The Kings Man (12 page)

If only a sea-hound ship could find them now.

For a heartbeat he indulged himself, imagining how the sea-hounds would cut a swathe through the naked, vulnerable Utlanders and retake the ship.

He searched the horizon. This was a merchant ship, not a sleek Utland vessel. It would never be able to escape a sea-hound ship. The new captain was taking a risk commandeering this vessel.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of the fleet and its sea-hound protectors. The only sail in sight was the original Utland vessel, which had drawn closer during the night until there was only a gap of about four body lengths between them.

A shouted command made him turn to see Strong-arm going about the deck, kicking a man here, grabbing a man there. All the while, he repeated a string of words over and over – the Utland equivalent of
Get up you lazy, bastards
, Garzik guessed.

With only a vague idea where he’d started out, Garzik began to sift through discarded clothes for his breeches. As he did, flashes of last night came back to him and his gorge rose again. How could he go home after this? The shame...

He should just end it all. Throw himself overboard. Isfyl had said death would be quick in the cold, cold sea.

But he couldn’t. Only he knew about Mitrovan and the scribe’s information might be crucial to Byren. Conviction filled Garzik. No matter what, he had to endure.

Tears burned his eyes but he knew he’d made the right... the
only
decision. Turning away from the deck, he blinked fiercely to clear his vision.

On the deck of the lower Utland vessel he saw Isfyl stagger to his feet. From the look of him, he no longer felt so cocky about raping three Rolencian maids in one night.

Serve him right.

Like Garzik a moment before, Isfyl staggered to the rail and vomited. When he was done he looked up and across the gap.

Their eyes met.

Garzik raised a hand. He expected a response – after all, they were in this together – but Isfyl did not acknowledge him. The older squire tilted his head up to the midmorning sky and closed his eyes. Was he praying?

When he lowered his chin, his face was curiously calm.

Garzik envied Isfyl his composure. Despite his own decision to live to serve Byren, he flipped back and forth between shamed outrage and numb misery.

Trafyn waved to Isfyl, drawing Garzik’s gaze to the younger squire. Garzik glanced back to Isfyl, but the older squire didn’t acknowledge Trafyn, either.

Instead, Isfyl climbed up on the rail, holding onto the rigging.

Trafyn ran along to join Garzik. ‘What’s he doing?’

‘Ending his shame,’ Garzik guessed. He’d only just rejected the same idea. Now that he was close to Trafyn, he registered the bruises on his neck and arms, and down his thighs.

So far, no-one on the other ship had noticed Isfyl. But as Garzik turned back, there was a shout and an Utlander made for the squire.

Too late. Isfyl stepped out and down, dropping into the sea with a splash. The ship sailed on, ploughing through the waves.

Garzik leant over and looked back, searching for Isfyl, expecting him to surface.

But there was no sign of the older squire. His head didn’t bob in the waves in their spreading wake.

‘He couldn’t swim,’ Garzik whispered.

With a moan Trafyn turned around and sank down, his back pressed to the gunwales. He hugged his knees, staring dully at his feet. ‘I’m a coward. I’m a coward...’ He repeated over and over. ‘I’m without honour.’

Garzik felt his misery.

‘Dying is easy,’ Garzik told him. ‘But there’s more honour in surviving to serve your king.’

Trafyn blinked up at him, tear tracks on his dirty cheeks. For a heartbeat he did not react, then anger sharpened his features. ‘You speak Merofynian!’

Garzik blinked.

‘You filthy...’ Trafyn sprang to his feet, leaping for him. The collision drove them both backwards. Garzik tripped over a sleeper’s legs, falling to the deck with Trafyn on top him. The impact drove the air from his chest in a painful gasp.

While sitting across Garzik’s chest, Trafyn grabbed two handfuls of his hair and used them to thump Garzik’s head on the deck over and over. ‘Filthy Rolencian. Filthy...’

Utlander laughter rang in Garzik’s ears as his head pounded with each impact and he fought to force air into his chest, fought against Trafyn’s weight. Pin pricks of light spun in his vision.

