The Uncrowned King (34 page)

As he'd dozed he'd grown familiar with the sounds of the cottage, the bleating of the long-haired goats, the barking of the dogs and the cackle of the chickens. Speaking of which, he could smell a pot of chicken and onion broth cooking on the hearth. His stomach rumbled and he looked forward to dinner.

The thump of running boots crossed the yard outside, entered the cottage and made straight for where he lay. Byren rolled onto his side and carefully levered himself up to sitting, feet on the floor. He reached for the pants the old woman had put out for him and flinched as his muscles protested.

Orrade charged into the tiny room. 'Good, you're up. Merofynians are coming up the valley, searching the farms. We have to go.'

In the main room he heard Florin and her nan packing food, preparing travelling bundles. Their haste was evident by their clipped, concise comments.

Byren grunted with annoyance. He hated being so weak. 'Need help getting my trews and boots on.'

Orrade guided his legs into the trouser legs. The pants were a bit short and tight around the waist.

'Eh, Florin's granddad must have been a funny shape.'

'Not really.' Orrade snorted softly. 'You're wearing Florin's breeches.' Businesslike, he dragged on thick woollen socks and laced up Byren's own boots. Just as well, with the size of his feet he couldn't have worn anyone else's.

Orrade helped him stand, dragged off the night-shirt and pulled a knitted vest over his shoulders, then a thick, high-country coat of sheep hide, with the woollen side innermost. Lastly, he placed a knitted cap on Byren's head. 'Now at least you'll look the part of a hill-man, if we're caught.'

Moving with great care, Byren shuffled out to the kitchen, where Leif waited, while Nan and Florin tied the travelling bundles closed.

Florin looked up. As she took in his careful stance, her strong face grew sharp with worry and the excitement faded from her dark eyes.

'He can hardly walk. How will we get away?' Leif asked, voicing what they were all thinking.

Florin tossed her bundle to her brother. 'I'll carry him on m'back. Orrie and I can take turns.'

'Halcyon will freeze over before I let a girl carry me!' Byren drove himself to straighten further, despite the deep ache in his belly. Unfortunately, his knees gave way and he would have crumpled if Orrade hadn't caught him, sliding his shoulder under Byren's.

'Don't stand on your dignity, lad,' the old woman told him. 'If you're found here, it'll be the death of all of us.'

She was right. Byren cursed. If only he had his strength. 'I can ride, if you tie me to the saddle.'

'We have nothing but an old mountain pony. Besides, they're watching all the trails out of the valley.' The old woman shook her head. 'We must hide you for now. There are caves up in the ravines. Florin knows the way. She'll guide you. Orrie will carry you if he has to. Leif can manage your things.'

The boy slung his own bundle, as well as theirs, across his shoulders, as if to prove her point. Byren felt inadequate and hated it.

'We don't mind. You led us when we trapped the manticore pride and killed them,' Leif said, his eyes alight with excitement, fixed on Byren's face. 'You killed a leogryf with your bare hands -'

'I had a knife,' Byren corrected. 'And this is not the same.'

'All of Rolencia is talking about how you walked into Halcyon Abbey after the Merofynians took it and dared them to catch you.'

Byren shook his head. 'That wasn't how it happened.'

'No?' The old woman pinned him with her clever gaze. 'But it is how they're telling it. The people of Rolencia need Byren Leogryfslayer. So swallow your pride, lad, and get out the back door before the Merofynians arrive.'

Chastened, Byren hobbled outside, leaning heavily on Orrade. He glanced over his shoulder to see Florin hug her grandmother in the back doorway.

Meanwhile, Leif beamed as though this was a great adventure, but Byren knew better. If they were caught the Merofynians wouldn't let the boy's youth stop their swords.

Byren blinked back tears of frustration and fury. He channelled the anger into empowering his weak body. Florin strode past, her long legs and easy stride propelling her swiftly across the ground. Leif took little skipping steps to keep up with her. Byren sucked in a deep breath, feeling the wound pull.

