The Uncrowned King (30 page)

He dragged them out, their nails sliding on the polished wood. Fyn relaxed gradually. The weapons master had been right. When they were indoors, people rarely looked up for threat. Outside, it was a different story, with leogryfs and cockatrices on the prowl.

Now all he had to do was wait until the overlord returned and fell asleep, then cut his throat and take the news to Cobalt. A yawn snuck up on him. He was tired. He'd hardly slept in the last four days.

Byren woke, shoulders cold and stiff, but he was warm from the centre out, because in his arms was a sleeping bundle of small boy. For several heartbeats he just sat there. He'd led men and youths, who were eager to be warriors. He'd taught them to hunt and kill in the defence of Rolencia, but he'd never been solely responsible for a small child before today.

Seeing Rodien's trusting face, the fan of his dark lashes on smooth cheeks, Byren was overcome with the immensity of this responsibility.

Rodien stirred and focused on him. Byren saw emotions race across his face, confusion, sorrow and fear, finally he smiled. 'I'm hungry.'

Byren laughed softly. 'You and me both. Come on.'

He climbed down, lifting Rodien to the ground. Here, a trail of blood and disturbed snow were evidence of where the pony had been dragged out from under the tree. A small gap in the branches let a ray of dawn light filter through.

'Poor Blossom,' Rodien whispered.

He seemed close to tears, so Byren began unpacking the sled. 'We'll have to leave this and take only the food we can carry.'

Rodien nodded and looked up to Byren, waiting for instructions. Everything rested on him. The fate of one small boy and the fate of a kingdom.

'Hail, fellow travellers,' a voice called.

Byren froze. The voice was male and the accent revealed he was poorly educated, possibly only one generation out from the spars.

'We offer traveller's ease,' the stranger said, giving the traditional greeting.

This didn't reassure Byren. In the mountain passes spar warriors eager for wealth preyed on travellers. End of winter, early spring was when they would come out of hiding, desperate for goods to trade for food. And, with the valley under attack, they'd know they were safe from King Rolen's justice. Many a time Lence and Byren had led punitive raids against such men.

In one swift movement Byren picked Rodien up and dropped him behind the sled. 'Stay down. Stay quiet.'

Silent, pleading eyes looked up at Byren but the boy nodded his understanding.

Byren turned to face the gap in the branches where a clump of snow fell as the man thrust his head through and peered inside.

'Sveyto, servant to Scholar Veniamyn of Rolenton.' He glanced to the sled. 'You travel alone?'

'Byren, blacksmith of Rolenton.' Letting his tongue roll the Rs, Byren adopted the speech of the peasants. The borrowed cloak hid his good quality leather vest and he had five days' growth on his chin. 'Is your master headed over the pass?'

Sveyto, if that was his name, nodded. 'Hoping to get his family through before the spring melt makes travelling dangerous and the Merofynians close the pass.'

Byren's heart sank. So it was true. Rolenton had fallen.

'Who is it? Bring them out here where I can see them,' another man called, his voice heavy with the weight of command, but Byren could detect a hint of fear, and if he could, then so could the guide.

'Step out in the open, friend.' Sveyto gestured for Byren to pass him.

Byren instinctively distrusted anyone who used 'friend' in that way.

Without looking down at Rodien, who he hoped would remain quiet, Byren stepped out from under the cover of the snow-shrouded pine into a crisp early morning. Fingers of pale sunlight streamed horizontally through the evergreens, illuminating the travellers. A well-dressed scholar stood near a serviceable horse, laden with travelling bags, and a pretty girl of about ten. On the second horse two slightly older, but equally pretty, girls rode amidst more baggage. The last horse dragged a sled covered in belongings. There were no other sell-swords.

Sveyto had called himself a servant, but Byren knew a sell-sword when he met one. The sell-sword was the kind of man a merchant hired to provide protection for his goods. Scholar Veniamyn must have hired him to guide them through the foothills and over the pass, believing his family would be safer in Foenix Spar than in the captured city.

Byren's gaze returned to the scholar. The last time they had met was at the midwinter feast in his father's castle.

Byren ducked his head in a peasant's bow. 'Byren, blacksmith of Rolenton at your service, sor.'

Veniamyn's eyes widened only slightly as recognition hit him, but he did not reveal this, keeping up Byren's pretence. 'You look like a strong young man, blacksmith. Ride with us and share the journey's dangers. We heard a Lincis's hunting cry last night. I see your horse has been taken.'

'Pony,' Byren corrected. 'But I'm only going as far as Cedar tradepost.'

'That suits us.' The scholar cast his servant an acerbic glance. 'We seem to have lost our way and have been wandering in these woods for two days now.'

Byren understood his meaning. Veniamyn had paid Sveyto to guide them, only to have him lead them astray. The sell-sword was probably leading them towards his brigand friends. Those three pretty daughters would fetch a high price on the Utlands, higher still on Ostron Isle where slavery sustained the economy.

'Cedar tradepost is about one day's travel across the ridge.' Byren pointed. 'Be glad to show you the way. But there's something you must know. I'm not travelling alone.'

He ignored Sveyto as he returned to where Rodien was hiding. 'Come on, lad. We've found some fellow travellers.'

'Then we'll be safe from the Affinity beasts?' Rodien asked.

'Aye.' Though Byren suspected they would not be safe from human predators. He finished removing the food packs and retied the sled. 'We'll have to leave it. Miron might be able to come back for it sometime.'

Rodien shouldered his bag, obviously unworried about their belongings. 'When can we eat?'

'Soon.' As Byren turned to the gap in the branches, he felt a small hand slide into his and they stepped into the open.

No one spoke for a moment. The sell-sword frowned at him and Byren guessed Scholar Veniamyn was confused, for he knew Byren had no children.

