The King's Bastard by Rowena Cory Daniells Page A

Lence muttered. 'Say, Byren, d'you remember the time he let us sit astride his stallion?'
    Byren grinned. 'We were only six. Our feet couldn't reach the stirrups.'
    'What, you rode Black Thunder?' their father demanded, then chuckled. 'Eh, I'm glad I didn't know. It's good to have him back, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances. At least Illien and his father made up their differences before he died.'
    That reminded Byren. 'Father, there's something I must -'
    'My father has disinherited me, King Rolen,' Orrade interrupted.
    'What?' The king looked startled, then inclined to laugh. 'Always said the Old Dove's temper would get the better of him one day. I felt the hard edge of his tongue often enough when I was a lad. Don't worry, Orrie, he'll come 'round. Spurnan did.'
    'What did you do that was so bad, Orrie, forget to give Halcyon her due last Feast Day?' Lence teased.
    Orrade shook his head. 'It's not -'
    'Not something to be laughed at,' Cobalt said, rejoining them. He acknowledged Orrade with a nod. 'If I had not been such a hot-headed youth, my father and I would have reconciled years ago. I should have admitted I was wrong but I was too proud.' He broke off, frowning at Orrade. 'Swallow your pride, lad.'
    Orrade shook his head. 'It's not that simple.'
    Lence frowned. 'Why did he disinherit you, Orrie?'
    'That is between my father and I, kingsheir.' Orrade retreated into formality.
    Byren watched his twin stiffen. Young Garzik went to say something in Orrade's defence, but Byren elbowed him.
    'King Rolen, I've come to offer my sword in your service,' Orrade said, dropping to one knee and drawing his sword, a serviceable one he'd taken from the estate's armoury, not the blade which had been wielded by lords of Dovecote for over three hundred years. He offered the weapon, blade across his open palms. 'Please accept -'
    But the king was already shaking his head. 'Your father will change his mind, wait and see.'
    Orrade remained on his knees. 'Not this time, King Rolen. I am without land or allegiance. Please accept me.'
    As Byren watched his father wrestle with this, he saw the larger ramifications. King Rolen did not want to offend the old lord, who had been his staunchest ally.
    The silence stretched uncomfortably.
    'A man has to live or die by his word of honour,' Cobalt said softly. 'I know what it's like. Go to your father, apologise and -'
    'Impossible,' Orrade cut him off, eyes on King Rolen.
    Cobalt looked grim. Lence glanced from him to the king.
    'Orrade nearly died trying to save me,' Byren spoke up. 'I would trust him with my life.'
    'Then have him in your honour guard,' Lence snapped.
    'That's it!' King Rolen muttered, relieved. 'You twins are old enough to form your own honour guards. Let Orrade serve the kingsheir.'
    He strode off leaving Orrade on his knees.
    'I'm sorry.' Lence stood over Orrade, whose lowered, bandaged head hid his expression. 'But a king must trust his men implicitly. Mend the break with your father and all will be well, Orrie.'
    He turned and walked off, with their cousin falling into step beside him. Cobalt's voice carried back to Byren. 'Your father's right. What are you now? Twenty? A kingsheir should have his own honour guard -'
    'We ride in half an hour!' the hunt-master shouted. Immediately, the level of noise in the stables doubled.
    On his knees, Orrade shuffled until he faced Byren. 'I offer my fealty, Byren Kingson.'
    Byren was both embarrassed and annoyed. His first impulse was to tell Orrade to get up, but he understood that to preserve his dignity, his friend had to complete the ritual of service given and received. 'I accept your fealty, Orrade Dovecotesheir. Now, get on your feet. We ride in -'
    'Not Dovecotesheir,' Orrade corrected as he sheathed his sword, rising to confront Byren, his face flushed and his eyes glassy. 'I have no name other than my given name.'
    Byren realised he had unwittingly rubbed salt in Orrade's wounded pride. 'Then I'll give