'Concentrate on escaping and getting better,' the old woman called after him. 'You can only fight one battle at a time.'

She was right. Head down, Byren focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Soon they were beyond the barn and workshed. Under the tall pines night was already closing in. Snow lay thick on the ground. Orrade pulled up sharply and Byren took the chance to catch his breath.

'Wait, Florin, our trail will give us away.'

She called over her shoulder. 'We thought of that. Nan's gone to bring the goats in for the night. They'll cover our tracks.'

She strode on, powerful thighs driving them upwards along the trail. Byren feared, even with Orrade's supporting shoulder under his, he would not be able to keep up with her for long.

'How far are these caves anyway?' he muttered.

'How far to the caves, Florin?' Orrade called.

She did not slow. 'We'll be there by midnight.'

He'd never make it.

'I'll carry you if I must,' Orrade whispered. He was half a head shorter than Byren and slender, but on other journeys his wiry strength had outlasted almost everyone, so Byren did not doubt him.

'What if the Merofynians follow us up to the caves?' Byren asked, between breaths.

Florin glanced over her shoulder. 'You could hide an army in the foothills of the Divide.'

They walked in silence through the deepening twilight, their breath misting with every step.

After a while, a raucous barking echoed from the farmhouse below them. They had already climbed so high that, when they paused to peer back down the hillside, they could only glimpse the snow-covered roofs and smoking chimney pot of the farmhouse between the pines.

'The dogs don't like the Merofynians,' Florin muttered.

'Nan should set the dogs on them!' her brother said. 'I would!'

'Hush, Leif. Do that and you'd get yourself killed,' Florin muttered.

'If Byren wasn't injured he'd send them to meet their gods!'

Byren shook his head. 'Not when there's a dozen of them and only one of me. Better to bide your time and attack when you know you can win.'

Florin gave him a smile. He didn't need her approval.

Driving himself to stand, he faced uphill. 'How much further?'

Orrade looked to Florin.

'Not far now.'

But Byren knew she was lying to encourage him.

They moved on. Byren's legs had seized up during the short rest and now his thigh muscles ached with each step and his injury tugged across his belly with each breath. He gritted his teeth and said nothing.

The night was clear. With the stars so bright and the white snow reflecting their light, they had no need of a lantern. The higher they went, the taller and thinner the pine trees got.

All too soon Byren's head was buzzing and his breath wheezed in his chest. He had to rest.

'We'll stop for a bit,' Florin said.

'I can keep going,' Byren lied.

'Leif needs to rest. He has to take two steps for your one,' she told him.

'I could walk all night if I had to,' Leif insisted, despite the fact that Byren could see his legs trembling. 'I don't have to rest.'

'Well, I do,' Orrade muttered. 'Byren weighs as much as a full-grown leogryf.'

As he slipped out from under Orrade's shoulder and sat on a rock, Byren noticed Florin send his friend a look of thanks.

Leif chose to sit next to Byren, who took the chance to suck in deep breaths.

'We're making good time,' Florin said. 'I only hope Nan's all right. They wouldn't hurt an old woman, would they?'

Orrade caught Byren's eye. They both knew the Merofynians would hurt the old woman, if they thought it served their purpose. He felt Leif tense at his side and lied without a qualm. 'No. Your nan will be fine.'

He only hoped he would not be proven wrong.

Piro watched Overlord Palatyne's food-taster eat a sliver of roast beef and thanked Halcyon she wasn't his food-taster. She would rather starve than risk poisoning to protect him.

This was their second evening in the house of a wealthy Marchand merchant, resting while their ships were being provisioned for the journey. Merofynia wasn't far as the crow flies, but it was a long journey by sea around the warlords' spars, through the scattered Utlands, and past the famous Mulcibar's Gate into Mero Bay.

'The meat is delicious, overlord,' the man said. Piro wondered what the point of a food-taster was, if someone was clever enough to use a slow-acting poison that accumulated in the body.

