King Breaker (62 page)

‘Are you all right?’

‘A touch of indigestion. Normally the lord’s heir would go in his place, but Dunstany would never send Duncaer. In fact, he would keep this information from him.’

‘Surely Duncaer will hear about the council of lords anyway?’

‘Yes, but he’ll expect Dunstany to attend.’

‘Unless he hears that Dunstany is sick.’

‘He’s never dared attend such a thing in the past, but he has grown impatient these last two years. I think his gambling debts are catching up with him.’

Piro nodded. ‘The nobles fear and respect Dunstany, but they know he cannot live forever. Neiron might seek an alliance with Duncaer to undermine Dunstany. Isolt must delay the council until Byren arrives. I’ll write urging her to delay.’

‘And if she can’t?’

‘We’ll have to pray for storms on the Landlocked Sea... Isolt can ask the lords she trusts to delay their arrival for as long as possible.’

‘She’ll have to balance this against the possibility that Neiron and his supporters will hold their own council without her.’

‘But that would be treason.’

Old Gwalt nodded grimly.

Chapter Fifty

O
RRADE JOINED
B
YREN
as they waited outside the partially completed gates of the king’s city. Built on a rise that backed onto a sheer cliff, the city had outgrown its original walls. New fortifications were under construction, enclosing the surrounding high ground.

‘Eh, I’ll say this for Jorgoskev,’ Byren said. ‘He knows how to design defences.’

‘Jorgofaje...’ Orrade said slowly. ‘He renamed the city after himself. What does that tell us about the man?’

Byren shrugged. ‘Rolencia was named after my ancestor.’

Hristo and Nilsoden had gone to speak with one of the stonemasons working on the new gate tower. A moment later, a boy mounted a shaggy pony and took off at a gallop, up the road towards the old gate.

‘Just look at the number of workers.’ Orrade gestured. ‘All these men are not tilling fields, caring for animals or working their normal crafts. The city must be wealthy indeed. No wonder, when it lies at the centre of the long north-south valley, and at the point where the eastern valley leads east to Merofynia. All trade must pass through here. We were so busy watching Palatyne and Merofynia we did not notice this growing threat, Byren.’

‘The six city states of the Snow Bridge have never been united before.’

‘Exactly.’

Byren smiled grimly. He felt weary, having spent the last four nights by the ambassador’s side, ostensibly so that Hristo could sleep, but really so that he and Orrade could keep the man alive. Orrade had been eating like a horse, yet he was still losing weight. But not as much as Florin, who had not been able to keep a meal down since they set foot on the ship.

She left the wagon, stumbled to the side of the road, leaned against a tree and threw up.

Byren frowned. ‘She should be over the sky-sickness by now. Everyone else is.’

‘Florin told me of a ballad about a Snow Bridge merchant who fell in love with a flat-land girl, married her and brought her home to live where earth meets sky. She could not adjust to the thin air. Rather than leave the man she loved and her little boy, she killed herself. Very sad.’

‘Very silly,’ Byren said. ‘If he really loved her, he would have moved to the flat-lands.’

‘True.’ Orrade grinned. ‘But Florin might not adjust. Some people don’t.’

‘Then it is lucky we’re not staying. As soon as I’ve seen the king, I’m taking the pass to Dunstany’s estate.’

‘What if Vlatajor dies and Jorgoskev has us arrested and thrown in his dungeon?’

Byren shifted his weight and his hand went to the sword at his hip. He had fifty good men. By the look of it, the Snow Bridge king had thousands who could down tools and take up arms at a moment’s notice. ‘I want you to keep your eyes and ears open.’

‘I will, but Florin is the only one who understands their language.’

She stumbled back to the wagon. Her skin had lost its healthy glow, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Byren wanted to send her to stay with Dunstany, but he couldn’t, not when he needed her.

He did not like the man he was becoming.

He called to Florin, ‘Hopefully, the king’s healers will have something for your sky-sickness.’

She nodded and climbed back into the wagon, where the ambassador lay barely clinging to life.

‘Do you think Hristo and Nilsoden suspect we’ve been keeping Vlatajor alive?’ Byren asked.

‘If they do, they should be grateful,’ Orrade said.

‘If Jorgoskev fears the power of the Affinity-touched, we don’t want him knowing what we can do.’

