King Breaker (66 page)

On her return, Piro closed the connecting door. ‘Lord Dunstany apologises. He isn’t well enough for visitors tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.’

Byren’s stomach rumbled loudly.

Piro laughed. ‘Food’s on its way. They’ll bring it in here so we can talk. It’s so good to see you two.’ She treated them both to another hug and held on just a fraction too long.

Byren pulled back. ‘Eh, what’s wrong, Piro?’

‘I’ve missed you, that’s all.’

Byren searched her face. Behind the happiness, he saw sorrow and loss, and he wished he could protect her from the world; but here she was, running Dunstany’s great house for him. ‘Mother would be proud of you.’

She flushed and turned away, going over to the fireplace. After a moment, she drew a deep breath and gestured to the chairs. ‘We need to talk.’

‘I’d rather not sit. I’ve been riding all day.’

She nodded. ‘Fyn needs you. I’ve had Dunstany’s pleasure yacht ready to sail for the last two days. You are to set out for the palace tonight. The Merofynian nobles are trying to seize control of the kingdom.’

Byren cursed.

Piro nodded. ‘Fyn’s had nothing but trouble since you left. There’s been an Utland attack in Mero Bay. The spar warlords have made several bids to take various estates. Fyn puts down this raid and kills that warlord, only to find another has risen in his place. The second time Benetir Estate was attacked, he had to free the seven-year slaves to turn back the warlord.

‘It made the nobles furious. Now they fear slave uprisings on their own estates. The captain of the queen’s guards grabbed me and tried to...’ A shadow passed over her face and she hurried on. ‘Fyn killed him in a duel. Now the nobles have divided into two camps, one led by Lord Neiron who wants to replace Fyn, and the other led by Dunstany, except...’ She gestured to the closed door. ‘The old lord is finally failing and I don’t know if the men who’ve supported him over the years will support Fyn, and even if they do, I don’t know if they’ll be strong enough to stand against Neiron and his supporters.’

Byren met Orrade’s eyes. It was worse than he’d anticipated. ‘I don’t like the idea of sailing into a nest of deceiving nobles, with just fifty men-at-arms.’

Piro went to speak, but someone knocked on the door and entered without waiting. Byren saw the fear cross his sister’s face before she mastered her expression.

‘Soterro, what’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Is it Fyn?’

The servant shook his head. ‘We’ve just had word from the men who were patrolling the northern border. The Amfina Spar warlord has come over the pass and marches on Yoraltir great house. We can expect hundreds of Yorale’s people to arrive in the next couple of days. Captain Tomos wants to know if he should let them onto Dunistir Estate.’

‘Of course he should,’ Piro said.

‘Better check with his lordship,’ Soterro said.

Piro flushed and darted into the adjacent chamber.

After a moment she returned. ‘Dunstany says to give shelter to everyone who needs it and to double the border patrols. He thinks the spar warlord must have had someone watching Yorale’s estate.’ She added, for Byren’s benefit, ‘The warlord struck after Yorale sailed for the palace. Yorale’s defences have been overstretched since he claimed Wythrontir Estate for his youngest son.’

Soterro bowed and withdrew.

As the door closed on him, Piro leaned forward and adjusted a Duelling Kingdoms piece before gesturing to the board. ‘Once the warlord takes Yorale’s lands, he’ll either march on us or march on Wythrontir.’ She traced her finger around the circle representing the landlocked Sea. ‘If he marches towards us, he is only two estates away from taking the queen.’

Byren cursed. ‘Lord Neiron will keep. I haven’t come this far and given up...’ He censored himself. ‘I’m not going to lose Merofynia. I’m sailing for Yorale’s estate.’

‘With fifty men?’ Orrade asked.

‘We’ll free Yorale’s seven-year slaves.’

‘Hit the warlord when he’s not expecting it.’ Orrade nodded. ‘I like it. You’ll be in a much better position when you confront Neiron, if you’ve defeated Amfina and you have an army of ex-slaves at your back.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking.’ Byren grinned and headed for the door. ‘We’ll need someone with local knowledge.’

‘What about dinner?’ Piro called after him.

‘We can eat on the ship. I’m going to tell the lads. We’re off to free Rolencians from Merofynian slavery!’

Chapter Fifty-Four

T
HE WEATHER THE
day of the lords’ council suited Fyn’s mood. The air was hot and steamy, and the sky was heavy and brooding, with the promise of a storm. Knowing Neiron would try to cut his legs out from under him, he’d been on edge all day. It had not started well, with a visit from Gwalt, carrying a message from Piro. Byren had arrived, but had sailed to save Yorale’s estate from Amfina Spar, leaving Fyn to maintain control of the lords’ council.