Palatyne tore off a chunk of meat and sank his teeth into it. His eyes closed in bliss as he chewed.

'You see,' the merchant smiled. 'My cook is the best in Port Marchand. I am a realist, Overlord Palatyne. My wealth comes from trade, I don't bother with the politics of Ostron Isle or Merofynia. A wise merchant can make a fine profit from war.'

Fury made Piro's stomach clench. Only last midsummer this man had sat at her father's high table and praised King Rolen for Rolencia's peace and prosperity. And he probably meant every word, just as he did now.

'Have you tried the sweet potatoes?' the merchant asked the Utland Power-worker. 'Or the sugared plums? They came all the way from Ostron Isle.'

'A Power-worker's body is the tool of his trade. He must not absorb impure food, and Ostronite plums are cured in wine,' the Utlander explained.

'You jest?' The merchant grinned, but then saw he didn't. 'Ah, an Utland custom.'

He caught the noble Power-worker's eyes, sending him a patronising smile which said
we are not barbarians
. Lord Dunstany did not respond.

Overlord Palatyne bristled, for he was a spar warrior and only one step up from an Utlander. 'Did you see King Rolen's royal emblems? The silver ones belonged to Queen Myrella, the kingsdaughter and Byren Kingsheir.' He stroked the pendants which lay on his chest, bright against the azure velvet. His belligerent gaze seemed to say,
you may laugh at me because I wasn't born a noble but you cannot deny I am a slayer of kings
. 'The electrum emblem belonged to Lence Kingsheir and this large golden foenix was King Rolen's.'

'Very fine,' the merchant said, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

'All I am missing is the youngest son's emblem and it looks like the religious son was not wearing his, for we searched every acolyte's body in the abbey without luck.'

'I hear you offered a reward for Byren Kingsheir, alive or dead,' an Ostronite noble said. He was young and handsome, dressed in velvet and lace Ostronite-style, yet he had a hardness about him that Piro recognised from watching her father's experienced warriors. She did not doubt he was a sea-hound captain, capable of routing Utland raiders. And he was clearly not afraid of the overlord, for now he baited him. 'Yet you have his emblem? They say he escaped from an abbey full of Merofynians.'

Palatyne glared at the Ostronite, then at his Power-workers. 'Have you any news for me on the missing kingson?'

'Nothing, overlord,' the Utlander admitted. 'He is protected by someone. I swear Halcyon's mystics master must have escaped the ambush, for I cannot pinpoint where the kingson is hiding.'

'The Utlander is right,' Lord Dunstany said, which pleased his rival. 'I have not been able to locate him either.'

'Then I must rely on my own men,' Palatyne said. 'Gold will loosen the farmers' tongues, and if that doesn't, it's hard to work a farm missing your right hand!'

Piro shuddered. The more she knew of the overlord, the more she was convinced he did not deserve to live. Pity would not stay her hand when the time came.

Lord Dunstany signalled Piro to pour him more wine. As she did, her gaze fixed on the amber pendant that hung around his neck. The tiny figure trapped in the stone was a constant reminder of her enslavement.

The merchant glanced briefly at Piro, his gaze passing right through her. He did not recognise this Merofynian page as Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter. People only saw what they expected to see.

Palatyne stood up and belched. 'Ahh, I'm for bed. We sail first thing in the morning.'

Dismay flooded Piro. She did not want to leave Rolencia. Should she steal the amber pendant, sneak into the overlord's bedroom tonight and kill him, and stow away on a sled-boat back to Rolenton?

Lord Dunstany caught her eye as he stood. His gaze held a warning. It seemed he was always one step ahead of her. The pendant never left his neck, even when he slept.

Piro fought a yawn. Freezing Sylion, she was tired. At least she didn't have to listen to Soterro's snores. He and the cook were already in bed in the servants' quarters. During the journey, Lord Dunstany had kept her with him as if she really was his page. He had even told Soterro and the cook to call her Seelon, the male version of her assumed name.