By dawn, Byren had called his captains together, and taken over the tap-room. He could smell spicy sausages, eggs and beans cooking, and his stomach grumbled. The traders had congratulated him, then backed out. They were happy, believing taxes would return to normal. They wouldn't be so happy when he had to confiscate their edible goods to feed his army.
Orrade was last to arrive and join them at the long table. 'The fort's secured. Your men took down the night watch. The rest surrendered without a fight.' He grinned. 'Hard to be brave when you're unarmed, barefoot and only half-awake.'
'Our losses?'
'None dead. One injured.' Laughter lit Orrade's thin face and Byren felt an answering grin tug at his lips. 'He dropped a barrel of looted wine on his foot and broke it.'
'The barrel?'
'No, his foot.'
'Just as well.'
The others chuckled, as Byren meant them to. They were all pleased with the easy victory, but jumpy because they knew the real battle still lay ahead.
'What will you do now, Byren?' Feid asked. 'They say Rolenhold can't be taken by force.'
'It never has. Deceit opened the gates for Palatyne. Cobalt won't fall for that.' Byren was reminded of tactics lessons with Captain Temor. The old warrior's death was another he had to avenge.
'Word of Byren's return will spread,' Orrade said. 'The people will rise up and join us.'
'The Merofynians could sit in the castle and ignore us,' Bearclaw countered. He was from Unistag Spar and eager to prove his loyalty to Warlord Unace, by supporting Byren who had helped her gain leadership.
'I hope they do stay safe in the castle,' Byren said quickly. The secret to leading men like this was never to appear at a loss. 'It'll give me time to gather warriors, retake the abbey and wipe out any Merofynians not within the castle walls. In fact, they don't know we're here, yet and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Before Cobalt knows it, he could have lost Rolencia.'
'But he'd still be safe in Rolenhold,' Corvel muttered.
'If I were Cobalt, I'd ride out to do battle before you're at full strength,' Feid said.
'But Cobalt doesn't know we're here yet.' Byren knew Palatyne had left a third of the Merofynian army under Cobalt's command, plus Lord Leon's warriors had joined him. He was outnumbered three to one. 'And that's why I need a secure base to strike from.'
'Dovecote's overrun with Merofynians,' Orrade began, 'but — '
'The Narrows is empty,' Old Man Narrows suggested. 'And it's secure, surrounded by the lake and cliffs on three sides. The palisade on the fourth side would have to be rebuilt — '
'We've got the men to do that. Excellent.' Byren turned to Orrade. 'See how many horses we have. Take twenty or thirty good men and the Narrows family. Go prepare the tradepost for us.' That would get Florin out of his sight and, hopefully, out of his thoughts. 'We'll follow on foot.'
As the keeper and his family brought out breakfast, Byren noticed that Catillum had slipped out of the tap-room. He'd have to catch him later and ask his advice on retaking the abbey. Recapturing Halcyon Abbey would inspire the valley people, and it was an easier nut to crack than Rolenhold.
Fyn stood on the fort's gate-tower. Looking across the valley, he drank in his homeland. It was good to be back. To his right the sun had just risen. So far it only picked out the tip of Mount Halcyon and, much nearer, Rolenhold itself. The Rolencian valley lay shrouded in early morning mist, with only single spires and tall trees spearing the fog. It was all so peaceful.
But not for long.
'Your brother did well, but winning one battle doesn't win the war,' Bantam muttered. 'He has a long, hard haul ahead of him, before he can call himself King Byren the Fifth.'
Fyn shrugged. 'Byren's up to it. Before summer's over, you'll have good news to report to Nefysto.'
'How do you know we won't claim lordships, riding on your coat tails?'
Fyn laughed. 'You have salt-water in your veins, not blood. I can't see you settling down on dry land, Bantam. But as for Jaku here — '
'I plan to settle on Ostron Isle. I bear Merofynia no love after the way she treated me, and Rolencians bear me no love, after the way Merofynia began this war. No, it's Ostron Isle for me.'
Below him, barely visible through the mist, Byren's army was cooking breakfast. Soon they would pack their kits and march out. Fyn should find Byren and see what his plans were.
Footsteps on the wooden ladder told him someone was coming.