‘Either he is like your father and is not rational about Affinity, or he is a cunning man who wants to control those with power. If it is the first, he may turn on us. If it is the second, you’re worth more to him as king of Rolencia... Oh, look, how thoughtful. They’re sending us an escort.’

Byren smiled at Orrade’s tone.

Two lines of men jogged out of the old main gate. They wore Snow Bridge armour, made of many tiny plates like fish scales, which gleamed in the sun. They kept pouring out of the gate at a steady pace until Byren estimated there had to be about three hundred men. ‘We should be honoured.’

By mid-afternoon they had been escorted into the city and up the long straight road to the palace, which was built on the high ground. To get there, they’d had to pass through a series of gates, each representing a growth-ring of the city.

Byren stood in the wagon, gripping the back of the seat behind the ursodon handler, who held the reins. Aware that his life and those of the men who followed him could rest on some small detail, Byren studied everything. When they reached the palace, it was a hive of activity, with old sections being demolished to make way for new, more gracious apartments. Instead of the common white-grey stone, the new sections were built of a glossy white marble with large ground floor windows and doors.

‘The king feels confident his enemies will never get this far,’ Byren said.

The wagons were directed to one side and around the rear of the palace. As they passed the ursodon stables, they could hear the beasts calling to each other and a strong, musky scent briefly enveloped them.

At last they reached a courtyard full of partially completed corbels. Two dozen workmen stood near a stack of stone blocks, as if they’d been told to put down their tools and get out of the way.

Byren leapt down from the wagon, then turned to help Florin. Orrade jumped down behind her.

About two dozen richly-dressed men strode out of the palace and lined up on a terrace overlooking the courtyard. They wore stiff brocade robes that came to their calves, and wide jewelled belts. None of them spoke or moved.

Florin looked up at the people on the terrace. ‘Which one is the king?’

Four men wearing elaborate costumes came, bearing two long horns between them. The horns were so big that the first pair of men wore straps over their shoulders, which supported the ends of the horns at the level of their knees. The second pair walked a body-length behind and wore straps across their chests supporting the mouth-pieces of the horns before their faces.

‘Urso-horns,’ Florin said. ‘They’re made from the very largest ursodon males.’

‘Those beasts must have been huge,’ Orrade whispered.

‘Yes, but Bozhimir said they’d only ever found their bones. Cover your—’ Florin’s warning was drowned by a long, resonating blast from the horns. Like thunder, the sound rolled across to the far side of the valley, hit the mountain wall and reverberated back.

Several of the ursodons reared in their traces, roaring in fright as their handlers fought to control them. It was lucky the ambassador had already been unloaded.

The echo faded and Byren’s ears rang with its absence. A grey-haired man walked out and stood between the two horns.

‘I think that’s the king,’ Orrade whispered.

Byren looked down to hide a grin.

By the time he had command of his features, two young men had joined the king. Both bore a strong resemblance to him in manner and looks. Vlatajor had said the king had two sons.

Hristo mounted the steps. Pausing a body-length from the king, he bowed and remained bent over.

Jorgoskev beckoned to a skinny old man and whispered to him. The old man went down to Hristo, who gestured to Byren and his companions. As Hristo stepped aside, the old man came down the stairs, leaning heavily on a staff.

‘When you greet the king, stay at least three steps lower than him,’ Orrade advised softly.

The old man crossed the courtyard and ducked his head in a short bow. It was probably all his old back would allow. He was so hunched he had trouble tilting his head far enough to see Byren’s face.

‘Earth-meets-sky. King Jorgoskev meets King Byren and bids him welcome to Jorgofaje, greatest of all cities, jewel in the crown of the Snow Bridge.’ He spoke formal Rolencian with a slight hesitation, as if he had not had to use the language in a long time. He gestured to himself. ‘Scholar Yosiv meets King Byren. Come this way.’

Byren signalled Chandler to stay with his men before gesturing for Florin and Orrade to follow him. When they reached the steps, Byren noticed how Yosiv struggled. It would have been quicker to pick him up and carry him, but Byren resisted the temptation and instead offered his arm. Yosiv seemed surprised by the courtesy.

Orrade’s guess had been good. Even on the third step below the king, Byren’s eyes were above Jorgoskev’s.

