King Breaker (59 page)

‘It fits with Murheg’s description of the attack.’ Fyn ran his hand through his short hair. ‘I thought it was Wythrod’s impatience and the spars’ cunning that led to his death. I never thought for a moment that Neiron would betray him. Why? It’s not as if he profited from Wythrod’s death.’

But Yorale had. His son was heir to Wythrontir Estate through the maternal line. Had Yorale known about Neiron’s betrayal? Could they trust Lord Yorale? Isolt thought so, and Dunstany trusted him, up to a point.

‘If the lords are coming here, you can’t leave port, Fyn,’ Camoric said.

Mitrovan looked to him. ‘You were going somewhere?’

‘Not anymore. I was going to escort my sister to Lord Dunstany’s estate, but it would be a mistake to leave Isolt now.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘That will be Kyral with our meal,’ Fyn said.

Mitrovan hid, while Fyn accepted the tray and dismissed the servant.

The scribe came out from behind the screen. ‘I should go.’

Fyn caught up with him at the door. ‘I appreciate the risks you’re taking.’

‘I promised I’d help Byren’s cause.’

Fyn nodded. ‘When this is all over, I’ll see that you’re rewarded.’

The skinny scribe shrugged. ‘If anything happens to me and you have to trust one of the Travantir family, trust Travrhon. He was horrified when he learned how Neiron had betrayed Wythrod. Trafyn thought it a clever ploy.’

‘Travrhon is the eldest?’

‘Yes. I must go.’

There was silence after he closed the door, then Fyn gestured to the Duelling Kingdoms board. ‘I never thought I’d be a player.’ He took his seat and poured them both a glass of wine. ‘Take a seat. We should eat while the food is hot.’

Camoric didn’t accept the wine, but instead squared his shoulders. ‘Every last one of the queen’s guards resigned their commissions today.’

Fyn winced. He knew Camoric’s family were looked down on by the other nobles, but he hadn’t expected the queen’s guard to be so pigheaded. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’d rather have my own men at my back. They’re rough sea-hounds, but loyal.’ He winked. ‘It’s a pity
you
can’t replace the nobles with some you trust.’

‘If only.’ Fyn grinned.

Camoric sat down, saying, ‘I hear Dunstany’s gone back to his estates. They say he’s sick.’

Fyn nodded. He would have liked to tell Camoric the truth about Siordun’s masquerade, but it was not his secret to share.

‘Merofynia has suffered nothing but setbacks, Fyn. Now Elrhodoc is dead and the lords are coming to the palace. King Byren will lose Merofynia as well as Rolencia at this rate. You need to send for him.’

Fyn stiffened.
Yet another friend who thought he couldn’t cope!
‘My brother is already on his way.’

‘Good. You need Dunstany. If he’s too sick, then at least send for the lords who support him.’

‘Your grandfather is still at sea. Lord Istyn suffered a seizure when his son died. That leaves the lords of Benetir and Geraltir Estates, but they’re just boys. Sefarra would send help, only she needs to make Benetir Estate defensible. There’s Yorale... Dunstany says he’s always been loyal to the crown.’

‘Then send for him. You need to gather your supporters.’

‘There are over a hundred ex-slaves camped in the palace grounds. They bear no love for Merofynian nobility.’ Fyn sipped his wine, eyes on the board. ‘I don’t think Neiron will bring his men-at-arms to port. He can’t leave his estate undefended. Besides, if he marched into the palace with a hundred armed men, Isolt could order his arrest.’ Fyn shook his head. ‘I wish it were that simple.’

The door to Fyn’s bedchamber opened and Isolt slipped in. She nodded to Camoric, but addressed Fyn. ‘Have you heard? Travany is here and the other lords are on their way. I fear they’re going to try to seize power. They’ve been trying to overrule me ever since Father died.’

‘Call a lords’ council,’ Fyn said. ‘That way they are here at your bidding.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll send for all the lords and those who are underage or absent will have to send someone to represent them.’

Fyn nodded. He would tell Gwalt to send a message to the mage. They needed Lord Dunstany.

Chapter Forty-Eight

B
YREN SENT
O
rrade
to bring the sentries in, grabbed Florin’s arm and ran. He began yelling orders the moment they entered camp. ‘There’s a pack of Affinity beasts headed this way. Pull back to the rock wall!’

