The Uncrowned King (37 page)

'It's code, boy.' Bantam clipped him over the ear. 'The captain writes in code. Back to work.'

Fyn hurried to obey, his ear still burning from the blow. He did not need to read the name to guess who the captain reported to. For all he knew, Nefysto was a younger son of the elector's own family. Hounding Utland raiders was considered an honourable, if dangerous, line of work, for someone from Ostron Isle. Rolencia and Merofynia encouraged the sea-hounds, because they helped keep the sea-lanes free of plunderers.

Once on deck, Bantam turned to Fyn. Despite being smaller than him, the little sea-hound exuded an air of menace. 'I'm quartermaster of this ship, which means my word is as good as the captain's. Now listen, lad, I'm not impressed by your fancy heathen tattoos. Behave yourself or you go overboard.'

Fyn shuddered. He could swim, but in the open sea, at this time of year, he would be dead of cold before the wyverns crunched his bones.

Bantam set him to work beside Jakulos, who was the ship's boatswain, in charge of the anchors, cordage and rigging. Jaku put him alongside a youth about his own age. Fyn did his best to keep up as they lowered the sails, now that the wind was rising. Fyn didn't understand why the captain wanted to slow their pace, but he'd learnt at the abbey to keep his head down and watch, so this was what he did.

The light wooden slats running horizontal across the sail had a concertina effect. Fyn was glad he had a good head for heights, if only the deck would stop swaying.

Hanging over the cross beam he saw a black and white bird fly up from the captain's cabin windows at the rear of the ship and disappear to the east. He guessed it was on its way to Ostron Isle.

What his father would have given for some pica Affinity beasts. But the electors of Ostron Isle kept the breeding and training of their messenger birds a closely guarded secret.

Fyn climbed down and returned to Jaku.

'Does the ruler of Ostron pay well for information?' Fyn asked Jakulos.

The big man laughed. 'The elector is dying. The nobles eat and drink and watch, waiting like vultures for him to drop so they can bicker over the electorship!'

Fyn frowned. If that was so, then who was Nefysto reporting to? There had to be a power behind the elector.

It did not concern Fyn. He would bide his time and obey Bantam on the
Wyvern's Whelp
until they put into Ostron Isle, where he would jump ship and barter a berth back to Port Marchand.

Piro found it hard to say goodbye to Rolencia. She bit her bottom lip as she stood on the ship's deck, watching Port Marchand recede. True, they had yet to cross the bay and sail through the headlands, where Sylion Abbey perched high on the cliff, but it was symbolic, seeing the grand houses of Port Marchand fade in the distance.

High above her the sails, with their ribs of fine wood, caught the wind, creaking with the strain. If it hadn't meant leaving her homeland behind, she would have been excited. Her mother had told her so many stories about Merofynia, she felt as if she knew the palace already.

As it was, she couldn't help thrilling to the sight of their vessel sailing in formation with seven other fat-bellied merchant ships, all heavy with Rolencian booty, laden with warriors to fight off raiders. As well as this, four sea-hounds - fleet shallow-draught vessels, race-horses to the merchant plough-horses - kept pace with them, offering a further deterrent.

As long as she kept out of the overlord's way, she'd be safe. But that was hardly a plan. Until she could free her essence from the amber pendant, she dared not run away from Lord Dunstany. Frustration ate at her.

Dunstany's servant, Soterro, joined her at the rail. 'His lordship wants you.'

She took a step back. 'How long will it take to reach Port Mero?'

'Five days with a good wind, never if we meet up with pirates.'

He sounded so lugubrious, she laughed.

'Don't mock me. Our holds are crammed with Rolencian treasure, the perfect lure -'

'And hundreds of warriors, plus four shiploads of sea-hounds. That should be enough to keep us safe!'

Byren sat by their smokeless fire that night, pleased to see Florin happy. Nan hadn't been harmed, but the Merofynians continued to scour the foothills, searching for the missing kingson. It made Byren suspect one of the brigands had escaped the ulfr pack and carried word of his near-capture back to the invaders.

