'Overlord?'
Palatyne waited, radiating impatience.
'Who will you leave in charge of Rolencia? Cobalt — '
Palatyne snorted. 'Cannot be trusted. I know. But I will leave the two mystics to watch over him so I rid myself of those two abbey spies. Plus I'll leave a holding force of Merofynian warriors to keep them in line.'
'I see you have planned ahead.'
'I always do, Dunstany,' he said with heavy meaning, then marched out.
Piro and Dunstany did not move until they heard Palatyne's voice on the wharf as he mounted up and rode away, and then the noble scholar sat down abruptly.
Dunstany met her eyes across the cabin. 'The overlord sees betrayal everywhere, because that is how he rose to power. I suspect the Utlander has been at work here, undermining me. Go, fetch Soterro.'
She scurried up to the deck where the Ostronite servant was deep in argument with the captain.
'…master has hired you, not the overlord, so you will obey…' Soterro broke off, seeing Piro. 'Yes, slave?'
'Lord Dunstany wishes to speak with you. We are to leave immediately on a mission for the overlord.'
Soterro allowed himself one triumphant glance to the captain and headed below. Piro had to run to keep up with him. At the base of the narrow ladder Soterro leant against the wood, looking slightly queasy. He noticed Piro watching him. 'The last time I saw the overlord in such a temper he had a man hung, drawn and quartered. How did the master divert him?'
'We are to go ahead, to prepare a convoy of ships for him and his treasure.' Soterro wiped sweat from his top lip with a trembling hand and she felt a tug of unwanted sympathy for the Ostronite servant.
'Is the Utlander Lord Dunstany's enemy?' Piro whispered. 'I thought they were just rivals.'
'No. Definitely enemies,' Soterro confirmed. 'This time last year the two Utlanders lured m'lord into a trap and almost killed him. Although we could not prove that it was they who sent the assassins.'
Piro's stomach knotted with fear for Dunstany and, oddly enough, it wasn't just because he was her protector. She liked him.
Soterro straightened. 'Don't look so worried. We'll be safe once we get home. Our lord has the king's ear.'
But the king was old and dying. Piro followed the Ostronite servant back to the cabin thinking her mother had been right. The higher you rose, the more enemies you had.
Now she was headed back to her mother's home. How she missed Queen Myrella.
Chapter Seventeen
Fyn slipped through the town, just another refugee unnoticed in the bustle. There were Merofynians everywhere, drinking in the taverns, striding through the marketplace, taking whatever they wanted. In the middle of Rolenton Square, where only last midwinter his father had promised another thirty years of peace, Fyn paused to study the castle. It was invincible, built on the pinnacle with only the steep zig-zag road leading to the great gate. Deep in its cellars lay hoards of grain, wine, preserves and salted meat, plus it had its own water supply.
It was impregnable. It was… flying Merofynian banners.
Impossible.
Yet… Rolenhold's gates stood open and he could see carts making their way up to the castle. Somehow his father's castle had been taken. Despair sliced through his composure. The world as he knew it was no more — Rolenhold had fallen and Halcyon Abbey was destroyed. The old seer had been right.
What else might she have revealed, if he had only listened?
There was no point agonising over might-have-beens.
Numb, Fyn wended his way through the busy square, heading for the gate that led to the castle. Round objects on the gate's spikes made his step falter. Thirty years ago his father had made an example of the Servants of Palos — traitors who would have put King Rolen's illegitimate older brother on the throne — by leaving their heads to rot on this gate. He could only see the back of the heads from here but something told him he did not want to see their faces. Still he went on.
Merofynians stood guard at Rolenton's gate. They did not bother to stop him, for the road was thick with merchants bringing in supplies.
On the far side of the gate Fyn went ten paces then turned to stare up at the faces of the spiked heads. It had been cold and he could still recognise Captain Temor along with several men from his father's honour guard. Fyn knew them all.
He almost lost his balance, but recovered and forced himself to think.
His father would have entrusted Temor to hold the gate, so the attack must have been too swift to evacuate the city properly. Temor and his men would have been unable to hold the gate against the odds but they would have given the castle guard time to close Rolenhold's gates. Once closed, there was no way an attacker could breach the walls. Fyn turned to study the castle, which had appeared to be intact, and collided with a horse.
'Here watch it, fisherman,' a carter complained.
'Sorry.' Fyn stroked the horse's muzzle and turned to the carter, who had dismounted to adjust the traces. The cart was laden high with wine barrels. 'How did Rolenhold fall? I would have sworn it was impossible.'
The carter glanced swiftly to the heads above the gate, then to the Merofynian gate guards. When he spoke his voice was low and tight. 'All I know is this, King Rolen died when he rode out to speak with the overlord under a flag of truce. His body was burned along with the queen and kingsdaughter. They say all but one of the kingsons are dead.'
Piro, dead? Fyn staggered.
'Here.' The carter caught his arm.
Fyn had to bend double to catch his breath.
'Did you have family in the castle, lad?'
Fyn nodded.
'They may still be there. Some have been enslaved, but the majority are getting on with their jobs.'
Fyn glanced at him, shocked.
'A man's got to eat, got to feed his family.'
Prosaic but true.
The carter watched him, a sympathetic gleam in his deep-set eyes. He looked prosperous but not overly so. Fyn could tell he was a decent man, trying to provide for his family.
Fyn's head reeled. Piro and his mother dead? What was the point of going on?
'Here, I'll give you a ride. You can lend me a hand unloading,' the carter said, as he caught the rail and swung himself up into the seat, lifting the reins.
Fyn stared up at him.
'Come on, lad. Don't give up.'
There was no point. He should head off to the Dividing Mountains and join Byren. He had to hope his brother had recovered and made it to the safety of the high country.
'I don't see how the castle could have fallen!' Fyn muttered.
'As to that, I can't say. But I do know there's a bag of gold offered for news of the missing kingson's whereabouts. If he's got any brains he'll be high on the Divide by now. I don't know why they want him dead when they're keeping the cousin alive.'
'Cobalt's alive?'
The carter nodded. 'He was injured when they took the castle. Lost an arm. They say the queen attacked him but I can't imagine it. She was ever so kind. At any rate, the overlord's Power-workers saved his life. He's being held prisoner now. Are you coming, lad? I've got a job to do.'
'Yes. I'm coming.' Fyn climbed up next to him.
The carter flicked the reins and clucked to the horses, who took up the slack, bending forwards against the traces to pull the heavy load.
Fyn focused on the castle, where his cousin lay injured and captive. He'd only met Illien of Cobalt once. That
