King Breaker (46 page)

For a heartbeat, the Merofynians stood stunned; then they swore and shouted, waving their weapons at the gleaming eyes watching them from the shadows under the trees.

The Merofynians’ leader spotted Byren and pointed. He shouted something, but Byren couldn’t hear clearly. Everything seemed too loud, yet strangely distorted.

As soon as the rest of the Merofynians saw Byren, they tried to run. Some lurched forward and fell to their hands and knees, others managed only one step then collapsed. Ulfrs attacked the instant their prey were vulnerable. The beasts dashed into the gully, tore out throats, then retreated before the men could respond. Soon the rich scent of blood filled the air as it soaked into the greedy earth.

The pack leader howled in exultation and Byren shared the beast’s savage joy.

W
HILE THE
M
EROFYNIANS
fell around them, Florin cooperated with Orrade, trying to work themselves free, but they’d both sunk calf-deep in the sticky bog. She caught a glimpse of gleaming ulfr eyes in the tree line and felt the instinctive fear of the hunted.

Two paces from her, a man struggled to free his legs but an ulfr took him down, tearing out his throat and spraying them both with blood. Florin shivered.

All around her, as the Merofynians cursed and struggled to escape the bog, silvery, sleek shadows darted in, avoided the trapped men’s wild strikes and ripped out throats. She saw two Merofynians die in as many heartbeats.

Her gaze was drawn back to Byren. His hand rested on the head of the big ulfr at his side and the beast had its mouth open, almost as if it was laughing.

Men screamed. The veteran yelled, ‘Hold your place, weapons up, present a united front.’

But terror overcame training.

Cursing, the veteran fought the bog and lurched over to Florin, catching her by the front of her jerkin.

She’d almost worked her legs free and fell forward onto her knees. This pulled Orrade over so that he lay on her back struggling against their bonds. His weight pressed her down into the bog and her knees sank deeper. With her arms bound, she fought to keep her face out of the bog.

‘Call off your dogs, kin-slayer!’ the veteran yelled, and Florin felt Orrie go very still. ‘Call them off, or I’ll cut his throat.’

Florin didn’t dare move.

B
YREN CURSED AS
the Merofynian leader pulled Florin to her knees, grabbed Orrade by his hair and held a blade to his throat. A roaring filled Byren’s head and he leaped off the overhang.

The man tried to bring his knife up, but he was too late. The force of Byren’s attack drove the Merofynian backwards, tearing his hand from Orrade’s head. Byren felt the man’s rib cage collapse as he hit boggy ground.

For a heartbeat the Merofynian lay there looking up, mouth opened in a gasp, head buried cheek-deep in the bog. Then blood poured from his mouth.

Byren struggled to his feet, fighting the sucking action of the bog. At least four men still struggled with the ulfrs. The rest were down and bleeding.

Seeing this, Byren staggered over to Florin and Orrade. They lay on their sides and had sunk deeper into the mud as they struggled to keep their faces above the bog. Byren knelt beside Florin and reached for the rope binding them. Her mouth was bloodied and swollen, eyes wide and frightened.

Seeing something behind him, she sucked in a breath and shouted a warning.

He turned, blocking reflexively. A sword struck his knife, skittered down the blade, sprang off the tip and continued in a stroke which would have ended in his thigh had not an ulfr attacked at that instant.

The beast leapt onto the man’s back, driving him past Byren, so that he fell across Florin and Orrade. There was a sickening crack as the ulfr caught the man’s neck between its jaws and snapped his spine.

Byren rolled the man off Florin and Orrade, to reveal only upper arms and shoulders protruding from the bog. Grabbing their arms, he hauled with all his strength. The bog resisted.

Desperate, muscles straining, joints popping, Byren pulled them both out. Florin and Orrade sprang free of the mud with such momentum that Byren tumbled backwards, landing on someone’s legs.

The legs began to slide out from under him.

He turned, ready to defend himself, but found an ulfr dragging a man’s body away. All around him the Affinity beasts were dragging the dead into the trees.

Something shifted and sounds returned to normal. He could hear Orrade and Florin coughing. Blood-soaked mud covered their faces, clung to their hair and slid down their torsos. Fighting the sucking action of the bog, Byren crawled over and cut the rope that bound them.

‘Freak!’ A Merofynian waved his sword from the tree line. ‘You’re as much a beast as your namesake, King Byren the Fourth.’

