The King's Bastard (36 page)

After a moment she went on. 'The only reason I'm still alive is because the stronghold's healer and I were in Halcyon's chantry to have my ten-day-old baby receive his life-blessing. The monk smuggled us out.' She strode over to the cradle and lifted the infant for them to see. Startled by the move, the baby flung out both small hands, fingers spread as if to cling to life. 'If I fail to take back the castle, my son will not live to see his first birthday. If we flee Unistag Spar, my cousin will send assassins after us, for he cannot rest easy in his bed while little Uniden lives.' She hushed the infant and returned him to the cot then faced Byren. 'So I ask again, why are you here?'

He knew what she wanted to hear, that he could help her avenge her family and win back the leadership of the spar. Warlords were mostly male, but there had been some remarkable women who ruled the spars. However, he wasn't here to help. He could hardly send Temor back to Rolenhold to gather a small army, for though the warlords of the spar swore fealty to his father, they were princelings of their own kingdoms and Rolencia never interfered with their rule. If he brought in an army to make Unace warlord, he would be setting a bad precedent.

Even as he took a breath, he saw her shoulders sag. She had read his face.

'I'm sorry. It is not my place to intervene. I am here only to ensure the next warlord's fealty.'

'I thought as much.' She nodded, then glanced to an old monk. 'Monk Seagrass is our healer. I owe my life and that of my son to him.'

Byren nodded to the monk, who was small and slightly stooped because of a hump that rode his back, just to the left of centre.

'Seagrass will see to your wounded man.' Lady Unace met Byren's eyes. 'You are welcome to eat and sleep in our camp. If I become warlord I will swear fealty to King Rolen.'

Byren nodded, made uncomfortable because she was ready to give, when he could give nothing.

The healer collected his pouch of herbs. It was not customary for the monks and nuns to support aspirants vying to become warlord. Seagrass must have been motivated by his conscience.

'Garzik is this way,' Byren said and led Seagrass to a large snow-cave, which had been hastily erected for them.

Orrade watched everything the healer did, his anxiety palpable. Temor stood back but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Byren knelt by the fourteen-year-old while his wounds were cleaned and packed. Garzik did not let out a whimper.

'You're lucky the bite is only shallow,' Seagrass said as he mixed up a tisane.

Byren lifted Garzik so he could sip it. He was flushed and had been delirious earlier but was clear-headed now, if a trifle pale from the pain of the monk's ministrations.

'This will bring the fever down and fight the evil humours which had taken root in your body,' Seagrass told Garzik who nodded, wearily.

Byren wanted to ask what Garzik's chances were, but not in front of the lad. 'Watch over him, Orrie, while I walk the healer back to his snow-cave.'

'I share with the Lady Unace. I have been serving her family since before she was born,' Seagrass explained.

Byren nodded. Before he left he paused to ruffle Garzik's hair. 'As for you, hurry up and get well. I didn't bring you along so you could lie about while everyone else worked!'

Garzik managed a weak chuckle.

'I'll have him up and digging latrines in no time,' Temor announced.

Garzik gave a mock groan and Byren grinned.

But once they were outside he paused beyond hearing range of the campfires. Firelight flickered on the unfamiliar faces of Lady Unace's supporters. His own men clustered around a camp single fire, a token force unable to make a difference. It frustrated Byren. He cleared his throat. 'Young Garzik, how -'

'Too early to say. I've seen men sicken and die from a single scratch and the amfina's bite is known to carry evil humours. But he is young and he believes he will recover. That could make all the difference.' The healer studied Byren, went to say something then hesitated.

'Speak freely,' Byren urged.

'I can see why the men follow you so willingly. King Rolen is lucky to have such a worthy son.'

Byren shrugged. He had no time for flattery.

The healer seemed to sense this and lowered his voice. 'If Steerden defeats Unace his fealty won't be worth a cockatrice's spit.'

'I know.'

'He has the townspeople and the stronghold's inhabitants terrified. Unace has their sympathy but they fear, if they support her and he wins, he will go hard on them. Anyone who can kill his own kin won't baulk at killing townspeople.'

'I know,' Byren repeated. 'But I don't have enough men to make a difference and even if I did, Rolencia can't be seen to interfere!'

'Then there's nothing you can do?'

Feeling frustrated and unjustly criticised, for he was bound to follow the law whatever his personal feelings, Byren escorted the healer back to the would-be warlord's snow-cave. It had been constructed between two outcroppings of rock and was larger and more luxurious than anything he built while out hunting. Just as well, for they were in for a long siege if the warlord could not be winkled out of his shell.

'Often it is not the truth that decides someone's fate but people's perception,' Seagrass said. 'Your young friend has a better chance of recovering because he believes you expect him to. The people of Unistag Spar already believe Unace's cause is just, they need to believe that she can win. They need a sign from the gods!'

Byren uttered a short laugh. 'And how do you propose I arrange that?'

He was still stewing over what the monk had said when he arrived back at his snow-cave. Orrade met him at the entrance.

'How is he?' Byren asked.

A grin broke through the serious lines of Orrade's face. 'I swear he's improving already.'

'Good. Get something to eat. I'll watch over him.'

Orrade nodded and left. Byren hesitated at the entrance. From here, he could see Unistag Stronghold and the fortified township that spilled down to the valley floor but only as pinpoints of light. The emblem was visible as a flapping flag, black against the brilliance of the stars' sparkling froth. But he knew the white unistag, had known one all his life.

As an idea struck Byren, he smiled slowly. Turns out he
could
arrange a sign from the gods!

His heart rate lifted as he examined his plan looking for flaws. It would take time but they had time, five days' forced march for Temor to travel back to Rolenhold, a day to collect the tame unistag and sneak it out of Rolenhold, five or six days to bring the beast here.

