‘And I was inviting King Jorgoskev’s brother to feast with us tonight,’ Feid said, catching Cinna’s eye.
His lady wife excused herself to prepare a suitable chamber and see the cook about the feast. As she left, a servant entered, bearing a tray laden with food and drink. Florin took a glass of wine and approached Vlatajor. ‘The Snow Bridge man with the broken leg was called Bozhimir. Do you know him?’
Vlatajor lifted his hands. ‘The Snow Bridge is a big place. It is as large as Rolencia. There are six city states, each with as many inhabitants as your largest city. It will not surprise you that I have not heard of this Bozhimir.’
Florin flushed. ‘I see.’
One of the Snow Bridge warriors turned to the other, saying something in their language. Florin picked up every third word. ‘Judging by his name ... probably a Karpafajite ... always put profit ahead ...’
‘You know our language?’ Vlatajor asked, his perceptive eyes on her.
‘No.’ Florin had been surprised she’d understood anything, but now she lied instinctively. ‘But the rhythm and cadences sound familiar. They bring back fond memories.’
Vlatajor studied her.
‘I do remember this,’ Florin offered and deliberately recited a crude rhyme that Bozhimir used to sing when he was drunk.
The Snow Bridge warriors laughed and exchanged glances.
Vlatajor patted her hand. ‘Do not sing that in public.’
Florin flushed and apologised.
Orrade tapped the war-table, indicating the Snow Bridge. ‘I was taught your land was mostly rocky ridges.’
Vlatajor nodded. ‘But between each ridge is a rich valley, and the longest valley stretches the length of the Snow Bridge from north to south.’
‘Forgive me, but if your valleys are so large and your cities so prosperous, why do we see so little of your people?’
‘Our city states have engaged in endless wars. First one would be in ascendance, then the other. The only thing that united us was our—forgive me—our dislike of flat-landers. But now that my brother has united all the city states, he is opening the Snow Bridge to trade and looks to make an alliance with his neighbours.’
‘There is my sister, Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter,’ Byren said. ‘She is almost of marriageable age. An alliance through marriage could be negotiated.’
‘That is a possibility,’ Vlatajor conceded.
Florin wondered what Piro would think of it. Just then, Lady Cinna returned to escort the Snow Bridge ambassador and his men to their chamber.
After they’d left, Feid turned to Byren. ‘You’ll send for Piro?’
‘She’s safe in Ostron Isle for now. Let’s see what we can negotiate on the strength of her betrothal.’
‘Piro won’t like it,’ Florin said. ‘And the king’s brother wasn’t keen.’
Byren and Feid glanced to her.
‘Florin’s right,’ Orrade said. ‘By marrying his daughter to Byren, King Jorgoskev plants one of his grandsons on the Rolencian Throne. By marrying Piro to his son, he gets an alliance with Rolencia, and a grandson on the throne he has already won.’
Byren laughed. ‘See, Feid, Orrade can out-think any man I’ve ever met.’
Orrade turned to Florin. ‘You know their customs and understand their language. What did they say when you asked about Bozhimir?’
‘Something about him coming from the city of Karpafaje and putting profit ahead of something. I didn’t catch it all.’
Byren ginned. ‘How is it you speak—’
‘It took Bozhimir nearly a year to learn to walk again.’
‘You should appoint Florin your ambassador to King Jorgoskev,’ Orrade said.
‘What?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I’m taking Leif and going home tomorrow.’
‘It’s not safe for Florin in Rolencia,’ Feid said. ‘The Merofynians saw her with you and she’s so tall, she stands out in a crowd.’
Florin flushed as Byren and Orrade looked her up and down. She was having none of this. ‘We’ll go to our grandmother.’
‘That’s the grandmother who gave us shelter?’ Byren asked. ‘As I recall, we had to climb a mountain path to escape when Cobalt’s men turned up. If sheltering you brings his men down on her again, is your grandmother up to that climb?’