Feldspar climbed up. 'Master Catillum wants to see you, kingsheir.'
His former friend's gaze skimmed past Fyn, who wanted to explain, why he was keeping his distance, but then Feldspar would have to denounce him for associating with renegade Affinity. So he held his tongue and hardened his heart.
Fyn nodded. 'I'll be along soon. Where is he?'
'Behind the stables.'
Fyn turned away from Feldspar's disappointment and heard him go down the ladder.
'What does the mystics master want?' Bantam asked.
Fyn's hand went to his chest but the Fate was gone. Odd how he missed its warmth over his heart. 'I don't know. I've already returned the abbey's Fate.'
Had he somehow given away his association with the mage? He didn't think so. Bantam and Jakulos followed him down the ladder as he headed for the stables. They waited just out of sight around the building.
'You sent for me, mystics master.'
'Ah, Fyn.' When Catillum turned, Fyn was struck by how much worse he looked. He had always been thin and intense, now he looked positively gaunt. Was the master sickening from something? He hoped not. Catillum was the only master-level monk left alive. When they retook the abbey, he would be their abbot. 'There is something I must ask you, kingson.'
Fyn waited.
'You are torn by two loyalties now, the abbey and your brother. Byren Kingsheir intends to retake the abbey. Only you and I know about the secret passage. I don't want rough warriors traipsing through the goddess's Sacred Heart. I want you to leave this to me. Don't tell him what you know.'
'Of course.' It was none of his business, now that he had turned his feet away from the goddess's path.
'Very good. Thank you, kingson.'
The mystic master left and the sea-hounds joined Fyn.
At Bantam's raised brows, Fyn explained. 'Abbey business.'
Bantam did not look pleased.
Just then there was a commotion from the front of the stables, so Fyn headed around to see what was going on.
Through a gap in the crowd, Fyn saw Byren with the warlords. His brother laughed at something Corvel said, and the man's sons laughed along with him. These violent men respected his brother for the good-hearted warrior he was. But did Byren have the cunning to beat Cobalt, who according to Piro was both brilliant and devious?
There was always Orrade. As if his thoughts had conjured him up, his brother's best friend thrust through the horses and men to join Fyn.
'We looked for you at the war table,' Orrade said.
'I was speaking with Master Catillum.' Giving up the Fate had been hard, but being excluded from retaking the abbey brought home to him that he was no longer going to become a monk. Strange how much that hurt.
'I've set aside three horses for you.' Orrade's glance included Bantam and Jakulos. 'We're riding ahead.'
The mountain girl approached, with her travelling kit slung over one shoulder.
'Over here, Florin.' Orrade beckoned her, explaining to Fyn as she approached. 'We're making for Narrowneck. Byren is going to reinforce its defences and make that his base until he can take back Rolenhold.'
'Good idea.' Fyn nodded to Florin. He didn't know what Orrade saw in her. She was half a head taller than Fyn and could look Orrade in the eyes. Handsome rather than pretty, she moved and spoke with none of the unconscious grace that made Piro and Isolt so desirable.
Florin eyed the horse Orrade had selected for her. 'If I fall off this beastie and break my neck, I'm never speaking to you again.'
'You rode well enough the night we fled Merofynians in Waterford.'
'That wasn't riding. That was holding on for dear life!'
Orrade grinned, winked at Fyn and offered Florin a leg up.
She tossed her braid over her shoulder, slipped her boot into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle.
As Fyn mounted up, he heard her muttering under her breath.
'…can't be any harder than facing down a manticore pride.'
And he hid a smile.
Piro lay in wait for the mage's return all morning, eager to hear if the new elector would honour the last elector's alliance.
All morning people left Mage Isle, returning to their homes. The Ring Sea was busy with small boats ferrying people back to Ostron Isle.
By midday Piro was starving, but she would not leave her post. Her patience was rewarded with the return of the mage in his closed carriage.
When the horses came to a stop, she was there opening the door. 'Mage Tsulamyth?'
'Who?' He glared at her. 'Oh, it's you. Can't an old man have a moment's peace?'
She offered her hand to help him out. 'Did you see the new elector? What did she say?'
'Manners, that's what young people lack today. Won't even let an old man rest his feet and take a sip of mulled wine to ease the bone-ache.'
