pink on the ice below his face. Blood.
He'd seen enough injured men to recognise the signs. The wound had pierced his lungs. He would drown in his own blood. He came to his feet, head reeling. Only one thing mattered.
He had to reach Rolenhold, had to warn his father, had to prove his loyalty before he died.
Piro had no trouble slipping into an empty covered cart in the confusion of the loading and unloading in the castle courtyard. As the cart trundled out of Rolenhold, tears stung her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Furious, she brushed them away.
Leaving the castle was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.
But it felt wrong to abandon her mother while she was locked in the tower, a prisoner of her Merofynian blood. Worse, it felt wrong to run away when her father needed her. But she could only hide for so long before someone recognised her.
Her mother was right. Sylion Abbey was the best place for her right now. An ironic smile tugged at her lips. To think how she had railed against being sent to the abbey because of her Affinity.
Now she was going there by choice. She had a small travelling pack tucked under her cloak, some food and a good gown to wear when she met the abbess of Sylion.
She would jump out of the cart before the men started loading up the townsfolk. Her father had dragged himself from his sick bed early this morning, demanding news of Byren and Lence. When he learnt none had come, but that smoke had been seen in the direction of Dovecote, he had ordered the town evacuated so that the inhabitants could not be used as hostages. Piro regretted not saying goodbye to him, but he had been told she was already on her way to Sylion Abbey so she must not look back but forwards.
Once away from the cart, she would make her way to the wharves. There were still merchant sled-ships preparing to dash back to Port Marchand before war was officially declared. She could barter for passage on one of them.
The cart went dark as it trundled through the gate into Rolenton, then rattled over the cobbles as it traversed the two blocks to Rolenton Square where the people waited. A confusion of shouting voices told her the townspeople were only too eager to take shelter in the castle. Time to slip away.
Piro pulled her hood forwards. If anyone saw her, they would think she was a servant running home before war broke out. She had her story prepared and, thanks to her mother's delight in acting out the old sagas, she had the accent right.
Hands tore the cart's rear flap open and small children and old folk were thrust in, stumbling forwards to claim a patch of floor. Piro pushed past them to the opening, where a sea of anxious faces and clamouring arms greeted her. She was surprised there were this many townsfolk still to move. The carts had been ferrying people since dawn and it was now late afternoon.
'You're going the wrong way, girlie,' a man told her, as she jumped down and thrust through the throng.
'I'm trying to get home to Marchand to see me mam,' she said, but he wasn't interested.
The sky seemed so low and oppressive it made her head hurt. It was a grey day, the air thick and still. No wind. At worst the sled-ships would have to be dragged until the wind picked up as it usually did around dusk.
Piro had to battle to cross the square, where the carts were lined up to collect people. Of course, there were the hardy souls who swore they would not leave their homes, but there were also many who thought it prudent to take shelter in the castle with their families and as much of their belongings as they could manage to bring. Piles of bedding, bed frames, chests, tables and chairs were stacked high in the square where people waited. Some families had come prepared with a packed lunch, which they shared with their servants.
'A crust of bread for my little ones,' a woman pleaded, at one of these tables. Her three small children hung on her skirts, frightened and grubby. 'We've been waiting since dawn and they're ever so hungry.'
The wealthy merchant turned his back on her.
'Jorge,' his wife pleaded.
'If we give them some, they'll all want some,' he said, but he looked uncomfortable.
'Here.' Piro reached into her pack and pulled out a loaf baked fresh that morning in the castle's kitchen. 'And I have some cheese.'
'Halcyon bless you,' the woman whispered, hastily sharing the food with her little ones.
Piro watched. If the square continued to fill with townsfolk, the children could be crushed under foot.
'Come this way.' She picked up the smallest, a toddler of two, and the mother grabbed the four-year-old while the six-year-old hung on her skirt, stuffing bread in his mouth.
With a judicious jab and an elbow in the right place, Piro pushed through to the place where Temor stood bellowing orders. Captain of the king's honour guard, he had been her father's most trusted advisor until Lord Cobalt insinuated himself into that position, earning the title of lord protector of the castle. Captain Temor had been given the task of evacuating Rolenton.
Piro slipped behind the grizzled veteran and tugged on his surcoat, which was decorated with the deep red foenix on a black background, its wings and scales picked out in gold thread.
'Eh, what?' he turned, his eyes widening. 'Piro? You're supposed to be safe in Sylion Abbey, or on your way there at least.'
She thrust the grizzling two-year-old into his arms. 'See that this woman and her children get safely to the castle.'
'What?' he protested as the woman began to thank him profusely. Piro melted into the crowd, a little smile tugging at her lips. She was pretty sure Captain Temor didn't believe that she had been passing her mother's traitorous notes to a Merofynian spy, but he had his orders to arrest her.
Luckily the crowd was so dense and the momentum towards the carts was so forceful, only the most determined could make headway.
Piro found herself on the steps of the merchants' guild hall with its great bell tower. It was from the fifth floor of this tower that her father had announced Lence's betrothal to Isolt — King Merofyn's daughter — last midwinter's day. This should have ensured the peace. Piro didn't understand what had gone wrong, but one thing was certain, from atop the bell tower she would be able to see the wharves.
Better to spot a likely sled-ship and make straight for it, than to waste time and energy struggling through the crowd. She entered through the double doors and crossed the landing heading for the tower stairs.
Further into the hall she could hear men and women arguing over strategies to protect their investments. Orders still had to be filled and ships were currently under sail, their captains unaware of the situation at home. To hear the merchants of Rolenton talk, war was an inconvenience unless they could use it to turn a profit.
Smiling to herself, Piro ran up the stairs, only puffing slightly when she reached the fifth floor. Hanging over the balcony, she peered down past the busy square, past the sloping roof tops of the terraces towards the lake and the wharves. Some of the sled-ships were already being hauled across the frozen lake. While they still could, they were heading north-east for the canal that eventually linked up with Port Marchand, or west for the canal to Port Cobalt. Watching the ships was one of her favourite pastimes and she knew many of their captains by name. She could pick the fastest and recognise which great merchant house they belonged to.
There, that three-masted sloop looked like it was making ready to depart. She only hoped she would reach it in time.
Raising her eyes, Piro looked out across Rolencia, past the chimneys of the great houses opposite, past the town to the countryside. The air was still and thick like soup. She could hardly make out the beautiful, rolling snow- covered fields of Rolencia's rich valley. How could she leave her home behind? How could she live in cold, heartless Sylion Abbey?
She blinked. What was that shadow moving on the snow?
She blinked again, her vision crawling oddly. Surely it was mist in a hollow, nothing more. Rubbing her eyes, she wished for a farseer as she strained to make sense of it.
But instead of clearing, her vision grew blurred and she slipped into Affinity-induced Unseen sight.
It was not mist. It was a mass of white cloaked men, moving like a cloud's shadow over the fields, under cover of an illusion generated by renegade Power-workers.
The Merofynian invaders were less than an hour away!
