Piro laced up Isolt's bodice, her fingers flying. Being a lady's maid was not so hard. She stepped back and Isolt let her hair fall down. Long and sleek, it fell to her waist, a sheet of black silk. They were about to meet the mage or, at the very least, his agent.
'You look every bit a kingsdaughter,' Piro told her.
Clothes had been provided in both their sizes. They wore rich satins, laces and velvets with tight bodices and full skirts that finished just above the ankle to show off their exquisite slippers, Ostronite-style.
'Either they have some marvellous seamstresses, or the mage knew my size and the colours I like,' Isolt said. She turned Piro around to do her laces, though her fingers were not as skilled. 'But how did he know your size?'
Piro shrugged and held her hair out of the way. When Isolt finished she gave a wriggle to settle the bodice in place then let her hair drop. 'Who knows? Perhaps they have a range of clothes ready-made. Perhaps the mage is a good guesser.'
Isolt met her eyes, suddenly serious. 'We must be wary of this mage, Seela.'
Piro understood the warning and heard the added emphasis on her assumed name. But the singing of the porters unloading cargo came through the open cabin windows on warm air, bringing the scent of salt-water and fish, mixed with spices and seaweed left in the sun too long.
Piro shrugged off Isolt's fears with a laugh. 'Spring is here.' There was a knock at the door. 'That'll be Fyn. Shall we go?'
Isolt rolled her eyes. 'This time, don't let Captain Nefysto get me alone. If I have to listen to another of his songs composed in my honour, I'll fake a fainting fit.'
Piro grinned and opened the door. She hardly recognised Fyn. He looked very fine in Ostronite fashion, a well-cut velvet vest, full silk sleeves, leggings and boots. But he was not so fine as the captain, who wore a hand's span of lace at each cuff. She hid a smile, thinking what her father and Lence would have made of a sea-hound who wore lace and wrote love songs.
'Ready?' Fyn asked. He looked Piro up and down. 'Don't you have a dress more fitting for a maid?'
'I can't help it. All the dresses in my size are like this.'
'They fight like brother and sister.' Nefysto shook his head and offered his arm to Isolt. 'May I escort you to the carriage?'
Piro saw Isolt put on her Merofynian face, the mask that hid her emotions.
'You are too kind,' she said, but Isolt's voice held a hint of warmth that hadn't been there in Merofynia, for the kingsdaughter genuinely liked Nefysto.
Piro hid a smile, then noticed how Fyn's mouth tightened.
Piro's foenix gave a soft call of dismay as she walked out. She glanced back to where he sat in the cage. 'They'll send him with our things?'
'It is all organised,' Fyn said.
They went out on deck and across the gangplank to the waiting carriage, which rattled over the cobbles. It was hard to see much of Ostron Isle through the small window. Piro caught flashes of lattice-covered balconies, and heard laughing people chatter in a language spoken too quickly for her to follow. She was better at reading Ostronite than speaking it. As of today, she would get the practice needed to improve her mastery of the spoken language.
'Will you be coming to see the mage with us?' Piro asked Captain Nefysto before he could take out his citole, run his fingers across the strings and serenade Isolt with another ode to her beauty.
'Only as far as the courtyard. I report to one of his agents.'
'We're nearly there,' Fyn announced. 'Look out the window, Isolt, and you will see the tallest tower in the world.'
As they rolled across a stone bridge, Piro peered out of Isolt's window. They had to crane their necks to see the top of the slender tower. It glistened white and fresh against the intense blue of the sky.
They entered the shadow of the bridge's gate-towers and rolled into a courtyard. Eager to help Isolt from the carriage, Captain Nefysto stepped down and slung the citole over his back. Fyn stood on her other side, offering his arm. Isolt laughed and ignored them both, jumping lightly to the ground. Both men began pointing out things of interest, ignoring Piro, who shook her head in wonder as she climbed down. What was it about Isolt that made men act so stupidly? Isolt certainly didn't welcome their attention.
Nefysto pulled off his feathered hat and swept a courtly bow, taking his leave of them. A boy of about twelve, wearing a less ornate, miniature version of Nefysto's clothes right down to the feathered cap, came over to them. He swept an identical bow and asked them to follow him.
'How's your brother's foot?' Fyn asked.