The people of the spar must not know his part in this. He'd have to lure Unace back to the pass so that he could introduce her to the beast. Then, when she rode into the camp on the back of a white unistag (lucky for them Rolenhold's menagerie held a white), they'd see it as a sign from the gods.

Byren grinned and silently thanked his grandfather for establishing the menagerie. It was not as large as it once was because god-touched beasts like the unistag tended not to breed except in the wild. All the other beasties had died off and, as far as he knew, this was the last unistag in captivity. It had been fading away, only to rally recently.

And the people of Unistag Spar would not realise this was the famous Rolencian unistag for it had not ventured out of the menagerie since it had been captured as a foal. By Halcyon, it had to be nearly forty years old. He hoped it was up to the climb over the Dividing Mountains. With a shrug, he put that aside, as being out of his control.

Under his control was how events unfolded here.

It would be best if he and Unace appeared to have a fight, and then he could march off with his men. If the camp thought Rolencia had abandoned them then it would have even more impact when Unace rode in on the unistag.

Yes, he would send Temor directly to his mother. She was sure to grasp the elements of his plan immediately.

Feeling lighter of heart, Byren ducked and entered the snow-cave. 'What, still lying about, Garza? I expect you to be up and on duty by tomorrow!'

The boy chuckled, sounding stronger still.

This time it was the acolytes master who escorted Fyn to the abbot. He had lain awake all night considering his options. The abbot would agree to the mystics master's claim on him. Come spring cusp, Master Catillum would undertake his training and then he would uncover the truth about Piro, for Fyn feared he could not hide it. There was only one thing to do. Before spring cusp, he would have to leave the abbey.

Leave Rolencia. Unthinkable.

But, once contemplated, the unthinkable became possible.

The abbey had taught him many useful skills. He would never become a sell-sword, but he could weave, cook, garden and look after animals. He would run away and earn his living somehow. His hair would grow back to hide the abbey tattoos.

Master Firefox escorted Fyn to the abbot's private chamber, overlooking the abbey's courtyard. Fyn glanced through the arched windows. Far away, across the patchwork of winter-mantled canals and fields, loomed the Dividing Mountains. Rolenhold stood on its protective pinnacle, painted in shades of lavender and blue. Piro was there right now, pretending to have no Affinity. Fyn felt heart-sick, for his parents would never understand why he'd run away from the abbey. He would be dishonoured in front of everyone, branded a coward. But he had been over and over it and he could see no other solution.

He looked around the chamber for the mystics master but Catillum was not present, only the abbot. Fyn hid his surprise.

'Thank you, Firefox,' the abbot dismissed the acolytes master. When he had gone, the abbot came out from behind his parquetry-inlaid desk and sat on a stool in front of the fire. 'Come here, lad.'

As was proper for an acolyte, Fyn knelt on the cushion at the abbot's feet. While the abbot stared into the flames, Fyn wondered what his punishment would be.

At last the leader of the monks sighed. 'Your presence in the abbey makes things very complicated, Fyn. All the masters seek to have you in their service. They believe that one day you will be abbot.'

'But I would have to earn that position,' Fyn argued.

The abbot merely looked at him. 'You are a clever young man, thoughtful beyond your years. By giving up your place in the mystics to your friend you displayed unusual humility. Or was it fear, Fyn?'

'Fear?' he repeated, thinking furiously. Had he betrayed Piro in some way already?

The abbot nodded. 'There are many who fear the power that great Affinity brings. Some even try to deny theirs. It is your destiny to serve the goddess through the mystics. You cannot deny Her, Fyn.'

He nodded. It seemed Master Wintertide had convinced the abbot his lie had been prompted by the fear he was unworthy. He would be given to the mystics and he would have to run and everyone would think him a coward, motivated by fear.

In that instant he realised it did not matter what they thought, as long as he did what he believed to be right.

'Fyn?' the abbott prodded. 'Is there anything you wish to tell me?'

Fyn licked his lips then shook his head. What could he say?

'Very well. This spring cusp you will join the mystics. You can go back to your rostered duties, Fyn. Once the gardens master has finished with you, you can serve the mystics.'

He stood up, bowed and backed out. At the door, he hesitated.

'Ask,' the abbot said.

'It was Galestorm, who shot the bird, not Beartooth.'

'I know. Sixty years in the abbey have taught me to recognise a bully and a liar. I don't have to be a mystics master to see the truth.'

Fyn blinked. 'They why...'

The abbot sighed. 'Galestorm and his companions are backed by powerful masters, who seek to cripple me through you. Do you understand?'

Fyn nodded, though he wasn't sure he did, wasn't really sure why the abbot was telling him this.

'I could not clear you of the accusation without a confession. Feldspar's revelation made it abundantly clear what sort of person you are. Anyone who gives up power because he thinks he does not deserve it would not wantonly harm a defenceless creature.'

Fyn swallowed. 'What will happen to Galestorm and the others?'

The abbot smiled. 'Their penance is to serve the livestock master. They are currently mucking out the stables.'

A laugh escaped Fyn.

The abbot grinned. 'I believe the punishment must fit the crime.'

Fyn discovered he liked the abbot. He bowed and backed out into the hall. No wonder the abbot and Master Wintertide were fast friends, they saw the world in the same way.

It was a pity he had to let them both down.

The thought made him feel heart-sick, again. If the abbot knew the true extent of Fyn's crime, what punishment would he assign him? Deeply saddened, for he had several true friends in the abbey who he would be sorry to disappoint, Fyn headed back to the acolytes' sleeping chamber.

He had until spring cusp to plan his escape.

With a start he realised he would miss his parents' Jubilee. Worse, Piro would think he'd deserted her.