Giving a bow that would have pleased Byren’s mother, Orrade addressed the king. ‘The people of the flat-lands speak of the beauty of the Snow Bridge. They speak of the great warrior king, Jorgoskev, and the city state that bears his name. But nothing prepared us for the reality.’ He paused while the old scholar translated.

The king nodded as if this was his due.

Orrade continued. ‘Earth-meets-sky. Byren Kingsheir, son of King Rolen the Implacable, Saviour of Rolencia, Byren Kingsheir the One True King, meets King Jorgoskev, Uniter of the Snow Bridge.’

If Orrade was going to be the courtier, Byren would play the stern warrior. He bowed with his hand across his chest. When he lifted his head Jorgoskev seemed to be weighing him up. Byren held the king’s eyes.

‘Lord Dovecote, advisor to Byren Kingsheir, meets King Jorgoskev.’ Orrade bowed then gestured to Florin. ‘Florin of Narrowneck, shield-maiden to Byren Kingsheir, meets King Jorgoskev.’

Jorgoskev looked Florin up and down, then said something to his sons. They exchanged short, contemptuous glances that irritated Byren, but Orrade had already moved on.

‘Byren Kingsheir has sat by your brother’s side, night after night, since Lord Vlatajor was injured. It is with great relief that we deliver him into your care and trust your healers will soon have him restored to good health.’

Byren hid a smile. This placed the responsibility for Vlatajor’s survival neatly on the king. Jorgoskev seemed to consider for a moment, then he nodded. If he felt anything for his brother, he did not show it. Instead, he gestured and the injured ambassador was carried away.

Jorgoskev said something.

Yosiv translated. ‘The king appreciates your care for the welfare of his brother and he would have you meet his second son. Chedojor Kingson, soon to be wed to the daughter of Dezvronofaje’s greatest family.’ A man in his mid-twenties bowed. The scholar indicated the younger man. ‘And Dragojor, the king’s grandson.’

The lad looked to be no older than fifteen, and he gave Byren the smallest bow of all.

‘The king’s heir, Jorandrej, is dealing with an uprising in Karpafaje.’

The second son said something, gesturing to Hristo.

The king asked after Nilsoden.

Hristo shaded his eyes to search the crowded courtyard where Chandler and the rest of Byren’s honour guard waited, but Nilsoden was nowhere to be seen.

The unfortunate escort apologised.

The king gestured to Byren as he replied and Byren felt Florin tense.

Yosiv turned to him. ‘King Jorgoskev asks what you would do with a body guard who fails in his duty.’

Byren rubbed his jaw, playing for time. ‘I would not presume to tell a fellow king how to rule his kingdom.’

Yosiv translated. The king exchanged looks with his eldest son.

Jorgoskev seemed to consider, then he spoke to Hristo and Yosiv translated for Byren’s benefit. ‘I placed my trust in you, Hristo, yet you failed to bring my brother home in good health. Decide your own punishment.’

Hristo swallowed. He glanced to the six men-at-arms who served under him. He could sacrifice one of them to take the blame. Instead, he drew his knife, said something that included the king’s name then drove the knife up under his ribs, into his heart.

It was a waste of a good man, and it infuriated Byren, who asked, ‘What did Hristo say, scholar?’

‘Long live King Jorgoskev.’

Florin made a sound in her throat and stumbled away to throw up. Jorgoskev’s grandson laughed.

Byren’s men muttered, and he sent Chandler a warning look. He turned back to Yosiv. ‘Please give the king my apologies. My shield-maiden has been sky-sick since we arrived.’

‘That is how it is with some people,’ the scholar said and translated for the king.

Then they were escorted into the palace, leaving Hristo’s body on the steps.

F
LORIN’S CHAMBER HAD
been completed so recently that she could smell the linseed paint. Since they thought she did not understand them the servants communicated with her by gesture and spoke freely amongst themselves. There were three of them, all youths, all richly dressed and beautiful, if you overlooked their odd colouring. And they were all soft of cheek, even though they appeared full grown.

She brushed away their helping hands to open her travelling bag. Cinna had insisted on packing one pretty gown, but Florin ignored it, laying out clothes befitting a shield-maiden. When Tutor Yosiv had translated this term as
warrior-virgin
, the king had said, ‘no wonder the giantess is a virgin.’