He nodded. A great gout of blood burst from her lips and the life left her.
No. Not yet. Not ever. Byren lifted his face to Lence, who stared at Elina, stunned.
'I'm waiting, kingsheir,' Palatyne goaded. 'Where are those archers, Dunstany?'
'Delayed, it seems,' he said.
Lence stood stiffly, pulling his borrowed sword from Elina's body.
Byren came slowly to his feet, lifting his own sword.
The ring of metal on metal told him Orrade was occupied with the servants, as yet unaware of Elina's death.
Lence adjusted his grip on the blade. 'Down, Byren.'
The leogryf leapt all over again. Byren dropped. With a roar Lence charged past him, bearing down on the servants who battled Orrade. They took one look at him and dropped their makeshift weapons to flee.
Byren rolled to his feet, charging after Lence, who threw his weight behind the door, dragging it open.
'Go!' Lence shoved Orrade through, caught Byren's vest and shoved him as well. 'Go. I'll hold them. Seal the doors. Let the hall be our funeral pyre!'
Before Byren could protest, the door closed in his face and he heard the great bar drop.
'Elina!' Orrade tried to prise his sword in the crack between the doors, to lift the bar. 'Byren, she's still in there.'
'She's dead, Orrie. Died in my arms.' He indicated the blood down his vest. 'Her last wish was to burn the hall and everyone in it!'
'No. She can't be dead. She was right behind me.'
Byren did not answer. He ran to the first of the great bronze foenixes and judged the angle. Getting his shoulder under the bird's belly he shoved. It rocked on its base. He shoved again. The bronze was not solid, but still it was heavy. With a resounding thump it toppled, its head hitting the doors. The contents of its charcoal brazier spilled onto the ground.
'Watch it!' Orrade shouted, dodging burning coals.
Byren ran to the other bronze.
'What're you doing?' Orrade demanded.
'Wedging the doors closed so they can't escape the hall,' Byren panted.
'They can still get out the windows.'
'If they can get to them,' Byren agreed. 'Shut up and help.'
Orrade added his wiry strength. The bird toppled and hit the other door. More coals fell to the stones.
Byren jumped the bird's legs and ran to where Lord Dovecote was still impaled. Kicking the coals towards the old man's robes, he knelt and blew on them. They flared bright, greedy little flames licking up the cloth.
Orrade stared, panting. 'Father…'
'He would've wanted it this way,' Byren said.
Orrade nodded as he brushed tears from his face. 'And Lence?'
'Saved our lives. He's holding them back even now. Come on. Garzik and Winterfall will be waiting at the water-wheel.' He hoped. But he'd sent them to light a beacon which had already been destroyed, if Palatyne could be believed.
As they ran Byren glanced back over his shoulder. Flames leapt from the upper windows of the hall where the hangings had been burning strongly. Byren was not convinced everyone would burn, but the hall would and it would be their warning beacon.
Fierce tears stung his eyes.
Elina would be satisfied.
Chapter Thirty-One
Below them, down around the frozen lake, Doveton burned fiercely. Rejulas's warriors ran about trying to drag friends and mounts from burning buildings. Avoiding the chaos, Byren and Orrade ran parallel to the shore towards the forest. It was a clear night. The stars formed an effervescent froth above them, strong enough to cast shadows on the snow.
They ran until the fires behind them were blotted out by the snow-covered evergreens, until they reached the dark building of the water-wheel, and there they stopped to catch their breath.
'Elina was right behind me,' Orrade panted. 'How — '
'Byren Kingson?' a voice piped up.
'Rifkin?' Byren answered softly.
'We're over here.'
They ran around the far side of the building to find a handful of people huddled near the frozen water- wheel.
'Garzik, are you there? ' Byren called. 'Winterfall?'
'He's not here,' Rifkin said. 'None of them are.'
'Didn't make it down from the tower,' the cook said. 'I waited as long as I could, but the town started burning.'
Orrade dropped to his knees in the snow, dry-retching.
'They may still get away,' little Rifkin insisted.
'Not Garzik, too,' Byren whispered.
The cook looked a question at him.
'Elina…' Byren could not go on.
Rifkin burst into the tears. The cook and her companions wailed, covering their mouths to stifle the sound.
Byren dropped down beside Orrade, one hand going to his back. 'Orrie…'
His friend pushed his hand away, rubbed clean snow on his face and straightened up. Byren stood up, suddenly tired.
The cook wiped her face and retrieved two travelling bags, the occasional sob still escaping her. 'Here's your packs. There's food for several days, some clothes and…' She could not go on.
Byren grunted his thanks, as she shoved the pack into his arms. He noticed two more and felt the loss of Garzik and Elina, sharp as a knife wound.
'We have to get out of here,' the cook said.
She was right. Byren focused. 'Orrie, listen to me. You must lead the servants and townspeople into the Divide. I still have to go the abbey.'
Orrade came to his feet with a nod. He turned to the Cook. 'Go, take the others. I'll catch up.'
She herded them away, taking the two spare packs, symbols of silent accusation. Byren felt sick to his stomach.
Orrade stepped in front of him. 'I'm not like Lence. I'd give my life for you. He betrayed you over and over. How could you compare me to him?'
Byren blinked.
'You said if you'd given up on Lence, you would have given up on me long ago. But I'm not like him. I'd never betray you!'
'He didn't betray me, not in the end.' Byren swallowed. He had proved the seer wrong about that at least. He had not killed his brother. 'Lence held the door so we could get away. He died to save us.'
Orrade said nothing.
'Orrie?' Byren whispered.
Orrade shook his head.
'Lord Dovecote?' the cook called softly as she scurried back. 'Merofynians are coming.'
'I'll be right there.'
'Yes, m'lord.'
Realisation hit Byren. Orrade was Lord of Dovecote now and, as for him, he was kingsheir. If there was
