The Usurper (35 page)

The Utlander stood behind and to the right of Palatyne. He looked very pleased with himself. Piro felt a surge of intense dislike. It was clear he intended to be Palatyne's right-hand man when the duke became king.

Where was Tyro? Surely Lord Dunstany was invited to the wedding? If only she could get near enough to ask him about her dream. She had thought her dream's events took place at dusk but, with the heavy grey clouds, it felt like twilight now.

Her spirits lifted as she caught sight of Dunstany's iron-grey hair. Tyro, in Lord Dunstany's guise, met her eyes over the heads of the nobles. His expression was tense and preoccupied.

Piro stepped off the urn base and began to wriggle through the press towards him. No one wanted to relinquish their position, especially to an unimportant servant. Try as she might, Piro could not get near Lord Dunstany. She climbed onto another urn base and tried to catch his eye, but the abbot of Mulcibar and the abbess of Cyena had arrived. The wedding was about to start.

Piro despaired. Isolt was right. What could Fyn do to save them, or Byren? Palatyne had won the people with his half-truths and lies. They would have to win the hearts of everyone in Merofynia to defeat Palatyne.

The trumpets sounded again and the crowd fell silent.

The abbess of Cyena and the abbot of Mulcibar called on their goddess and god, praying for wisdom for the queen, who would be regent in her ailing father's place, with support from her husband, the royal consort.

Piro held her breath, willing something to happen but, apart from foreboding dark clouds coming so low that they seemed to touch the topmost spire of the palace, and the sultry heat growing ever more intense, nothing intervened to stop the ceremony.

The abbess took Isolt's hand. The abbot took Palatyne's and placed it over Isolt's. They gave their vows.

With a flourish Palatyne removed the pendants from around his neck. He draped them over Isolt's head so that they rested on her chest, glinting gold and silver. 'As a bridal gift, I present my queen with these tokens, the royal emblems of Rolencia!'

Resentment flooded Piro. To Palatyne those emblems were symbols of triumph, to her family they had contained the dignity of office.

In unison, the abbot and abbess each blessed the crown, then lifted it, taking one side each to place it on Isolt's head. Together they proclaimed her regent. Piro hid a smile. Clearly, the rivalry between the two great abbeys was as strong here as it was back in Rolencia.

Then the abbot and abbess repeated the process with Palatyne's crown, but it was Isolt who lifted it from the cushion.

The ambitious duke knelt at Isolt's feet. She picked up the crown, held it high for all to see, then placed it on Palatyne's head. Piro thought Isolt very restrained, considering she wished him dead.

And, suddenly, the combined wedding-coronation ceremony was over. The crowd cheered.

Piro sagged, exhausted by the heat and the tension.

The nobles parted so that the servants could carry the long tables forwards to the edge of the terrace. Other servants waited with food-laden trays. As soon as the tables and chairs were in position the nobles scurried to claim their places. Below them on the next terrace, less lucky nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants waited while their servants spread food on tables they had brought with them. Down on the lower terraces, people spread blankets on the grass and opened their picnic baskets. Musicians began to play from each turret, the music oddly thin and dull in the thick air.

All around Piro, the nobles talked and congratulated themselves, while the sky grew darker and the clouds took on an odd greenish tinge, giving the day an unreal quality. Piro's head throbbed. The very air felt strange to her, it seemed alive with more than the threat of the thunderstorm.

Her Affinity screamed a warning. She sensed Tyro drawing his power to himself, but with the Utlander ready to counter anything he attempted, Piro did not see what he could do.

Servants brought out roasted fowl, peacock, whole pigs, fresh fruit and glazed sweetbreads. And for the royal couple, whole white swans, Cyena's Affinity beasts, blessed by the abbess herself. Because Piro was Isolt's maid, she stood behind the regent's chair. Many servants, advisors and food tasters stood behind their lords and ladies. The Utlander sat next to the old king, whose chair had been placed next to Palatyne's. Isolt was on his right. Piro could not bring herself to think of him as the royal consort.

Palatyne came to his feet, lifting his goblet, signalling for silence to make a toast. A gem flashed on his little finger. Piro froze, recognising the poison ring.

This was the perfect opportunity for Palatyne to use it. Even if he ate or drank nothing else, the old king would automatically take a sip of the toast when his food taster held it to his lips. The king would appear to have died of natural means. After all, he was old and frail. Piro frowned. But if the food taster also died people would become suspicious.

'To Merofynia, greatest and fairest of all kingdoms!' Palatyne was used to roaring commands on the battlefield and his voice carried down to the shore, where town criers echoed him so that those on the boats and ships could hear. 'I promise I will seek out all those who threaten our peace and slay them!'

The people cheered.

