King Breaker (25 page)

From between the carry-chair curtains, she caught glimpses of buildings and people, flashes of white stone, sunlight on striped awnings, flowering vines spilling from balcony pots and matrons laughing as they met on street corners.

Life went on.

Ostron Isle seemed to have recovered from the street battles after the last elector died. That time she had foreseen the elector’s death because it was a...

Nexus point—that’s what Siordun had called a moment of change.
Pleased, she sat up, tapping her feet with impatience.

A glance through the curtains told her she had come to the long street that led down to Mage Isle. There it stood on a separate island in the Ring Sea, connected to Ostron Isle by a stone bridge. There were chambers on Mage Isle that she hadn’t dared to explore back when she had believed the old mage was in residence. Now she had every intention of satisfying her curiosity.

They crossed the bridge, passed under the gate tunnel and came out in the large courtyard where the peppercorn tree grew. It was just like coming home.

She climbed down, thanked the chair-men, then asked the gate keeper where she could find the agent.

‘You’ve missed him. He’s already sailed for Merofynia.’

‘Already?’ Shocked, Piro crossed the courtyard, blinking away angry tears. She had something important to tell Siordun, but he’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t important to him. She didn’t give any credence to his excuse for leaving her behind. Looking back, she’d been happy as Lord Dunstany’s servant. They’d been a team.

Illogical as it was, she felt jealous of Fyn. He and Isolt would have Lord Dunstany to help them hold Merofynia. Byren had Orrade to help him win back Rolencia.

No one wanted or needed her. She was a spare game piece. All they thought she was good for was being married off to cement alliances.

But she was not that person, and never would be.

Chapter Twenty

G
ARZIK LEFT
T
RAFYN
complaining that he was hungry. At least the squire was sitting up and clear-headed, which was just as well. They’d be in Port Mero by tomorrow evening.

On the middeck, the bright morning sun made Garzik squint. Half a dozen of the Utlanders left the starboard rail.

‘What happened?’ Garzik asked Luvrenc.

‘Lookout spotted what he thought was a shipwrecked man. Turned out it was only a half-grown dalfino. Rusan got his pipes to see if he could make it sing for us, but...’ Luvrenc caught his arm as he headed for the side. ‘It’s gone now. The mother came and they dived down below.’

Garzik was disappointed. ‘Do they really sing?’

Luvrenc nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been told. And they fight off wyverns to rescue men lost at sea.’

Something struck Garzik as odd. ‘Why would Utlanders save a shipwrecked sailor, when he might be an enemy?’

‘It’s the code of the sea. If he’s a hot-lander he becomes a slave. If he’s an Utlander, he serves his saviours for seven years and then goes home.’

‘Like seven-year slaves.’ He saw Luvrenc didn’t understand. ‘In the hot-lands—’

Vesnibor shouldered Garzik as he walked past, knocking him into Luvrenc. Garzik realised it would go hard on the lad when he deserted the ship. ‘You shouldn’t be seen talking to me,’ he said.

Luvrenc snorted and made a rude sign at Vesnibor’s back. ‘I’m not afraid of him.’

‘You should be. He’s one of Jost’s supporters.’ Garzik wanted to say more, but he couldn’t reveal his plans, so he went below to the galley.

After collecting a plate of beans for Trafyn, he slung a fresh sack of watered wine over his shoulder. Adjusting his step for the roll of the ship, Garzik headed for the ladder to middeck, but found Jost and his two half-brothers barring his way.

Jost gestured for Garzik to put the food down and come with him.

Garzik heard Olbin’s voice on the middeck and looked up to the patch of light above. ‘I earned my freedom. I don’t have to—’

The blow came so fast he didn’t have time to dodge. One moment he was standing with a wine skin over his shoulder and a plate of beans in one hand. The next moment blood was dripping into his eyes, he’d dropped everything and he was on his knees. He gasped as a foot slammed into his ribs and he flew sideways, sprawling on the floor. Before he could suck in a painful breath, Jost took his legs and his supporters took his arms. Between them, they carried him towards an empty cabin.

Garzik twisted and writhed, yelling for the cook. ‘I’m a free man. Tell them!’

The cook came out of the galley with an evil grin.

Fury and indignation fired Garzik. Every instinct told him to fight, but there were four of them and he was powerless to stop them.

When it was over, Jost laced up his breeches and sneered at him. ‘Go on. Or do yer want more of the same?’