His Affinity rolled over her, making her skin tingle and the hairs on her arms lift. He was powerful but frail, so she let him lean on her shoulder. As she guided him across the courtyard, a family hurried past, pausing to make a low bow of deference to the mage.
He waved them off. 'And good riddance. Eating me out of house and home — '
'You mustn't be angry with Tyro. It was my fault,' Piro told him. 'I opened the gate.'
'That boy…' The mage's mouth lifted in a wry smile. Tyro's smile. Dunstany's smile.
Piro saw through the disguise in that instant.
Just as he had pretended to be Lord Dunstany on the mage's orders, now Tyro was pretending to be the mage. But why?
Poor Tsulamyth must be so sick. Perhaps he could not leave his bed. Or perhaps the mage was somewhere else tending to one of his other 'irons.'
She hid a smile. This pretence would explain the mage's rumoured ability to be in two places at once. More likely, he was sick. The excitement the night the elector died must have been too much for him. So he'd sent Tyro to see the new elector today.
Hiding her discovery, she asked, 'Did the elector see you?'
'One-track mind, that's what you have, girlie. But to answer your question, yes, she did. When I pointed out that Palatyne's next invasion would be of Ostron Isle, with the might of both Rolencia and Merofynia at his back, the elector agreed to support your brother in — '
'Wonderful.' Piro hugged him.
Tyro disguised as the mage pushed her off, wincing as if his back hurt. She hid another smile. Tyro was such a good actor. In fact, he seemed more comfortable acting a part than being himself.
'You must let Byren and Fyn know,' Piro told him.
He glared at her. 'If I let a little slip of a girl tell me what I must and must not do, I would be a sorry excuse for a mage. Now, leave me in peace.'
Delighted with the news, Piro went to find Isolt. She found her on the tower stairs with the wyvern.
'Guess what?' Piro beamed.
'Let me see.' Isolt put her finger to her chin, pantomiming deep thought. 'The new elector has agreed to an alliance with your brother.'
Piro had been about to tell her that she'd caught Tyro playing the mage, but thought better of it now. Isolt might worry if she believed the mage was too frail to protect her. 'You heard?'
Isolt laughed. 'What else would it be? Truly, this is good news for your family and Rolencia.'
But there was no good news for Isolt, who was still estranged from her father and lived in fear of Palatyne discovering her whereabouts and claiming her. Surely the mage could do something for her too?
'Piro? Day dreamer?' Isolt smiled as Piro focused on her face. 'I feel bad about neglecting Loyalty these last few days, so I'm taking her for a swim. Do you want to come?'
Deep below the tower was a grotto, which opened onto the Ring Sea. Sunlight filtered through a hole in the roof, bathing the white stone in rippling light, and a hot spring of fresh water fed the pool, making it warm enough to swim in. Since water was her natural element the wyvern liked to go there once a day.
'Another time,' Piro said. 'I just thought of something I must do.'
Isolt nodded and led the wyvern off. Piro suspected King Merofyn's daughter was happier living as an outcast on Mage Isle than she had been in her own palace. But Isolt had to go home eventually.
Piro glanced up the stairs, thinking of the mage lying up there in his bed, too sick to go out. Poor thing. She should make sure he understood that she was to blame for opening the gates, not Tyro.
She went past the war table chamber on the tower's third floor. The curving stairs followed the wall. At the next floor the door opened into the chamber housing the library. She'd seen this room when Tyro showed them about. According to him, this was as far as they were allowed to venture. Which meant the mage had to be on one of the next four floors.
He would probably enjoy a visitor.
Piro crossed the library, entering the next stairwell. When she reached the top, she thought she heard a scurrying noise. Rats. They should get the terriers in.
The door opened at her touch. This chamber contained an odd mix of treasures, reminding her of her father's trophy room, except these treasures were all covered in dust.
There was, however, a clear path across the dusty boards to the far door, so someone came up here regularly. No doubt to deliver the mage's food and bring him news.
Following the trodden path, she passed strange objects so powerful they made her teeth ache with Affinity build-up. These treasures were nothing like her father's trophies. Only the Mirror of Insight had set off her Affinity and it responded to power, rather than having any of its own.
