The Usurper (20 page)

Byren reacted without thinking. Even as he went down he scissored his legs, trying to catch Corvel, but the older man's sons saved him, hauling him back and steadying him.

Orrade drew Byren upright. 'Say the word.'

At his signal there would be bloodshed, a pitched battle on the wharf. Byren waited, watching the warlord's face. If Corvel had meant to kill him he could have.

The warlord eased his shoulders, threw back his head and laughed. His laughter echoed up the steep-sided bay, echoed by the cries of the gulls circling overhead.

Corvel opened his arms and Byren stepped in, ready for anything, but this time Corvel clapped him on the shoulders, leaning close.

'Your father belittled me. My men would not have respected me if I hadn't done the same to you.' And he went off into another deep belly-laugh.

Blood roaring in his ears, Byren joined him. It seemed he had passed the old warrior's test.

But now he had to strike soon. No doubt Corvel would have brought food. Even so, Feid would be making up the shortfall, supplying wine and ale. The warlord could not afford to keep this up for long.

Chapter Seventeen

As Fyn stepped off the gangplank onto the deck of the
Wyvern's Whelp
, Bantam nudged Jakulos, who straightened up. Both men grinned at him.

'Did you have your way with the pretty little maid?' Jakulos asked.

Fyn shrugged. 'She's not my type.'

'What, you fancy the kingsdaughter?' Bantam asked. 'Think she'll lift her skirts for a common sailor, even if he was a monk?'

Fyn's hand shot out, fixing on Bantam's throat, lifting him off his feet. Jakulos grabbed Fyn, his sheer strength breaking his hold.

'A jest, little monk. 'Twas only a jest,' Bantam rasped, massaging his throat and watching him warily.

'Come here, Agent Monk,' Captain Nefysto called, frowning from the cabin door. Fyn hurried over to him. Nefysto closed the door after them. 'Don't threaten my crew, kingson. As far as they are concerned, you're the mage's agent, a monk out for revenge.'

'He insulted the kingsdaughter,' Fyn said.

'He's an ignorant man but he's a good sailor, and loyal. Something a deposed kingson should appreciate.'

Nefysto was right. 'I'm sorry.'

'So you should be. We're risking our lives so you can play Kingdoms and we are not even your men-at-arms.'

Nefysto gestured for Fyn to enter his cabin. As the captain placed a rolled-up map on his desk, Fyn wondered how much Tyro had revealed. Obviously not Piro's true identity.

Nefysto spread out the map, holding it in place with an inkwell and several books. 'The
Wyvern's Whelp
will avoid the shipping lanes. When we approach land again we will be deep inside Rolencian waters. We'll make our way around the spars to Foenix Spar. Byren Kingsheir has taken refuge with Warlord Feid.'

'Good.' The sooner he reached Byren, with the offer of support from the Elector of Ostron Isle, the better were his brother's chances of winning over the other four warlords. 'How long?'

'Nine, ten days.'

'So long?' The warlords might turn on Byren and hand him over to Cobalt.

Nefysto placed a hand on Fyn's shoulder. 'The
Wyvern's Whelp
is the fastest ship of her size on the seas. No one could get you there sooner!'

Piro crept into the war table chamber to look at her piece. They had been on Mage Isle five days and the little carving still had no face. Did that mean she was going to die?

She wished she'd never seen the war table. Going to the balcony, she stepped out and looked across at the steep slope of the encircling island, Ostron Ring. It was covered in terraced gardens and villas. A strange bird cried above her and she turned to look up at the tower. From the top floor she saw someone release an Ostronite messenger bird. The Pica's black wings and white vest flashed as it arrowed out in search of its mate. The female could find her way anywhere in the world to her mate. And, if either died, the other sang a song of love and lay down beside them, refusing to eat. Since only Agent Tyro went to the top of the tower, he had to have released the bird.

Piro took to her heels, waiting in the shadows for Tyro to come down the stairs. They'd hardly seen him since the initial meeting. She suspected he was avoiding them.

Hearing his footsteps, she moved to confront the agent. 'Was there news from Fyn?'

He shook his head.

'News for Fyn?'

'Not this time. The mage has his fingers in many pies, Piro.'

She bristled. Every time he said her name, he made it sound like he was laughing at her.