'We can't go down into the valley to go back the way we came. We cannot risk walking into a band of Merofynian warriors, eager to win favour with their overlord.' Orrade looked grim. 'We'll have to trek across country, over the high foothills, and it will take days to pick our way through the ravines back to the camp.'

'I can guide you. Pa is a valley-man, but Ma was high-country bred. There are paths known only to hill-people,' Florin revealed. 'Hidden signs for those who know.'

Byren snorted. He had long suspected as much.

'Good. We leave in a couple of days,' Orrade announced.

'We leave tomorrow,' Byren corrected. 'I've had one day's rest and I can't bear to sit still any longer. As long as we go slow, I'll build up my strength. How long will it take?'

Florin shrugged. 'It would have been quicker to skate the canals. Through the ravines... five days, maybe more.'

Five days before he faced the survivors of Dovecote estate. Five days to make his plans and gather his strength. So much depended on him, the second son, the spare heir, now the only survivor of King Rolen's kin.

Sorrow and bitterness sat heavy in his belly like indigestible green fruit.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Piro clutched the rail, enjoying the rise and fall of the ship, and the feel of the wind in her face. Unlike Grysha, she did not suffer from sea-sickness. Today, for the first time, the boy was up and about, which was ironic, since they would make port tomorrow.

And they'd made it so far without incident. True, they'd sighted sails that kept pace with them at a distance, but the size of the convoy and the added threat of the sea-hounds must have convinced the Utland raiders the booty was not worth the risk. They'd be cursing themselves if only they knew how richly laden the ships were.

Grysha joined her at the rail. Physically he was a pale imitation of himself. The sea-sickness seemed to have distilled his essence, so that the nastiness, which had been hidden before under a boyish demeanour, was closer to the surface. 'The master wants you.'

She said nothing, heading downstairs to the first deck, midship. With two hundred fighting men aboard Palatyne's ship as well as the ship's crew, she was glad she travelled as Dunstany's page. Some of the men gave her strange looks as she passed by but no one dared to trouble her. She suspected it was not her disguise so much as fear of the Power-worker that protected her.

As she entered the corridor that led to the cabins, Dunstany opened the last door. 'Seelon, bring food fit for the overlord.'

She returned to the crowded midship, where the cook governed the galley with its huge iron stove. He piled savoury bread and tasty preserves on her tray. She thanked him, then picked her way over the legs of dozing sailors, past warriors playing the card-game version of Duelling Kingdoms along the narrow corridor to Lord Dunstany's cabin.

Palatyne had commandeered the captain's cabin up on the deck above, leaving the Power-workers and the captain to make the best of the below-deck cabins. In the cramped quarters the Utlander's hatred for the noble scholar was hard to miss.

Dunstany greeted Piro outside the door to his cabin, whispering, 'The overlord has requested an interview with me and he particularly asked after you, so keep your ears open and eyes down. Palatyne has grown daily more uneasy since we left Port Marchand. We land in Merofynia tomorrow and I think he plans something.'

Piro nodded her understanding, grateful for the warning. It was strange, since leaving Rolencia, she and the noble scholar had become conspirators, watching the Utlander and the overlord for signs of treachery.

When she backed into the room, Piro found Palatyne had taken the only seat. She had to step over his long legs to place the tray on the desk. Dunstany sat on his bunk, indicating Piro was to pour the wine from his private store.

'No Merofynian ruler has ever done what I've done,' Palatyne remarked in brash, spar-accented Merofynian, obviously pleased with himself. 'Now that I've conquered Rolencia, King Merofyn will not dare refuse me his daughter. By midsummer I will have Isolt for my wife. She's pretty enough and young enough to train so that she jumps at my word. Wedded to her, I'll be the king-in-waiting.'

Piro felt sorry for Isolt Kingsdaughter. But perhaps Palatyne was getting the worst of the bargain. Perhaps Isolt was just like her father, cunning and dangerous. Piro smiled grimly. Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter would have to get in line if she planned to kill Palatyne.

