The King's Bastard (12 page)

'You remember Byren,' King Rolen said. 'He and Lence used to give you no peace.'

A smile lightened Cobalt's expression but only briefly. 'Which Utlanders?' He ran a hand through his long black curls. 'I don't know. It was dark, the fires, the screaming...' He fixed on Byren. 'I didn't stop to ask their names and affiliations, I was fighting for my life!'

'Of course.' Lence glared at Byren.

Byren nodded. 'But there are many Utland isles, we could attack innocent -'

'It doesn't matter which Utland isle sent the raiders,' King Rolen decided. 'All that matters is that we teach them the Greater and Lesser Seas are out of bounds.'

Lence nodded. 'If we set off now -'

'You'll miss the midwinter ceremony and insult Halcyon,' Captain Temor interrupted gently.

Their father nodded. 'Better to go after spring cusp when the seas are not so dangerous. That gives me time to call for ships and captains, get the support of the warlords. If we sail out in strength we can deal these Utlanders such a blow they'll crawl back to their hovels and not come out for another twenty years!'

Everyone cheered.

But Byren couldn't put his heart into it. From what he'd heard it was hard enough to claw a living from the Utlands at the best of times. If Lence's ships burnt innocent Utlanders' homes and food stores they would starve before their crops could be harvested the next autumn.

At the same time, if the Utland raiders had united under a charismatic leader they could cripple Rolencia's sea trade, the very trade that had bought them so much prosperity these last two decades.

'...go with Lence and Byren?' his father was saying to Cobalt. Captain Temor had moved off, leaving the king alone with his sons and nephew. 'Of course you're welcome to hunt the leogryf, Illien, but -'

'The arm? I cannot fire a bow or throw a spear. Still, I would be honoured.' Cobalt glanced to Lence. 'That's if you can think an injured man won't slow you down?'

Lence straightened. 'You'll always be welcome, Illien.'

A smiled tugged at Cobalt's mouth but his eyes remained shadowed. He stepped aside to give directions to his men-at-arms.

'Fancy seeing Illien again,' Lence muttered. 'Say, Byren, d'you remember the time he let us sit astride his stallion?'

Byren grinned. 'We were only six. Our feet couldn't reach the stirrups.'

'What, you rode Black Thunder?' their father demanded, then chuckled. 'Eh, I'm glad I didn't know. It's good to have him back, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances. At least Illien and his father made up their differences before he died.'

That reminded Byren. 'Father, there's something I must -'

'My father has disinherited me, King Rolen,' Orrade interrupted.

'What?' The king looked startled, then inclined to laugh. 'Always said the Old Dove's temper would get the better of him one day. I felt the hard edge of his tongue often enough when I was a lad. Don't worry, Orrie, he'll come 'round. Spurnan did.'

'What did you do that was so bad, Orrie, forget to give Halcyon her due last Feast Day?' Lence teased.

Orrade shook his head. 'It's not -'

'Not something to be laughed at,' Cobalt said, rejoining them. He acknowledged Orrade with a nod. 'If I had not been such a hot-headed youth, my father and I would have reconciled years ago. I should have admitted I was wrong but I was too proud.' He broke off, frowning at Orrade. 'Swallow your pride, lad.'

Orrade shook his head. 'It's not that simple.'

Lence frowned. 'Why did he disinherit you, Orrie?'

'That is between my father and I, kingsheir.' Orrade retreated into formality.

Byren watched his twin stiffen. Young Garzik went to say something in Orrade's defence, but Byren elbowed him.

'King Rolen, I've come to offer my sword in your service,' Orrade said, dropping to one knee and drawing his sword, a serviceable one he'd taken from the estate's armoury, not the blade which had been wielded by lords of Dovecote for over three hundred years. He offered the weapon, blade across his open palms. 'Please accept -'

But the king was already shaking his head. 'Your father will change his mind, wait and see.'

Orrade remained on his knees. 'Not this time, King Rolen. I am without land or allegiance. Please accept me.'