Tyro kept walking, so she followed. They came out into a courtyard where Isolt sat feeding the foenix.

Tyro bowed. 'Mage Tsulamyth invites Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter to attend the elector's feast with him.'

Piro and Isolt exchanged looks.

'But you said Isolt was safe as long as she stayed on Mage Isle,' Piro countered. 'Why should we risk this?'

'The elector is dying. The other four powerful families are preparing to choose a new elector. The mage will need the new elector's support. Tonight my master needs to show the powerful nobles that he holds the winning piece.' Tyro nodded to Isolt. 'The mage will be by your side and you will be under the protection of the elector himself.'

Isolt released the foenix, which flew over to Piro. She caught him but had to put him down, as he was getting too big to hold. She knelt to stroke his long neck, noting how the brilliant red comb was already coming through on the crown of his head.

'Is Mage Tsulamyth's position so precarious?' Isolt asked.

'We are approaching nexus points in every kingdom.' Tyro turned to Piro. 'The mage asks that you tell him if you have any Affinity visions.'

She nodded.

'Then he knows who Piro is?' Isolt asked.

Tyro barely hesitated. 'Of course.'

He lied.
Why?
Piro wondered.

'I don't like appearing before Ostronite nobles like a Kingdoms piece,' Isolt said. 'But then I've had to do a lot of things I haven't liked.'

Piro straightened and came over to her. 'Don't worry. I'll be with you.'

'Speak only Merofynian,' Tyro warned. 'Piro, let the nobles think you don't understand Ostronite. Report everything you hear.'

She both nodded. Since the mage had taken them in and promised to protect them, spying for him was the least she could do.

Fyn lifted his face to the morning sun and inhaled the sea breeze. A messenger bird gave its cry, alerting him, and he lifted his arm, adjusting for the bird's weight. It was marvellous how the picas could find this ship on the faceless ocean. They chose to come to him, because of his natural Affinity.

According to the mage's spies three of the spar warlords had sworn to fight alongside his brother. Fyn had suggested they send a message directly to the spy in Feid's stronghold but Nefysto explained the
Wyvern's Whelp
pica would fly only to Mage Isle.

'Then the mage must send a message to the kingsheir,' Fyn had said.

'That is up to the mage. He may not want to reveal his spy.' Nefysto had shaken his head. 'Let the mage play the game his way, Agent Monk.'

Now Fyn headed towards Nefysto, who was taking a reading of the height of the sun above the horizon to work out their position. 'A message, captain.'

Nefysto put his sextant aside and offered his hand to the bird, taking her into his cabin, where the male sang sweetly in greeting.

The bird knew it would not be placed with its mate until it delivered its message and began to warble in fast, garbled tones that Fyn found almost impossible to understand.

Fyn watched Nefysto, trying to read his face. 'Bad news?'

The captain walked the bird over to the cage, where its mate hopped around in excitement, singing loudly. He slipped the cage door open and the female fluttered over to the stand. The two birds wrapped their heads around each other and set up a soft cooing. And Nefysto slid the screen across.

'Not bad news of Isolt and her maid?' Fyn pressed.

'The warlord of Leogryf Spar promised to support Byren Kingsheir, but he has been seen moving his men over the Divide into Rolencia. And there is still no word from Cockatrice Spar.'

'Leogryf has betrayed him?' Fyn cursed. 'When the Leogryf warlord hears of the elector's alliance he will regret his choice.'

'You'll have to wait three days.' Nefysto laughed. 'The
Wyvern's Whelp
can't get you there any faster.'

'A lot can happen in three days,' Fyn muttered, but he had to be content with that.

Piro decided that she did not like the mage. He had a terrible temper. When Agent Tyro was late he told the coachman to set off without him. Isolt and Piro exchanged glances and huddled in their seats. The mage was the oldest man Piro had ever met - so frail and bent he was barely taller than her. His face was webbed with wrinkles, and bristly white brows hid his eyes.

He grumbled when they had to walk from the coach to the chambers, where the elector's feast was being held. He grumbled while they waited in line to be received by the elector. But Piro was not fooled. His grumbling hid a mind as sharp as the winter wind.