Then as suddenly as it started, it stopped and he could breathe.

Strong-arm stood over him, holding Trafyn by his shirt. The Utlander was so big he held the squire off the ground like a kitten.

Strong-arm said something; the gathered Utlanders laughed.

The big Utlander gave Trafyn another shake for emphasis, then tossed the squire aside.

Garzik scuttled back, got his feet under him and sprang upright, half expecting Trafyn to attack him again.

Why couldn’t the squire see they had to work together?

Strong-arm seemed to be saying something to that effect as he gestured to each of them and spoke a stream of Utlander.

Garzik had no idea what he’d said, and Trafyn looked just as lost. Meanwhile, Garzik’s missing ear was throbbing worse than ever and he felt the bandage. His fingers came away smeared with blood. Great, he was bleeding again, thanks to Trafyn.

Strong-arm gestured to another Utlander who led them off, and pointed them in the direction of a bucket and scrubbing brushes. The middeck still bore evidence of the attack and subsequent celebration. Clearly they were supposed to clean the deck.

Garzik repeated the phrase Strong-arm had used just to be sure and got a clip over his good ear for his trouble. He didn’t care. He’d found it useful to understand his Merofynian captors. Now that he was an Utlander captive, he had to learn their language.

‘My breeches!’ Trafyn darted over to collect his pants and pulled them on.

Garzik looked for his breeches, spotted them and did likewise. Then they both got down to work. Garzik’s skin had grown mottled with cold, but the scrubbing soon warmed him. He concentrated on the action of scrubbing to distance himself from the pain of his missing ear.

‘You spoke Merofynian all the time. What were you doing?’ Trafyn demanded under his breath. ‘Spying for Rolencia?’

‘Many Rolencians speak Merofynian.’

‘Like a noble?’

Garzik shrugged.

‘You were sent to spy –’

‘I saw my father killed before they knocked me out. For the first couple of days I didn’t know who I was. No-one sent me.’ It was a self-appointed task.

‘I don’t believe you. When we get out of this, I’m going to tell my father. You’ll be executed!’

‘Who says we’ll get out of this?’ Garzik countered, even though he had every intention of making it back to Rolencia. Baiting Trafyn helped distract him from the throbbing pain.

‘My father’s Lord Travany. He’ll gladly pay my ransom. Just as soon as I can make myself understood, I’ll –’

He grunted in pain as a passing Utlander kicked him in the ribs and said something that might have been
Less talking, more working
.

Garzik thought he recognised a couple of the words. He definitely recognised the voice, as the ache where his ear had been became more intense. One-ear leered down at them. Garzik looked away quickly

Unlike Trafyn, who sat on his heels to rub his ribs and complain. ‘I shouldn’t be scrubbing decks. I’m the son of a lord. I –’

‘Shut up,’ Garzik hissed and tossed the second scrubbing brush into his lap. Trafyn caught it automatically. ‘Don’t talk back. That one’s crazy. He cut off my ear and threatened to eat it.’

Trafyn looked up in horror.

One-ear grinned and licked his lips. Without another word, the squire went back to work.

Garzik glanced to the surgeon’s sword and dagger. A man like One-ear shouldn’t have them. The Utlander saw the direction of his gaze and caressed the sword’s hilt.

‘Jost,’ Strong-arm called him away.

It was only as one-eared Jost walked off that Garzik realised the Utlander had understood enough Merofynian to get the gist of what he’d said.

Or had he gestured to his missing ear? He couldn’t remember now.

At least the work had warmed him. But even after his run-in with One-ear, he was hungry. He suspected the Utlanders would not treat their slaves well. According to Captain Blackwing, life was brutal on the scattered Utland Isles.

He felt a pang of loss. In some ways, that quiet, firm man-at-arms had been more of a father to him than his own father, who had been over sixty when he was born.