Florin moved to pack up their fire circle. Men scattered, reaching for weapons. Some went to stamp out the campfires.

‘Leave the fires, but bring any unused wood.’ Byren strode towards the rock wall. It was a good defensive position. The cliff was sheer and three storeys high.

Two cooks hissed as they hurried past him, carrying hot pots. Just then, the ravines above them reverberated with the roar of the male ursodon.

‘What
are
they?’ Chandler turned terrified eyes to Byren.

‘It’s an ursodon pack,’ Vlatajor said. ‘Sounds like a male with three or four females. The males have long, wicked horns, but it’s the females who do the hunting.’

Chandler grimaced as he dropped his bag against the wall. ‘Just what we need, a pack of rabid Affinity beasts!’

‘Believe it or not, ursodons can be tamed. As we travel the Snow Bridge you’ll see them harnessed to mill-stones, or hauling carts,’ Vlatajor said. He turned to Hristo. ‘Come get the fire stones.’

The Snow Bridge men-at-arms stood guard while Vlatajor and Hristo retrieved the stones and hurried towards their defensive position.

Byren indicated a spot in front of the semi-circle of defenders. ‘Put the fire stones there. It’s a pity we don’t have a dozen pairs to form a barrier.’

Vlatajor and Hristo placed the fire stones in position, and they flared to life. Byren ordered two more fires made up to form an outer defensive circle, then took up position in the front of their defensive circle. ‘Lead by example,’ his father had always said.

With the cooking fires still burning across the field, Byren had a clear view of Orrade bringing in the last of the sentries. They made it to safety and everyone waited, weapons drawn, bows strung, arrows ready.

A few moments later, Chandler stumbled to the edge of circle and threw up. That set off others. Then, once again, a hush descended on the camp.

Byren strained to hear the approach of the Affinity beasts above the crackle of the fires. Was that the softest of huffs?

No, it was the steady, rhythmic thump of something heavy running down the path towards them.

‘That’ll be the Affinity beast they’re hunting,’ Byren said. ‘If it runs past, let it go. If it comes near, kill it.’

The ursodons would drag the carcass away and their problems would be over.

He felt his men tense as they prepared to deal with Snow Bridge Affinity beasts.

No one was prepared for the sight of a long-necked, long-legged bird, with a wizened old man crouched on its back.

The bird skidded in the grass, made a sharp turn and headed for them, eyes glowing like twin lamps. The defenders gaped as the bird barged through their ranks. Despite its powerful legs and razor sharp talons, it sank to cower against the stone wall.

The old man rolled off, staggering to his feet.

Tucking its head under its wing, the bird seemed to shiver, feathers ruffling. To Byren’s amazement, the bird’s wings, which had been a shimmering pewter colour, became the same mottled grey as the rock wall. A heartbeat later, it was hard to tell where the bird ended and the stone began.

‘Well,’ Orrade muttered. ‘You don’t see that every day.’

The old man spotted the Snow Bridge ambassador and executed a brief bow, saying something rapidly in their own language. The ambassador nodded briefly, giving Byren the impression he did not approve of the old man.

‘Just as we thought,’ Vlatajor told Byren. ‘A male ursodon and three females. They’ll be here any moment.’

‘Light your firebrands!’ Byren yelled. He was not going to hand over an old man and his Affinity beast to the ursodons.

The Snow Bridge men-at-arms formed a defensive huddle around the ambassador and his officials. Half a dozen of Byren’s honour guard dipped branches in the fires. The ends had been wrapped in oily cloth, which burst into flames. Orrade passed Byren a burning brand.

They’d barely resumed their positions when the first of the ursodons charged down the path. The beast tore up the topsoil in a mad scramble to make the turn. Two more followed.

‘Females,’ Vlatajor said. ‘The male can’t be far behind.’

The three powerfully built beasts prowled across the open field, avoiding the fires. At the shoulder they would have been almost chest-high on Byren. Short, sharp horns protruded from their foreheads. Their coats gleamed red-gold in the fire light and one still had tufts of white winter-fur at her throat.

Byren grimaced. They looked like horned bears, but they moved more like cats, and they were heavily muscled. It would be hard to make a killing blow or shot.

A fourth beast joined them. This one was twice as large, and a pair of huge horns sprouted from his massive head. The ursodon male took in Byren’s men, their fires and their blades, then he reared onto his hind legs and roared.

