The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,192
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!'
He nodded. A great gout of blood burst from her lips and the life left her.
No. Not yet. Not ever. Byren lifted his face to Lence, who stared at Elina, stunned.
'I'm waiting, kingsheir,' Palatyne goaded. 'Where are those archers, Dunstany?'
'Delayed, it seems,' he said.
Lence stood stiffly, pulling his borrowed sword from Elina's body.
Byren came slowly to his feet, lifting his own sword.
The ring of metal on metal told him Orrade was occupied with the servants, as yet unaware of Elina's death.
Lence adjusted his grip on the blade. 'Down, Byren.'
The leogryf leapt all over again. Byren dropped. With a roar Lence charged past him, bearing down on the servants who battled Orrade. They took one look at him and dropped their makeshift weapons to flee.
Byren rolled to his feet, charging after Lence, who threw his weight behind the door, dragging it open.
'Go!' Lence shoved Orrade through, caught Byren's vest and shoved him as well. 'Go. I'll hold them. Seal the doors. Let the hall be our funeral pyre!'
Before Byren could protest, the door closed in his face and he heard the great bar drop.
'Elina!' Orrade tried to prise his sword in the crack between the doors, to lift the bar. 'Byren, she's still in there.'
'She's dead, Orrie. Died in my arms.' He indicated the blood down his vest. 'Her last wish was to burn the hall and everyone in it!'
'No. She can't be dead. She was right behind me.'
Byren did not answer. He ran to the first of the great bronze foenixes and judged the angle. Getting his shoulder under the bird's belly he shoved. It rocked on its base. He shoved again. The bronze was not solid, but still it was heavy. With a resounding thump it toppled, its head hitting the doors. The contents of its charcoal brazier spilled onto the ground.
'Wedging the doors closed so they can't escape the hall,' Byren panted.
'They can still get out the windows.'
'If they can get to them,' Byren agreed. 'Shut up and help.'
Orrade added his wiry strength. The bird toppled and hit the other door. More coals fell to the stones.
Byren jumped the bird's legs and ran to where Lord Dovecote was still impaled. Kicking the coals towards the old man's robes, he knelt and blew on them. They flared bright, greedy little flames licking up the cloth.
Orrade stared, panting. 'Father...'
'He would've wanted it this way,' Byren said.
Orrade nodded as he brushed tears from his face. 'And Lence?'