'That boy's too small, Master Veniamyn,' Sveyto protested. 'The blacksmith's son will -'

'He's not my son. I fell in with him and his da. Ulfr pack took his da yesterday.'

'Oh, the poor boy!' the eldest of Veniamyn's daughters cried. She was about Piro's age, but more rounded and traditionally pretty. 'We can't leave him behind, Father.'

'He can ride with me, Papa,' the littlest girl offered, making room for him by shuffling back. 'I'll hold him.'

Veniamyn sent Byren a silent plea.
See, these are good girls, kind girls
.
You are a good man,
help me get them to safety
.

'I thank you, little mistress,' Byren said, swinging Rodien up onto the horse in front of the ten-year-old.

She wrapped her arms around him protectively.

'I can hold on!' he protested.

Veniamyn laughed. Sveyto turned away in thinly disguised disgust.

'We'd best set off,' Byren announced. Suiting his actions to his words, he took the horse's reins from Veniamyn and headed off down the slope, the scholar falling into step with him while Sveyto led the sled horse.

Byren dug around in his food pack, finding one of last summer's apples and passing it back to Rodien. 'Eat this.'

'Thank you, Byren Kingson, for coming to my aid,' Scholar Veniamyn whispered.

'Blacksmith for now,' Byren corrected, casting the sell-word a swift look. For all he knew there was a price on his head. At least, it seemed Veniamyn had not heard about his disgrace. Perhaps all who knew of it had been killed when the castle fell.

What a terrible thing to be grateful for!

'I assumed you are headed into the mountains to raise an army. I would stay and fight with you, but what would become of my daughters? I don't want them living wild in caves like savages. Besides,' the scholar confessed, 'I am not a fighter.'

'Each man must do what his conscience tells him,' Byren agreed. But inside he wondered how he would raise an army to retake Rolencia.

Fyn woke with a lurch and the sense that time had passed, a lot of time. He lay very still, listening.

There were voices from the room beyond and the sound of furniture being moved. Light filtered through the single high window. Daylight.

He'd slept the night away.

Shame flooded him.

How could he?

His mouth went dry with anguish. It had been the perfect opportunity to kill Palatyne. Mortification ate at him. First he had failed the abbot, now this.

He waited, the voices faded.

Nothing.

He sat up and prepared to lower his weight, slinging the grappling hook and rope over his shoulder, then swinging his legs off the beam. He planned to lower himself until he hung by his arms, then drop to the floor which would be more than a body length below his feet.

The door opened without warning. Fyn froze, legs astride the beam.

'Empty,' a voice called to others in the far room.

'Good, the hold's full. If we find anything else, it can travel on the next ship. Palatyne won't miss it until he gets home.'

'Don't you bet on it,' the one in the doorway muttered. 'He'll inspect the stores, when he gets to Port Marchand. He knows every single thing he took out of the trophy room. He's as much of a pinch-purse as any merchant.' As the Merofynian closed the door Fyn heard him add, 'And I don't want him accusing me of feathering my own...'

Fyn swung his legs back up then lay full length again. He counted to a hundred, slowly, but there wasn't a sound. All the while, frustration grew - Palatyne was setting off for Port Marchand.

If the worst came to the worst he could barter a ride to the port and catch up with Palatyne there. This time he must not fail.

Chapter Nineteen

Mid-afternoon, Byren called a halt for the third time that day. He'd been pushing the horses and they were exhausted, as were the children, but their party needed to reach Cedar tradepost before dusk, when the palisade gate was closed.

While he helped little Rodien down from the horse, he watched the surrounding trees. No birds sang, possibly because their party was large enough to scare them off. Still, he hadn't failed to note how Sveyto kept watching the pine forest. And the horses had been restive all day, spooked by something.

'Me next.' The ten year-old held out her arms trustingly.

Byren lifted her to the snow, feeling the tug of his wound. It felt weeks old, rather than days. That healer had done a fine job. He wished he could have done a better job protecting her brother, the dyer.

'Thank you, master blacksmith.' The girl beamed up at him, revealing beguiling dimples, then ran off to join her sisters.

'A few moments, that's all,' Byren called after her.

Scholar Veniamyn came over to join him, keeping his voice low as he watched his eldest daughter hand out dried fruit and nuts. Despite earlier breaks to rest and eat, it was the first chance they'd had to speak together, without the sell-sword hovering over them. 'You think Sveyto has been leading us astray?'

'Undoubtedly.' Byren glanced around the clearing. 'Speaking of which, where is he?'

'He stepped into the trees to relieve himself.'

Byren nodded. 'Think I'll follow his lead.' He raised his voice. 'Rodien, do you need to pee?'

The boy trotted over, chewing on his dried fruit, cheeks bulging. He swallowed and nodded.

Taking his hand, Byren followed Sveyto's tracks into the trees, chose a spot and unlaced his breeches. When they were done he came back and took the girls off, standing guard with his back to them.

The necessities taken care of, he returned to find there was still no sign of the sell-sword.

'Help the children mount up,' Byren told Veniamyn. 'I'm going to check on Sveyto.'

He jogged through the snow following the man's tracks. Soon he found where Sveyto had stopped to urinate, but instead of returning, the sell-sword had made off through the snow and the length of his stride indicated he'd been in a hurry.

It confirmed Byren's worst fears. The man had gone looking for his companions, meaning to lead them back to cut off Byren's group before they could reach safety.

Cursing fluently, he turned around to find the ulfr pack leader only two body lengths from him, between him and the clearing.

Surprise made his heart race.

'Eh, there,' Byren whispered, deliberately making his voice low and crooning. 'Have you been following me?' Was there enough residual Affinity from the seep on his skin to fool the beast a second time? There'd been no chance for him to bathe.