Telling herself that if she wasn't meant to go further the door would be locked, Piro pressed on the handle. The door swung open and she went up the next set of stairs, heart pounding.
Mouth dry, she entered the sixth and second-to-last floor. This chamber contained ancient weapons, some beautiful in a terrible way. Again, a path had been trodden across the dusty boards. And, again, she felt the tug of power from some of the objects as she passed.
Again, the door was open, so she went up. But at the top of the last flight of stairs she found the door locked.
No one answered her tentative knock.
It had to be Tsulamyth's room. Perhaps the old man was lying sick in bed. She felt sorry for him, shut away all alone. He needn't worry, she wouldn't give his secret away. But she wanted to see the mage to explain. Suddenly, it was very important to make sure he wasn't angry with his agent.
How was she going to get to Tsulamyth?
Piro returned to the floor below. If she remembered correctly the balconies were directly under each other. She went through to the balcony doors, opening them wide and stepping out. Immediately the wind whipped at her, tugging at her hair and clothes.
The balconies were on the far side of the tower, facing away from Ostron Isle and the buildings on Mage Isle. From here she could see the terraced slopes of Ostron Ring. Below her the Ring Sea glistened a brilliant azure, with boats dotted on its surface.
Turning away from Ostron Ring, she faced the tower. As she had guessed, there was a balcony directly above this one. Could she… dare she climb onto the balcony rail, grasp the floor of the balcony above and swing her weight over? She'd always had a good head for heights.
Climbing onto the balustrade, she placed one hand on the tower wall and stood up, balancing. The bottom of the top-floor balcony was too high for her to reach.
Piro jumped down. She needed a rope and a grappling hook. The chambers were filled with weaponry. Surely, she would find something useful.
Avoiding the objects that gave off the tingle of Affinity, Piro searched the weapons, until she found a three-pronged hook. After making sure the rope was not frayed and the connection tight, she returned to the balcony.
Standing on the very edge, she put her back to the balustrade and swung the hook around and around, letting it build up momentum, before releasing it. The distance was so short the wind did not have a chance to spoil her aim. The hook clanged against the stone, loud enough to alert anyone in the room. She held her breath.
No one came out to investigate. Either Tsulamyth was so sick that he couldn't get out of the bed, or the mage was off in Merofynia spying on Palatyne and that was why Tyro was pretending to be him.
Emboldened by this thought, Piro slipped off her shoes, tied her skirts out of the way and climbed up onto the balustrade. She shimmied up the rope, grateful for three older brothers who'd teased her until she could do everything they could. The wind tore at her hair, pulling it free of its bindings and whipping it across her face. Tears stung her eyes.
The only tricky part was transferring her grip from the rope to the balustrade. She ignored the drop, swinging her leg over the balcony rail.
Leaving the rope dangling, Piro went to the balcony doors. Each of the glass panels reflected a different patch of clear blue sky or hillside, and she couldn't see in. Cupping her hands, she peered into the dim chamber. It did contain a bed, though from this angle she couldn't tell if anyone was in it.
Tentatively, she touched the balcony doors. If they were unlocked, she was meant to go in. They opened at her touch. Not surprising really — she was on the top floor of the tallest tower in the known world.
Feeling pleased with herself, Piro slipped into the room. She expected to be greeted by the stale smell of old age and illness. Instead, she smelled freshly laundered sheets and messenger birds. Fresh herbs lay on the polished wooden floor. They crushed under her bare feet, filling the air with their pungent scent. Hardly daring to breathe, she padded lightly across the floor to get a better view of the bed.
Empty… Piro's mental picture of a sad, lonely old man evaporated. The mage must be in Merofynia, or even Rolencia. Helping her brothers, she hoped.
Pica birds cooed. She turned to find a wall of cages. Gentle Affinity creatures generally liked her, so she went over. Most cages contained a pica pair. Only three of the birds were alone and she guessed their mates were off carrying messages. The remaining pairs perched on their rods, necks entwined, crooning to each other, a picture of devotion. She reached through the bars to stroke one bird's back, feeling her own Affinity build up and flow down her arm. Even though she kept her foenix nearby and petted him every day, her Affinity still built up. It had to be increasing. How would she ever control it? Would she have to join Sylion Abbey after all?