Of course, the first thing Fyn had done was to summon Lord Yorale and tell him the news.

‘I know your instinct is to set sail for your estate,’ Fyn had said. ‘But Byren will do everything in his power to turn back the Amfina Spar warlord and we need your support at the lords’ council.’

‘I would not miss this council for the world,’ Yorale said, to Fyn’s relief.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Camoric said, adjusting his belt so his sword was within easy reach. He was dressed in fighting garb, his only concession to his new rank the rakish tilt of his feathered hat. ‘I have twenty trusted men in the corridor outside the war-table chamber, and another twenty within shouting distance.’

‘Good.’ Fyn wore simple clothes that could pass for Rolencian. Today he was King Rolen’s son, and the lords would do well to remember it. ‘I told the captain of the ex-slaves to watch for a signal from the war chamber windows. He’s ready to storm the palace at a moment’s notice.’ And the way Fyn was feeling, he wanted Neiron to give him reason to act.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’ Fyn expected it to be Mitrovan with news from Travany, but it was Captain Aeran of the city-watch. ‘Captain?’

‘Lord Protector Merofyn, Captain Camoric.’ Aeran gave them a formal bow. ‘If the worst happens, the city-watch will support you.’

‘Why?’ Fyn tensed. ‘What have you heard?’

‘The port is abuzz with news of the lords’ council. The nobles have moved men-at-arms into their townhouses and there’s been brawling in the taverns.’

‘What of the merchant margraves? Who will they support?’

The grizzled captain offered him an apologetic look. ‘They don’t care who the lord protector is, as long as he lives up to his name and they can trade in peace.’

Fyn nodded. ‘Come to the lords’ council.’

‘I’m not a noble,’ Aeran answered stiffly.

‘You’re captain of the city-watch, and I want you at my back. It means if I
do
go down, you’ll fall with me. You decide.’

Aeran met Fyn’s eyes. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘Come on, then.’ Fyn grinned grimly as they left his chamber and strode down the corridor. Byren had left him here to hold Merofynia, with no support and a pack of ambitious lords ready to stab him in the back. Now that he had the ex-slaves, Camoric and the queen’s guards
and
the city-watch behind him, he felt ready to confront the nobles.

As they turned the corner and approached the door of Isolt’s chamber, she stepped into the corridor. Like them, she was soberly dressed. But it did not matter, whatever she did she was still a girl of fifteen and the Merofynian noblemen had made it clear her job was to produce an heir.

As Fyn offered his arm, he realised if he’d taken the abbot’s advice they would be walking into the council as king and queen. He wanted Isolt more than anything, and their marriage would have justified using force, but he could not betray his brother’s trust.

‘You’re looking very grim,’ Isolt said. ‘Hopefully, it won’t come to bloodshed.’

‘Spilling blood is simple. It’s politics that can cut a man’s legs out from under him!’ He swept her around the last corner, where they expected to see the lords waiting outside the war-table chamber. But...

‘They’re already inside,’ Isolt whispered. ‘At least the abbot and abbess are waiting to enter with us.’

Murheg and Celunyd bowed, then stepped to each side of Fyn and Isolt. The war-table stretched before them, bathed in light from the tall windows overlooking the Landlocked Sea. Down the far end, the Merofynian throne had been placed on a dais. From there, Isolt would command the council.

Events had polarised the Merofynian nobility. Neiron and his supporters stood on the left of the table, facing the windows. Dunstany’s supporters stood on the right. Today Istyn sat in a normal chair with his two manservants ready to come his aid. The captains from Benetir and Geraltir Estates were not well known to Fyn, but seemed ready to do their part.

Elder statesman that he was, Lord Yorale waited next to the queen’s chair.

As Fyn escorted Isolt along the table, he did a mental headcount. With Camoric holding his grandfather’s vote, and Dunstany...

‘Duncaer,’ Isolt said, pausing opposite an over-dressed middle-aged man with a suspiciously red nose. ‘Why are you here?’

‘You called a lords’ council, my queen, so I must represent Dunistir Estate. My uncle’s heart is failing. I come from his deathbed.’

Muttering greeted this news, and Isolt glanced to Fyn. There was no Lord Dunstany dying in bed on Dunistir Estate, but they could hardly reveal that.

Isolt stepped onto the dais and took her seat.