'Drink to the king-in-waiting!' Palatyne raised his wine. 'Come midsummer, I will no longer fear a toothless old man!'

'That toothless old man is still very clever,' Dunstany said. 'King Merofyn has ensured the loyalty of his nobles by taking their first born in his service. They dare not move against him.'

'I shall do the same when I am king.' Palatyne took a deep gulp of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Today he did not wear the amfina surcoat, but an elaborate court gown of velvet and black satin, embroidered with stylised wyverns in royal azure. His clothes proclaimed the title he craved but his actions betrayed his barbarian origins. He drained his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand again. 'Now I'm going to give you a chance to prove your loyalty, Dunstany. I know you are King Merofyn's spy, but I suspect you are also a man who can see where his best interests lie.'

The noble scholar spread his hands. 'My king is sick and old, but he could live another five years.'

'I don't want to wait that long. A king-in-waiting may never be king. My saddle girth could come loose and I could break my neck while hunting, just as King Sefon did. Then my betrothed would marry one of her father's favourites and I would never sit on the throne.' Palatyne leant forwards, dropping his voice. 'No. I want to ensure the old man is safely buried as soon as we are married. I need a poison which mimics a natural death and you are going to supply it.'

The overlord's meaning was clear. If the noble scholar did not supply the poison, Palatyne would have him killed.

Dunstany switched to Rolencian. 'More wine, Seelon.'

As she poured two more glasses, she had to admire his calm as he played the game of Duelling Kingdoms for real.

After she poured the wine, Palatyne caught Piro's wrist. 'I have been admiring your pretty slave since Port Marchand, Dunstany. Why dress her as a boy?'

'A boy is safer travelling with the army.'

'A man would have to be blind to think her a boy!' Palatyne frowned, studying Piro. 'I need a suitable proposal gift for the kingsdaughter.'

'There are many pretty girls,' Dunstany said quickly.

'But this one comes from Rolencia. She provides visible evidence of my triumph.' Palatyne smiled. 'I will have Seela for Isolt.'

Piro's gaze flew to Dunstany's face. For a fraction of a heartbeat, he looked startled, then annoyed. Had she betrayed herself? No, even though she was not meant to understand Merofynian, she would have recognised her assumed name. Rather, Dunstany was reluctant to part with her.

'Of course she's yours if you want her.' Dunstany spoke so smoothly that Piro thought she must have been mistaken. 'The girl has a sweet singing voice and she comes up well in clean clothes. Despite her crude language, she could learn to be a lady's maid. And she's not stupid -'

'Not too clever I hope?'

'No, thank the stars!'

They both laughed and Piro would have turned away to hide her burning cheeks but Palatyne pulled her closer. Taking the wine bottle from her, he spoke poor Rolencian. 'Let me look at you.' He took her chin in his hand, turning her face this way and that. 'Sing something.'

Hatred filled Piro's heart, threatening to choke her. But she could not afford to give in to her emotions. This was the man who had murdered her mother before her very eyes. He would not hesitate to slit her throat if he guessed who she was.

'Sing what, sor?' she asked.

'Anything.' Palatyne released her chin and she straightened, wondering what kind of songs a serving girl would know. It had been a shock to learn he meant to give her to Isolt, but living in the royal household as slave to the kingsdaughter would give her the perfect opportunity to kill the overlord.

Why, in the palace she could even kill King Merofyn!

Piro felt a smile curve her lips and hoped it did not look as wolfish as it felt. Tentatively, she sang the first few lines of a ditty she'd heard the washer women sing as they worked.

Both men laughed.

'Hardly suitable for a kingsdaughter to hear,' Palatyne remarked and she realised she had sung something ribald. There must have been double meanings in the words.

'Isolt has been reared as a kingsdaughter should, she won't understand a crude Rolencian song about a lonely widow,' Dunstany said.