Piro looked down into the seething square. There was no time for people to wait for carts to carry their belongings. If they did not go now, they would be cut off. She flew down the stairs, boots barely touching the wood.
Instead of running out into the thronging square, she ran into the bell-ringers' little nook, deep inside the tower. Far above her the ropes stretched impossibly high and light filtered down from the great bells.
Piro only hoped she remembered the right bell sequence for the warning. It was meant to be rung by a team of three, so she would just have to do her best. Leaping off her feet, she clutched the first rope and let her weight drag it down. A thunderous stroke echoed above her. Even as the rope rode up, she was reaching for the next one. This bell was pitched higher. Prompted by the old rhyme learnt as a child when her mother used to sing her to sleep, she rang the sequence, leaping from rope to rope. She was playing it too slow, but that could not be helped. People would recognise it and realise why she was ringing the warning.
'You, girly?' A plump merchant wearing the fashions of Ostron Isle confronted her. 'What mischief are you up to -'
'Merofynians an hour away, probably less,' she shouted to be heard.
'What nonsense!' The Ostronite merchant glared at her, secure in his ermine-collared cloak.
'Send someone up to the top of the tower if you don't believe me.'
A silver-haired woman entered, with three burly male servants at her back. 'What's holding… Piro Kingsdaughter, what are you doing here?'
'Markiza,' Piro gasped, letting the bell rope go. 'Is the markiz with you? You must get out of the town.' The Ostronite merchant stared at Piro. 'The kingsdaughter? The one that's wanted for treason?'
'The same. Servants, hold her,' the markiza ordered, ignoring Piro's warning. Three men thrust past the Ostronite.
'That was a misunderstanding,' Piro insisted. 'Today I've been sent to Sylion Abbey, ask Captain Temor. But there's no time. The Merofynians are just outside the town. Go to the top of the tower yourself, if you don't believe me.' Frustration made Piro stamp her foot. 'Would you hand everyone over to the Merofynians?'
'At least send someone to see,' the Ostronite merchant urged.
The markiza tapped one of her servants on the shoulder. 'Go to the top of the tower. Quickly now, and tell me what you see.'
As he hurried off, Piro tried to dart under the nearest man's arm and through the door.
The markiza caught her by the shoulder. 'Not so fast, kingsdaughter.'
The two servants held Piro between them.
'But I must warn Captain Temor!' Piro insisted.
'You're not going anywhere until I know what's going on,' the markiza told her.
Piro rolled her eyes.
A muffled shout echoed down the stairs.
'What was that?' the markiza called up the stairwell, thrusting the door further ajar.
'I see nothing but low-lying mist.'
'Because their Power-workers are cloaking them,' Piro snapped. 'That's why our lookouts didn't spot them.'
The markiza frowned. 'Then how could you -'
'I have Affinity. That's why I was being sent to Sylion Abbey.' Piro told the truth. It no longer mattered.
The markiza's eyes widened. 'If the Merofynians are at the gates -'
'I knew I should have left when I first heard the news,' the Ostronite merchant moaned.
Both Piro and the markiza ignored him. She nodded to her remaining servants. 'Help sound the warning bells.'
'I don't know the sequence, markiza,' the younger servant protested.
'I do. Set me down!' Piro shrugged free of the servants. 'I'll need two of your servants, markiza.'
'Take them.' She caught Piro's arm. 'Have you seen my son, Chandler? Last I heard he'd joined Byren Kingson's honour guard.'
Piro gulped. Clearly, Cobalt's accusations and her father's subsequent banishment of Byren had not reached the townsfolk and now was not the time to explain. 'Byren's honour guard set off three days ago. Chandler must be with him by now.'
'Set off for where?'
'Dovecote estate.' Right into the path of the invading Merofynians. 'I…'
'He will do what's right. He's a good boy. May Halcyon watch over him. May she watch over you, too, little Piro.' The markiza tapped the Ostronite merchant's arm. 'Now I must see to my family's investments. Come.' They hurried off.