The lad frowned at Fyn and turned his back with great dignity. 'Follow me.'
Fyn dropped back, whispering to Piro and Isolt. 'Beware what you say in front of him. In fact, beware what you see. Things are not as they seem here.'
Piro nodded, although she didn't know what he expected them to do. Did they have to prod everything to make sure it was real?
She took another look at Fyn. He seemed outwardly composed, but his shoulders held tension, there was a grimness around his mouth, and his eyes were too sharp. Her stomach clenched in response to his unspoken trepidation. If he feared this meeting, then so should she.
They were led inside, up three flights of stairs and down several corridors until they came to a circular chamber. A balcony at the far end overlooked the Ring Sea.
Sunlight reflected from the water below, creating rippling patterns across the white ceiling. From the circular shape of the chamber, she guessed they were in the tower. The floor was covered with blue tiles so shiny they glistened like water. A large war table dominated the room, with a perfect replica of the known world.
A single figure stood on the balcony, the slight breeze stirring his long black hair.
'I hoped we'd see the mage himself,' Fyn muttered. 'This is only his agent, Tyro. But he has renegade Affinity too, so watch out for him.'
Piro nodded, relaxing a little. Then she stiffened as the agent strode into the room. She had the strangest feeling she knew him. But she would have remembered this intense, thin, young man. From his narrow chin to his high forehead and black eyes, he was… Those eyes…
Fyn gave an abbreviated bow. 'Meet Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter and her maid, Seela. Turns out, Isolt knew nothing of the betrothal and did not want to marry Palatyne.'
Piro was aware of something unspoken passing between Agent Tyro and Fyn.
'So she is happy to take sanctuary on Ostron Isle,' Fyn finished. 'Where is Mage Tsulamyth?'
'Dealing with other, more important matters,' the agent said. 'I have been his voice for many years.'
Piro thought this must be an exaggeration for he looked no older than Lence. But then Lord Dunstany had been much older than he looked. Ah, that was it. The agent bore a strong family resemblance to the noble scholar and Dunstany did say his long life was a by-product of his Affinity.
Every now and than, as if his shielding was imperfect, she could feel a wash of Affinity roll off the agent. It reminded her of the way the air around Lord Dunstany used to hum with power. It made her dizzy.
She took a step back and Isolt steadied her, sending a look of query.
Too much Affinity, Piro mouthed.
When Tyro turned towards Isolt, Piro blended into the background as a maid should.
The agent gave Isolt a Merofynian bow as he spoke in her own language. His deep voice also struck Piro as familiar. 'You have come a long way, kingsdaughter. Welcome to Mage Isle.'
Piro watched as the kingsdaughter assumed what she thought of as Isolt's Merofynian court face.
'I thank Mage Tsulamyth for offering me sanctuary. In truth, I had little choice. Duke Palatyne will be furious when he learns where I am. I don't wish to be a burden to Ostron Isle.' Isolt looked down, then up, her mask slipping to reveal a flash of defiance. 'But I refused to stay and play Palatyne's game of Duelling Kingdoms.'
'In my capacity as his agent, I offer the mage's protection. You don't need to worry about Palatyne. He leads by fear, not example, and such men do not live long,' Agent Tyro said. Piro thought him slightly pompous. 'Palatyne will be furious but, while you are on Mage Isle, you are safe. However, you cannot hide forever. Have you thought what you will do?'
Fyn spoke quickly. 'Since Lence Kingsheir is dead, by the laws of Rolencia and Merofynia, Isolt is betrothed to Rolencia's uncrowned king, Byren.'
Agent Tyro fixed Fyn with gleaming dark eyes. Piro thought she saw a hint of laughter in their depths. 'At this moment Byren Kingsheir, or should I say the deposed king, is trying to unite your father's warlords, Fyn Rolen Kingson. So far, only two have offered their support. He needs the support of all five to stand a chance of retaking Rolencia.'
Piro hid her joy. This was the first real news she'd had of Byren.
Fyn's eyes narrowed. 'How — '
'Mage Tsulamyth has a very good spy network, Fyn. Now perhaps you would like to share another of your secrets?' When Tyro turned to Piro, she had the feeling he had been avoiding looking her way. 'Introduce me to your sister.'
