?'
One corner of his mouth lifted. 'No more than usual.'
'Byren,' Orrade whispered, face so close to his in the dim predawn that the warmth of his breath brushed Byren's skin.
He woke instantly, pulling back, only too aware of his honour guard asleep on the floor.
Orrade placed one knee on the bed. 'Byren, listen — '
He lifted a hand to silence Orrade but his friend kept speaking.
'…saw them, coming over the Divide. The sooner we strike the better.'
'Come all the way in.' Byren pressed his back to the carved head-board, as Orrade climbed onto the bed and let the canopy fall, so that they were private from the others. 'Now start again and keep your voice down.'
'I saw Leogryf's warlord march his warriors over the Divide. They wore cobalt-blue ribbons on their helmets.' Orrade rubbed his temples, frowning in concentration.
'An Affinity vision?'
Orrade nodded. 'Complete with thumping headache, and now I have grey moths clouding my sight.'
Fearful of someone overhearing and Orrade's Affinity being exposed, they both glanced to the canopy at the end of the bed, beyond which the honour guard slept. They could see nothing, of course, and the soft snoring continued as normal.
'I knew we could not trust Lord Leon,' Byren whispered.
'It wouldn't surprise me if he'd already made a pact with Cobalt before he came here to judge our strength and discover our plans.' Bitterness stretched Orrade's voice thin. 'I had a bad feeling about him. But I…' He shrugged. 'Will you commit your army on the strength of my vision?'
'I'm alive because of one of your visions.'
They were silent for a moment. Byren could not help but recall the kiss when Orrade found him in the seep and they both thought he was dying. To be on the receiving end of such love…