Piro turned back to the servants. It took two sequences, but they caught on to the simple system. Soon the bells rang out their warning at the proper pace.
Piro's head pounded and her body thrummed with the effort of leaping and tugging on the great bell ropes. But she'd spent so much time hiding recently that it felt good to be active.
Byren lifted his head as the dreaded ulfr howl echoed across the frozen lake. Snow flakes kissed his face, falling lightly from low-slung clouds. Somehow he'd kept skating. He'd stuck to the lake shore, so he hadn't made good time. Had the snow been thicker he might have risked skating directly across the lake. But the Merofynians were after him. He had heard their hunting horns. Had he been organising this search he would have separated his men into small groups. They knew he was injured and, by now, they knew he was on foot. He hoped that they would be searching on the land but he would have had his men search the lake. So he had to assume his pursuers were just as canny.
Though desperate, he had deliberately avoided the farmhouse where he'd eaten breakfast, not wanting to bring trouble down on the family there. Hopefully, they had already packed up their things and headed for the nearest fortified town. So he was injured and alone, with half a dozen Merofynian search parties tracking him. His only advantage was that he knew the area intimately and they didn't.
Since he was twelve he'd been as big as a grown man and his body had never failed him. It must not fail him now.
He'd felt certain he would reach Rolenhold before this wound stole his life force. Until now…
Now the ulfr pack was on the prowl. At least the Merofynians would be equally reluctant to meet up with the pack. But the ulfrs would smell the blood on him for sure. They'd hunt him, a single injured man. The only thing that appealed more to them was… an Affinity seep!
Without hesitation he struck out for the spot where he'd come across the Power-worker and Dinni. He hoped she was safe at Sylion Abbey by now. This was not a good time to be wandering the Rolencian valley.
Head down, powerful thighs driving him on, he winced with every breath. Grey spots ate into the corners of his vision, but he would not give in.
Lifting his head, he took note of the landmarks, shrouded in winter snow but still clear to his experienced eye. This was where he'd fallen and ploughed through a drift into a little inlet. Already the wind and snow had smoothed his passage so that others would have trouble reading the signs. He weaved through the gap in the snow drift and headed for the shore. There he unstrapped his skates and ploughed up the slope, being careful to smooth the signs of his passing.
There it was – the seep, still oozing Affinity since he had removed the sorbt stone before it could fully drain the source. Since childhood he had been trained to avoid untamed Affinity. Now he meant to hide in an Affinity seep, and every proper instinct revolted.
He hesitated on the lip of the hollow. It was empty. Had the Utland Power-worker survived the night, and what had happened to his warrior escort?
Another howl reached him, closer this time. No more delays.
He had no choice. It was the seep or death.
Praying the falling snow would finish cloaking his steps from his mortal pursuers, he plunged down into the hollow. With no Affinity to sense it, he remained blind to the power surge, but his heart raced with reluctance as he sank into the deepest part of the hollow and began to scoop out a body-length depression. The exertion made him cough. More blood, little bright red rubies scattered on the snow. He had to take shorter and shorter breaths. Time was running out.
All warriors faced death. It did not worry him.
To die dishonoured in his family's eyes, now that was a cruel fate.
There was no time to make a proper snow-cave. He intended to stretch out on his back and drag snow across his body. He hoped the ulfr-fur cloak would protect him from the cold and the seep from the Affinity beasts. Instinct screamed at him to curl into a ball, but he needed to be covered.
A strange, querulous bark alerted him. He froze in a half-crouch and stared up the slope. Silhouetted against the sullen, snow-laden clouds was an adolescent ulfr. A great ruff of silver fur sat across its broad shoulders. Its legs looked too long for its body, as it was not yet fully grown. And, from the way it tilted its head, intelligent winter sky-blue eyes studying him, it was confused by his presence.
Another ulfr joined the first. Byren recognised the clever pack leader from the night he had held them off over Orrade's unconscious body. His gut clenched, expecting the male to give one of its eerily intelligent yelps as it sent its warrior ulfrs to attack him but, like the adolescent, the pack leader hesitated.
