King Breaker (9 page)

‘The lookout spotted sails,’ Runt reported.

‘Utland raiders?’

‘A merchant ship.’

‘If it had been Utlanders, would Nefysto attack?’

‘Probably not with you and Agent Tyro on board,’ Runt admitted and left.

Music started in the captain’s cabin. Siordun played the dolcimela while the captain spouted poetry. She was glad she’d chosen to eat in her cabin. When she finished, she tried the pendant again.

But nothing worked.

‘Stupid stone.’ She glared at it. The music from the captain’s cabin continued. ‘Stupid music.’

That was odd. The ship’s rhythm felt different, somehow. She placed her bare feet on the boards, the better to feel the movement.

The
Wyvern’s Whelp
had changed course.

The music stopped. Jakulos’ deep voice bellowed orders.

Piro found the sea-hounds on the high reardeck, staring at the other ship as their paths converged. The Rolencian vessel was headed west, back to the twin isles, while the
Wyvern’s Whelp
was going east to Ostron Isle.

It was dusk, but there was enough light for Piro to make out the faces of the gathered sea-hounds. The reclusive ship’s surgeon had come up from below with his apprentice; even the cook and his slow-top helper were there. Intrigued, her first instinct was to go to Dunstany for an explanation, but Dunstany had never existed. He had always been Siordun. So she went to Bantam instead. ‘What’s wrong with the other ship?’

‘No one on deck. Lookout thinks they’ve lashed the wheel to maintain their heading.’

‘What if the wind changes suddenly?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why would they lash the wheel?’

‘Perhaps everyone on board has come down with a terrible sickness,’ the surgeon said. There was some muttering at this. ‘But that isn’t likely. We’re only one day’s sail from Ostron Isle. There wouldn’t be time for the whole crew to take sick.’

‘Mebbe they all jumped overboard,’ a leathery old sea-hound muttered. ‘When I was a cabin boy—’

‘A hundred years ago,’ some wit inserted, and several sailors chuckled.

The old sea-hound ignored them. ‘We came across a ship like this, only the sails were in shreds. She’d been abandoned, y’see. There were several half-eaten’—he glanced to Piro—‘...goats in the hold. Why would the crew abandon a perfectly good ship?’

‘What did your captain do?’ Nefysto asked.

‘Bad Affinity, he said, so he—’

‘There’s no such thing as bad Affinity,’ Siordun corrected. ‘The evil is in the one who wields it.’

‘Be that as it may. The cap’n wasn’t taking no chances. He set fire to the ship. But the funny thing was... y’know how yer see rats abandon a sinking ship? Not one rat fled that ship.’ The old sea-hound held Nefysto’s eyes. ‘If I was cap’n, I’d sail on by.’

‘I’d be a fool not to claim a deserted ship, with a full hold,’ Nefysto said. ‘You heard Old Dalf. They explored the ship. Nothing attacked them. None of them took sick and nothing left the ship while it was burning. Whatever had killed or driven off the crew had moved on. Is it safe to board, Agent Tyro?’

Siordun turned to the old sailor. ‘When they boarded the ship, did they spot any scales, feathers or droppings?’

‘I dunno,’ the old salt admitted. ‘I was a lad of six summers. I kept me head down and did as I was told.’

Siordun shrugged. ‘Then there’s no way of knowing what drove the crew off. The bigger sea-dwelling Affinity beasts will kill and devour a man if they get the chance. The biggest of wyverns can carry off a man, but this was a whole ship and the crew would have banded together to fight off—’

‘What of shade-rays?’ a scarred sea-hound whispered. ‘A seaman once told me they house the souls of dead Utlanders who long to go home. They say shade-rays can change into men, but can’t walk on dry land. I figure Utlanders hate us, and a deck isn’t dry land, so...’

Siordun shook his head.

‘Nennirs?’ Old Dalf suggested. ‘Sea-horses can change form, too.’

‘Despite the stories, very few things change form. And if they do, it is part of their life-cycle. Nennirs only drown sailors once they fall into the sea. I suppose a flock of Affinity birds could have landed on the ship. If they got down below...’ Siordun fell silent as they drew alongside the abandoned vessel.

‘No bodies or blood on the deck, and no sign of any damage to the sails or rigging,’ Captain Nefysto reported. ‘Bring her ’round. Prepare for boarding.’

The sea-hounds scattered, and Piro found herself alone with Siordun. ‘Is it wise to board the ship?’

