Midday saw Fyn on the deck of the sea-hound, studying the warlord's stronghold as they approached. Below it, a collection of cottages clung to the steep slope that led down to Foenix Spar's only harbour. Even from here, he could see pigs and chickens wandering the muddy streets, squabbling and squawking. After Ostron Isle the comparison was not favourable.
Their ship had been sighted, and as it drew near, mothers called for children to come running. The women retreated, clutching the little ones' hands, and closed up their houses, to watch no doubt through peek holes. The spars were wary of everyone and the sea-hounds owed them no allegiance.
Word must have been sent up the steep road to the stronghold. By the time the oarsmen had guided the Wyvern's Whelp into its berth and made the ship secure, a delegation strode down the slope. Fyn searched for Byren's broad shoulders but could not find them.
'My brother isn't there,' Fyn said to Nefysto. Had Byren fallen foul of his injuries after all? Then he spotted Orrade. He would know. Fyn waved. 'Orrie!'
As his brother's best friend sprinted along the wharf, Fyn charged down the gangplank. They collided, laughing and hugging.
'You've grown, Fyn,' Orrade said, stepping back to look at him.
'I'll never be as big as the twins…' Fyn broke off, remembering Lence's loss all over again. He looked around for Byren. 'Where's — '
'You missed him. He's gone ahead to attack the fort across Foenix Pass. And I'm leaving tomorrow to aid him.'
'Then I'm coming with you. I've news for him.' Fyn patted his vest where the message cylinder was hidden. He glanced over at the waiting men. 'I don't see Garzik?'
Orrade's thin features tightened with sorrow and his voice grew rough. 'He fell the night Palatyne took Dovecote. We lost Elina and Father that night, too.'
Unable to find the words, Fyn hugged him again.
As he pulled back, Orrade managed a smile. 'So where have you been? Playing sea-hound-and-Utland raider?' It was a game they'd indulged in as children.
Fyn laughed. 'I've much to tell you, Orrie.' He nodded past Orrade's shoulder to the spar warriors. 'Can we trust them?'
'As far as we can trust anyone from the spars.' Orrade slung an arm around Fyn's shoulders. 'Come on. I'll introduce you. Ah, but you're a sight for sore eyes. We heard Piro lived, but no one knew what'd happened to you.'
'About Piro…' Fyn fell into step with him, then remembered the sea-hound captain. 'First, you must meet Nefysto.'
They'd agreed to pretend the sea-hound had delivered Fyn for a fee and the chance to trade. It felt wrong to lie to Orrade, but the mage's secrets were not his to share.
By now the rest of the delegation had reached them, and Orrade made the introductions. Most notable amongst them was the handsome youth, who turned out to be a mountain girl called Florin, and the warlord's new lady, Cinna. When Nefysto greeted Lady Cinna, he acted as though they'd never met, but there was a hint of laughter in his black eyes, which was echoed in hers.
While the sea-hounds were setting up their goods on the wharf and the inhabitants of Feidton gathered, eager to begin bargaining, Fyn slipped over to speak with Nefysto.
'So you do know the mage's spy,' he said.
A smile tugged at Nefysto's lips but he didn't answer.
'Orrade tells me she was a kitchen maid in some merchant's house when Feid met her, and it's a love match,' Fyn pressed for a reaction. 'Does the mage deal in love potions now or is she such a fine actress she'll bear his children?'
Nefysto caught Fyn by his vest, swung him behind some tall bales and thrust him up against them. 'That's my cousin you're talking about.'
Fyn gulped. 'My apologies, captain. I meant no insult.'
Nefysto let him slide to the ground.
Fyn adjusted his clothing. The women of the five families were renowned for handling finances, driving hard bargains and marrying to cement alliances. 'If Lady Cinna comes from one of the five families of Ostron Isle, what's she doing spying for the mage?'
Nefysto looked as if he wouldn't answer, then he let out his breath in a huff of annoyance. 'Cinna was born the wrong side of the blanket, so she can never be acknowledged, but she could have served the family safely. She would never have gone hungry. Cinna, however, always preferred excitement. If she's married this spar warlord it's because she loves him. And he's a lucky man.'
'Yet, she's still spying for the mage?'
'Be glad she is, for your brother's sake.' And Nefysto strode off, offering the Lady Cinna his arm to show her the sea-hounds' wares.
Fyn watched Nefysto and his by-blow cousin. If Feid married her after meeting her in a merchant's kitchen and was unaware of her connections to one of Ostron Isle's wealthiest families, then he'd married her for love. Fyn almost envied him. It was something a kingson would never be sure of.
A kingson had to be careful where he spread his seed. Not that Byren or Lence had been particularly careful, if the stories were true. You'd think they would have learnt from King Byren's mistake.
When he was only sixteen, their grandfather had dallied with a passing player and produced a son. Born the wrong side of the blanket, destined never to inherit, Spurnan's very existence had triggered a civil war. Then Cobalt, Spurnan's son, betrayed King Rolen for his chance at the crown. Seventy years on, they were still paying for his grandfather's indiscretion.
'There you are.' Orrade found him. 'Something wrong?'
'No.' Fyn mustered a smile.
'Then come up to the stronghold and tell me what's happened to you since Merofynia invaded.' Orrade had only taken three steps when he came to an abrupt stop. 'Fyn, the abbey mystics master is here with us.'
'Good, I — ' Fyn registered Orrade's serious expression. 'What?'
'One of the monks told me he struggles with renegade Affinity. He could betray us.'
'Catillum? Never!' Fyn pulled away from Orrade. 'Are you sure?'
'It was your friend Feldspar who warned us.'
Fyn digested this. He'd misjudged Cobalt, but then he hadn't known his cousin well. He did know Feldspar and Catillum. Could his friend be mistaken? They hadn't begun their monks' training, how could Feldspar judge the mystic master's true state?
Besides, now that Fyn had met renegade Affinity in the form of the mage's agent, he knew Power-workers could live outside the abbey's teachings and not succumb to evil. Come to think of it, there had been some shining examples of evil within the abbey. If the monks were wrong about Power-workers, what else did they have wrong?
'Fyn?' Orrade prodded. 'Can I trust the mystic?'
Then it came to him. This was the meaning of the vision back on the Wyvern's Whelp, when he'd seen Catillum battling a wyvern. 'The mystic master won't betray us. He'd die before he bowed down to Merofynia.'
'You sound certain.'
'I had a vision.' Fyn's hand went to his chest, to where the Fate lay hidden under his vest. Even as Fyn did this, he realised that if Catillum discovered he was the mage's agent he would denounce him. Fyn's skin went cold as his mind raced. He'd been so focused on reaching Byren, he hadn't thought this through. He could never go back to the abbey. It would mean living a lie.
His head spun as he tried to make the mental adjustments. If anyone from the abbey asked how he came to be here on Foenix Spar with the sea-hounds he'd tell them he'd fallen in with one of the elector's agents and leave it at that.
'The vision told you Catillum is trustworthy?' Orrade pressed.
'Absolutely.'
'Good. Because I don't want to battle renegade Affinity without his support. The Merofynians are sure to have brought one of Mulcibar's mystics with them.'