Remembering the two birds, Byren forced all wariness and aggression from his stance. Dropping into the snow, he began to roll about as the birds had done, uttering happy crooning sounds. For a heartbeat he wondered if this was what Dinni would have done if she had been allowed to follow her instincts.
But, even as he rolled about wallowing in the seep, he watched the gathering ulfrs. Before long, they lined the rim of the hollow. It had been a tough winter with constant harassment from humans. There were only five large males left, three females and four adolescents.
His heart pounded, tugging at the wound in his side. His breath rasped in his chest as he gulped for air. Either they would tear him to shreds, or they would accept him as another Affinity beast.
With a warning growl, the pack leader trotted down the slope towards Byren. Recalling the way the castle's hunting dogs deferred to their leader, Byren rolled over onto his back and presented his vulnerable belly. The ulfr stood over him, large head and ruff almost blocking out the sky.
In that instant, Byren believed the ulfr would kill him, before the wound could. He closed his eyes and called on Halcyon herself. It was past midwinter so the goddess of the earth and growing things was in ascension. But he called on her because he loved Rolencia and she was the goddess of love.
Let me live long enough to reach my family, he pleaded. Let me live long enough to warn them of Merofynia's treachery. Do this and I will… what? His ancestor had dedicated Halcyon Abbey to thank the goddess for his victory. He had never been particularly religious, preferring to handle things with the strength of his body and the force of his will, rather than call on the gods. But this time…
Do this, and once Rolencia is safe, I will dedicate my life to serving you.
There – he could offer no more.
All resistance left him as he gave himself up to Halcyon's care. The ulfr's hot breath fanned his face, welcome warmth, despite his instinctive reaction to the smell of death. Run, the primitive part of his mind screamed. Play along, his logical mind told him. So he did.
The ulfr sniffed him. The pack leader had to be aware that he was human and injured, but being drenched in the seep's power must have been enough to make him acceptable, because the Affinity beast, servant of the goddess, lifted its head and gave a distinctive howl.
Then it stepped back to roll in the seep, throwing up spirals of powdery snow. The other pack members padded down into the hollow and rolled about, nipping playfully if a youngster infringed on an adult's space. After a time they settled down to sleep and set up a soft whining, almost singing, that was just on the edge of Byren's hearing.
It made his head ring and seemed to fill his mind so that he had trouble remembering who he was, or even that he was lying with this winter's most notorious ulfr pack.
Warmed by the combined heat of the pack, his shivering stopped. He lost all sense of time. The heat and the sense of acceptance was so powerful that he let himself drift, taking short, quick breaths to fill what little space was left in his blood-filled lungs. All he could do was lie there as waves of weariness swept over him.
He did not know whether the goddess had heard his plea, or whether his ploy had convinced the ulfrs to accept him, but it seemed he would live long enough for the wound to kill him.
He should get up now while they were relaxed and slip away, but he knew he would not get far. Any movement would trigger coughing and one of these coughing fits would be his last. An adolescent gave a soft bark in its sleep and shifted so that its jaw rested on Byren's chest. He lifted his hand and let his fingers sink into the beast's thick shoulder ruff. So soft, so warm and silky.
He felt honoured to be accepted. Pity he would not live long enough to tell anyone about this. How Orrade would shake his head in disbelief, then his thin face would light up with wonder.
Or would he turn away?
Pain curled through Byren. He should never have compared Orrade to Lence. Despite Cobalt's threat to expose Orrade as a lover of men, his friend had remained loyal to Byren. Unlike Lence. His twin had only been too ready to believe Cobalt's half-truths. It stung to discover how easily Lence had been swayed. No wonder Orrade was furious with him. Shame filled Byren.
He wasn't in pain but it hurt to think he would die before he could apologise to Orrade. Before he could prove his loyalty to his father. The king would live on, grieving, believing his second son had betrayed Rolencia. An ache that was not physical curled through Byren, making his throat tight and his breath catch.