No point in worrying about that now. Byren still had to win back…
A presence grew behind her, making the space between her shoulder blades throb with a presentiment of danger. Piro swallowed. So the mage was here after all.
She turned slowly.
A dark figure stood in the shadows beside the fireplace. No, the figure exuded shadow. 'M-mage Tsulamyth?'
'Others have died for daring to do what you have done,' he told her, his old voice paper-thin but menacing.
'I had to see you, had to explain. It wasn't Tyro's fault. I was the one who insisted we open the gates. You mustn't be angry with him.'
The mage said nothing.
Had she offended him? She was only trying to make things better.
'Mage Tsulamyth?'
He stepped out of the shadows, a fragile old man, stooped by age so that he stood barely taller than her. The light from the balcony flooded his face. She caught a flash of clever dark eyes, set deep behind those bushy white eyebrows in a nest of wrinkles.
'What are you doing here, kingsdaughter?'
She sensed power. Familiar power. Of course it would be familiar, she'd met him before. 'I thought you might be lonely. So I came up to keep you company.'
'Over the balcony?' A wry smile tugged at his lips.
Tyro's smile. Tyro's power!
Anger banished her fear. Why was the agent playing with her? Did he think she was stupid?
'I am sorry, mage.' Eyes down so he could not read her anger, she took his arm as if she believed he was old and weak and led him in front of the fireplace.
'I had to come over the balcony. Your chamber door was locked.' She gave him her best cheeky smile and patted his veined hand. It looked so real, felt real. Equal parts resentment and admiration for Tyro's skill churned within her.
'The door was locked for a reason. Can't an old man get any peace?'
'Peace is for the grave,' she repeated her old nurse's saying. 'Could the door be locked because you have something to hide?'
Without warning, she tucked her leg behind his, just as Fyn had taught her, and shoved.
Quick as a cat, the frail old mage regained his balance. His image shifted then settled back into that of Tsulamyth. If she'd blinked, she would have missed it.
But she hadn't. 'It is you!'
Hands grasped her upper arms, swung her around, and slammed her up against the wall. For a moment all she saw was stars. When her vision cleared, it was Tyro who pressed her to the wall, her feet off the ground, her eyes level with his. Tyro who had coarsened his features with player's putty and bushy eyebrows.
Tyro who looked very, very angry.
Her mouth went dry, even as her heart raced, but she would not be cowed. 'Did you think I was stupid?'
'No. Never that. Just young and foolish.' His gaze dropped to her mouth, and lingered.
Suddenly he let her go, stepping back stiffly. 'What are you doing here, Piro?'
'I told you. I thought the mage might be lonely and… and I thought he might be angry with you. I shouldn't have worried.' For some reason she was more angry than frightened now. Why did she feel as if he had betrayed her?
When he didn't speak she plunged on. It was all quite clear now. 'You played the mage the night of the elector's death That's how he ran so fast.'
'I did. But that didn't make you suspicious. What gave me away just now?'
'I've seen you play Lord Dunstany. With some player's putty to change your face and your Affinity to smooth the illusion, you are a consummate actor. But, when you smile at me, your smile is the same whether you are Dunstany, Tsulamyth or Tyro!'
He said nothing, seemed to loom over her. Why was he so serious? It was clever, this deception. It meant the mage could be in more than one place.
'Have you told anyone your suspicions, Piro?'
'Of course not. So where is the mage?'
'Tell anyone what I am about to tell you and I will have to kill you.'
She laughed, then realised he wasn't joking. It was no longer a game. She was out of her depth. She should never have come here. But she would never betray a trust and he should know that. 'As if I would!'
He let his breath out on a long exhalation. 'The mage is dead.'
Piro's knees went weak and she sank onto the chest in front of the fireplace, knocking a velvet-covered book to the carpet. Automatically she picked it up and smoothed the dust from the cover. 'Dead? But I thought he was all-powerful.'
'No one is all-powerful, Piro.' Tyro paced the chamber. 'Are you sure you haven't told anyone, not even Isolt?'
'She's placed her faith in the mage. I don't want to see her haunted expression return.' Piro frowned and put the book down. 'Maybe you should tell her. She has a right to know the truth.'