‘Piro?’ He frowned. ‘Go to your cabin and stay there.’

She went, but only as far as the passage to the cabin and only until Siordun was distracted.

F
YN STOOD IN
the prow of the royal barge. He couldn’t tell if the smudge on the horizon was Port Mero or a low cloud. The sun had set, and it was that time of day when the sky is brighter than the earth. The royal barge, for all the effort the rowers put in, seemed to barely move, yet they had left the becalmed yacht far behind.

He smelled wyvern and sensed Affinity. Hoping it was Isolt with Loyalty, he turned.

The wyvern was alone and she whined like a dog seeking comfort. Beast she might be, but she knew something was wrong.

‘Come here, Loyalty.’ He didn’t offer a taste of power to entice her; unlike Piro, he didn’t have Affinity to spare. Just sympathy. ‘Isolt is looking after her people. She’ll be sewing up wounds and giving medicines.’

The foenix flew down from the empty mainsail spar and landed near him. Fyn lifted his hand to stroke Resolute. The bird’s long neck and legs looked too skinny, but his chest was developing scales to protect him in mating fights, and those spurs on his feet would one day contain deadly poison.

A lad of thirteen approached hesitantly.

‘Time to feed them, Rhalwyn?’

The lad nodded and led the Affinity beasts away

A moment later a hand touched Fyn’s back. He spun, arm rising in defence.

‘Fyn?’ Isolt stepped back, alarmed.

‘I’m sorry.’ He steadied her. ‘Didn’t hear you come up behind me.’

‘Sometimes I forget you’re a warrior monk.’

He released her and stepped away. ‘You’ve seen to the wounded?’

‘I’ve used all the supplies we have on board. But the children...’ Her breath caught in a sob.

Unable to do otherwise, he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. Her body shook as she wept, the heat of her damp tears seeping through his shirt. He felt himself harden and turned his hips away from her.

What was wrong with him?

He hated seeing her cry and wanted nothing more than to protect her. Every instinct told him to offer solace. To kiss her until she could think only of him.

Gently but firmly, he went to pull away.

She responded instantly, drawing back, wiping her cheeks and summoning a smile. It hurt him to see her like this. She’d had to be brave all her life before he came along.

‘I’ve read of battles,’ she said, her voice a little hoarse. ‘I thought I knew what to expect. But you don’t think of children getting hurt.’

‘There is no glory in war.’ He’d never believed there was. Well, maybe back when he was very young. But he’d been training under the abbey’s weapons master since he was six. He’d seen the way the old monk looked at the boys sometimes, as if he was already mourning them.

The sound of a crying child reached them.

Isolt sighed. ‘I should go back. Even the children who weren’t injured are suffering from nightmares. I don’t know what to do for them. I feel so useless.’

He caught her hand. ‘You’re not useless. Just seeing you helps them.’

‘Maybe, but it’s not enough.’ And she left him.

It was not enough, these stolen moments. He wanted...

‘The queen is nothing like her father,’ Murheg said.

Fyn wondered how long the abbot had been watching from the shadows and set out to divert him. ‘Back in Halcyon Abbey, I was trained in strategy and tactics by the weapons master. I memorised all the noble houses of Rolencia and their alliances, but I did not study Merofynia in the same detail. You know the noble houses. I’d appreciate your advice.’

‘I’m honoured.’ Murheg inclined his head. ‘The spar attack will shock the nobles. Be prepared to have them descend on the palace. Quite a few are in Port Mero, and as for the rest... News travels fast across the Landlocked Sea.’

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they sent a stab of fear through Fyn.

The warlord of Centicore Spar was on their doorstep, flushed with success. What if Cortigern’s true goal was Port Mero and the palace? If he marched his men along the shore, he would have to battle prosperous towns and farms, and he would still have to cross the Grand Canal to reach the palace. He’d be better off making the journey by sea. That meant stealing ships, but once he did, Port Mero would be at his mercy. The city-watch were trained to keep the peace and catch footpads, not fight off spar warriors. The docks were not defensible, and the palace was built for beauty.

As lord protector, Fyn had his work cut out for him.

B
YREN BLINKED WHEN
Orrade lit the lamp. Through the windows across the rear of the cabin, he could see the after-glow of the sun’s setting rays.

‘Feeling better?’ Orrade asked.

Byren lifted his head off the table. Last he remembered they’d been talking...