The ulfr at his side gave a whimper of pain as if in sympathy with him, and he felt the other pack members shift. When another whimper followed the first, Byren understood what was happening. He had watched his prized hunting bitches whelp enough times to recognise the sounds of birth.
Carefully, he lifted his hand and rested it on the female beside him. He could feel her belly tighten like a drum as her womb contracted. The power of the seep must have brought on the birth, for usually the cubs were born in the spring and spring cusp was still a little way off.
Sprawled on his back, surrounded by ulfrs, Byren watched the pack leader take up a protective stance over the whelping female. For his hunting dogs the process was usually quick and the ulfr was no exception. Byren felt the whole pack ride the contractions with her, their whining song rising in pitch with the peak of each pain. The sound triggered a vibration through the pack's chests, a vibration of attunement. It relaxed Byren's aching chest and, with this relaxation, he found his breath came more easily.
Three more contractions and the female gave a grunt of satisfaction as she expelled the pup. It rushed out in a hot, wet slither of sound. The female wriggled around to nose the newborn and lick its snout. After a moment it whimpered, and Byren heard the distinctive snuffling as it searched for its mother's nipple. The rest of the pack nuzzled closer. The pack leader drove them back and the male shared the afterbirth with the female.
As they shifted, Byren risked lifting his head to take a quick look. The mother had licked the pup clean but its fur had not dried yet. The pup had, however, settled in place attached to one of her nipples. The pack leader watched it proudly, for all the world like a human father. And, unlike his hunting hounds, there was only one pup.
Byren felt stunned and privileged as the pack settled down, still whining softly in unison, the vibration travelling through them as if they were one great animal. He lay back and concentrated on breathing, which was not so hard now. It seemed he would last out the night. If only he could live long enough to reach Rolenhold. He willed his wound to mend. There was still so much he had to do.
Finally, he slept, warm and safe in the ulfr pack. And he dreamed he was back home in Rolenhold, visiting his mother in the solarium, only he was a child and she wept because they'd just tested little Fyn and found he had Affinity. They were preparing to take him away. Byren remembered his impotent fury. How, at ten, he had volunteered to ride across Rolencia to rescue his little brother from the monks. How he had been filled with the conviction that his father's law was wrong. Strange… why had he forgotten this?
In his dream, which he now realised was really a hidden memory, his mother placed her hand on his forehead and whispered, 'Don't, Byren! Obey your father in this, or I will lose you too.' And, as she spoke, she seemed to siphon off his roiling emotions, so that he was left feeling calmer, if not happy. And he understood why he had forgotten the moment.
He was woken by a whistle that imitated a bird call, only Byren knew that this particular bird would not be out of hibernation until after spring cusp. The sound echoed across the seep. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he brought the rim of the hollow into his range of vision.
Cloaked warrior heads dotted the rim.
Would they spot him, amidst the pack, dressed in ulfr fur? No one would expect to find a human in an ulfr pack enjoying a seep.
The ulfr leader and three of the large males came to their feet, emitting a low rumbling growl from deep in their great chests. The message was clear. Back off.
With the newborn and the seep to defend, the pack was extremely dangerous. If Byren had come upon them like this, he would have probably had his archers climb trees and pick the animals off. Luckily there were no trees lining the seep and now that very thought seemed like sacrilege to Byren.
Would he ever be able to kill another Affinity beast?
He felt himself reach for his own knife and it startled him to realise that if the Merofynians attacked, he meant to defend the ulfr pack.
But they didn't. One of them sang a chant Byren had never heard his mother sing, though he recognised some of the phrases. He gathered the Merofynians were honouring the seep, its power and the Affinity beasts.
That's right. The Merofynian attitude towards untamed Affinity was very different. They accepted it, cultivating it. Perhaps theirs was a more realistic attitude. Fighting Affinity was like trying to turn back the tide.
Then he thought of poor little Dinni, enslaved by the Utland Power-worker. No, he didn't agree with everything the Merofynians did, but then he didn't agree with his father's laws on Affinity.