Piro's heart skipped a beat and heat raced up her cheeks. She hated being caught in a lie. How had he guessed?
Fyn cleared his throat. Piro could tell he was quietly furious but he spoke courteously. 'Lord Tyro, this — '
'I am no lord,' the agent said, voice cold and cutting. 'My father did not acknowledge me. My mother sold me to the mage when I was five.'
Isolt took a step back as did Piro, scalded by his fury. Born the wrong side of the blanket — now she understood why the agent was so pompous. She'd seen the same response in those who felt disadvantaged in her father's court.
'I've met lords with less scholarship than you, Agent Tyro,' Fyn said.
Tyro's eyes widened, then he almost smiled. 'Your tongue is as fast as your sword. A valuable trait. Now, introduce your sister.'
Fyn cleared his throat. 'Agent Tyro, meet the sister I thought dead, Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter.'
The agent bowed then took a step back, looking at Piro. Waiting. Waiting… His obsidian eyes held hers, intense and quizzical. When she merely stared right back at him, a wry smile tugged at his lips. 'Don't you know your old master, Seelon?'
'Lord Dunstany!' Piro gasped. 'But… but you're young. The noble Power-worker was ninety even though he looked fifty.' She frowned. 'You must have used your Affinity to augment a player's disguise and — '
'No,' Isolt spoke up. 'Lord Dunstany has served the Merofynian royal family since my great-grandfather's time, so this agent can't be him.'
Tyro turned to her. 'You are right. Lord Dunstany died of natural causes, without any heirs. He was my master's trusted friend and agent. Dunstany arranged with the mage to keep his death a secret. Since I bore a strong resemblance, being born on the wrong side of the blanket on Dunstany's estate, I took his place so that Lord Dunstany could continue to serve the mage.'
'But I slept on the floor next to your bunk,' Piro objected. 'I rubbed lineament on your… on Lord Dunstany's swollen fingers.'
'You offered and I could not resist. So kind.' For a heartbeat his eyes twinkled as Lord Dunstany's used to and Piro felt a tug of recognition. Then he was the cold, pompous young man again. Maybe not as young as he appeared. 'A disguise is only as good as its detail, kingsdaughter. A maid servant would not have clean toes and fingers.'
'You knew it was me from the start!'
'Why do you think I was so quick to get you away from Palatyne? His Utland Power-worker is a dangerous man.'
'But you… when you were Lord Dunstany, you mocked the Utlander, made him out to be weaker than you,' Piro countered.
'I did,' Tyro conceded. He glanced to Fyn. 'What happens if two equally skilled swordsmen meet?'
'They don't battle unless they are forced to, because they know one or both will die.'
'What if one swordsman knows the other is more powerful?'
'He bluffs,' Fyn said, and his eyes widened. 'Sounds as if you were playing a dangerous game, Agent Tyro.'
'We play the game we must. Each of you knows that.'
They were all silent for a moment.
Then Piro had to ask, 'But why? Why play at all? Why did you accompany Palatyne when he invaded Rolencia? Why didn't the mage go? Is he too frail and old? Is he truly over two hundred years old?'
'The mage is a very great man and he does not discuss his plans with a slip of a girl,' Agent Tyro told her, turning to speak to Fyn.
Furious, Piro walked away, pretending to study the war table. She hated Agent Tyro, felt he'd made a fool of her. Her face burned, as she tried to recall everything that had passed between Tyro and herself, when he had been disguised as Lord Dunstany.
Believing him an old man she had treated him like a grandfather, but Dunstany had not treated her like a slave. He had been kind to her.
Only Tyro wasn't Dunstany. He was a cold, arrogant young man. Her mind raced.
At least she knew why Dunstany had pulled the bed curtain every night. The agent could not maintain his disguise while he slept. His Affinity must be powerful to maintain a disguise all day, even aided with the player's arts.
Fyn's voice reached her. '… met Dunstany in Marchand. So that's why he… you sent me to the Wyvern's Whelp.'
Piro turned. Fyn had told them how he'd failed to assassinate Palatyne, finding the noble Power-worker in the bed instead. That was the night Dunstany had locked her in the cupboard, to protect her, he'd said. To keep her away from Fyn more like. And to think they had been so close.
