King Breaker (44 page)

A sword blade shot through the blanket going over Piro’s head. It withdrew just as quickly.

Before she realised what was happening, the blade shot through the blanket halfway along, plunging into her stomach. She felt like she’d been punched, had to bite her tongue to stifle a cry.

The blade pulled out and plunged in further along, missing her calves.

‘No one here,’ the man-at-arms reported.

‘I told ya—’ There was another thump and a curse from the driver.

‘I have a silver coin for anyone who delivers the run-away,’ the Merofynian announced. ‘And five coppers for information leading to her capture.’

Was that all she was worth? No one volunteered any information and Piro heard boots striding off along the wharf.

‘Come on lads, excitement’s over,’ the cart driver said. ‘Back ta work.’

Hot damp spread across Piro’s stomach. No pain yet. That would come. She needed to pack the wound, but she felt strangely distant. The cart creaked as it moved on again and stopped shortly after. There was a series of jerks and thumps as the men unloaded.

‘Just this bloody clavichord, then we’re done, lads,’ the cart driver said. ‘Lower the ropes.’

Piro heard the men pass ropes under the clavichord and secure them.

‘Righto. Take her up.’

With a lurch, Piro felt the instrument lift and swing through the air. She clutched the shelf and her stomach clenched painfully.

After an interminable time spent swaying in mid-air, the men guided the clavichord towards the hatch. Someone called Feovil was in charge and the crew spoke Rolencian. Piro realised the ship was a Rolencian merchant vessel, bound for Merofynia. There was a thump and the instrument settled on the planks. Cold with pain, Piro fought nausea.

‘Get this load secured,’ Feovil ordered. ‘Cap’n wants to cast off with the tide.’

Next thing she knew, several men picked up the clavichord to move it. One of the men dropped his end. Her head clipped the clavichord’s leg and she nearly fell off the shelf. Instinctively, she tried to stop her fall. Her hand went through the gap in the blanket, hitting someone’s shin. There was a shriek and she pulled her arm back, but it was too late.

‘What’s the matter?’ a gruff voice asked.

‘It was a hand,’ a lad said, voice breaking. ‘A hand tried to grab m’leg!’

‘I don’t see no—’

‘Someone’s under the blanket, I tell you.’

‘Here, let me see,’ a third voice said. ‘Bring the lantern over here, Illien.’

Illien? She hoped he was nothing like her bastard cousin.

‘Here it is,’ the lad said and light glowed through the blanket.

Piro winced as the covering was jerked aside and three men peered in at her. One was the lad, Illien, another was fifty if he was a day, his chin covered in salt and pepper whiskers. The third had a face like a rat, with prominent teeth. They all stared at her in shock.

‘Well?’ Feovil asked. ‘What is it?’

‘I think we found what them Merofynians was lookin’ for.’ The old salt wiped his bristly jaw. ‘It’s a pretty little ladybird. No wonder they were so hot ta find her.’

‘Out of the way.’ Feovil knelt and peered in at Piro. His face swam in her vision. ‘A stow-away. Bring her out into the light.’

‘Wouldn’t mind her for my seven-year slave,’ rat-face said. He knelt and reached in to grab her. As he dragged Piro onto the floor she gasped in pain. Her skin felt clammy and she fought to stay conscious

‘She’s bleeding,’ Illien said.

‘I’m not a seven-year slave. And I’m not a stowaway,’ Piro insisted. ‘I’m Lord Dunstany’s servant and I can pay for my passage. Deliver me to Dunstany in Port Mero.’

As Feovil considered, she tried to focus on his face. If they were not honourable men, they could steal her coins
and
hand her over to the Merofynians for the reward.

Feovil seemed to make up his mind. He sprang to his feet. ‘Take her to the ship’s surgeon. I’ll tell the captain.’

As they lifted her, everything spun past Piro.

The next thing she knew, the ship was at sea and she lay on a narrow bunk in the surgeon’s cabin.

‘She’s awake,’ Illien announced. She hadn’t noticed him in the shadows. He crept closer.

‘So you’ve come back to us.’ The surgeon studied her while she studied him. His red-rimmed eyes and wine-laden breath did not reassure her.

Piro reached for the stone Siordun had given her only to find it gone. Lost, after everything she had been through? Tears stung her eyes.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be right now.’ Illien patted her shoulder then looked up at the surgeon.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve done what I can. If the wound doesn’t putrefy...’