The handing-over of all children born with Affinity broke up families, and confiscating the property of those who tried to hide Affinity only encouraged greed.
All this flashed through his mind as the Merofynians honoured the seep and Affinity beasts.
And then they backed off. Leaving Byren to lie in the seep, amidst the ulfr pack, riding the resonance of the pack's subtle song.
'Here's Piro Kingsdaughter,' the markiza pointed.
Two of the king's honour guard frowned at Piro. One nodded to the other. 'Bring her.'
'But I'm ringing -'
'Warning's been given. Come.'
The two servants hurried off after the markiza, as Piro was bundled out and into the main hall of the guild's meeting house.
She broke free of her captors and ran towards Captain Temor, arriving in the middle of his argument with the Ostronite merchant.
'And I say you'll be safer in Rolenhold,' Temor told the man. 'Safer than heading off across the lake in a mad scramble to outrun the Merofynians. What if the wind doesn't rise at dusk? The castle's never fallen. Come, wait it out.'
'Captain Temor.' Piro tugged on his arm.
'Hush, Piro,' Temor snapped, then turned back to the Ostronite to find the man striding off. 'On his own head be it.' Dismissing the man he turned to Piro, eyes dark under heavy grey brows. 'As for you!'
One strong hand caught Piro by the upper arm and she was dragged from the guildhall to join two dozen of the king's honour guard, who waited for their captain's orders.
Out in the square, furniture and belongings lay abandoned, as people scrambled for the safety of the castle. Piro shaded her eyes, looking up at the steep road that zig-zagged several times before reaching the gates of Rolenhold. The road was packed with people, most walking, some on carts and a few on horseback.
Shouts echoed from the wharves, the weakest point of Rolenton's defences, where the Merofynians had already broken through the town's defences.
The voices held abrasive cruelty. It rubbed across Piro's nerves, making her heart thunder uncomfortably. 'Our people will never make it in time.'
'We'll have to buy them time,' Captain Temor muttered. 'Come on.'
They pounded across the square to the road leading to Southgate, then down to the gate itself, which was only just emptying of townspeople when they reached it.
Temor beckoned one of the king's honour guard. 'Sawtree, I'm entrusting you with the kingsdaughter. Make sure she reaches the safety of the castle.'
'But -' Sawtree began.
Merofynian warriors boiled out of the narrow lanes from the wharves and headed across the square, roaring a challenge.
'Get her to safety!' Temor snapped.
Sawtree caught Piro's arm, pulling her through the gate before the king's Honour guard could haul it closed. She made out Temor bellowing for them to build a barrier of furniture across the road. Of course, the gate was designed to be defensible against attacks from the outside, not the inside.
'They'll be killed,' Piro panted.
'Not before they buy us time. Run!'
She turned and ran, tears blinding her. Now she knew why Sawtree had objected to taking her. He'd served beside those men for thirty years. He did not want to abandon them in their last stand.
Ahead of her, the townsfolk drove others before them, shouting and pleading with those ahead to make haste. A man cried out and fell to his knees at Piro's side, an arrow embedded in his shoulder.
'They have our range. We're packed so tight, they're aiming upwards and trusting to hit us,' Sawtree muttered. He paused and cast about them looking for something.
Piro gave a cry of surprise as an object thumped into her back, driving her to her knees.
'Piro!' Sawtree cried.
She felt over her shoulder to find an arrow shaft embedded in her travelling pack. A laugh escaped her. 'It's all right. My pack protected me.'
'Halcyon must be smiling on you.' He grabbed the arrow, pulling it out and hauling her upright. 'Here.' He snatched an abandoned bundle and held it over their heads. 'Walk in front of me, little Piro.'
His broad shoulders protected her as he manoeuvred her into position and drove her on.
The tone of the shouting at the gate changed and Piro knew Temor and his men had engaged the enemy. So did everyone around them. Dropping their belongings, they ran. But they were running uphill and the pace could not be maintained. Soon they slowed to a scrambling stagger. All around them people cried out and fell behind as they were hit. Piro stumbled over a body. Only he wasn't dead. Feeling her land on him, he groaned and clutched her, pleading for help.