Anger twisted inside Piro. Why didn't they see through Palatyne? He promised to make war, not peace.

Palatyne drank from his goblet, and everyone followed suit including the king's taster who took a mouthful and swallowed then held the goblet to Merofyn's lips. The old man managed a sip. Piro had been watching. Palatyne had not used the poison. Neither had he used his unistag horn.

Of course, he could not use it in front of Merofyn. By rights, such a valuable Affinity tool belonged to the king. Consumed by fear and greed, Palatyne had kept the horn for himself, but this meant he could not use it today at the feast.

The abbot of Mulcibar stood and made a speech, praising Palatyne, his allegiance clear. While everyone was watching him, Piro saw Palatyne lean close to Isolt. To everyone else he appeared to be making a lover's remark, pointing to her new emblems. Even the food taster was listening to the speech. Only Piro saw Palatyne flick the top off the ring and empty the powder into the king's goblet, the goblet which the food taster had already tested.

The abbot of Mulcibar finished his speech and lifted his goblet. Piro watched in fascinated horror as the king's food taster held the poisoned goblet to Merofyn's lips.

Palatyne smiled down the table at the abbot and drank from his own goblet. He wasn't even looking at the king as the old man bent his head to take a sip.

Piro had wanted to see King Merofyn dead, but she could not stand by and let Palatyne murder him. 'No!'

Palatyne looked up over his shoulder at her in irritated astonishment.

Even Piro was surprised. The plan had been to switch the goblets, but without Isolt's help to distract Palatyne she could not do it. 'Don't let King Merofyn drink. The wine is poisoned.'

'Nonsense!' Palatyne's voice boomed in the horrified silence. 'The food taster tested it.'

'You dropped the poison in while the abbot was speaking. I saw you do it.' Piro pointed to Palatyne's hand. 'Look at his ring. It has a false stone.'

'Let the ring be examined,' Isolt ordered.

Palatyne surged to his feet, knocking his chair over. A murmur of disquiet ran through the crowd. He flung a hand at Piro. 'She lies. Who would believe a slave, over me?'

Piro straightened. 'I am Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter. And I swear on my murdered mother's soul that I do not lie.'

'And I am the regent of Merofynia.' Isolt stood, small but commanding. 'If Piro Kingsdaughter lies, prove it, Palatyne. Drink freely from my father's goblet!'

The nobles muttered amongst themselves and Palatyne eyed the goblet. It contained certain death yet, if he refused, he confirmed his guilt.

Fierce justice poured through Piro. Thanks to Isolt, her family's murderer would be punished.

Fyn ground his teeth in frustration. He'd been watching Dunstany, ready to make his move on his signal, only to have Piro thwart their plans.

Now what should he do?

Movement in Byren's cage caught Fyn's eye. Even as he watched, his brother undid the lock on the cage door but held it closed. Unaware that their plan was in chaos, Byren waited for Fyn's signal.

Oblivious to the fact that their captive was free, the guards watched events unfold on the terrace. All around Fyn, Merofynia's finest citizens focused on Palatyne and Isolt.

Lord Dunstany came to his feet. 'I have been advisor to the kings of Merofynia for seventy years. Heed my advice, Royal Consort Palatyne. The nobles and commoners will not trust you to rule Merofynia unless you prove your innocence.'

'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.

'To me, men,' Palatyne yelled. 'Kill the traitor!'

Byren cast one swift glance behind him. At least twenty of Palatyne's loyal spar warriors charged across the terrace towards the royal table. Byren backed off, trying to keep both Palatyne and his guards in his line of sight.

Down the far end of the terrace Byren saw men running up the stairs from the gardens below. Orrade and Fyn and a dozen sea-hounds.

'To me!' Byren cried, just as the first of Palatyne's guards attacked him, hacking at his legs.

Piro flinched as the Utlander spoke from just behind her ear.

'Come, Lord Dunstany.' His voice was strained and thin with hatred. 'Let's finish what we began. If you believed you could best me, you would have confronted me before this. I think you are all bluff. And today I call your bluff!' He waved the poisoned spike close to Piro's throat. 'Or must I kill her, first?'

Lord Dunstany...
Tyro,
met Piro's eyes. What she read there told her that he believed he was no match for the Utlander. 'Let her go and I will duel you.'

'No. I set the terms of our duel,' the Utlander crowed. 'Throw all your power at me. See if you can stop my hand from moving!'

Piro strained away from the spike as the Utlander brought it closer to her throat. She could feel the pulsing of the Utlander's power and another force battering against it like waves beating on a rocky shore. But Tyro's force was breaking on the Utlander's defences.

With all of Tyro's reserves channelled into breaching the Utlander's defences, Tyro's disguise wavered and dissolved. Dunstany's aged features faded to reveal the tall, thin youth she knew.

