pinwheeling across her vision. But she refused to give in to weakness.
Where should she go?
Sure only that she had to remain free, she realised she had become the hunted in her own home and Cobalt and his Merofynian Power-worker were the hunters. Her recurring nightmare of being stalked by wyverns had come true.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Byren skated, his body following a mindless rhythm. Having travelled all day the warriors were tired, but Rejulas had ordered the torches lit. Privately, Byren thought they would have been better off skating by starlight, after giving their eyes time to adjust, but perhaps it was a good idea, when you considered it was almost spring cusp. The winter-dormant creatures would be stirring, hungry after their long sleep.
Skating with bound hands interfered with his balance and he couldn't save himself if he fell. But he dare not stumble deliberately. He already had rope burns on his neck from the last time he'd slipped. When the right moment came, he would drive the pole from behind his arms, wriggle his legs through his arms and chew at the knot until he was free. But the moment had not come yet.
Hopefully, Orrade had recovered quickly. He hadn't been unconscious for long the last time. With any luck, Garzik and Orrade were watching him right now, waiting to make their move. Two men against twenty or more — three men once he was free — the odds were not good.
'Not far now, kingson,' Rejulas told him.
They rounded the bend in the canal to see Doveton, across the small lake. There were lights in every window and Byren guessed warriors had taken over the villagers' homes. New Dovecote was also aglow, every window gleaming yellow, while behind it stood the sturdy old keep, lights burning there too. So many warriors, Byren would not have guessed Rejulas could muster such a large force.
His gaze flew to the high tower. Had Lord Dovecote kept the warning beacon readied with oil to hasten its burning? Byren trusted to his thoroughness.
Too late to try anything now. Better to wait until he saw how things were inside Dovecote. Maybe they could free Elina and the old lord. And there was still Lence. Though all the evidence pointed to Lence's betrayal, Byren was convinced his twin had been tricked by Cobalt.
They slowed as they reached the village wharf. Someone shoved Byren backwards until he sat on the wharf step. His skates were unstrapped while his hands remained tied. Then they trudged up the road through the village. It was filled with Rejulas's men. Warriors stood in doorways, tankards in hand as they yelled congratulations and toasted to their warlord's success.
Beyond the village, they wound their way up to the terrace, where light poured from the large indefensible windows. On the terrace, in front of the great double doors, stood the two huge foenixes. Cast in bronze, they had been given to Lord Dovecote by King Byren the Fourth as a reward for his loyalty. Their backs were hollow, forming braziers, and flames leapt from them, casting crazy shadows across the front of New Dovecote.
The big double doors stood closed. Byren frowned. There was something strange about the doors. From where he stood on the terrace below he could see someone was waiting, standing pressed against the door. By the flickering flames Byren suddenly understood what he was seeing. 'Lord Dovecote!'
He staggered.
They'd run the Old Dove through with a lance, pinning him to one of the doors. But why leave him there?
Rejulas laughed. 'How do you like our little welcoming gift?'
Rage surged through Byren. Rejulas was a typical spar warlord, a leader only because he was crueler and more vicious than his barbarous warriors. He did not deserve Piro. Byren was glad she was safe back at Rolenhold. His stomach knotted with fear. If only the same could be said for Elina!
If he could get her to safety he would die happy.
The double doors creaked and swung open, carrying their grisly symbol.
Word of their arrival must have gone on ahead because a tall man in armour strode out, the torchlight glinting on the embossed metal on his chest plate. For a moment Byren could not make sense of what he saw, he had been expecting… hoping to meet Lence and convince him this was all a terrible misunderstanding.
The pattern on the stranger's breast plate was that of a two-headed snake, the amfina.
'Overlord Palatyne.' Rejulas bowed.
Byren felt this revelation like a body blow. It knocked the air from his chest and patches of grey swam in his vision. So Old Man Narrows had not been mistaken. There were Merofynian warriors in Rolencia, making Rejulas a traitor. This explained how the Merofynian army had penetrated the valley without triggering the warning beacons. The warlord of Cockatrice Spar had let them use his pass.
Where was Lence in all this? Captive, Byren fervently hoped. Captive and cursing his naivety.
'I bring you Byren Kingson, overlord,' Rejulas said with a flourish. 'Never question my loyalty.'
'Do you think me a fool, Rejulas?' Palatyne countered.
At his signal two warriors wearing helms bearing horse-hair plumes dyed the royal azure of Merofynia dragged Elina out from the ranks behind Palatyne. Her hands were bound at the wrists in front of her. She almost stumbled. Byren's wanted to help her but he dared not move.
'There, my pretty,' Palatyne gestured to Byren. 'I said we'd bring you a playmate.'
Elina stared at Byren, her dark eyes blazing.
Byren's stomach turned over. Seeing her a captive of the Merofynian overlord had made him a coward. He was ready to fall on his knees and promise them anything, as long as they let Elina go free.
'Why did you come here, Byren?' she demanded. 'Why?'
Palatyne caught her chin in one hand and said something softly that made her shoot Byren an agonised glance.
'Don't listen to him,' Byren yelled. 'I'm a dead man anyway.' Then the back of his head imploded and the ground came up to hit him in the face.
Consciousness returned as they dragged him, none too gently, up the steps.
'He weighs as much as a full-grown wyvern,' one warrior complained.
'And smells almost as bad. Quit your griping!'
Byren let his body stay limp, pretending to be worse than he was, as they hauled him across the terrace. They shoved him through the double doors, dragged him past the great fireplace, and came to a halt.
He sagged between them.
Someone grabbed his head by the hair and threw a tankard of wine in his face. He spluttered, pretending to be groggy. It gave him time to look around Dovecote's great hall.
This was not an ancient hall with huge columns decorated with ancestral friezes like Rolenhold, but a well- proportioned long chamber with polished wood panelling, and exquisite hangings depicting famous scenes from Rolencia's history. He pushed away the memory of Lord Dovecote walking them around the hall as children, telling them the stories of their shared history.
Directly in front of him, a balcony looked down from the floor above, where the family's bed chambers were. From this railing, a great embroidered banner hung to the ground depicting the estate's emblem, the feather and the sword.
Byren looked at the elegant brass aviary which housed Lord Dovecote's fancy birds. No birds fluttered from perch to perch, no soft cooing came from the cage.
He knew that if he went closer he would find the doves lying dead and this told him more about his captor than anything else. Harmless, beautiful creatures killed for effect.
Byren glanced away, trying to think. To each side of the fireplace stood stone pedestals on which rested the family's treasured firestones. They were just close enough so that they glowed with a fiery inner radiance, yearning for each other like lovers.
Byren focused on Overlord Palatyne, who stood in front of a high table laden with gold ornaments, personal items of great beauty like tortoiseshell combs and mother-of-pearl jewellery. These things sat oddly amidst