Sawtree grabbed her by the back of her bodice, hauling her upright like a kitten.
'I'm sorry. So sorry,' she told the wounded man, whose eyes fixed on her in a silent plea before Sawtree dragged her off him and drove her on.
The woman in front of her stopped, looked back and uttered a sharp scream. Piro went to look over her shoulder, but Sawtree drove her on.
'Don't look back,' he warned. 'The gate's fallen.'
A moan was torn from Piro. As captain of the guard, Temor had taught her to ride. He'd given Byren and Lence their first wooden swords and taught them basic defence skills when they were six. He'd shared a place at their table and counselled her father for as long as she could remember.
She heard shouting from the walls of Rolenhold and looked up. They were within bow range of the castle defenders now. Surely their attackers would hold off, but no, even more arrows fell around them. Sawtree gave a grunt and staggered. She glanced down to see an arrow had driven right through his calf.
'Leave me.' He shoved her away.
She ducked under his arm and took some of his weight. He cursed her but kept on in an awkward, lurching stagger.
As they rounded the last bend leading to Rolenhold's gate several men ran out to help the stragglers inside, and the defenders cheered.
Two men took Sawtree from her.
Freed of his weight, Piro plunged through the gate on their heels. The long tunnel was dark and crowded, then suddenly she was in the first courtyard which was filled with townsfolk who were being urged to move on. Children cried for their parents. Old folks slumped, too exhausted to move.
Piro paused to catch her breath and check on Sawtree. The men had propped him against the wall.
'Are you -' she began.
'Go.' He thrust her away, glaring across the courtyard.
She turned to look in the direction of his gaze and her eyes met Cobalt's. He was two body lengths from her, with a dozen people between them. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed.
Sawtree shoved Piro. 'Get away, while you still can.'
'Out of my way, old woman.' Cobalt shoved through the crowd towards them.
Piro ducked between two merchants and took to her heels. Being small and not worried who she elbowed, she easily threaded her way through the crowd. Behind her, she heard Cobalt confront Sawtree.
'Where's Piro?'
'The kingsdaughter? In Sylion, they say -'
There was a sharp crack. Piro winced and kept running. She couldn't save Sawtree. How she wished she was big and powerful like Lence and Byren.
Blending in with the crowd of frightened townsfolk, she was carried further into the castle's maze of courtyards. None of the defenders bothered to question one more dishevelled maid, and none of the townsfolk paid her any attention as she picked through the family groups squabbling over patches of ground to call their own.
She'd entered one of the inner courtyards when the rumour spread, 'They're burning Rolenton!'
Some townsfolk moaned, others objected furiously, demanding to know what King Rolen would do about it.
Piro wondered what more they thought her father could do. At least he had ensured the people got out with their lives. She headed for Eagle Tower.
Several castle servants had thought to climb it, but they were watching Rolenton and didn't pay any attention to the grimy maid in the battered cap. From here, she could see the whole of Rolencia laid out before her. Sure enough, a plume of black smoke rose from the centre of Rolenton. As the short winter's day grew dark, she identified leaping flames centred in the square. The Merofynians were burning the goods left behind by the fleeing citizens. The tower of flames grew ever taller as more things were dragged out of the homes and burned. From the looks of it, the leader of the warriors had declared 'havoc', which meant no quarter would be given and the warriors were allowed to take anything they wanted.
Though crowded, the parapets of the castle were oddly quiet as everyone watched the fire in Rolenton.
When Piro grew tired, cold and hungry she came down from the tower. She wanted to see her mother and ask the queen's advice now that the castle was under siege, but Cobalt had seen her so he would have told his people to look for her.