She arranged her gown, making them wait, then finally looked along the length of the chamber. ‘A ruler needs sound advice from their nobles. As I have newly come to the throne and am only fifteen, I expect you to put aside all rivalry and work for the good of Merofynia. I now declare this lords’ council in session. And I introduce the new captain of the queen’s guards, Lord Cadmor’s grandson, Camoric.’

Neiron and his lords gave barely civil nods.

Fyn waited for them to object to Captain Aeran’s presence, but they didn’t.

‘My queen.’ Lord Elcwyff stepped forward. ‘I cannot attend a lords’ council when my brother’s murderer has a place at the table.’

‘It was a duel,’ Fyn protested. ‘Elrhodoc tried to force himself on my sister. When I intervened, he challenged me. He chose the place and weapons, he had two seconds, I had none,
and
he slashed my face before the duel truly began!’

Elcwyff bristled. ‘My brother would never—’

‘That’s what I don’t understand,’ Yorale said, his voice calm and reasonable. ‘Elrhodoc was a champion swordsman. He didn’t need to cheat to win.’

‘He didn’t cheat. And I have witnesses to prove it,’ Elcwyff insisted, gesturing for two men to come forward. ‘Here are my brother’s seconds, ready to give his side of it.’

One was the seedy guard who had been on the terrace that day, but the other...

‘Hold on.’ Fyn pointed to the second man. ‘He wasn’t there.’

‘Yes, he was,’ the seedy guard said. ‘It was me and Grufyd. I can vouch for it.’

‘Fyn’s right,’ Isolt said. ‘Grufyd wasn’t there. It was a young guard by the name of...’ she frowned, then her expression cleared, ‘...Seelon. I can vouch for Fyn. He’s speaking the truth.’

‘My queen, you cannot vouch for anyone,’ Yorale told her gently. ‘When you sit in that chair at a lords’ council, you must be impartial. In fact, you may not speak until everyone has said their piece.’

Isolt glanced to the abbess and abbot.

They nodded.

‘Tell them, Hywel,’ Elcwyff urged.

‘We heard shouting and saw the lord-monk’—the seedy guard gestured to Fyn—‘having a go at our captain. Of course, we ran over. Before we could do anything, he punched our captain in the gut.’

‘He resorted to street brawling?’ Neiron sounded shocked, and there was muttering from those around the table.

‘Elrhodoc insulted Piro,’ Fyn insisted. ‘Hywel and Seelon saw him do it, yet they did nothing. I can send for Piro to confirm this.’

Yorale shook his head. ‘My queen—’

‘You can’t call on her,’ Neiron sneered. ‘She’s not a married woman, so she has no husband to vouch for her good sense. And besides, a female cannot give evidence in a man’s murder case.’

‘So it’s murder now?’ Fyn asked. Neiron was giving him exactly the motivation he needed to call in Camoric’s men.

Neiron hesitated, surprised by his tone.

Elcwyff was too focused to notice. He gestured to the guard. ‘Tell them what happed, Hywel.’

‘Our captain defended himself. That was how the lord-monk got his face cut up. When he fell to one knee, our captain stepped back to let him get up, but he lunged in like a street fighter and stabbed him in the groin. Bled out like a pig, he did, poor Elrhodoc.’

Elcwyff flinched. He shook with anger as he turned to the other lords. ‘See the kind of man you’re dealing with?’

‘To lose a brother is a terrible thing.’ Fyn could tell Elcwyff’s grief was genuine. ‘But that’s not how it happened.’

‘The Mulcibar healer who laid out Elrhodoc’s body is here,’ Neiron said. ‘He can confirm the nature of the wound.’

A middle-aged priest stepped from behind the ranks.

Murheg clutched Fyn’s arm. ‘That’s Neiron’s second cousin. That’s the man I defeated to become abbot.’

‘Tell them,’ Neiron urged his relation.

‘What the guard said is true...’

‘I don’t deny the nature of the wound,’ Fyn had to raise his voice to be heard, as the priest kept talking. ‘Elrhodoc had ripped my cheek open to the bone. I was seeing stars. He came in for the killing strike. I had no choice but to strike him down.’

‘...strike him down like a common knifeman in a street brawl!’ the healer finished.

The sudden silence drummed on Fyn’s ears. In a moment of perfect clarity, he saw that Neiron had left him no option. He took a breath to call in the guards.

A young man burst into the chamber, trying to shake off two of the queen’s guards. ‘Out of the way, I have to see my father!’

Camoric signalled his men. ‘Let him in.’

The queen’s guards stepped back and the young man stood at the end of the table, battle-worn but defiant.