As Byren watched his father wrestle with this, he saw the larger ramifications. King Rolen did not want to offend the old lord, who had been his staunchest ally.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

'A man has to live or die by his word of honour,' Cobalt said softly. 'I know what it's like. Go to your father, apologise and -'

'Impossible,' Orrade cut him off, eyes on King Rolen.

Cobalt looked grim. Lence glanced from him to the king.

'Orrade nearly died trying to save me,' Byren spoke up. 'I would trust him with my life.'

'Then have him in your honour guard,' Lence snapped.

'That's it!' King Rolen muttered, relieved. 'You twins are old enough to form your own honour guards. Let Orrade serve the kingsheir.'

He strode off leaving Orrade on his knees.

'I'm sorry.' Lence stood over Orrade, whose lowered, bandaged head hid his expression. 'But a king must trust his men implicitly. Mend the break with your father and all will be well, Orrie.'

He turned and walked off, with their cousin falling into step beside him. Cobalt's voice carried back to Byren. 'Your father's right. What are you now? Twenty? A kingsheir should have his own honour guard -'

'We ride in half an hour!' the hunt-master shouted. Immediately, the level of noise in the stables doubled.

On his knees, Orrade shuffled until he faced Byren. 'I offer my fealty, Byren Kingson.'

Byren was both embarrassed and annoyed. His first impulse was to tell Orrade to get up, but he understood that to preserve his dignity, his friend had to complete the ritual of service given and received. 'I accept your fealty, Orrade Dovecotesheir. Now, get on your feet. We ride in -'

'Not Dovecotesheir,' Orrade corrected as he sheathed his sword, rising to confront Byren, his face flushed and his eyes glassy. 'I have no name other than my given name.'

Byren realised he had unwittingly rubbed salt in Orrade's wounded pride. 'Then I'll give you another. Orrade Byrensman.'

Orrade's eyes glittered with unshed tears. His mouth opened but Byren did not want to hear what he was about to say.

'Can I join your honour guard too, Byren?' Garzik shoved between them. 'Can we have our own surcoats with our own symbol like King Rolen's honour guard? Can we -'

Byren laughed. 'Enough, Garza, run to the kitchen, fetch food for us.'

Eager as a puppy, he darted off, dodging the castle youths, the hunt-master's apprentices and the castle's Affinity warders, who were checking their supplies. Naturally both Sylion and Halcyon's warders insisted on accompanying them, neither wanted the other to gain an advantage. It was annoying because young Nun Springdawn would insist on having her own snow-cave and Monk Autumnwind was growing frail.

'Thank you, Byren,' Orrade whispered, recalling him to the present.

Byren shrugged. 'I'm sorry about Lence, Orrie. For him everything is black and white, always has been.'

'True, but this time he's right,' Orrade admitted. 'If you can't take a man at his word, he's worthless.'

He went to move away, but Byren caught his arm. 'Actions speak louder than words. Spurnan proved that when he supported father against the very men who would have put him on the throne.'

But nothing could lessen the bleak gleam in his friend's tilted black eyes.

Byren glanced at Lence, who was checking his saddle girth, with Cobalt at his side. Between them, half a dozen youthful warriors, sons of the great lords and merchants, clamoured to join the kingsheir's honour guard. Byren knew a moment's jealousy. He should be there with Lence, sharing in this moment as they planned their honour guards.

Worse, the warriors they'd fought alongside these last five years were obviously eager to swear allegiance to serve Lence, while all he had was a disinherited son and a boy who'd run away from his domineering father.

Byren stiffened. He didn't mind being the spare heir - let Lence marry for political reasons - but he hated being second best.

'Eh, Illien?' King Rolen passed Byren as he strode towards Cobalt and Lence. The youths parted respectfully and Cobalt turned to face the king.

'We've got half an hour, come see Myrella. She'll be delighted...' Rolen broke off as his bad knee gave under him, causing him to lurch to one side.