Panic seized Piro. She used to think that she was destined for great things, but she’d seen so many people die since winter. Would her life end here? Already her vision was fading, but strangely not her hearing...

‘She’s asleep again,’ Illien announced. ‘Is she really Lord Dunstany’s servant?’

‘Who knows? Let’s see what’s in her bag.’ There was some shuffling. ‘Hmmm, either she stole this gown or she’s no ordinary servant.’ Her coin purse chinked and she heard mumbled counting. ‘Take this to the captain to pay for her passage.’

‘What about the rest?’

A muffled slap. ‘Get moving.’

And Piro knew her luck had well and truly run out.

Chapter Thirty-Five

B
YREN CHOSE A
spot in a small gully. It was easy to defend, shielded by tall pines on three sides and a rock wall on the fourth. ‘We’ll camp here tonight, just under that overhang.’

As Florin stepped back and lifted her head to stare at the mountains, silhouetted against the afterglow of the setting sun, Byren just knew she was going to argue with him.

‘We should keep going,’ she said. ‘We’re not far from the secret pass.’

‘All the more reason to rest now and set off first thing tomorrow.’

Florin tossed her head impatiently, making his heart race. Before she could think of another objection, Byren settled the matter by shrugging his travelling pack off his shoulders and letting it drop with a decided thunk. He took the chance to stretch and heard his joints pop.

As he lowered his arms Florin looked away quickly.

Didn’t she understand he was being considerate? She might be as tall as Orrade, but she didn’t have his wiry strength. She had to be tired. He’d driven them at a fast march from first light to dusk for three days, avoiding paths and villages, doubling back twice to dodge Merofynian patrols.

‘Fine.’ Florin shed her pack. ‘We can split up first thing tomorrow. I know the way—’

‘You might know the way, but these foothills are filled with Affinity beasts.’

‘I’m not stupid. I can track—’

‘Doesn’t matter. Orrade and I have been hunting rogue Affinity beasts since we were fifteen. I’ve known them to disarm traps and lure hunters into dead-end ravines. I’m not leaving you until—’

‘When?’ She confronted him, face flushed, eyes furious. ‘Until we reach Foenix Spar Stronghold?’

‘No...’ He took his time answering. He wanted her so angry she’d take a swing at him. He wanted an excuse to grab her.

And that shocked him. Startled, he took a step back.

‘If you two are done arguing, I’ll cook dinner.’ Orrade pulled a rabbit from his pack and laid it on a flat stone, drawing his hunting knife. ‘Bring me some firewood.’

‘Is it wise to light a fire?’ Florin asked.

‘We haven’t seen a patrol since yesterday morning. As long as we keep the fire small, we’re safe,’ Byren told her. ‘I’ll fetch firewood.’

‘I’ll help.’

Was she trying to drive him crazy? She was like an itch he could not scratch. He had to get out of here.

‘Don’t bother.’ He headed up the path.

‘I’m not useless!’ she shouted after him.

He did not turn around. Didn’t trust himself. Instead, he stared straight ahead as he rounded the bend in the path.

When he had an armful of wood, he returned to camp to find Florin gone and Orrade tending a small fire.

‘Where is she?’

‘You know, she managed for nineteen years before you came along.’

Orrade was right. Byren rubbed his jaw through three days growth.

Florin stalked into camp and dropped her firewood on the far side of the fire circle. With a disdainful glance in his direction, she walked off.

And he used to think he was good with women.

Orrade sliced up the rabbit meat and tossed it in the pan, where it sizzled. It smelled good but Byren couldn’t sit still.

‘I’ll get more firewood.’ He strode off.

F
LORIN RETURNED TO
camp with another armful of wood. There was no sign of Byren. As she dumped the wood on the pile, she told herself the less she saw of him, the better. But it rankled because he was clearly avoiding her. Every waking moment she was aware of him. She seemed to feel his gaze on her yet, whenever she looked in his direction, his face was turned away. It hurt...

‘He doesn’t mean it,’ Orrade said.

‘What?’

‘He’s like a bear with a sore tooth.’

‘He thinks I’m useless.’

‘He wants to make sure you reach Feid’s stronghold in one piece. After all, now that your father’s dead, you’re all Leif has.’

She flushed with shame and chewed her bottom lip.

Orrade stirred the sizzling meat with his knife. He’d thrown in some wild onions and it smelled wonderful.