The sound hit the defenders like a thunderclap. Florin ducked. Chandler yelped, then looked around sheepishly.

Raising his sword in one hand and his torch in the other, Byren roared in response. The others took up his battle cry, clashing their weapons to make as much noise as possible. When the male ursodon dropped to all fours, Byren signalled for quiet.

The male made a huffing noise, which drew the three females to him. They put their heads together as if to discuss the situation. Byren did not like it. Bad enough the beasts outclassed them physically, but if the ursodons were also intelligent enough to lay plans...

The wizened old man muttered something that sounded half derogatory, half admiring. Somehow the little Power-worker had ended up at by Byren’s side. He held a badly notched hunting knife, but his grip was firm. The old man smelled faintly metallic to Byren, and his skin looked oddly pallid in the firelight.

The Power-worker studied Byren with as much interest as Byren studied him.

‘They’re moving again,’ Orrade warned, voice low and calm.

‘Now, why would they do that?’

Byren looked over to see the two of the females trotting off up the track.

The third, with the white throat, resumed her prowling, as if looking for a way past the defenders.

The male made a sound between a bark and a grunt.

The female ignored him.

He repeated the sound.

She tossed her head and trotted over to him. He licked her face. After a moment they both went up the track. The female ursodon reminded Byren of Florin. He looked over and caught her watching him. A frisson of desire hit him. Faced with violent death, he wanted her. Wanted her badly.

‘They’ve gone,’ someone said.

Several men swore with relief and many lowered their weapons.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ Byren warned. ‘Affinity beasts are smart. I’ve known ulfrs to—’

A stone clattered above them.

Byren spun around to find a female ursodon standing on the edge of the cliff behind them. It looked as though the beast was searching for a way down.

‘Can it make the jump?’ Chandler asked.

‘No,’ Vlatajor said. ‘Else we’d be dead already.’

‘Front!’ Orrade warned.

The white-necked female had slipped back and now crept forward on her belly. She was only two body-lengths from the first rank of defenders. Byren cursed.

Someone let an arrow fly. It skimmed over the ursodon’s shoulder. A heartbeat later, a second arrow buried deep in her fur. She flinched, but did not draw back.

‘Don’t waste your arrows unless you can get a clear shot,’ Byren said.

‘There’s another one up above,’ Chandler warned. ‘Are you sure they can’t jump down?’

Vlatajor did not answer.

Florin ran back to the wall. Byren heard her rummaging around amongst their belongings. A moment later she joined him holding a large Ostronite pottery jar.

‘Scented lamp oil,’ she said. ‘Cinna sent it as a gift for the king. If we smash the jar on the beast, then—’

‘—set its fur alight,’ Byren and Orrade spoke as one.

Byren glanced back to the white-necked ursodon. A second female had joined her, but did not come as close. Another two arrows sprouted from the shoulder of the white-necked ursodon. As Byren watched, the female ducked her head under her paw, letting the thick fur absorb another arrow.

‘Don’t waste your arrows,’ he yelled.

Florin adjusted her hold on the jar.

‘I’ll do it.’ Byren took the jar from her before she could protest.

‘No, I’ll do it.’ Chandler snatched the jar from Byren and ran forward.

Byren shouted to distract the ursodons.

Chandler ran five paces then flung the jar with all his might.

The white-necked female shielded her face as the jar smashed on her shoulder and right paw. The second ursodon rushed in from the side to snatch Chandler. Byren darted forward, grabbed Chandler’s jerkin and hauled him from the beast’s jaws.

The moment he had a clear shot, Orrade released a burning arrow. It hit the white-necked female, and her oil-soaked fur went up in a rush of flames. She screamed.

The other Ursodons barked and roared in fright.

Maddened by pain, the white-necked female ran full tilt across the field and slammed into a boulder. Byren thought she’d knocked herself out, but she staggered to her feet then ran up the path. The second female chased after her.

Byren spun to look up behind them. There was no sign of any beasts atop the cliff.

Relief made him light headed. Florin staggered to the edge of the semi-circle and threw up. This set others off, Orrade among them. Florin shared her watered wine with him. She said something. Orrade grinned. Several men congratulated Chandler, and he laughed.

‘Don’t let down your guard,’ Byren yelled. ‘For all we know, the pack will return angrier and hungrier.’