Her stomach rumbled and, trusting to her maid's disguise, she made her way to the kitchen, which was chaotic. Tonight the cook was too busy to approach on the sly. It was the spit-turner who spotted her. His near-blind eyes could not be fooled by a maid's costume. He recognised her by the way she moved and his ears distinguished her familiar step amidst the confusion. He caught her hand as she tried to slip past. Drawing her aside, he led her into a dark storage room.
She ducked smoked hams hanging from the rafters. 'What is it?'
'We were told you'd gone to Sylion Abbey, but they did not call off the guard who's been watching over your foenix so I wondered.' Milky eyes fixed on her face trying to make out her expression. 'Don't worry, I've been feeding your pet.'
'Thank you.' She squeezed his hands. 'Have you seen Sawtree?'
The spit-turner hesitated.
'Cobalt spotted me with him earlier,' Piro admitted. 'I… I had to leave him and run -'
'They've got Sawtree in chains in the stable yard. You must stay away from him, kingsdaughter. Promise you will?'
She nodded, meaning to go and see if she could do anything for Sawtree later.
'Cobalt said you betrayed Rolencia, but I did not believe them,' the spit-turner admitted. 'None of us believed him.'
Tears stung Piro's eyes. 'What about my mother? She's been loyal to Rolencia since she came here as a child of eight.'
He shook his head. 'The queen is Merofynian-born and under the influence of a renegade Power-worker. Poor thing.'
Piro's heart sank. How quickly they had turned on her mother.
They'd be equally quick to turn on her, if they knew she had Affinity. She shuddered as the ramifications hit her. With the castle under siege, Cobalt would be within his rights to have her executed. She shivered.
The spit-turner rubbed her hands. 'You're cold. And hungry, I expect. Stay here. I'll find you some food.'
Again, she squeezed his fingers then let him go. He returned after several moments with a calico bag containing smelly cheese and other items.
'Promise me you'll hide?' He held the bag up between them but did not release it. 'Cobalt's looking for you.'
'I know. I'll take care.'
He did not look convinced, but he gave her the bag and she slipped away, heading for the stable courtyard.
The place was so crowded, people had camped in the passages. She picked her way over bundles and through outstretched legs. She passed two old men, both veterans of other wars by the look of them. One was without a leg from the knee down and the other's hands were crippled with the bone-ache.
'They're saying all the king's old honour guard are dead,' One-leg muttered. 'I remember Temor as a boy, remember his da. Good men, both of 'em.'
'Good men,' the other echoed. 'Young Rolen lost a lot of good men today.'
It took a moment for Piro to realise they were talking about her father.
'Eh, he can't afford to. Not with the enemy at the gates again.' One-leg shook his head. 'The Bastard's brat shouldn't have punished Sawtree.'
'Aye. Good man, Sawtree,' the other agreed.
Piro's stomach lurched and her skin went cold. So the spit-turner hadn't been entirely honest with her. She wanted to ask these old men what Cobalt had done to punish Sawtree, but she didn't dare.
'I hear the Bastard's brat's offering a reward for news of Rolen's girl,' One-leg said and spat.
Piro crept away feeling guilty. What had Cobalt done to Sawtree? She wanted to go to him and help, but that would be an insult when he had chosen to sacrifice himself for her. Tears stung her eyes. She searched for somewhere safe, somewhere that if she was found she would not endanger others.
At last she settled in a store room. Everything had gone wrong. Her two oldest brothers were missing, her mother was locked up, her father was sick and had placed his trust in a trickster and now, Rolenhold was under siege.
Unable to eat, she stared out the single high window. The stars were covered by thick cloud tonight, which meant the usual dusk breeze hadn't come in from the sea. Had the Ostronite merchant escaped?
He was probably wealthy enough to cry hostage and pay for his release but his sailors and servants would not be so lucky. The best they could hope for was to be kept as seven-year slaves. Merofynians exacted seven years' servitude in return for captives' lives. Strange to think that a kingdom which considered itself the most civilised in the known world should keep slaves and hold to such harsh laws. For all that the Merofynians looked down on Rolencians as barbarians, her father had preferred a simple beheading to the hanging, drawing and quartering of the convicted.