To think, he’d gone from lord’s son, to captive of war, to Merofynian seven-year-slave, to this... an Utland slave. Surely, he could sink no lower.

As Trafyn bemoaned their bad luck, Garzik asked himself what Orrade would do. His brother would not sink into self-pity. No, he’d be watching, learning his enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, learning their language. Orrade would be ready to seize any opportunity to escape.

So that’s what Garzik would do.

M
IDMORNING, TWO DAYS
later they spotted a patch of jagged rocks, skirted by foaming sea. Several dark specks circled high above the rocks.

‘A wyvern eyrie,’ Garzik guessed, even though he had only ever heard of them.

No sane sailor went near a wyvern eyrie, especially in spring. They were past midwinter, but not into breeding season yet. This time of year the saltwater wyverns would be sluggish, conserving their strength. Blessed, or cursed, with an affinity for power, these beasts were smarter than ordinary animals, hence the circling lookouts.

Garzik studied the direction of travel. ‘Why would the captain take his ship into danger?’

‘What?’ Trafyn had been staring dully at his toes, as he huddled out of the wind.

‘See.’ Garzik pointed. ‘A wyvern eyrie.’

Trafyn sprang to his feet and sighted along his arm. He took a step back. ‘The captain’s mad. We’ll all be killed.’

Garzik ignored him; the Utlanders had lowered the merchant vessel’s sails and strapped the wheel. Now the ship wallowed in the wave troughs.

With some shouted words that sounded like encouragement, the original Utland ship changed course. It pulled away, but kept Garzik’s ship in sight.

A rough voice called to Garzik and Trafyn. Garzik turned, but not fast enough as Jost clipped him over his head and grabbed him along with Trafyn. Eyes stinging with pain, Garzik blinked to clear his vision. The one-eared Utlander led them over to Strong-arm, who stood next to the main mast holding a rope.

Trafyn tried to hang back.

Jost thrust him forward into Strong-arm’s chest. The big Utlander shoved Trafyn up against the far side of the mast.

‘What are you doing?’ Garzik asked, rising voice betraying his fear.

No-one answered him. Instead, Jost shoved him until his back was pressed to this side of the mast and, between them, Jost and Strong-arm quickly bound them to the mast.

Once that was done, Jost left and Strong-arm tugged at the binding over Garzik’s missing ear, removing it with a flourish. It stung something awful as the padding peeled away. Had it started bleeding again?

Blinking back tears of pain, Garzik discovered that almost all the Utlanders had left the deck. He spotted them watching through the windows of the captain’s cabin. Out of that cabin came Captain Strutter. Barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but his breeches, he was armed only with a dagger and sword.

Squawking made Garzik strain to peer around the mast in the other direction. Jost had brought two chickens up from the store. With a practiced flick, he chopped off their heads, swinging them by their legs so that their blood sprayed across the deck.

‘What is he doing?’ Trafyn’s voice was high and breathy with panic.

Garzik didn’t answer. Looking up, he spotted a wyvern circling far above. They had excellent eyesight and sense of smell.

Leaving the chicken carcasses, Jost retreated to the cabin.

Strong-arm looked up, said something to the new captain.

Strutter grinned, slapped him on the back and sent him off.

‘Tell me he’s not going to try to kill a wyvern on his own?’ Trafyn muttered.

‘Didn’t you notice the captain of the other ship wore a wyvern cloak and there were wyvern teeth woven into his beard?’ Garzik asked. ‘I’m guessing it’s a rite of passage, and we’re bait.’

At this Trafyn shouted, pleading to be set free. He tugged and strained on the ropes, making the bindings constrict around Garzik.

Meanwhile, Captain Strutter, armed only with his dagger and sword, retreated to crouch under the steep steps to the rear deck.

‘Shut up, you’ll attract a wyvern,’ Garzik warned. ‘Shut up, I tell you.’

But Trafyn was beyond reason.

Garzik glanced to the Utlanders in the cabin. They nudged each other, much entertained by Trafyn’s antics.

Garzik wanted to thump the squire.