flying. Before anyone could move she'd grabbed the lamp, tipping it so that burning oil flew in an arc across the bed. Drops hit Palatyne's naked shoulder, neck and face. He screamed, beating at the stinging spots. Flames licked up the velvet bed curtains, across the sheets and covers.
The door from the hallway swung open. Lord Dunstany stood there, his staff in one hand, a robe hastily thrown over his nakedness. Merofynian lordlings jostled behind him, frightened, fascinated. The Utland Power- worker shoved through them, cursing fluently.
'Kill them!' Palatyne roared.
Elina gave a cry of despair and flung the other doors open, running onto the mezzanine balcony.
'Elina, no,' Byren called, fearing she meant to jump to her death. With warriors blocking the corridor she would be trapped, unable to reach the stairs. He cast one glance to Palatyne, who was hastily dragging on his breeches, and ran after her.
'We'll be trapped.' Orrade ran at his side, sword in hand.
But Elina had already swung one long leg over the balcony. As Byren watched she grabbed the embroidered emblem and lowered herself over the drop.
'Clever girl!' Orrade said, following her.
Byren heard footsteps, turned, blocked Palatyne's attack and avoided another stroke from one of three lordlings who jostled to kill him. The nearest died on the edge of Byren's blade, but even as he fell another stepped into his place.
Without looking, Byren placed his left hand on the rail and leapt over, reaching for the emblem. It screeched as it tore, falling with him. But it was enough to absorb his momentum and Orrade helped steady him as he landed on the floor below, only a body length from the dove aviary. He had a glimpse of dead birds amidst feathers and blood as Elina hugged him. Wearing Orrade's shirt, which revealed her long thighs, she looked every bit the Old Dove's warrior daughter. Byren hugged her fiercely, wondering if she would still speak to him if Orrade ever revealed how they'd delayed rescuing her.
'Hurry,' Orrade urged, pulling them towards the far doors and the terrace. 'They'll be down the stairs in a moment.'
Byren backed up with Elina at his side. 'You two get out. I'll hold them. I'll meet you at the water- wheel.'
'We still need to light a warning beacon,' Elina protested. Pulling away from him, she ran to the fireplace and stood on tiptoe to grab the firestone. Before Byren could stop her, she ran to the other stand and tossed the first firestone up to join its mate. Byren had never seen two firestones meet. They exploded in a ball of blue-white fire. The wall hangings burst into flames, hungrily racing up to the vaulted ceiling above.
The force of it flung Elina back off her feet. Byren and Orrade ran to her, dragging her to safety. Byren could feel the heat beating on him from three body lengths away.
'Elina, are you all right?' Byren turned her hands over to reveal her burnt palms. 'Oh, Lina.'
She managed a smile.
'Here they come,' Orrade warned.
Byren looked up to see Palatyne, the Utlander and his warriors race through the door under the mezzanine into the great hall. He caught Elina by the arm, hauling her to her feet and thrust her towards Orrade. 'Take her. Get out.'
But when they turned to face the great doors he saw the Merofynian servants had escaped the wine cellar and cut them off.
'The cook should have cut their throats,' Orrade whispered.
Seeing their predicament, Palatyne laughed and lowered his sword. 'Surrender and I'll let the girl live.'
'First man to come within range of my sword dies!' Byren raised the sword tip.
'Stay back. I have sent for archers, Overlord Palatyne,' Lord Dunstany called from the balcony above.
Byren cursed.
Palatyne smiled. 'Work your power on them. First one to make them suffer earns my gratitude.'
Orrade cursed under his breath. Byren gripped his sword tighter, ready for anything.
There was a moment's tense silence as both Power-workers sent out mental probes.
'Power-working is a lot like metal working, overlord. A smithy can't fashion a sword from thin air,' Lord Dunstany said. 'These three are without Affinity so there's nothing for me to work with.'
'Not so, Dunstany, I sense something,' the Utlander insisted.
'By all means expend your power on a hopeless task. It will only make me stronger,' Dunstany urged.
The Utlander glared at him.
'Byren, I think I can bluff the perfumed parasites between us and the door,' Orrade whispered. 'Those servants'll run at the first sight of blood.'
'Well, Dunstany?' Palatyne demanded.
'The archers will be here soon.'
'Useless Power-workers,' Palatyne swore. A nasty slow smile spread across his face and he left the mezzanine calling, 'Bring me the kingsheir.'
'What's he doing?' Elina whispered as they waited.
Byren did not know. But he suspected he would not like it.
In no time at all, the overlord strode into the hall as his men marched Lence over to stand in front of Palatyne. He looked groggy. There was blood on his shirt from the blow Byren had delivered to the back of his head.
'Give him your sword.' Palatyne gestured to one of the lordlings.
Lence lifted the weapon, blinking fiercely to clear his head.
'Now prove your worth, kingsheir. Kill them or die with them!'
'No, Lence,' Elina pleaded.
Byren's mouth went dry as his twin turned and strode towards him. He read determination in Lence's eyes.
No regret. No doubt. No last-minute signal.
Orrade swore. 'You should've killed him when you had the chance, Byren.'
'So, I'm a fool,' Byren muttered bitterly. 'The moment he attacks, charge the servants. Get Elina out of here.'
'Give me your hunting knife, Byren,' Elina ordered. 'It's long enough for me to use as a sword.'
He handed it over and wiped his palm on his thigh, sweating from the heat. Already the wooden panels were well ablaze.
Byren focused on Lence as his brother brought his sword around for a huge, two-handed swing. Lence always had preferred strength to subtlety, relying on his size to carry the encounter.
Byren ducked and deflected, but did not follow through.
'Fight me!' Lence roared. His blade leapt in an arc for Byren's throat.
Again, he deflected, staggering back two steps. He could hear Orrade yelling as he charged the servants. His sword arm throbbed with the impact of Lence's strike. Using his twin's momentum, Byren took his sword down and around in a classic deflection arc. The blades sang as they parted.
'Join me, Lence. Don't die a traitor.'
'You think you can better me?' Fast as a viper, Lence snatched a fallen chair, throwing it at Byren.
Dodging the chair, he lost his balance and went down on one knee. Lence bore down on him.
Byren knew he had waited too long. If he wanted to live he would have to prove the seer, right but he didn't want to kill his twin.
Something darted in front of him, taking the impact of Lence's strike. Fine black hair brushed his face, long legs. Blood on white linen.
'Nooo!' Lence cried.
Arms too weak to fully divert the blow, burnt palms unable to properly grasp the knife hilt, Elina dropped the hunting knife and buckled around the sword which impaled her.
Lence dropped to his knees. Byren caught Elina as she crumpled.
'Lina…' Lence whispered.
She clutched Byren's arm, eyes fierce. 'Burn Dovecote, burn them all, promise!'