'I had to get you safely out of Rolencia.' A wry grin tugged at Tyro's lips, reminding her of Dunstany and how much she missed him. Only he had never existed. At least, the Lord Dunstany she knew hadn't existed. There was an odd pain in her chest.
'I could not believe my luck when you tried to kill me,' Tyro confessed.
Piro laughed outright.
Isolt and Fyn both stared at her. When Tyro met her eyes, his held a smile. He understood.
She found this unnerving so she confronted him. 'Lord Dun… Agent Tyro. I can understand why you let Palatyne give me to Isolt. You had no choice. But why did you leave Merofynia just when Isolt needed you?'
'The mage called me back. He has many irons in the fire.'
'Another thing,' Fyn said. 'If you knew Seelon was Piro all along, why didn't you tell me? Why did you send me off to… rescue Isolt?'
Piro caught the slight hesitation and guessed Fyn had not been sent to rescue Isolt, but to abduct her.
Lord Dunstany… Tyro knew Isolt. He had to realise she wouldn't want to marry Palatyne. Ahh, he had been testing Fyn. She let the revelation slide, eager to hear what Tyro had to say.
'Serving Isolt was the safest place for King Rolen's daughter. But I was not sure if Piro would be with her when you found her.' The agent drew something from his pocket, fingering it absently. Piro recognised a Kingdoms piece, a monk. 'The mage was testing you, Fyn. You had to pass or your piece would have been flawed.'
'You speak in riddles.' Fyn bristled.
'Forgive me,' Tyro said, but Piro could tell he didn't mean it. He meant, y ou have to forgive me, because you have no choice. She really didn't like him. 'Being obscure is a failing of those with Affinity and I was raised by the master of all mages.' He changed topic abruptly. 'Do you want to see your brother restored to the throne of Rolencia, Fyn?'
'Of course I do. But what is it to you, or the mage for that matter?'
'For you to understand, I must tell you a little about my master. Mage Tsulamyth has been playing the game of Duelling Kingdoms for nearly two hundred years, gradually building power and influence. A hundred and fifty years ago, he convinced the five powerful noble families of Ostron Isle to elect a ruler, instead of assassinating each other in a bid for power.
'Under this system Ostron Isle has prospered. Not that there haven't been attempts by ambitious nobles to set themselves up as kings instead of electors,' Agent Tyro admitted with a half-smile. He spread his hands. 'Then the mage spent many years trying to bring about a peace between Rolencia and Merofynia, only succeeding when Myrella Merofyn Kingsdaughter married King Rolen.'
Piro looked away, recalling the price her mother had paid for that peace. Rather than reveal her Affinity, Myrella had let her own father sail off to his death.
'So Rolencia is part of Mage Tsulamyth's Duelling Kingdoms game?' Fyn asked.
'It is hardly a game, Fyn Rolen Kingson. When Palatyne unleashed the hounds of war his warriors ravaged your kingdom.' Tyro lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. 'Palatyne is ruled by ambition. While playing Lord Dunstany, I did what I could to lessen Palatyne's evil influence, and I did save the kingsdaughter.' He nodded to Piro. 'Not that she wasn't doing a good job of saving herself.'
Piro flushed. Was Agent Tyro trying to charm her? She had instinctively wanted to trust Lord Dunstany, but he had never existed. Instead, this agent had played on her affection for an old man. At least that explained why Dunstany had entrapped her soul in the amber pendant. It was something Agent Tyro would do, because he did not truly trust anyone. How could he, when he was so good at deceiving people?
No one spoke. A ship passed by on the Ring Sea, the tips of its masts level with the balcony. They heard someone on board singing a song about parted lovers.
'So, do you want Byren to become king of Rolencia, Fyn?' the agent said.
'Of course.'
'What of yourself?'
'I was never raised to be a kingson. I was meant to renounce the world this midsummer when I became a monk.'
Fyn cast Agent Tyro a wary glance. 'Since the mage's spies know so much, they probably know that some of Halcyon's monks survived. My friends are waiting for me to return. When Byren is king we will rebuild Halcyon Abbey.'
'Very well. Captain Nefysto will take you to Rolencia.' Agent Tyro retrieved something from inside his deep sleeve. 'Take this to Byren Kingsheir. It will convince the remaining warlords to support him.'
