such a blow they'll crawl back to their hovels and not come out for another twenty years!'
Everyone cheered.
But Byren couldn't put his heart into it. From what he'd heard it was hard enough to claw a living from the Utlands at the best of times. If Lence's ships burnt innocent Utlanders' homes and food stores they would starve before their crops could be harvested the next autumn.
At the same time, if the Utland raiders had united under a charismatic leader they could cripple Rolencia's sea trade, the very trade that had bought them so much prosperity these last two decades.
'…go with Lence and Byren?' his father was saying to Cobalt. Captain Temor had moved off, leaving the king alone with his sons and nephew. 'Of course you're welcome to hunt the leogryf, Illien, but — '
'The arm? I cannot fire a bow or throw a spear. Still, I would be honoured.' Cobalt glanced to Lence. 'That's if you can think an injured man won't slow you down?'
Lence straightened. 'You'll always be welcome, Illien.'
A smiled tugged at Cobalt's mouth but his eyes remained shadowed. He stepped aside to give directions to his men-at-arms.
'Fancy seeing Illien again,' Lence muttered. 'Say, Byren, d'you remember the time he let us sit astride his stallion?'
Byren grinned. 'We were only six. Our feet couldn't reach the stirrups.'
'What, you rode Black Thunder?' their father demanded, then chuckled. 'Eh, I'm glad I didn't know. It's good to have him back, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances. At least Illien and his father made up their differences before he died.'
That reminded Byren. 'Father, there's something I must — '
'My father has disinherited me, King Rolen,' Orrade interrupted.
'What?' The king looked startled, then inclined to laugh. 'Always said the Old Dove's temper would get the better of him one day. I felt the hard edge of his tongue often enough when I was a lad. Don't worry, Orrie, he'll come 'round. Spurnan did.'
'What did you do that was so bad, Orrie, forget to give Halcyon her due last Feast Day?' Lence teased.
Orrade shook his head. 'It's not — '
'Not something to be laughed at,' Cobalt said, rejoining them. He acknowledged Orrade with a nod. 'If I had not been such a hot-headed youth, my father and I would have reconciled years ago. I should have admitted I was wrong but I was too proud.' He broke off, frowning at Orrade. 'Swallow your pride, lad.'
Orrade shook his head. 'It's not that simple.'
Lence frowned. 'Why did he disinherit you, Orrie?'
'That is between my father and I, kingsheir.' Orrade retreated into formality.
Byren watched his twin stiffen. Young Garzik went to say something in Orrade's defence, but Byren elbowed him.
'King Rolen, I've come to offer my sword in your service,' Orrade said, dropping to one knee and drawing his sword, a serviceable one he'd taken from the estate's armoury, not the blade which had been wielded by lords of Dovecote for over three hundred years. He offered the weapon, blade across his open palms. 'Please accept — '
But the king was already shaking his head. 'Your father will change his mind, wait and see.'
Orrade remained on his knees. 'Not this time, King Rolen. I am without land or allegiance. Please accept me.'
As Byren watched his father wrestle with this, he saw the larger ramifications. King Rolen did not want to offend the old lord, who had been his staunchest ally.
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
'A man has to live or die by his word of honour,' Cobalt said softly. 'I know what it's like. Go to your father, apologise and — '
'Impossible,' Orrade cut him off, eyes on King Rolen.
Cobalt looked grim. Lence glanced from him to the king.
'Orrade nearly died trying to save me,' Byren spoke up. 'I would trust him with my life.'
'Then have him in your honour guard,' Lence snapped.
'That's it!' King Rolen muttered, relieved. 'You twins are old enough to form your own honour guards. Let Orrade serve the kingsheir.'
He strode off leaving Orrade on his knees.
'I'm sorry.' Lence stood over Orrade, whose lowered, bandaged head hid his expression. 'But a king must trust his men implicitly. Mend the break with your father and all will be well, Orrie.'
He turned and walked off, with their cousin falling into step beside him. Cobalt's voice carried back to Byren. 'Your father's right. What are you now? Twenty? A kingsheir should have his own honour guard — '
'We ride in half an hour!' the hunt-master shouted. Immediately, the level of noise in the stables doubled.
On his knees, Orrade shuffled until he faced Byren. 'I offer my fealty, Byren Kingson.'
Byren was both embarrassed and annoyed. His first impulse was to tell Orrade to get up, but he understood that to preserve his dignity, his friend had to complete the ritual of service given and received. 'I accept your fealty, Orrade Dovecotesheir. Now, get on your feet. We ride in — '
'Not Dovecotesheir,' Orrade corrected as he sheathed his sword, rising to confront Byren, his face flushed and his eyes glassy. 'I have no name other than my given name.'
Byren realised he had unwittingly rubbed salt in Orrade's wounded pride. 'Then I'll give you another. Orrade Byrensman.'
Orrade's eyes glittered with unshed tears. His mouth opened but Byren did not want to hear what he was about to say.
'Can I join your honour guard too, Byren?' Garzik shoved between them. 'Can we have our own surcoats with our own symbol like King Rolen's honour guard? Can we — '
Byren laughed. 'Enough, Garza, run to the kitchen, fetch food for us.'
Eager as a puppy, he darted off, dodging the castle youths, the hunt-master's apprentices and the castle's Affinity warders, who were checking their supplies. Naturally both Sylion and Halcyon's warders insisted on accompanying them, neither wanted the other to gain an advantage. It was annoying because young Nun Springdawn would insist on having her own snow-cave and Monk Autumnwind was growing frail.
'Thank you, Byren,' Orrade whispered, recalling him to the present.
Byren shrugged. 'I'm sorry about Lence, Orrie. For him everything is black and white, always has been.'
'True, but this time he's right,' Orrade admitted. 'If you can't take a man at his word, he's worthless.'
He went to move away, but Byren caught his arm. 'Actions speak louder than words. Spurnan proved that when he supported father against the very men who would have put him on the throne.'
But nothing could lessen the bleak gleam in his friend's tilted black eyes.
Byren glanced at Lence, who was checking his saddle girth, with Cobalt at his side. Between them, half a dozen youthful warriors, sons of the great lords and merchants, clamoured to join the kingsheir's honour guard. Byren knew a moment's jealousy. He should be there with Lence, sharing in this moment as they planned their honour guards.
Worse, the warriors they'd fought alongside these last five years were obviously eager to swear allegiance to serve Lence, while all he had was a disinherited son and a boy who'd run away from his domineering father.
Byren stiffened. He didn't mind being the spare heir — let Lence marry for political reasons — but he hated being second best.
'Eh, Illien?' King Rolen passed Byren as he strode towards Cobalt and Lence. The youths parted respectfully and Cobalt turned to face the king.
'We've got half an hour, come see Myrella. She'll be delighted…' Rolen broke off as his bad knee gave under him, causing him to lurch to one side.
Only Cobalt's quick thinking saved him from falling. 'What is it, Uncle?'
Byren tensed. Illien's father had never been formally recognised, hence the inverted crown on his coat of arms, so his son had no right to call the king 'Uncle'.
'Sylion take this knee. It's never been right since my horse rolled on it,' King Rolen muttered, completely