Shaking with anger, Garzik pulled up his breeches while his four tormentors opened some wine and passed the bottles around.

Wincing with each breath, Garzik left the cabin, making for the ladder to middeck. His lower lip stung where it had split, and he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. As he stepped over the spilled food, his head wound started bleeding again. Blinking back tears of fury, he wiped the blood from his eyes.

The need for justice consumed Garzik. Climbing out onto middeck, he looked for Olbin and Rusan and spotted them on the high reardeck.

They’d be furious. They’d go right down there to confront Jost. It was stupid of Jost and his supporters to linger in the cabin drinking. They’d get what they deserved. Rusan and Olbin would...

Walk right into a trap. Garzik paused halfway up the steps to the reardeck. This was exactly what the one-eared warrior wanted—a chance to ambush Rusan and Olbin away from their supporters.

Garzik finished climbing the steps deep in thought.

As he walked towards the brothers, the big Utlander glanced his way and saw that Garzik was bleeding. Olbin swore softly.

Rusan frowned. ‘What happened to you?’

Garzik held up his hand. ‘Promise to listen before you do anything?’

They exchanged looks, then nodded.

‘Jost and three others are waiting below deck to ambush the pair of you.’

‘They did this to you?’ Olbin asked.

Garzik wiped blood from his eyes. ‘They did it to make you angry and lure you below.’

‘I told you Jost is dangerous.’ Olbin turned to Rusan. ‘You can’t trust him.’

‘I don’t.’ Rusan grimaced in frustration. ‘But I can’t confront him until I’ve won back the confidence of the crew. We lost the oracles—’

‘Which wasn’t your fault,’ Garzik insisted. ‘Vultar took them.’

Rusan shrugged. ‘We’ve been too long at sea without a prize, and three men died in the last raid.’ He put a hand on Olbin’s shoulder. ‘After this raid on Port Mero, we’ll either be dead or renowned throughout the Utlands. Until then, watch my back?’

Olbin gave a reluctant nod. ‘What of Wynn? We can’t let the insult go unpunished.’

The captain met Garzik’s eyes. ‘I promise they’ll pay.’

Olbin nodded. ‘I’ll hold Jost down while you give him a dose of his own medicine.’

Garzik didn’t know what to say.

Rusan nudged them both. ‘Vesnibor’s watching. Give him something to tell Jost.’ And he threw back his head, laughing as if Garzik had said something funny.

Olbin followed a heartbeat later.

Garzik found that he could laugh long and loud. Let the one-eared warrior make what he could of it.

F
YN KNOCKED ON
the door of Isolt’s cabin. ‘Are you ready?’

She came out, dressed in royal blue as befitted a Merofynian queen. Abbot Murheg and Abbess Celunyd followed one step behind her. They wore rich vestments, inlaid with semi-precious stones that glittered in the mid-morning light. Seeing them, Fyn felt very much the outsider.

Of Sefarra there was no sign. Isolt looked around. ‘Where...’

‘I had the barge captain set up a dais over there,’ Fyn said. ‘I’ll go fetch the new warlord and his son.’

He went across the deck, past Captain Elrhodoc and his men, dressed in their finest. Fyn caught Rhalwyn’s eye and the young Affinity beast-keeper nodded. He’d done what Fyn had asked.

Satisfied with the preparations, Fyn left the royal barge. Ahead of him, the remainder of the spar warriors stood lined up on the shore, where they would have a clear view of events.

Fyn strode towards Warlord Cortovar and his son. The boy looked a little red-eyed, but otherwise seemed determined to do the right thing. Fyn met Cortovar’s gaze and the spar warrior nodded. He didn’t like it, but knew what was expected of him.

Fyn escorted them both back to the royal barge, to Isolt who was seated on a chair on the hastily rigged dais.

Warlord Cortovar went to drop to one knee.

‘Wait.’ Fyn beckoned the warlord’s son. ‘Cortomir, you wanted to see the wyvern? First, take this.’ Fyn dipped into the basket Rhalwyn carried and handed the spar boy a sheep’s hind leg. Then he clicked his tongue to call the Affinity beasts.

Without warning both Loyalty and Resolute swooped down from the mast to land on the deck between Isolt and the warlord. Confronted by a wyvern and a foenix, Cortomir took a step back.

Fyn put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. ‘Show no fear. Hold out the meat.’

Cortomir raised it gingerly. With a snap, Loyalty’s strong jaws closed on the bone and she went took it to sit at Isolt’s feet. The foenix gave voice, indignant at not being fed.

