towards the table. Byren caught her hand, pulling her up beside him. 'Release Piro, Palatyne, and I will return Isolt.'
'Kill her for all I care!' Palatyne laughed.
His bluff called, Byren cursed. He slipped his bare toes under a goblet, driving its contents into Palatyne's face. Piro dropped her weight and, quick as a cat, ducked away from her captor.
As Palatyne backed off, blinking wine from his eyes, Byren jumped for him. Metal on metal rang, shrill in the horrified silence, when their swords met.
Too close to strike, they sprang apart, swords lifted, taking each other's measure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Byren saw Mulcibar's abbot climb onto the table and lunge for Isolt. She lifted her skirts and ran down the long table, her gown tearing with a sound that was almost a cry of pain as the train came away. Her hair spilled from its silver net as she leapt over the bowls of fruit and whole roasted pigs.
'Stop her,' Palatyne bellowed. A dozen of his supporters blocked the end of the table. Two climbed onto it.
Isolt hesitated, trapped.
Even as Isolt ran, Fyn followed on the terrace below. She stopped running, trapped and desperate above him.
'Come to me!' he cried.
She looked down. It was a drop of more than two body lengths. Fyn tore off his jester's cape. Orrade took one corner without needing to be told, and Bantam and Jakulos took the other corners.
'Jump!' he cried. If she hesitated she was lost.
But no. She trusted him. Isolt leapt, her azure silk flying up around her slender legs. As she hit the cape, one of the corners pulled free, but the others held. Fyn caught her, setting her on her feet.
Stunned, Isolt stared at him.
He never wanted to look away.
'Heads up, Fyn,' Bantam called. 'Here comes Palatyne's private bullies.'
Fyn cursed. 'Orrie. Take the sea-hounds and help Byren. I have to get Isolt to safety.'
Fyn grabbed her hand and headed for the Wyvern's Whelp, taking the stairs to the lower terraces at a run. People parted, cheering them on and impeding their pursuers.
Vessels were packed so tightly near the shore that, after Fyn climbed onto the first, he was able to leap from deck to deck, steadying Isolt as she landed next to him.
Fyn looked up, fixing on the Wyvern's Whelp' s mast. They crossed another two ships, ending up on a small vessel next to the larger sea-hound ship. Catching Isolt around the waist, he lifted her above his head. Nefysto grabbed her arms and hauled up onto the ship's deck. Fyn scrambled up beside her, then bent double to catch his breath.
Isolt's wyvern gave a piercing cry and ran to her. Rearing on its back legs, it nuzzled her face. Isolt laughed so much she cried. The foenix gave its happy cry and butted her, trying to get her attention.
Nefysto laughed and helped her disentangle herself.
'What now, Fyn?' Nefysto asked.
He looked around at the sea-hounds, masquerading as honest merchant sailors. They'd all come to know Piro and had grown fond of her.
'We must go back, help Byren save Piro. Save Seela!' he corrected. Fyn tore off his jester's tunic, dunked his head in the water barrel and scrubbed off the paint.
Captain Nefysto handed him the farseer. 'Take a look.'
Fyn leapt to the rail, holding the farseer to one eye. The Utlander had Piro. He only prayed he could get there in time.
Fyn jumped to the deck, amidst the remaining sea-hounds. 'This way!'
Piro ran the instant she was free of Palatyne. But she only managed three steps before the Utlander stopped her, not with his hands, but by using her own Affinity to rob her limbs of movement. She toppled forwards, unable to save herself.
He caught her, his cruel eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that instant she recognised the moment in her dream — oppressive dark skies, churning people and the sense of being trapped.
Pinning her shoulders against his chest, the Utlander held his staff in front of her face. The carved wyvern's head on the tip seemed to stare into her eyes. He pressed his thumb on a hidden catch on the stone and a needle sharp spike emerged from the wyvern's forehead.
'This spike contains foenix-spur poison. One scratch and you'll die in agony,' the Utlander told her. He raised his voice. 'I've caught the kingsdaughter, Lord Dunstany. Tell your men to stand back. I don't know how you survived the last time my brother and I killed you, but you won't be able to save your pretty little spy!'
Fearing a duel between the two Power-workers, the nobles fled the dais. King Merofyn lifted his head, blinking as if he had just woken from a drugged sleep.
Byren dodged as the abbess and three white-gowned nuns dragged Mulcibar's abbot off the dais and down the terrace. No love lost there.
He lunged for Palatyne, intent on provoking him to attack. There was no sign of Isolt. Byren had lost track of her while concentrating on Palatyne. The spar upstart edged backwards, circling until the table hit his thighs.
Palatyne scrambled onto it, never taking his eyes off Byren. He began backing away down its length, kicking plates and bowls into Byren's face as he followed.
On the edge of his vision, Byren was aware of movement on the terrace.
'To me, men,' Palatyne yelled. 'Kill the traitor!'
Byren cast one swift glance behind him. At least twenty of Palatyne's loyal spar warriors charged across the terrace towards the royal table. Byren backed off, trying to keep both Palatyne and his guards in his line of sight.
Down the far end of the terrace Byren saw men running up the stairs from the gardens below. Orrade and Fyn and a dozen sea-hounds.
'To me!' Byren cried, just as the first of Palatyne's guards attacked him, hacking at his legs.
Piro flinched as the Utlander spoke from just behind her ear.
'Come, Lord Dunstany.' His voice was strained and thin with hatred. 'Let's finish what we began. If you believed you could best me, you would have confronted me before this. I think you are all bluff. And today I call your bluff!' He waved the poisoned spike close to Piro's throat. 'Or must I kill her, first?'
Lord Dunstany… Tyro, met Piro's eyes. What she read there told her that he believed he was no match for the Utlander. 'Let her go and I will duel you.'
'No. I set the terms of our duel,' the Utlander crowed. 'Throw all your power at me. See if you can stop my hand from moving!'
Piro strained away from the spike as the Utlander brought it closer to her throat. She could feel the pulsing of the Utlander's power and another force battering against it like waves beating on a rocky shore. But Tyro's force was breaking on the Utlander's defences.
With all of Tyro's reserves channelled into breaching the Utlander's defences, Tyro's disguise wavered and dissolved. Dunstany's aged features faded to reveal the tall, thin youth she knew.
Piro felt the Utlander's surprise and anger. He attacked with renewed force. His fingers wound so tightly through Piro's hair that she had to blink back tears of pain.
Tyro fell to his knees.
Piro gasped. He was not strong enough.
He must not fail!
Once before, he had called on her strength to bolster his own. Gathering her concentration, she focused on Tyro and opened her Affinity to him. Because the channel was already there, she only had to focus for the process to begin. And, at the same time, she found herself drawing off the Utlander's Affinity, much as the renegade Power-worker had drained Nun Springdawn back in Rolenhold.
The Utlander went rigid with concentration, trying to block her. His breath rasped in his chest.
Power poured through Piro, heady and addictive.
Fyn jumped from deck to deck with the sea-hounds at his heels. Once on land, no one obstructed their mad dash as they pounded up the terraces.