Only Cobalt's quick thinking saved him from falling. 'What is it, Uncle?'

Byren tensed. Illien's father had never been formally recognised, hence the inverted crown on his coat of arms, so his son had no right to call the king 'Uncle'.

'Sylion take this knee. It's never been right since my horse rolled on it,' King Rolen muttered, completely disregarding Illien's breach of protocol.

'The healers -'

'Have done what they can, but it stiffens up.'

'Valens?' Cobalt beckoned a perfumed servant who, now that Byren had a better look, had to be fifty if he was a day. Surely that glossy black hair was not natural? 'My manservant has wonderful hands. He can massage away the stiffness. Let me make a gift of him to you, Uncle.'

Valens bobbed down on one knee, head bowed. Byren saw his father blink in surprise. Having a personal manservant was an Ostronite custom.

'But how will you manage, Illien?' Rolen asked, glancing to Cobalt's bandaged arm.

He shrugged this aside. 'Please, let me do this for you. At least let him try.'

Valens lifted his head. 'If I cannot get the stiffness out of your knee in ten days you may chop off my hands!'

'Extravagant Ostronites!' Orrade muttered in Byren's ear.

'Uncle?' Cobalt pressed.

'Very well.' Rolen laughed.

'I'm honoured.' Cobalt bowed. 'King Rolen, I must speak with you on another matter. I bring grave news from the elector.'

Byren frowned as his father led Cobalt away. What could the Elector of Ostron Isle have to say? If it was important Byren would hear about it at the next war table meeting. He had enough on his mind without borrowing trouble.

Byren lay absolutely still, breathing slow and deep, wary of giving his position away. They were lucky the village's hunters had been tracking the leogryf and were able to lead them straight to its lair. The beast was old and canny, and knew the mountains well, but it was the leogryf's age that was its downfall. Although its wings were broader than the greatest of eagles', it could no longer lift its weight, so its lair was not atop a lonely pinnacle, but deep in a cave off a narrow goat track high on the Dividing Mountains. The beast had been spotted dragging its kill to feed in the privacy of the cave.

Shifting on the snow-covered rocks, Byren tried to keep his muscles limber. Who knew how long they would have to wait? Strange how he could feel bored and frightened at the same time. Not that he would ever admit to fear in front of Lence.

He licked dry lips.

Though old and weaker than it once was, the leogryf stood as tall as Byren's chest and, with one slash of its paw, could still disembowel a grown man or break his leg.

It was too dangerous to get in close. Byren had argued that they should trap the beast and dispatch it quickly, but Lence had got the idea in his head that he had to kill it from close quarters. Both the hunt-master and the Affinity warder had tried to talk him out of this and failed.

Byren adjusted his white fur coat, which blended perfectly with the deep snow. Focusing across the path to where his twin hid, Byren could just make out the gleam of Lence's eyes in the shadow of the rock crevice and a flash of white teeth as he smiled. In a way he was glad they were facing the leogryf alone together. Nothing had been right between them since Orrade had refused to reveal why he was disinherited. Cobalt was always at his twin's side, where Byren should have been.

The track zig-zagged up behind Lence to the cave entrance, which was the only way in. Eventually the leogryf would come back to its lair.

There was no breeze so they could not get downwind of the beast, but luckily its sense of smell was fading. To help disguise their own scents, Byren and Lence had scrubbed their bodies, aired their furs and rubbed dried heather on their skin.

The rest of the hunting party were waiting further down the track watching the three different approaches, ready to warn them when the beast was spotted and drive it back this way if it tried to retreat.

Not long now. The big muscles of Byren's legs trembled with tension. Waiting was always the worst. He had chosen to crouch on the extreme edge of the track. Behind him was a sheer drop into the ravine. Lence couldn't have done it. His head swam just looking at a drop like that, but heights had never troubled Byren.

Just then, a distinctive bird's cry floated on the cold, still air. Byren tensed and caught Lence's eyes across the path. The lookout's signal. Lence nodded. The leogryf approached.