The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,89

the golden lamplight.

'Father?'

'Eh, Byren. What is it?' King Rolen asked, lifting his head and blinking as though waking from a dream.

Byren said the first thing that came into his head. He could hardly suggest the king watch out for Cobalt in front of Cobalt's servant. 'I came to see how the knee was, Father.'

'Enough for now, Valens,' King Rolen said, swinging his legs off the bed and tucking the towel around his waist. He stood beside the bed, one hand on the upright to steady himself as he tested the knee. A smile broke across his weathered features. 'Eh. I can bend it without pain.'

'The pain will come back, King Rolen,' Valens warned.

Byren hadn't been aware that his father's knee hurt with every step. He crossed the room. 'If it's your knee that's the problem, why massage your back?'

Valens flicked a disdainful glance to Byren. 'I must massage the knee, hip and back every day. The knee throws the back out -'

'And don't I know it!' the king muttered.

Valens nodded. He took several dark bottles from his case. Measuring a little from each he poured the liquid into a goblet of wine and stirred. 'And you must drink this every morning and night to bring down the swelling in the joint.'

King Rolen accepted the goblet, sniffed and took a sip. He looked relieved then drained the lot. 'Ah, that's better than any of the herbals my healers give me. I was afraid you'd ruined a good wine.'

'Never, King Rolen. We Ostronites know the value of Rolencian red!' With a bow, Valens continued to pack his tools away in a leather case.

'So, can I offer you a drink, Byren?' his father asked.

'No. I'm off to bed. I want a clear head for an early start tomorrow.' Byren hesitated but Valens showed no sign of leaving. He had begun polishing his father's boots. 'I'm glad your knee is feeling better.'

'My knee? My whole back feels better. It's never been the same since that riding accident.' His father slung an arm around Byren's shoulders. The king was nearly fifty now and he was a big man, deep through the chest with a bit of a belly on him, but Byren could feel the strength in his body and the vigour as he walked him to the door. 'I swear I feel twenty years younger!' Then he grew serious. 'While you're dealing with Unistag's warlord, I want you to listen to Temor's advice. He's had thirty years, dealing with spar leaders.'

'I will, Father. Good night.'

Byren headed back to his chamber relieved that his father was feeling better but frustrated with the meeting. If only he could reveal the truth about Cobalt's attempt to blackmail Orrade.

Orrade's sudden declaration of love had endangered them both. What was wrong with his friend? Orrade had certainly enjoyed women in the past.

Byren's hands itched to grab his friend and knock some sense into him. If only it was that simple!

Chapter Fifteen

Fyn found Rolenhold strangely empty without Byren. His brother had ridden out the day after midwinter with a Captain Temor, a dozen men-at-arms and his honour guard of twelve likely lads, Orrade and Garzik amongst them. Enough to deter treachery, but not enough to be a threat to a newly elected warlord, was how Byren had described it to him.

Several days ago his mother had taken one of her turns. Complaining of sleeping badly, she had retreated to her private solarium, which made his father worry. Lence went around like a bear with a sore tooth, while Piro hardly spoke and seemed preoccupied.

The four days of formal celebrations to welcome back the goddess Halcyon were finally over and, for once, Fyn was glad to return to the abbey.

'What will you do,' Piro whispered, 'now that you can't join the mystics?'

They stood to one side of the royal party, who were farewelling the abbot and the masters. It was early morning and the nuns of Sylion had already left Rolenhold, hitching the sails of their sled-boats to catch the breeze.

'Don't worry, I'll find a branch of the abbey to take me,' Fyn said. 'Maybe the clerics. Then, when I become abbot, I can send the weapons master to serve Lence.'

He expected her to laugh at this, but she nodded seriously. 'That way you wouldn't have to do the killing.'

No. He'd just send others to their death, he realised with a sickening lurch. How did leaders live with their decisions?

'Oh, Fyn. Last night I dreamed of Byren. He was running through