Piro felt the Utlander's surprise and anger. He attacked with renewed force. His fingers wound so tightly through Piro's hair that she had to blink back tears of pain.

Tyro fell to his knees.

Piro gasped. He was not strong enough.

He must not fail!

Once before, he had called on her strength to bolster his own. Gathering her concentration, she focused on Tyro and opened her Affinity to him. Because the channel was already there, she only had to focus for the process to begin. And, at the same time, she found herself drawing off the Utlander's Affinity, much as the renegade Power-worker had drained Nun Springdawn back in Rolenhold.

The Utlander went rigid with concentration, trying to block her. His breath rasped in his chest.

Power poured through Piro, heady and addictive.

Fyn jumped from deck to deck with the sea-hounds at his heels. Once on land, no one obstructed their mad dash as they pounded up the terraces.

'Up the stairs!' Fyn sent them to each side of him, up the terrace steps, while he leapt onto Byren's cage. Swinging his weight onto the roof, he peered over the balustrade across the table top.

Piro was pinned by the Utlander, his staff to her throat, but Tyro was coming to his feet, taking each step forwards as though he ploughed through a thigh-high snowdrift. The Utlander backed away. Fyn could feel the waves of Affinity coming off them with such force that it made the hairs on his body rise and his teeth ache. This was a battle Fyn was not trained to fight.

He looked for Byren. Palatyne's spar warriors filled the terrace. Orrade, Bantam and Jakulos fought to reach Byren.

Just to Fyn's right with his back to him, Palatyne stood, legs planted on the table, laughing as his warriors closed in on Byren.

Fyn was halfway onto the table when Palatyne noticed him and went for his head. He only just managed to scramble across and hit the terrace tiles in a crouch.

He gulped in a breath.

'Fyn! You took your time.' Byren grinned, chest heaving.

He glanced over his shoulder, fearing Palatyne would attack them from behind, but he was content to let his spar warriors do his killing.

Fyn cursed. The sea-hounds were still making their way up the stairs. Twenty spar warriors filled the terrace, avoiding the Affinity battle at the far end.

'I should have executed you when I had the chance, Byren Kingsheir!' Palatyne roared. 'Now the little brother turns up. Good riddance, I say. All King Rolen's kin will be dead by sunset. Kill them both!'

Two of his spar warriors charged Fyn. He dodged and cut past them, opening a path for Orrade and the two sea-hounds to join them. They broke through the warriors' defences, coming to Byren's side.

Fyn poised on the balls of his feet, ready to attack, but Palatyne's warriors pulled back, glancing to their leader.

A shout from the far end of the terrace heralded the arrival of the rest of the sea-hounds.

Palatyne's warriors turned, swords lifting as they prepared to fight on two fronts.

'We'll mop up these warriors, Fyn,' Byren yelled. 'Then I'll go after Palatyne!'

Grimly, Fyn put his shoulder to his brother's. 'Watch our backs, Bantam.'

With Orrade on one side of Byren, and Fyn on the other, they confronted the enemy. The spar warriors charged. In the mad mêlée Fyn saw Jakulos grab two men by the shoulders and crack their heads together. Orrade took a man down. Fyn saved his neck, cutting down another who was about to run him through from behind. The odds were getting better.

'Fyn!' Isolt screamed. 'Watch out.'

Isolt? He'd left her on the ship. He glanced over his shoulder to find she'd scrambled up onto the table from Byren's cage.

'Freezing Sylion, Isolt!' Fyn began.

Something whistled towards his head. He ducked instinctively, avoiding a sword to his head. The warrior recovered and swung for Fyn's throat. He threw himself sideways, tripped over an injured man and fell heavily on one knee. The impact sent his sword flying. The spar warrior closed in for the kill.

Behind the warrior's head and shoulders, Fyn saw Isolt pick up a jug of wine and throw it. The pottery smashed on Fyn's attacker.

The unconscious man fell across Fyn, knocking the air from his chest. The fight seemed to have moved on, leaving him like a beached whale. As he lay there gasping, he looked up at Isolt, two body lengths away on the royal table. Why had she followed him? She'd been safe on the ship.

She stood on the table with her wyvern at her heels, closing on Palatyne.

'So you came back to your husband?' Palatyne leered.

'Husband? Never. You are a barbarian warlord who dreams too high!'

'Where I come from a wife who runs away can expect a beating!' Palatyne lunged.

'Loyalty!' Isolt cried and dropped to her knees. The wyvern leapt over her, going straight for Palatyne's throat. The force of the wyvern's attack drove him off the end of the table onto the terrace. Fyn heard the thump as Palatyne hit the ground, then a terrible scream and the crunch of his bones. A hush fell and Fyn imagined the crowd drawing back, horrified.