Fyn eyed the brass message cylinder. From here Piro could see it was embossed with an image of the abeille, the butterfly-winged bee of Ostron Isle.
'What is it?' Fyn asked.
'An offer of alliance from the Elector of Ostron Isle.'
Relief flooded Piro.
But Fyn did not accept the cylinder. 'The elector is failing. He'll be replaced and this will be worthless.'
'A fair point, Fyn, but the warlords don't know that,' Tyro countered. 'While they're fighting for your brother in the belief that Ostron Isle supports him, the mage will be negotiating the support of the new elector.' He offered the message cylinder again.
Fyn accepted it, speaking stiffly. 'I thank you, Agent Tyro. It seems I have misjudged you and your master. I'm sorry. I was not trained for the game of Kingdoms.'
'Sometimes our path chooses us. Perhaps it is not your fate to renounce the world, Fyn Kingson. Here.' Agent Tyro passed Fyn the Kingdoms piece he had been toying with. 'Your piece.'
'But I wasn't playing,' Fyn said, taking it. 'It's warm to touch.' He glanced down at the piece and his eyes widened. 'Why, it looks just like me!'
Piro and Isolt hurried closer to study the Kingdoms piece. It was unmistakably Fyn. Did that mean…
Piro ran to the far end of the war table, locating Ostron Isle. The elector's piece wore his turbaned crown and there was a hooded piece, the mage. Amongst the many others were also two female pieces. 'Come look, Isolt. It's you. Why, it has your high forehead and small nose.'
'Don't touch,' Tyro warned, as he joined them.
Isolt leaned close. 'Why am I holding a sword?'
Agent Tyro gave her a rueful smile. 'The war table is Mage Tsulamyth's invention. According to this you are on the way to becoming a warrior queen.'
'Me? But I hate war!'
Fyn laughed. 'What about you, Piro? What does your piece reveal?'
She blinked, skin suddenly cold. 'Why do I have no face?'
As Tyro glanced to the piece, she read surprise and alarm, quickly hidden.
Isolt slid an arm around her shoulder. 'Don't worry, Piro. It is only a game.'
But they all knew it was much more. Fyn turned to the agent. 'What will happen to my sister and Isolt while I'm gone?'
'They will be safe here on Mage Isle. Even the elector has no power over this island. Wait.' Tyro held up his hand. 'Before you go. You wear a pendant around your neck?'
'Yes.' Fyn tugged on the chain, bringing Halcyon's Fate into view. 'Do you want it? You let me keep it in Port Marchand.'
'I've been hiding King Rolen's kin from the Utlander since Rolenhold fell. That Fate was nearly your undoing, Fyn. It was lucky I was the one who sensed it the first time you used it. I've felt it each time since, and others will feel it too. Don't use it again until I can train you in the art of defence.'
'That's it!' Isolt announced suddenly. They all turned to her. ' Tyro is an old Merofynian word for apprentice. You are Mage Tsulamyth's apprentice. That is why you have such strong Affinity.'
Agent Tyro gave her a mocking bow. 'You have exposed all my secrets, kingsdaughter.'
And still Piro didn't like him.
Byren watched Warlord Corvel as the gangplank was lowered. The sight of Corvel's fabulous manticore chitin armour reminded Byren how he had killed a manticore pride and given the chitin to his father, to be fashioned into armour. There had only been time to make a chestplate before the castle was besieged, and it hadn't helped King Rolen when Palatyne killed him under a flag of truce and confiscated the chestplate for himself.
Byren returned his attention to the warlord of Manticore Spar.
The spar's emblem, the red manticore, glistened on a field of black. Corvel was half a head shorter than Byren but thicker around the chest. The long temple plaits that hung from his helmet were iron-grey and bound with many gold circles, celebrating the enemies he had killed.
Last midwinter, when Corvel should have been swearing allegiance to King Rolen, he had been accused of slipping over the Divide to raid Rolencian villages. The warlord had denied it, claiming anyone could have planted the Manticore standard to implicate his warriors, and had eventually given his allegiance. But it had left Byren wondering about his loyalty.