Lurching to his feet, Byren staggered, taking one awkward step, then another. He was almost out of the bog when the man’s companion grabbed him and the pair ran off.

Byren surveyed the gully. An ulfr dragged the last body out of sight. The remainder seemed to be only body parts, or bodies so deeply embedded in the mud only an arm or leg remained. And these sank from sight even as he watched.

From the shadows beneath the trees, he heard the crunching of bones. As soon as Orrade and Florin were on their feet, he dropped to his knees, retching. When he could throw up no more, he lifted his head, to find Florin offering him a wine skin.

He swilled a mouthful around, spat it out, then took a big gulp and looked up. She’d heard what those men said. Did she despise him?

But her expression was impossible to interpret through the mud caked on her face ‘Are you all right, Byren?’

‘Are you?’

‘I’m alive.’ She grinned, teeth very white.

They both staggered over to the camp. It was good to get firm ground under his feet.

Orrade was already kneeling by the fire, building it up.

‘What about you?’ Byren asked. ‘Are you all right?’

Orrade poked the meat. ‘Dinner’s burned. Sorry.’

Byren gave a bark of laughter, then sat down abruptly as his knees gave way. ‘I couldn’t eat anyway.’

‘Will the ulfrs deal with the men that got away?’ Florin asked.

Byren was amazed that she could be so matter of fact. He considered her question, then shook his head. ‘The pack’s had more than enough to eat.’

‘Then we can’t stay here. Those Merofynians were part of a larger patrol.’ She gestured to the mountains. ‘We should make for the secret pass. Put as much distance between them and us as we can.’

‘Burnt dinner and now we have to walk all night.’ Orrade gathered his travelling pack. ‘I guess that means a hot bath is out of the question.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘F
YN, DID YOU
see Loyalty?’ Isolt called from the landing halfway up the stairs. The wyvern swooped in to perch on the balustrade with the glowing platter.

Fyn nodded and waved then turned to Dunstany. ‘How did you make the metal glow? Is it an Affinity trick?’

‘Why use Affinity when ingenuity will do? I crushed hercinia feathers to make glowing paint,’ Dunstany said. They stood on the terrace not far from the stairs. ‘Rhalwyn came to me because the warmer weather’s been making the Affinity beasts restless. Now they can play at night.’

‘Good idea,’ Fyn said. He returned to his earlier point. ‘Yorale might be loyal, but I don’t like to see too much power concentrated in one man.’

‘It is unfortunate,’ Dunstany agreed. ‘For hundreds of years, the rivalry between Dunistir and Yoraltir Estates maintained the balance of power, but my grandfather was cursed by bad luck. His three sons died without heirs and the distant cousin who stands to inherit is a fool. My masquerade as Lord Dunstany can only last a few more years, before people become suspicious. Duncaer will inherit and ruin the estate with his gambling. When I think of my people being turned out of their homes...’ His voice grew thick with emotion. ‘And there’s nothing I can do to prevent it.’

Fyn empathised, but he had frustrations of his own. ‘Why didn’t Wythrod make camp further back? The pincer attack would have worked.’

‘Young men think they are immortal and feel they have something to prove.’

‘Says the old man of ninety-four.’

Dunstany grinned, reminding Fyn that he was really Siordun. If only Siordun was the heir to Dunistir Estate. Isolt could have used his support. A thought occurred to Fyn. ‘How do you fool old Lord Dunstany’s friends?’

‘He didn’t have any close friends. All the men of his generation had died off. It’s hard to imagine, but my grandfather was nearly forty when Lord Yorale was born. Even the men of Yorale’s generation are dying of old age. When a man is as powerful and long lived as Dunstany, he tends to lose friends and gather enemies. Men envy him and plot his downfall. In my Dunstany disguise I haven’t let myself get close to anyone for fear of slipping and revealing my secret.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘The mage took me when I was five.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have time for friends.’

It was a sad. Fyn gestured to Rhalwyn and Cortomir, who were bickering over whose turn it was to throw the platter. ‘Speaking of friends, that’s an unlikely pairing.’

Admonishing them not to fight, the queen headed down the steps.

‘Isolt trusts Yorale,’ Fyn said. ‘But of all the lords and their heirs, I trust Camoric. Did you hear? Isolt made his grandfather her lord admiral.’

‘Winning the favour of a vulnerable young queen can be more trouble than it’s worth. Don’t worry, Byren will sort out the nobles.’

