Orrade laughed and hauled him to his feet. Two bodies shot past them, locked in desperate combat.
Byren blinked recognising one of them. 'Winterfall?'
Orrade nodded. 'Eight of your honour guard. Chandler and Winterfall convinced them that you were wrongfully accused.'
Crack. Mead showered Byren's left leg as the serving maid smashed the jug over the last struggling Merofynian. Young Chandler cut his throat, then cleaned his knife.
'We couldn't let you down,' he said.
Byren grinned and tried to massage feeling back into his hands.
'We're in luck,' Orrade whispered. 'Only Palatyne and his lordlings are housed in New Dovecote. His honour guard refused to sleep under the same roof as Rejulas's honour guard. Couldn't stomach traitors. So they've taken the old Keep and Rejulas's men have the town.'
Byren grinned. 'You've been busy.'
'Servants hear everything.'
'What of the townspeople?'
'Turned out of their own beds. They're sleeping in the servants' quarters in New Dovecote. Here's your hunting knife. It was all Rifkin could steal.'
'I'm obliged,' Byren said, slipping the knife into its customary place. If he were Palatyne, he would have Rejulas and his warriors killed the moment they were no longer useful. Anyone who could betray their sworn oath of allegiance was a worthless ally. 'Where's the healer and Affinity warder?'
'Willowtea's dead. The Affinity warder took a blow from one of Palatyne's Power-workers. They thought it had killed him but he was just knocked out. The cook hid him. Unfortunately he's too weak to help us.'
'Too bad.'
By the time Byren could use his fingers, they'd dragged the bodies away to hide them and Rifkin was raking the snow to disguise all sign of the skirmish.
Winterfall returned with a broken nose and a sheepish grin. 'I neber doubted you.'
Throat tight, Byren hugged him. 'Pack snow on that nose.'
As the maid took Winterfall off to apply the snow, Chandler said, 'You've eight more swords at your back.'
Eight honour guards, some of them mere callow youths, townspeople and servants… Byren ran his hand through his hair. They were vastly outnumbered; subterfuge was their only hope. 'We need a plan.'
'This way.' Orrade led them back into the new wing, through the kitchen and down a long hall where the able-bodied townspeople huddled. They touched Byren as he passed and whispered a welcome to Orrade and Garzik. Byren's bloodied honour guard impressed them.
Orrade led Byren into the cold-cellar. Great blocks of ice lined the walls to preserve food all year round. Amidst the frozen meat and stores, about two dozen men and half as many women waited, their breath steaming. Byren surveyed them by the light of the single lamp. He recognised stable lads, household servants and gardeners; most of the males were under sixteen or over sixty. At ten, Rifkin was the youngest.
Orrade gestured. 'This is all that remains of Dovecote's defenders.'
'Captain Blackwing?' Byren asked.
'Amongst the first to fall.'
'I'm sorry — '
'What should we do first, Byren?' Garzik asked. The boys of thirteen and fourteen had gravitated to him, eager to follow his lead.
Byren's heart sank. They were all going to die. He glanced to the old gaffer who used to look after the chickens. From his expression, it was clear he knew it too but he still clutched the garden scythe in his gnarled hands and waited for orders.
'Byren?' Orrade prodded.
'Right,' Byren muttered. 'We need to light the warning beacon. Is it prepared?'
'The Old Dove always keeps it ready,' the chicken keeper said.
'But the tower was the first place the Merofynians took over,' a stable lad piped up. 'It's full of them!'
'They're nearly all drunk,' the serving maid announced, eyes sparkling.
'We've been keeping them well supplied,' the cook explained. 'They think they're safe because no one knows the Merofynians are here except for Rejulas and his men.'
'Good.' With everyone watching him, Byren felt the weight of their expectation.
'We need to get Elina away from Palatyne,' Orrade said. 'He's taken the Royal Chamber.'
'I'll go save her,' Garzik offered, 'then kill Palatyne!'
'Let me go,' Winterfall offered.
Orrade caught Byren's eye. Garzik wouldn't stand a chance against a warrior of Palatyne's experience and Winterfall was not much better.
'No, I need you two to lead the youths. Dress as servants and sneak up to the top of the warning tower to light the beacon,' Byren told him. 'But don't do it until you get my signal. Once the beacon is alight the Merofynians will know we've risen.' He caught the cook's eye. 'I want to get the household servants and townspeople out into the forest and hidden before then.' He was thinking aloud. Seeing the fate of Lord Dovecote and his birds had convinced Byren that Palatyne would not hesitate to take his anger out on the servants, women and children alike. 'I want everyone hidden before we light that beacon. Just as well the tower guards are drunk.' He smiled at the cook and she blushed as if she was fifteen, not fifty. 'This will make it easier for Garzik and my honour guard to get past them to the top of the tower.'
But how would they get down again? And what about Rejulas's men in the town?
'Set fire to the town. It's wooden, it'll go up like tinder,' Orrade suggested, following the same train of thought. A dismayed mutter arose from the townspeople.
'While the town burns Rejulas's warriors will be too busy escaping with their lives to hunt down the townspeople,' Byren assured them.
Orrade nodded. 'I'll send some men into Doveton to prepare the fires. They can light them the moment the beacon is lit.'
'I'll go,' the chicken keeper offered. 'Take the stable boys with me.'
'What of Lence Kingsheir?' Rifkin piped up. 'He's being kept in the blue chamber.'
Byren felt his first surge of hope. Everyone looked to him. Did they suspect that his twin was a traitor? Why should they?
'I'll deal with Lence,' Byren muttered. If it came to the worst and Lence had betrayed them, he was anxious to save his family shame.
'We can deal with the Merofynian servants,' the cook volunteered. Half a dozen serving girls nodded eagerly. 'Not a warrior amongst them!'
'Good, but quietly,' Byren warned. 'I don't want Palatyne slitting Elina's throat.'
'Goddess forbid!' the cook cried, echoed by others.
Byren smiled. 'Mistress cook, you organise the household staff. Deal with the Merofynian servants then as soon as Palatyne and his lordlings fall asleep, grab food and blankets and lead the townspeople out. Hide in the forest tonight and tomorrow…' Where would they go? '…head into the Divide. That goes for all of you. Don't waste your lives trying to fight the Merofynians. Hide until it is safe to come down.'
They all nodded.
'What of Rejulas?' Garzik asked, rubbing his arms to keep warm. 'He betrayed King Rolen. His life is forfeit. Let me go after him. Winterfall can light the beacon.'
'Rejulas is in the Green Chamber,' the cook volunteered.
'I'll deal with Rejulas,' Byren decided. The last thing he wanted to do was place Elina at risk but his duty was to Rolencia. He fixed on Garzik. 'The beacon is most important. We must alert my father so he can muster Rolencia's defences.'
'What of Elina?' Orrade caught his arm. 'Let me go. I'll slip into Palatyne's chamber, cut his throat and — '
Byren nodded. 'When I give the signal. Once you have her, take her to Sylion Abbey. They'll protect — '
'Not the Divide?' Garzik asked.
