'Prove it!' Fyn shouted, quick to play along. 'Drink up.'
'Drink up. Drink up!' Bantam yelled, two body lengths from Fyn. Others took up the cry, telling Fyn that not everyone had been convinced by Palatyne's lies.
Palatyne hesitated. He glanced to the Utlander, but Fyn knew the old Power-worker could do nothing for him. Palatyne had been caught in his own trap.
Isolt raised a hand for silence. 'If what Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter says is true, then let poison be the traitor's fate!'
'Drink up. Drink up. Drink up!' the townspeople urged without prompting from Fyn.
Palatyne glared at Piro and drew his ceremonial sword. 'You won't be the death of me, King Rolen's brat!'
Fyn cried out, far too late to save his sister. Isolt threw herself in front of Piro. For a heartbeat it seemed Palatyne would gut them both.
The crowd gasped.
'I challenge you, Palatyne, to prove yourself worthy of ruling Merofynia!' Lord Dunstany cried and he slammed his staff on the stones. The tip flared to life. At the same moment, Dunstany sought Fyn's face in the crowd.
Fyn leapt forwards, using the end of his jester's staff to knock out the nearest guard. Orrade dealt with the other one.
Byren flung his cage door open. Orrade tossed the sword to Byren. He caught it and laughed to feel its weight in his hands.
'Save Isolt!' Fyn pointed.
'Kill Palatyne!' Orrade urged.
Byren swung onto the cage roof, leaping from there onto the table top.
Fyn undid the tie and stripped the bells and ribbons from his staff, revealing a sword. 'For King Byren! For Rolencia!'
'King Byren!' Orrade echoed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Byren's heart leapt for joy as he vaulted onto the dais, landing on the feast table. He planted his feet amidst the food and faced his tormentor at last.
The upstart spar warlord gaped.
'Fight me, Palatyne Or would you rather kill defence-less women and children? Show your true colours. Show the people of Merofynia how you attacked Rolencia while my father was negotiating peace.'
But Palatyne grabbed Piro, holding her in front of him as a shield. He backed away from Byren, pressing his sword tip to her throat. A horrified hush fell over the crowd.
Byren stalked Palatyne, stepping lightly amid the food platters down the length of the table top. He couldn't risk Piro but all he needed was one opening and he would have Palatyne.
Lightning flickered through the heavy, low clouds. An ominous rumble of thunder growled above them. From the corner of his eye, Byren saw the abbot of Mulcibar make a grab for Isolt. She ducked under his arm, lunging towards the table. Byren caught her hand, pulling her up beside him. 'Release Piro, Palatyne, and I will return Isolt.'
'Kill her for all I care!' Palatyne laughed.
His bluff called, Byren cursed. He slipped his bare toes under a goblet, driving its contents into Palatyne's face. Piro dropped her weight and, quick as a cat, ducked away from her captor.
As Palatyne backed off, blinking wine from his eyes, Byren jumped for him. Metal on metal rang, shrill in the horrified silence, when their swords met.
Too close to strike, they sprang apart, swords lifted, taking each other's measure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Byren saw Mulcibar's abbot climb onto the table and lunge for Isolt. She lifted her skirts and ran down the long table, her gown tearing with a sound that was almost a cry of pain as the train came away. Her hair spilled from its silver net as she leapt over the bowls of fruit and whole roasted pigs.
'Stop her,' Palatyne bellowed. A dozen of his supporters blocked the end of the table. Two climbed onto it.
Isolt hesitated, trapped.
Even as Isolt ran, Fyn followed on the terrace below. She stopped running, trapped and desperate above him.
'Come to me!' he cried.
She looked down. It was a drop of more than two body lengths. Fyn tore off his jester's cape. Orrade took one corner without needing to be told, and Bantam and Jakulos took the other corners.
'Jump!' he cried. If she hesitated she was lost.
But no. She trusted him. Isolt leapt, her azure silk flying up around her slender legs. As she hit the cape, one of the corners pulled free, but the others held. Fyn caught her, setting her on her feet.
Stunned, Isolt stared at him.
He never wanted to look away.
'Heads up, Fyn,' Bantam called. 'Here comes Palatyne's private bullies.'
Fyn cursed. 'Orrie. Take the sea-hounds and help Byren. I have to get Isolt to safety.'
Fyn grabbed her hand and headed for the Wyvern's Whelp, taking the stairs to the lower terraces at a run. People parted, cheering them on and impeding their pursuers.
Vessels were packed so tightly near the shore that, after Fyn climbed onto the first, he was able to leap from deck to deck, steadying Isolt as she landed next to him.
Fyn looked up, fixing on the Wyvern's Whelp' s mast. They crossed another two ships, ending up on a small vessel next to the larger sea-hound ship. Catching Isolt around the waist, he lifted her above his head. Nefysto grabbed her arms and hauled up onto the ship's deck. Fyn scrambled up beside her, then bent double to catch his breath.
Isolt's wyvern gave a piercing cry and ran to her. Rearing on its back legs, it nuzzled her face. Isolt laughed so much she cried. The foenix gave its happy cry and butted her, trying to get her attention.
Nefysto laughed and helped her disentangle herself.
'What now, Fyn?' Nefysto asked.
He looked around at the sea-hounds, masquerading as honest merchant sailors. They'd all come to know Piro and had grown fond of her.
'We must go back, help Byren save Piro. Save Seela!' he corrected. Fyn tore off his jester's tunic, dunked his head in the water barrel and scrubbed off the paint.
Captain Nefysto handed him the farseer. 'Take a look.'
Fyn leapt to the rail, holding the farseer to one eye. The Utlander had Piro. He only prayed he could get there in time.
Fyn jumped to the deck, amidst the remaining sea-hounds. 'This way!'
Piro ran the instant she was free of Palatyne. But she only managed three steps before the Utlander stopped her, not with his hands, but by using her own Affinity to rob her limbs of movement. She toppled forwards, unable to save herself.
He caught her, his cruel eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that instant she recognised the moment in her dream — oppressive dark skies, churning people and the sense of being trapped.
Pinning her shoulders against his chest, the Utlander held his staff in front of her face. The carved wyvern's head on the tip seemed to stare into her eyes. He pressed his thumb on a hidden catch on the stone and a needle sharp spike emerged from the wyvern's forehead.
'This spike contains foenix-spur poison. One scratch and you'll die in agony,' the Utlander told her. He raised his voice. 'I've caught the kingsdaughter, Lord Dunstany. Tell your men to stand back. I don't know how you survived the last time my brother and I killed you, but you won't be able to save your pretty little spy!'
Fearing a duel between the two Power-workers, the nobles fled the dais. King Merofyn lifted his head, blinking as if he had just woken from a drugged sleep.
Byren dodged as the abbess and three white-gowned nuns dragged Mulcibar's abbot off the dais and down the terrace. No love lost there.
He lunged for Palatyne, intent on provoking him to attack. There was no sign of Isolt. Byren had lost track of her while concentrating on Palatyne. The spar upstart edged backwards, circling until the table hit his thighs.
Palatyne scrambled onto it, never taking his eyes off Byren. He began backing away down its length, kicking plates and bowls into Byren's face as he followed.
On the edge of his vision, Byren was aware of movement on the terrace.