‘You fell asleep again.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You’ll be right by tomorrow. You always did have the constitution of an ox.’

‘Speaking of...’ Byren’s stomach rumbled. ‘Is it dinner time yet?’

Orrade laughed.

Right on cue, the cabin boy knocked and opened the door. ‘Cap’n Talltrees sent me to fetch you for dinner. They’ve set up a table on the reardeck.’

‘About time.’ Byren grinned and caught Orrade’s eye. They came to their feet. As he went through the door into the passage, Byren had to duck. Nothing was built for a man his size. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Beef an’ red-wine stew,’ the cabin boy supplied.

‘Sounds good.’

‘Probably wants to congratulate you on killing that wyvern,’ Orrade said, following Byren down the passage towards the middeck door. ‘Probably wants to make a long speech before we eat.’

Byren groaned.

‘That or they’ve sighted Utland raiders.’

The cabin boy gave a squeak of fright.

‘Don’t say that, Orrie,’ Byren chided. ‘Not even in jest.’

‘I wasn’t jesting. I overheard the sailors. With all the war booty making its way back to Merofynia, the Utlanders have grown bold. Why, only...’

As Byren stepped out onto the middeck, a cloak swung over his head and he was dragged to one side.

Byren bellowed, driving himself backwards. He was rewarded with a grunt as his attackers collided with the cabin wall. But more men tackled him, bundling him up in the cloak. He struggled to free his arms, heard shouting, and realised they’d captured Orrade. He was not as big as Byren, but he was fast and, from the sound of the cursing, they were having trouble pinning him down.

Byren felt for his knife, only to discover someone had taken it. He tried to throw off his attackers and failed.

‘I thought you said they’d be drugged?’ the first mate shouted.

‘I sent the wine,’ Captain Talltrees snarled. ‘Did you deliver it, brat?’

‘I did, cap’n. But why would you drug—’ The cabin boy yelped in pain.

Byren managed to get the cloak off and backed up, trying to work out what was going on.

The cabin boy wept in the boatswain’s arms. Of the two dozen sailors, half had attacked and half hung back, looking surprised and uncertain.

Four sailors had hauled Orrade off his feet. They held him by his arms and legs as he struggled.

‘Grab him,’ Captain Talltrees ordered. Three of his sailors advanced on Byren.

‘You’d betray me?’ Byren demanded, noting how the boatswain and his men ducked their heads in shame. ‘When I’m king—’

‘King of nothing,’ Captain Talltrees snarled. ‘Cobalt’ll pay a king’s ransom for Byren the Usurper.’

‘Usurper?’ Byren repeated, almost speechless with fury. ‘I’m no bastard!’

‘According to Cobalt, your mother had Affinity. That makes you a bastard! A cowardly bastard who deserted his family because he wanted to claim the throne for himself and his lover.’ The captain gestured. ‘Throw the usurper’s Servant of Palos overboard.’

‘No!’ Byren charged.

Orrade kicked and writhed as his captors carried him to the ship’s side. Byren roared, trying to force his way through. The boatswain and his companions attacked the captain’s supporters. It was a free for all, but they weren’t going to make it in time. Byren saw them throw Orrade over the side, into the cold cruel sea.

Filled with a desperate fury, he fought his captors, cracking skulls and thumping ribs. He had to get free, had to save Orrie.

A roaring filled his head.

No. The roaring came from a horde of savage Utlanders, pouring onto the deck. Byren grabbed a fallen weapon as the sailors united against the Utlanders.

But first Byren made sure the captain wouldn’t betray him again. Before he could throw Orrade a rope, the Utlanders attacked him.

G
ARZIK CROUCHED BELOW
the ship’s side as they approached their prey. He risked a look at the other vessel. The merchant sailors had gathered on deck for some kind of ceremony, or maybe a whipping. Around him, the Utlanders mocked the other ship’s lookouts for not sounding the alarm. But why should they fear a fellow merchant ship, even a Merofynian ship? On the open sea, all hot-land merchant sailors united against their common enemies.

Another quick look told him the attack was imminent.

Olbin caught Garzik’s eye and grinned, then leaped to his feet and gave the raiders’ ferocious war cry. The Utlanders took up the cry. With a shudder their ship’s timbers ground up against the merchant ship and the Utlanders swarmed the deck.

Garzik was in the rear, along with Luvrenc. The jostling for position had been fierce. Before he even set foot on the other ship he could hear screams, punctuated by the ring of metal striking metal.