'How long will this take?'
'As long as it has to. I'm not leaving a seep for Rolencia's sanctimonious monks to hoard.' He untied some cloth to reveal two stones, carved so that they slotted together like lovers. 'This isn't a large seep. Should be done by morning.' He noticed the man's expression. 'Don't worry, we'll catch up with the others tomorrow.'
The man retrieved the pack and turned to leave, but the girl was staring at the sorbt stones with a mixture of fear and fascination. The warrior casually cuffed her over the ear and walked off. She wiped her face on her sleeve and hurried after him, before the chain could jerk painfully on her collar. Her slave collar… for that's what it was.
He'd heard of such things in the tales his mother told. Parents too poor to educate a child born with Affinity might consider themselves lucky to sell the child to a Power-worker.
Merofynia was a strange place. They considered themselves more civilised than Rolencia, but the gap between the very poorest and the rich was much greater.
Byren watched as the Utland Power-worker separated the two stones. He wore gloves but, even so, he moved swiftly, touching the smaller stone that fitted into the larger very gingerly. He tucked the larger stone under his arm and placed the other in the centre of the seep. Its surface began to pulsate like the calandrius. Soon it was pulsing regularly as if it contained a beating heart, growing brighter with each throb.
'Well done, my pretty. And now for some roast bird,' the Utlander muttered, sounding like a baker who'd put his loaves in the oven and was due for a well-deserved break.
As soon as the Power-worker went over the far rise, Byren slid down the dark side of his rise and rolled to his knees. There were six warriors escorting the Utlander, too many for him to tackle, and that was without even considering the danger of confronting a Power-worker. He lacked warding talismans to protect him. Besides, the best wards the monks could build had failed to protect his grandfather and uncle all those years ago.
No, he could not release the calandrius, save that girl and take the sorbt stones for the abbot. He had a duty to Rolencia and he must not endanger himself. He should turn his back on them, bed down for the night then leave early tomorrow to see the abbot and Fyn.
Feeling sick at heart, Byren came to his feet.
But instead of heading away from their camp, he crept towards it. At least he could take a look in the dip beyond the hollow.
They were fast workers, these Merofynians. Already they had constructed three low snow-caves, just big enough for the travellers to crawl inside with their packs and a brazier. The calandrius remained rolled in the cloak but was cradled in the girl's arms. She crooned to it, feeding it slivers of something from a pack. The Power-worker ignored her.
The other bird had been plucked and now was being dismembered so that pieces would cook quickly over the braziers in the snow-caves. The men worked efficiently, retiring eagerly to the warmth of their shelters. Only one was left on sentry duty — they thought themselves safe. Few people travelled this late in the winter, when the creatures began to stir from their long slumber and those that had stayed awake were desperate for food.
The Utlander kicked the girl as he passed. 'Give me the bird and get inside.'
Without a word, she handed over the injured Affinity beast and crawled into the Power-worker's snow-cave, but not before Byren saw her cast her master a look of pure hatred.
'Is there anything I should look out for?' the sentry called as the Utlander went to follow the girl, with the bird in his arms.
'No more than usual. The seep is no longer radiating Affinity and won't attract beasts, and the Rolencians don't know we're here.'
Then he crawled into his shelter while the sentry selected a spot on the rise, where he had a good view of the undulating snow-shrouded banks of the lake, and prepared to wait out his watch, unaware of Byren.
One man was a different proposition from six, but there was still the Power-worker and Byren had no weapon that would work against him. Shuffling down the slope, he found a niche behind a rock and pulled his cloak around his body.
He would sleep and wake early, the better to get away before the Merofynians stirred. He was not worried about waking in time. Ever since he could remember, he'd had an internal sense of time.
But the moment he closed his eyes he saw Elina leap in front of him, trying to turn Lence's blade with her own. She must have known her wrists weren't strong enough. He felt her wound like it was his own, searing through his gut. With a groan he doubled up.
Elina…
Death was too good for Illien of Cobalt!
Elina would still be alive, if Lence hadn't believed Cobalt's lies, if Byren hadn't written that love poem… It had been so easy for Cobalt to twist the words to prove that Byren was Orrade's lover instead of Elina's. If Orrade hadn't confessed that he was a lover of men like Palos of legend, then Cobalt couldn't have convinced Lence and the king that the Servants of Palos had reformed to put Byren on the throne.
Frustration raged through him, for there was no secret society calling itself the Servants of Palos. Thirty years ago there had been. His father had eradicated the traitors, executing lord and commoner alike. But how could Byren prove that a secret society no longer existed, when suspicion and innuendo were enough to undermine his reputation?
Cobalt was so good at playing on people's fears. Byren cursed the day his cousin had come back to Rolencia.
Shaking with anger and exhaustion, he vowed to kill Cobalt. Elina would approve, for she was a true warrior's daughter. But first he had to expose Cobalt for the traitor he was.
Decision made, Byren welcomed sleep, letting the exhaustion that had been circling like a predator consume him. The great muscles of his weary thighs twitched from over-work and, as he welcomed the oblivion of exhaustion, in his mind's eye he saw the Affinity-slave girl cradling the wounded calandrius. Both trapped, both innocent.
How could he defeat Cobalt when he could not save them?
Chapter Two
Fyn woke with the feeling that something was wrong. Then it came back to him… Rolencia was at war with Merofynia.
He rolled over, his hand going to his chest to stop the royal emblem from tangling in its chain, but he'd left the foenix pendant in Halcyon's Sacred Heart. That was when he'd planned to leave the abbey to protect his sister's secret, and needed to hide his identity.
He hadn't wanted to leave but he couldn't stay, not after Piro had revealed her Affinity to him. The mystics master would have uncovered Fyn's guilty knowledge as soon as he began training. But now that the mystics master had gone off to ambush the Merofynians, the unexpected dawning of Piro's Affinity was the least of his troubles.
He told himself his sister would be safe as long as she stayed in Rolenhold, for the castle's defences had never been breached. It did no good. Fear for his mother and Piro gnawed at his belly. Before this, he had never understood how his brothers could cheerfully lead war parties against upstart warlords, but the thought of thirteen-year-old Piro in the hands of Merofynian warriors ignited his blood.
He suspected the same feelings had kept the other acolytes awake, talking long into the night boasting how they would prove their bravery, if only they had the chance. But Halcyon's warrior monks did not send children to war, even if those acolytes were due to become monks this spring cusp with the responsibilities of men.
War with Merofynia…
Fyn didn't understand how it had come to this. His father's betrothal to King Merofyn's daughter had heralded thirty years of peace. When Myrella's younger brother had died in suspicious circumstances, her cousin had seized the Merofynian throne. This meant Fyn's eldest brother could become betrothed to the new king's daughter, and it should have ensured another thirty years of peace. But, early yesterday, a message had arrived from King Rolen asking the abbot to send the warrior monks. So the weapons master had marched out with every able-bodied monk,
