'Is there anything else I can do?' he asked softly.
Byren's reply was equally soft. 'Be free with your measures of ale and wine tonight.'
The keeper nodded and retreated to the kitchen.
Byren forced himself to eat. If this failed, not only would he pay with his life but the keeper and his family would also die. He hoped Orrade attacked at dawn, as planned.
Fyn lay on a rock beside Orrade to study the fort in the fading light. Spar locals had known exactly where the fort's lookouts were posted and had eliminated them, preventing word of their approach from reaching the fort.
But all their precautions were pointless, for the fort was ideally situated. Built at the end of a narrow defile, just before the pass path opened out into the Rolencian foothills, there was only one approach and it was heavily guarded.
'This will be a slaughter,' Fyn muttered.
'It only needs to be a diversion for Byren,' Orrade said. But Fyn could hear the anger and regret in his voice. They were going to lose good men in a hopeless assault.
They climbed down, returning to where Aseel, Catillum and Bearclaw from Unistag Spar waited. Bantam and Jakulos were within hearing distance. They were never far from him.
For some reason Florin was present. Fyn had noticed she slept next to Orrade, in his fire circle, and assumed she was his lover, for all that they were being circumspect.
When Orrade explained the situation, the older warriors exchanged looks.
'We knew it wasn't going to be easy,' Catillum said. Fyn noted that he did not offer to cast an illusion to get them inside the gate.
'Let me lead the assault, with my honour guard,' young Aseel offered, eager to wipe out the shame of his cousin Rejulas's betrayal.
Fyn noticed Orrade flinch. He didn't want to send the untried youth to almost certain death, but to refuse Aseel would dishonour him. Fyn stiffened. It wasn't right, asking men to die for his brother while he sat back and watched.
'I'll lead the attack,' he heard himself say.
'You can't,' Orrade objected. 'Byren would kill me if anything happened to you. You're his heir now. I'll lead. We attack just before dawn.'
Towards dawn, Byren woke his three companions and they slipped out of the tap-room.
'Wait here.' He left them in the dark entrance, to stumble his way across the courtyard to the privies.
The fort was silent, no hint of trouble. And, lucky for Orrade, it was a cloudy night. Byren could barely see his hand in front of his face.
Across the courtyard, by the spar gate, the night watch congregated around a burning brazier. After relieving himself, Byren limped back to join the others.
'Six men guard the gate winch, none too alert. Take them down silently if you can. I'll distract them.'
They nodded their agreement and kept to the building's edge so they presented no silhouette.
Byren made the trek across the courtyard a second time.
'Here, you?' One of the night watch proved more alert than the others and strode over. 'Weren't you just out here?'
Byren shrugged, remaining bent over as he leant on the staff. 'I've the old man's curse, a leaky tap.'
The man chuckled and waved him on.
As he turned away, Byren whipped the end of the staff around and caught him in the back of his knees. Before the man hit the ground, Byren followed him, bringing the staff over in an arc to strike his head. All thanks to Florin and the days spent practising to best her. He mustn't think about her.
In that moment, he realised he was risking his life to make sure she didn't fall at the gate in some foolhardy attempt to prove she was better than his men.
If he was lucky, Orrade would never guess how Byren really felt.
A soft whistle drew his attention. He looked over to find the others had dealt with the remaining night watch.
Byren hurried to join them. 'Drag the bodies out of sight, winch the gate open.' As they did this, he lit a lantern and stepped into the open gateway.
Their lookout had reported activity. Fyn and Orrade tried to make sense of what they saw.
'The gate's opening,' Orrade muttered. 'I don't believe it.'
'Someone's signalling with a lantern,' Fyn said. 'We must have supporters inside the fort.'
Orrade scrambled to his feet. 'Quick, before they are discovered.'
With Aseel and the volunteers at their heels, they hurried down the narrow defile, trying to make as little noise as possible. Bantam and Jakulos followed Fyn.
As they came closer to the gate, the man with the lantern lifted it to reveal his face.
'I swear that's Byren!' Orrade said as he ran.
Fyn sprinted to keep up with him. What had happened to his brother? He looked terrible.
Orrade hugged Byren and pulled back, low voice rich with laughter. 'How did you do it?'
'A little play acting. Eh, Fyn, don't you recognise me?' Byren gave his familiar crooked grin and Fyn threw his arms around his brother. His brother squeezed him so hard Fyn thought he'd break a rib. Byren stepped back to study his face, voice thick with emotion. 'We thought you dead, little brother.'
Aseel and the volunteers poured into the courtyard. They were excited, nervous, ready for action. Any time now, their presence would be discovered.
Byren glanced past Fyn's shoulder and Fyn turned to see the two sea-hounds. 'Uh, this is Bantam and Jakulos. They're…'
'We're his honour guard,' Bantam said. And Jakulos dipped his head in agreement.
'Good.' Byren offered his arm, pulling them each in for a hug and clapping them on his back. As he pulled back from Jakulos he grinned. 'Don't often meet a man I can look in the eye. How did you come to serve m'brother?'
But before they could answer, there was some sort of altercation and Aseel came over, dragging a prisoner.
'This man claims he knows you,' Aseel said.
'Let him go, lad. It's the tradepost keeper.' Byren turned to Orrade. 'Go with him. He'll show you where the Merofynians sleep.'
As the others left them, Byren turned back to Fyn, who took a few steps away from the sea-hounds and reached for the message cylinder inside his vest. 'Byren, I — '
'A moment, lad.' His brother strode off, after one of the warriors, caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. In the lantern light, Fyn recognised the mountain girl.
Byren glared at her. 'What're you doing here?'
'Orrie called for volunteers.' She glared right back at him.
'Did he know you were one of them?'
She lifted her chin.
For a moment, Byren seemed too angry to speak. Then he lowered the lantern. 'You can make yourself useful, Mountain-girl. Run back to the rest, tell them to come down here.'
'Yes, my king.' She darted off.
Fyn watched Byren watch her go. 'It's not Orrie's fault. He didn't know. He wouldn't have sent the girl he's bedding on a suicide attack.'
Byren stiffened, then let his breath out slowly and rubbed his jaw as if tired.
So much rested on Byren's shoulders. Fyn knew just the thing to cheer him up. He removed the message cylinder from inside his vest. 'Here. The elector offers you his support.' No need to mention that the old elector was dead.
'Better and better.' Byren took it then glanced to Fyn. 'So how is it that you bring an alliance with Ostron Isle?'
And Fyn lied to his brother.
Chapter Twenty
By dawn, Byren had called his captains together, and taken over the tap-room. He could smell spicy sausages, eggs and beans cooking, and his stomach grumbled. The traders had congratulated him, then backed out. They were happy, believing taxes would return to normal. They wouldn't be so happy when he had to confiscate their edible goods to feed his army.
Orrade was last to arrive and join them at the long table. 'The fort's secured. Your men took down the night watch. The rest surrendered without a fight.' He grinned. 'Hard to be brave when you're unarmed, barefoot and only half-awake.'