'Tell no one!' Tyro strode over to her and dropped to his haunches. His eyes held hers, intense and compelling. 'You want the truth? The truth is that I am the mage. No one lives for two hundred years. Upon his death I was supposed to inherit the role of Mage Tsulamyth from my master just as he inherited it from his. Only we did not anticipate him dying for at least another twenty years.'
Tyro sprang to his feet and threw himself into the chair by the fireplace. For once he didn't look pompous and composed, he looked like a troubled youth. And she felt for him.
'No one must know, Piro. I don't ask this for me. If it was known that Palatyne's twin Utland Power-workers had killed Mage Tsulamyth, Ostron Isle would no longer be safe. Palatyne would sail his army across the sea and strike. You must not reveal the truth.'
'The Utlanders killed Mage Tsulamyth?'
'They meant to kill Dunstany.' Words poured from him as if a dam had broken. 'I'm sorry I lied to you, Piro. I had assumed Dunstany's identity. This much you guessed. Lord Dunstany was a good friend of my master's. He believed in my master's dream. He died at a nexus point, when King Sefon was murdered. Rather than lose Dunstany's influence in the Merofynian court, my master assumed his identity. And he trained me to do likewise. Sometimes, I played Lord Dunstany, sometimes the master did.
'Two summers ago while both the master and I were in Merofynia, the Utlander and his twin brother laid a cunning trap for Lord Dunstany. They had been fierce rivals ever since Palatyne climbed over the Divide and marched his army into the king's very palace, claiming he was there to pay homage to his king.
'I had a head cold. Lord Dunstany didn't, so my master played him that day. The twin Utlanders ambushed Lord Dunstany and they battled, two against one. Somehow, my master escaped and made his way back to me. I was frantic, he had been missing for hours. I found him dying in the secret passage under the Dunstany town mansion. I couldn't save him.' He sat back, long legs stretched out, and stared past her into the fire. Brooding. 'But for a head cold, I would have been the one who died.'
'I don't understand. How could the Utlanders kill the mighty Tsulamyth, even two against one?'
'They didn't set out to kill Tsulamyth. They wouldn't have dared. They set out to kill Lord Dunstany. The Utlanders were prepared with stolen Affinity.' He saw she did not understand. 'They keep Affinity-slaves. The Utlander's twin had one when we arrived in Rolencia. She escaped when he was killed.' Tyro's top lip lifted in a grimace of distaste. 'They siphon Affinity off the living. It's the opposite of what you do with your foenix. Worse than this, they can steal a person's Affinity when they die. Your mother…' He glanced at her, as if not sure whether to go on.
'I saw the Utlander capture my mother's essence in the stone on the tip of his staff. Is she in there? Does she know — '
'I don't know. I hope not.' He shuddered. 'Upon her death, her Affinity would have returned to the world. The Utlander stole it. And it was just this kind of stolen Affinity that he and his twin had gathered in preparation for the day they ambushed Lord Dunstany. They never realised they had Tsulamyth cornered. I believe he would've fought them off, if not for his heart. It gave out. He was lucky to escape alive. They thought he'd crept off to die. But they never had the chance to gloat.' Tyro's lips parted in a fierce grimace that was not a smile. 'For I assumed Lord Dunstany's disguise and met the Utlanders at court the very next day, hale and hearty, but for a slight head cold. They nearly passed out. After that they were most careful of Lord Dunstany. And now that one of them is dead, the remaining Utlander is doubly careful, for all that he hates me.'
'Fyn was right. You must have nerves of steel.'
Tyro's dark eyes fixed on her. He looked tired and worn, but determined. 'I have been bluffing since my master died two summers ago. Without him I must train myself from the books the previous Mage Tsulamyths collected during their lifetimes. I miss my master's advice, but most of all I miss him.' He glanced across to Piro, defiantly apologetic. 'I was his natural grandson.'
'Oh, Tyro. I'm so sorry,' Piro whispered. She caught herself reaching out to him, hesitated, then tucked her hands in her lap. 'But I thought you said you were born on Dunstany's estate, that your mother sold you to the mage when you were five.'
'She did. Dunstany was my other grandfather, her natural father. She was a serving girl, born the wrong side of the blanket. She fell in love with my father, who should have been the next Tsulamyth, but he was too keen on wenching and acquiring wealth. It's a tawdry tale. He seduced her, left her pregnant and got himself killed before I was born. So I'm a bastard twice over, with too much Affinity to live a normal life.'