At last they stepped onto the dais to greet the elector, who lay on a daybed. The couch was cast from bronze, decorated with wyverns. Even the couch's legs ended in wyvern claws. Piro was aware of the nobles watching, listening avidly. At Isolt's name there was a ripple of reaction and excited speculation.

Piro stood behind Isolt, as a maidservant should. The elector's couch was only a body length from her. When Isolt and the mage stepped aside, she caught sight of the elector for the first time. Her vision shimmered and shifted to Unseen sight. The bones of the elector's skull showed through his skin. She gasped and glanced around. Had no one else noticed?

'And who is that behind Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter?' the elector asked in Ostronite.

'Her maid, Seela.' The mage gave Piro a nudge forwards, speaking Merofynian.

Struggling to hide the fact that she viewed the Unseen world, Piro somehow remembered her role, gave a servant's bow and said the first thing that came into her head. 'Your wyvern couch is a wondrous thing.'

'Do you like wyverns?' The elector spoke Merofynian out of courtesy. Since his face was little more than a talking skull, Piro found it hard to meet his eyes.

'A big male nearly killed us.' Piro winced. He was going to die and all she could talk about was death.

'They're not all like that. You must see my pet wyvern. She's a beauty.'

'You are very kind,' Piro said, and he was, to notice a mere servant. She bowed, and they stepped down from the dais as other nobles claimed the elector's attention. Piro tore her gaze away from him.

'What is it, girl?' the mage asked. But before she could answer a beautiful middle-aged woman approached them.

'This is Comtissa Cera. Her husband, the Comtes, died last year and she fancies herself the next elector,' Mage Tsulamyth whispered to Isolt and Piro. 'Beware this cat. She has claws.'

'Mage Tsulamyth?' The comtissa bestowed a bow on him.

'Comtissa,' the mage greeted her with no more than a nod.

Comtissa Cera ignored Piro, who dragged in a ragged breath and tried to control her Affinity-induced sight. The world no longer shimmered.

'I hear your father grows weaker every day, my dear,' the comtissa said to Isolt. 'What will you do when he dies? You cannot let a barbarian duke claim the throne of Merofynia.'

Piro stiffened. But Isolt was used to dealing with this kind of courtier.

'Oh, Father is much better than he appears,' Isolt replied. 'It is the elector's health I fear for. What will Ostron Isle do when they lose him? With the Twin Isles in upheaval, Ostron Isle needs a strong leader.'

The comtissa's eyes narrowed.

Just then another group came over to meet Isolt and the mage introduced them. Comtes Abeillus began to pay Isolt extravagant compliments, which Piro knew would bore her silly.

Piro glanced out through the arches to the courtyard where a fountain played over a pool. Servants had poured oil on the pool's surface and lit it. Statues of wyverns frolicked in the flames as if frozen in stone. Such extravagance.

Behind her two old noblemen, who thought Piro could not understand their language, spoke frankly of Duke Palatyne. For all they cared he might conquer Rolencia and the Snow Bridge. They did not fear him, because of the logistics of attacking Ostron Isle. The Merofynian army would have to sail across the Stormy Sea and enter the Ring Sea. But they would never get that far because Ostron Isle had the greatest navy the world had ever seen and, as a last resort, they could tighten the chain across the entrance to the Ring Sea.

All around her the nobles jostled and jockeyed for position, shoring up alliances. They were like carrion birds waiting for the elector to die so they could pick over the bones.

Piro felt a touch on her back.

'We have been seen and discussed, we can go now. My bones are too old for these late nights.' The mage leant heavily on Isolt's arm. 'But first we must take formal leave of the elector.'

Due to the crowd, they had not moved more than a few steps from the edge of the dais. Piro looked over at the elector.

In a blink, her sight shifted to the Unseen world again. The elector was just a skull, bare bones, no skin, no life. With a start she realised this was one of the nexus points Tyro had spoken of and she had failed to heed her Affinity.

The elector was going to die tonight.

Piro slipped through the nobles, running lightly to the dais, where she dropped to her knees. The elector clutched his chest, straining to breathe. His eyes were frightened. His hand seized hers, squeezing so hard her bones hurt.

'Mage,' Piro cried, her high voice cutting through all conversation. 'The elector needs you!'

The musicians stopped mid-note. The elector's breath rattled in his throat. Once, twice, he gasped. Then no more. As his spirit left, Piro's sight returned to normal.