Rowena Daniells - The King's bastard

The masters came to their feet, many of them in deep discussion. The abbot beckoned the clerics master and nodded in Fyn's direction. Lonepine made his way through the others to meet up with Fyn and Feldspar, who stood, massaging their knees.

'Well, that'll serve them right,' Lonepine said, the tips of his large ears red with excitement.

'Yes, justice. If only it were so simple,' Master Wintertide agreed as he joined them. He turned to Fyn. 'Why did you give Feldspar the Fate? Do you really feel so unworthy?'

Fyn wanted to reassure Wintertide but at that moment the clerics master came over and ordered Feldspar and Lonepine to escort Fyn back to his cell.

'But — ' Lonepine objected.

'Fyn lied to Master Catillum,' Wintertide explained. 'This is serious, no matter how honourable his motivation. Take him to his cell and count yourselves lucky you are not staying there with him.'

'Come on.' Lonepine turned towards the door. When they left the masters behind, he whispered, 'You've certainly set the cat amongst the pigeons, Feldspar!'

'Master Catillum would have discovered it once I began training. To train your Affinity you must be open to your teacher.'

He was right. Fyn glanced back to the masters. Hotpool and Firefox listened intently to the abbot and the mystics master. Catillum was sure to discover Piro's part in all this. How could he hide her guilt from a master who was able to skim the minds of those he trained?

'Hey!' Lonepine protested as Galestorm shouldered him aside while being escorted from the chamber.

'Ignore him. He's gone too far this time,' Fyn advised.

Feldspar nodded. They escorted Fyn back to the cell in silence, then they paused at the door. There was no lock, no guard. Honour held Fyn captive. After all, where would he go if he ran away? All of Rolencia would turn on him.

Feldspar cleared his throat. 'I may lose my place with the mystics, but I'm glad I did it. You don't deserve this, Fyn.'

'Don't worry, a seer is too valuable for the abbot to do more than give you some mild punishment.' Lonepine squeezed Fyn's shoulder. 'You'll be right.'

Fyn had to smile. If only his problems were so easily resolved. By trying to help, Feldspar had made things so much worse.

'Thanks. I guess, all we can do now is wait.' So he went into his cell and sat there stewing. If only Piro hadn't interfered. If only he had found the Fate by himself, then he would gladly accept his place with the mystics!

'So this is Byren Rolen Kingson, the leogryf slayer?' the woman asked. She could have been twenty-five, but her eyes looked older. Her hair hung in one battletale with seven gold links. Life on the spars was hard. Women fought alongside their men, sometimes by choice, often through necessity. 'And why are we honoured with your presence?'

'Lady Unace of Unistag Spar.' As Byren made his court bow, he decided she looked like the sort of person who liked plain speaking. 'The warlord of Unistag did not send a delegate to renew his oath of loyalty, so King Rolen sent me to ensure this happens.'

'You and twenty-five men?' Humour glinted in her black eyes.

Byren grinned, acknowledging a hit.

Her smile vanished. She strode to the canvas flap which hung in the doorway of the large snow-cave and flipped it open to reveal Unistag stronghold. Lit by the setting sun, it was built into the cliff opposite, projecting out from stone ledges. Layered and cantilevered, the whole thing looked like a strong wind would blow it down. The walled town spread down the slope to a narrow bay. The place was a rabbit warren, though Byren conceded it would be easily defended. From the stronghold's tallest tower a banner blew, a white unistag on a green field, the symbol of the spar.

'I was born there, along with my four brothers. When my father lay dying he called all his heirs into his bedside to elect a new warlord. But, before he could, my cousin Steerden had him suffocated, then he murdered my brothers, their wives and their children, my husband and little boy of six summers…' Her voice cracked, mouth twisting as she fought to hold back her grief.

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 — '