No wonder he was angry at the world.
Piro licked her lips. She wanted to reassure him, but was pretty certain he would bridle at the sympathy. So she changed the topic. 'If this charade is so dangerous, why continue?'
'This is not a game, Piro. I continue the original Mage Tsulamyth's great dream. Peace through a balance of power. Why… the first Tsulamyth invented the game of Duelling Kingdoms to teach the warring nobles the value of diplomacy.'
She didn't tell him that the way her father played it involved resolving disputes with strategic battles.
Tyro continued. 'Each mage since has continued his work. My master is the reason you exist. Without his interference, Myrella Kingsdaughter would never have married your father.'
Piro found it hard to imagine. 'So I owe my existence to a meddling mage?'
'To Tsulamyth's dream of peace,' Tyro corrected, and this time he didn't sound pompous.
Piro picked at the hem on her sleeve which had begun to unravel. 'There is one thing… I don't see how the different Tsulamyths could carry out this deception. How did they hide the fact that it was a different man each time the mage died? I mean — '
'Two things worked in our favour, Affinity is hereditary and our line is long-lived. The mage always selected one of his descendants to train as his apprentice, so there was a family likeness. And his descendants never knew about him, unless he came for them. He would test the males of each generation and — '
'So he tested you when you were five and chose you for his apprentice?'
'Just as he had chosen my father. But strength of Affinity does not correlate to strength of character.' Tyro shook his head. 'If I had failed the mage's tests, I would have worked on Dunstany's estate, unaware of my relationship to him.' He sounded as though this might not have been such a bad thing. Piro knew how he felt.
'Even so, how did the different mages hide the switch-over?'
'The mage did not select an apprentice until he was over fifty. He had few close friends. Dunstany was one. The people he dealt with grew old, they saw him perhaps once a year, then not for several years. Basically, they forgot.' He shrugged. 'Besides, people see what they expect to see.'
Piro nodded. She accepted it could be done. 'And I suppose you all trained in the art of illusion.'
'The skill runs strong in my family. My master should have lived another twenty years. When he died in my arms, I vowed to carry on. But things have gone from bad to worse. It all started with Palatyne conquering the other spar warlords. His next step was to ingratiate himself with King Merofyn, by invading Rolencia. I tried to stop him. I told him invading Rolencia would be his death.' Tyro looked bleak. 'But instead of preventing Rolencia's invasion, he set off to kill King Rolen's kin.'
Piro blinked. Tyro was responsible for Palatyne's vendetta against her family? 'But — '
'He would have executed your brothers anyway. He only let Cobalt live because he's a bastard and useful to him. It's all gone from bad to worse.' Tyro sank his head into his hands.
Piro felt sorry for him. He'd tried to curtail Palatyne's ambition and failed. But at least he tried. She was about to slip off the chest and go to him, when he lifted his head.
'Palatyne's next goal is to conquer Ostron Isle. With Rolencia and Merofynia behind him, he has the resources. I can't let this happen. Palatyne hesitates only because the mighty Tsulamyth lives here. That's why you must not tell anyone about me, not even Fyn and Isolt.'
'But we can help you. We can — ' She broke off as Tyro reached under his vest to pull out the amber pendant.
'I don't need your word, Piro, not when I have this. If I break the stone, your essence escapes and, unless you are within touching distance, you'll die.'
Anger rushed through Piro, driving her to her feet. To think, she'd wanted to console him. 'You don't trust me!'
'Should I, kingsdaughter?' His eyes glittered strangely. 'Isn't your loyalty to your brothers, your kingdom and even your friend Isolt, before me?'
She didn't know what to say. He was right. Wasn't he?
'Besides, the things I've seen in the courts of Ostron Isle and Merofynia have not given me reason to trust anyone.'
'Then I pity you, for loyalty coerced is not loyalty at all!' Piro blinked away tears of fury. If she stayed here another moment she would disgrace herself. 'I'm going down to the grotto… that is, if I have your permission?'
Tyro said nothing.
She marched out, leaving him alone in the tower room.
Piro had found Mage Tsulamyth and she wished she hadn't.