Fyn selected another large bone from the basket and gave it to Cortomir. The foenix’s sharp talons flashed out, closing around the bone. The bird took his meat and joined the wyvern in front of Isolt’s dais.

Fyn went to stand next to the foenix and gestured Cortomir over. As the lad went to him, Fyn met Warlord Cortovar’s eyes, his message clear:
I have your son. His life is in my hands.

Not that Fyn would hurt an innocent lad of ten, but Cortovar didn’t know this.

Fyn nodded to Isolt, who took over proceedings. She’d already had the documents drawn up. Compensation would be paid to the Benetir Estate for the loss of life, and Lord Wytharon’s heir would to be recompensed for the loss of his grandfather and aunt. All these documents required the warlord of Centicore spar’s signature, or at least his mark.

Fyn had crushed an ambitious spar warlord and replaced him with a more reasonable man. He had proven himself as Queen Isolt’s lord protector at last.

B
YREN TRIED TO
contain his impatience as he lowered the farseer. They’d only just passed the outlying islands of Amfina Spar so they were still at least a day from Rolencia. There was no quick way to sail home from Merofynia. It was either pick your way between the spars’ tips and their shattered islands, or swing wide and risk an encounter with Utland raiders.

‘Not long now,’ the captain said, accepting the farseer. ‘We’ll be through the passage and into Rolencia Bay by midday tomorrow, and docked by evening.’

Byren nodded. They’d lost a day searching for Orrade, which he did not regret in the slightest, but it meant he would be a day behind the news of his survival reaching Cobalt.

‘What will you do?’ the captain asked. ‘There’ll be other men like Talltrees, ready to sell you to the usurper for a bag of gold.’

‘But there are more, many more, who are loyal to my father,’ Byren said, hoping it was true.

He returned to the cabin, where he found Orrade on his feet, staring out the window. As his friend turned, the midday light revealed features pared back by suffering and Byren was reminded of Orrade’s father, the Old Dove. Austere and implacable, nothing would stop the old lord. Orrade might be a lover of men, but he was very much his father’s son.

His friend stretched and grimaced. ‘I swear I feel a hundred years old.’

‘Eat.’ Byren gestured to the table, which had been laid with lunch. ‘You need to recover your strength.’

‘We both do.’ Orrade glanced to the table. ‘Smells good.’

Byren’s stomach rumbled. ‘We reach—’

‘I thought I was as good as dead. I thought you’d be delivered to Cobalt, trussed like a turkey.’ Orrade’s voice faltered. ‘I thought I’d failed you.’

‘Never.’ Byren grasped his shoulder. ‘I was the one who failed you. I couldn’t stop them throwing you overboard.’

‘You came back for me.’

‘What else would I do?’ He poured them both a glass of wine and raised his. ‘To friendship.’

‘To friendship. May nothing come between us.’

Byren grinned. ‘Nothing ever could.’

B
ACK IN
P
ORT
Mero, news of Fyn’s success spread fast. The barbarians of Centicore Spar had been taught a lesson. There would be no more raiding parties, not while Lord Protector Merofyn held the new warlord’s son hostage. It was very satisfying, but as Fyn approached the queen’s chambers, he heard Lady Gennalla trying to soothe Benowyth’s sobs and Sefarra’s raised, angry voice.

‘How could you bring
him
in here?’

Fyn reached the doorway in time to see Sefarra gesture to the fireplace, where both Affinity beasts lifted their heads and whined.

‘Don’t you like the foenix?’ Fyn asked as he strode into the chamber.

Sefarra glared at him. ‘I meant the spar brat!’

Fyn hadn’t spotted Cortomir, who stood on the far side of the fireplace. Clearly uncomfortable, the lad shifted from foot to foot. With the Centicore emblem on his spar vest, he was an unwelcome reminder of all the indignities Sefarra had endured at his father’s and uncle’s hands. Isolt flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—’

‘Didn’t think?’ Sefarra cut her off. ‘How—’

‘She said she was sorry. Now keep your voice down, Sefarra,’ Lady Gennalla admonished. ‘You’re upsetting Benny.’

‘Don’t cry, little boy,’ Cortomir said, looking around for something to distract the three-year-old. He spotted one of Isolt’s silk shawls hanging over the back of a day-bed, grabbed it. Throwing it over his own head, he put his hands out and stumbled about the room. ‘Where am I? Where did everyone go?’