Resentment gnawed at Fyn. He’d had to do all the ground work. He told himself it was unworthy of him, and turned to welcome Isolt as she joined them. ‘We—’

‘Corto, don’t!’ Rhalwyn cried.

They looked up to see Cortomir astride the wyvern, which was perched on the balustrade landing, silhouetted against the first stars of evening.

‘Get down, before you fall down!’ Dunstany yelled.

Cortomir whooped and waved. The wyvern leaped out and up, taking to the air. As she fought to gain height, wings labouring, the foenix flew alongside them. ‘Corto!’ Rhalwyn ran down the steps, trying to catch up with the Affinity beasts.

Fyn, Isolt and Dunstany took to their heels.

Wings battling valiantly, the wyvern clipped the terrace railing balustrade and swooped out over the lawn. One wing tip skimmed the water of the fountain, sending up an arc of spray.

Fyn rounded the fountain in time to see the wyvern land at a run. She lost her footing and tumbled, sending the boy sprawling across the grass.

As Dunstany reached them, Cortomir and the wyvern came to their feet, dusting themselves off. The spar lad laughed. Fyn wanted to throttle him. What would he say to Warlord Cortovar if his son got himself killed?

‘Corto!’ Rhalwyn hugged the lad, then shook him, then hugged him again. He turned to Fyn and the others, beaming with pride. ‘Did you see? I wish I was as small as—’

‘We’re lucky you’re not as big a fool as him.’ Dunstany snapped.

‘I thought I could do it.’ Cortomir turned to Isolt. ‘When Loyalty is bigger, she can carry you!’

‘Nonsense, people don’t ride Affinity Beasts.’ Isolt went over to Loyalty.

‘Maybe they could. There are myths. I thought them only stories, but...’ Fyn glanced to Dunstany.

He leant heavily on his cane and staff, and appeared exhausted; but only a moment before, he had sprinted across the courtyard. If one of Dunstany’s enemies had seen him out-race Fyn, the charade would be over. The outraged Merofynian nobles would turn on the mage’s agent.

While Rhalwyn and Cortomir chattered, and Isolt assured herself Loyalty was unharmed, Fyn edged closer to Dunstany. ‘You forgot your disguise.’

‘I know...’

They both glanced up at the three-storey buildings overlooking the terrace. Several chambers glowed. One of the old servants might have been watching.

Dunstany grimaced. ‘We can only hope if someone was at one of the windows, they were watching the boy flying the wyvern.’

Fyn nodded and offered his arm, raising his voice. ‘Here, let me help you.’

He ‘helped’ the old noble scholar over to the fountain, lowering him to sit on the rim. Isolt was inspecting Loyalty’s wings for damage. Fyn lowered his voice. ‘Did you find anything about bonding with Affinity beasts?’

‘There was nothing in the palace library. And I haven’t been back to Ostron Isle to check the mage’s library. I suspect all the stories I’ve read date from before we had written history. It is as if they were memorised and adapted for different audiences. They’re inconsistent and contradictory. For all I know, they are complete fabrications.’

‘Well, we just saw Cortomir fly on Loyalty’s back. That confirms one of the myths.’ Fyn frowned. ‘What if Cortomir bonds with Loyalty? He’s spending more time with the wyvern than Isolt now. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad—’

‘It would be disastrous. He’s a hostage, held as surety of his father’s good behaviour, while the wyvern is the Merofynian royal symbol. It would be better to kill Loyalty.’

‘It may yet come to that.’ Fyn had felt the force of the Affinity beasts’ hunger for power. ‘Back on your yacht, they nearly drained me. And Isolt has no innate Affinity.’

‘Then she’s safe.’

‘From what?’ Isolt asked, joining them.

Fyn did not want to admit they’d been discussing her pet.

The young queen looked from him to Dunstany, then back again. Her eyes darkened and her plucked brows drew together. ‘Don’t you two start.’

‘Start what?’ Fyn asked.

‘Ignoring me.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘The lords met behind my back with the merchants and the captain of the city-watch. Even the captain of my own queen’s guards presumes to tell me what to do.’

Dunstany stiffened and came to his feet. He frowned at something behind Fyn. ‘What’s this?’

Fyn glanced over his shoulder to see Captain Elrhodoc and four of the queen’s guards striding down the terrace steps towards them. They carried torches, and the leaping flames made the night seem dark.