Now they stood on the wharf in Feid Bay, Byren Kingsheir, his loyal Warlord Feid and Orrade, captain of his honour guard, along with their most trusted men-at-arms. Byren had thought they looked impressive in their armour, cloaks lifting in the breeze, until he got a good look a Corvel's ships.
Each must have held at least a hundred warriors. The sides bristled with oars and the deck could not be seen for shields and helmeted heads. The message was clear. Warlord Corvel would make a good ally or a very bad enemy.
What could Byren say to win this canny old warrior's support?
'Corvel must have sailed as soon as he got my message,' Feid whispered to Byren. 'That's a good sign. But he doesn't look too friendly.'
'He never does,' Orrade muttered. 'It's the eyebrow. Most people have two.'
Byren snorted and swallowed his laughter.
'Corvel gathered his warriors right away and sailed. Either he comes to aid me,' Byren whispered grimly, 'or he comes to wipe me out.'
He felt Feid shift uncomfortably. They were exposed on the wharf with a ceremonial guard. The Foenix warlord had not called his men in from their outlying farms. In the township women and children far outnumbered those who could defend themselves from seasoned warriors.
Corvel's boots thudded on the wharf as he strode towards Byren and his supporters. He came to a stop just beyond arm's length, with four of his seven sons at his back.
'This time we meet in very different circumstances, Byren Kingsheir,' Corvel said. 'This time I am not defending my name against baseless accusations.'
'It's the king's duty to protect his people.' Byren held the warlord's eyes, making no apology. 'Someone ordered the raid on that village.'
'Not me. Yet, I rebuilt it as a sign of good faith. Now, King Rolen's dead and you come crawling to me, needing my support.'
Corvel indicated the leogryf-tooth necklace which rested on Byren's chest. 'They call you Byren Leogryfslayer, say you killed the beast with your bare hands.'
'I had a knife,' Byren admitted. 'And the beastie was old.'
'But not toothless?'
'He was when I finished with him.' Byren grinned, determined not to beg Corvel to join him. This old warrior respected strength.
Corvel studied him. 'Now your cousin Cobalt sits on your father's throne, with the backing of Merofynia. Cobalt is not old and toothless.'
'Cobalt is a snake,' Byren said. 'Toothless but dangerous.'
Corvel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'You talk well, second son, but can you lead an army?'
Since Byren had asked himself the same question he had no easy answer. 'Only Halcyon's Fate knows. And, since the mystics master does not have the Fate, he can't glimpse the future. As I see it, you have two choices, Corvel. Break your oath to my father, give Cobalt your loyalty and let him tax your spar to line his pockets, or join me and throw him out of Rolencia.'
'Perhaps I have a third choice. Break no oath and resist Cobalt myself.'
'You cannot stand alone. If Cobalt chose, he could chase your people down the length of Manticore Spar, raiding and looting until he drove the last warrior into the sea and took your women and children for slaves. United, we can defeat him. He can't fight on five fronts. If the warlords don't unite behind me, he can pick you off one by one.'
Corvel considered this, then he held out his right hand. 'They say you can be trusted, Leogryf Slayer.'
Relieved, Byren took his hand off his sword hilt and stepped forwards to grasp the warlord's. Without warning Corvel pulled him off balance, sweeping his legs from under him. It was a wrestling move Lence had used on him many times.
Byren reacted without thinking. Even as he went down he scissored his legs, trying to catch Corvel, but the older man's sons saved him, hauling him back and steadying him.
Orrade drew Byren upright. 'Say the word.'
At his signal there would be bloodshed, a pitched battle on the wharf. Byren waited, watching the warlord's face. If Corvel had meant to kill him he could have.
The warlord eased his shoulders, threw back his head and laughed. His laughter echoed up the steep-sided bay, echoed by the cries of the gulls circling overhead.
Corvel opened his arms and Byren stepped in, ready for anything, but this time Corvel clapped him on the shoulders, leaning close.
'Your father belittled me. My men would not have respected me if I hadn't done the same to you.' And he went off into another deep belly-laugh.
Blood roaring in his ears, Byren joined him. It seemed he had passed the old warrior's test.
But now he had to strike soon. No doubt Corvel would have brought food. Even so, Feid would be making up the shortfall, supplying wine and ale. The warlord could not afford to keep this up for long.