‘You’re a good person, Orrie. I hope...’ She’d seen him frantic with worry for Byren. ‘I hope you can be happy.’

Orrade’s uncompromising black eyes held hers. ‘We both know that’s never going to happen.’

‘Even so. I wish—’

‘What happened the night of the fire?’ Orrade gestured with the knife. ‘I mean it was always there, this thing between you two, but it’s become...’

‘Unbearable.’ It felt like her heart would break. Every day she spent with Byren, loving him, yet knowing that he could not love her was...

Florin met Orrade’s shrewd eyes, swallowed and looked away. She owed him the truth. ‘Cobalt left me tied up in the tent. I would have burned to death if Byren hadn’t freed me. I guided him to the cliff—’

‘You can’t swim.’

‘Didn’t matter as long as Byren was safe. He saved me again in the water, found us a boat.’ Now her throat grew so tight it was hard to speak. ‘I’d just seen Seela die and I knew how much he loved her. He’d seen my father die. We... we wept in each other’s arms and then, somehow, we were kissing. It was like touching flame to tinder.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d never known anything like it. I would’ve... But he didn’t want me. He pushed me away, told me to cover myself. He made it clear he found me repulsive. I mean, why would he want a raw-boned mountain girl, someone who’s more man than woman, when he could have p-perfect, pretty Queen Isolt?’

Furious, she wiped her cheeks and glared across the fire, daring Orrade to feel sorry for her.

He was silent for a moment, then he poked the fire. ‘Did Byren say he didn’t desire you?’

‘He didn’t have to. He could hardly look at me. And...’ A sob caught her unawares. She fought it, her chest aching with the effort of holding back tears. ‘C-Cobalt had already told me. Even with his hands on my b-breasts, he couldn’t bring himself to... He found me repulsive.’ A storm of tears shook her.

Orrade swore under his breath and came around the fire to hold her. Normally, she would never reveal weakness, but this was Orrie. And besides, the sobs tore from her with such force she couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t think.

It was a couple of moments before she began to regain some control, and Orrade seemed to sense the right time to release her.

‘Here.’ He passed her a watered wine skin, then gestured to the pan. ‘Watch this. I’ll go tell Byren dinner’s ready.’

‘Don’t—’

‘I’ll keep him talking. Give you time to...’

She nodded her thanks. ‘I don’t know why you’re so good to me.’

He shook his head. ‘Silly mountain girl.’

A
S
B
YREN LIFTED
a fallen branch, something moved in the corner of his eye. He caught a glimpse of a thick fur coat, powerful shoulders and the long, loping stride of an ulfr on the prowl. His hand went for his hunting knife.

This was ulfr territory, but that did not mean it was a beast from his pack...
his
pack? He gave himself a mental shake.

A moment later a second, larger ulfr came out of the shadows and stood watching him. Byren recognised the clever pack leader. The Affinity beast’s head was level with Byren’s waist.

For two heartbeats, the ulfr male stared at Byren, while the smaller beast stood further back in the trees, watching. Then the smaller ulfr made a strange sound in her throat. It was somewhere between a cough and a purr, and it seemed to be an invitation to play. The male trotted over to her and butted his shoulder against hers. She returned the gesture.

Intrigued, Byren crept closer. Now he could see them clearly. The male rested his head across the female’s back. Again the male eyed Byren. It was not a threatening look, more an acknowledgement, from one leader to another.

The female made the inviting sound again and trotted off. The male hesitated, looking from Byren to her, before following her. He had only gone two body-lengths when she sprang out from behind a bush and knocked him to the ground. They rolled over and over, growling and nipping like a couple of pups. Byren grinned.

Seeing them together, he thought they were well suited: both powerful, both strong and independent.

The female rose to her feet, then walked away. The male hesitated and Byren approached, crouching low, hand extended. Perhaps he
was
mad, but he wanted to feel that soft, silvery fur again. He wanted to experience the sense of belonging he’d felt when surrounded by the pack in the seep.

The ulfr sniffed Byren’s hand, breath hot on his skin. This close, the beast’s scent hit him like a physical thing; strangely intoxicating, it was redolent with leaf litter and growing things. The smell took him to somewhere deep and primitive. Byren inhaled and discovered there was an added edge to the ulfr’s scent tonight, musky and... The ulfr licked his hand, tongue rasping.