The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,42
slip away.
'A drink to celebrate. Bring the Rolencian red laid down the year I married Myrella!' King Rolen called. Servants scuttled off to fetch bottles and goblets. Midwinter feast was a time for drinking around the fire and telling tales of great deeds - a great deal of drinking and boasting.
Piro loved the tales of bravery and honour. If only she had lived in those times, when kingsdaughters had to ride to war to save their people!
She felt a tug on her arm and turned. She expected it to be her mother about to tell her it was not proper for her to sit around the feasting fire and listen to tales that could turn bawdy, but it was Fyn.
This close to him she was surprised by how much he had grown. He was almost a head taller than her now. At nearly seventeen he would soon leave the ranks of the acolytes and become a monk. In fact, one of the Proving trials was to be held tomorrow.
Eyes pleading, Fyn glanced to the nearest door.
There was no need for words. They slipped away, Fyn leading her out the west passage towards Eagle Tower. The air was much cooler in this section of the Hold and the sound of the revelry soon faded, cut off by the thick stone walls.
'What is it?' Piro asked, her breath misting in the cold.
'Not here.' Fyn jerked his head upwards, indicating the tower where they could be private.
Byren sipped his red wine, savouring the rich taste, while waiting for a chance to speak with his father. Finally the hunt-master and Lence moved off to refill their drinks, and he was alone with the king for a moment. He looked for his mother but she was entertaining the Merofynian ambassador. A pity, he would have liked the queen to hear this too.
'Has the warlord of Unistag sent anyone, father?' he asked. The warlords were supposed to renew their allegiance to the Rolencian King each midwinter and, if the warlord couldn't come, his delegate should.
'No,' King Rolen muttered. 'Not unless his delegate arrives before tomorrow evening -'
'Don't expect anyone. His heirs are fighting over who will take his place. My guess is, they couldn't agree who should represent him, because if they did it would be agreeing on his successor.'
'And where did you hear this?' Lence demanded, coming up behind him with Cobalt and Captain Temor.
Byren repressed an irrational surge of guilt. 'The villagers.' He was not about to reveal that they'd come to him, and not Lence, as the king's representative. 'They were complaining about Unistag raids on Foenix Spar driving people over the Divide.'
King Rolen nodded. 'Looks like we'll need to teach the Unistags a lesson this spring.'
'Sooner, before they can come over the pass and raid our villages,' Lence agreed with relish, having caught the last part of the conversation. 'I claim the honour of leading the fleet to the Utlands.'
'That reminds me,' Byren said, on another track entirely. 'I saw a band of thirty raiders in the valley. Have you had reports of an attack?'
His father shook his head. 'None. Are you sure they were from over the Divide and not from one of our lords' estates?'
'They wore no lord's emblem and they moved with deadly purpose.'
'But how can you be sure they were warlord's men?' Cobalt asked.
Byren hesitated. He'd been fighting spar warriors for five years now and his gut feeling told him they were not Rolencian. But, if they were spar warriors, why would they come down into the valley? Most raids occurred just over the pass on the high villages and mostly when they were desperate to feed their people. There had to be a better way...
'They were raiders, I just know,' Byren muttered. 'Father, I've been thinking. What if we built granaries -'
'Halcyon Abbey has a great granary,' Lence reminded him.
'Yes. But I meant to share with the spars.'
'What?' Cobalt mocked gently. 'Give away Rolencia's bounty? That would only make the people of the spars lazy. Why work when they could come a-begging?'
Lence and King Rolen laughed.
Byren felt his face flame. 'I'm trying to think of a way to stop the raids, Illien.'
'Teach them a lesson!' his father snapped. 'That's what m'father did and his before him. It's all they understand.'
'Not much better than Utlanders!' Lence added.
He and King Rolen laughed and refilled their wine goblets.
'The queen seems very close to the Merofynian ambassador,' Cobalt remarked in the lull that followed. 'Does she miss her home?'