‘Stay with us, Florin,’ Feid urged. ‘Cinna misses you and Leif is like a son to me.’
Florin flushed. If she stayed here, every day she would see what Feid and Cinna shared and be reminded that she could never have it with Byren. It would make her hard and bitter before her time. Better she go.
‘I know my way around. I can pass unnoticed when I have to,’ Florin said. ‘We leave tomorrow.’
Chapter Forty-Two
FYN HAD TO admire Sefarra’s determination. They’d walked all afternoon and all through the night, with Camoric’s sea-hounds forming a long tail that snaked back down the path.
Now, as the sun rose, they approached the mine. Fyn could smell porridge cooking and his stomach rumbled.
‘It’s just around that outcrop of rocks,’ Sefarra said.
‘Come on, I want to get a look first,’ Fyn said. ‘You never know, the spar warlord might have freed the seven-year slaves.’
Sefarra shrugged. ‘He didn’t last time.’
‘Besides, there’s always a demand for sorbt stones,’ Camoric said. ‘If he had any sense he’d keep the mine running.’
‘Come on.’ Fyn found a spot where they could stretch out on the dew-damp rocks and get a clear view.
Across from them the mine’s entrance was a dark shadow in the cliff wall.
‘My family found the cave with the sorbt stones over two hundred years ago,’ Sefarra whispered.
Fyn studied the mine, which appeared undisturbed. Under the watchful eye of two guards, four men came out of the mine carrying pots. They went over to an open fire where water was heating and began to scrub the pots. Apart from one building with an overgrown turf roof, the rest of the storerooms and out-houses were made of wood, which had not yet been silvered by time.
‘Looks like most of the buildings were erected within the last season,’ Camoric said, ‘after the fall of King Rolen.’
Fyn flinched to hear his father’s death referred to.
‘They are all new, except for that one.’ Sefarra indicated the building with the turf roof. ‘Our workers used to sleep in there. Now it’s the guard-house. The seven-year slaves sleep in the cavern just inside the mine’s entrance.’
Fyn pointed to the field in front of the mine, where two fences formed an inner and outer arc. They were spaced a stone’s throw apart and weren’t very sturdy. ‘Why didn’t they build a palisade? A determined man could easily slip through the first fence and run across the empty field to the second—’
‘It’s not empty. Come on.’ Sefarra returned to the track where the others waited.
All of the sea-hounds had caught up now. They watched as Sefarra beckoned two of her people, telling them to bring something.
She turned to Fyn and Camoric. ‘This way. And don’t go near the fence, Fyn.’
He saw why when an emaciated lincis crept out of a lair in the cliff at the higher end of the field. Half wolf, half leopard, lincis were generally solitary creatures, but this one was a mother with two young cubs. No wonder she looked half-starved, the cubs were still feeding from her. Fyn didn’t like to see creatures suffer.
On seeing the lincis, Sefarra whispered, ‘Oh, Father, I would never have...’ She glanced over her shoulder to Fyn and Camoric. ‘He was so proud of himself. To deter escape, he had the Affinity beast and her cubs captured. They’re fed just enough to survive.’
‘The mother’s thin, but she could still—’
‘She won’t escape,’ Sefarra said softly. ‘Go over to the fence, Fyn.’
As he approached, he noticed stones wedged into the posts. And, a heartbeat later, he felt a discomfort that quickly increased until it was painful. ‘Absorber stones... But
—’
‘If enough are placed in close proximity, the effect is multiplied,’ Sefarra said. ‘So the stones repel the Affinity beasts... ingenious.’ Fyn backed away, fighting instinctive anger.
‘I understand why the lincis is trapped between the two fences,’ Camoric said. ‘But how do the guards deliver supplies? Let me guess, they load up the carts with enough stones to deter the beast.’ He glanced over to Sefarra. ‘Whose idea was it to use the sorbt stones this way?’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘I had a theory that it would work. I never... I didn’t consider how the lincis would feel.’
As if to echo this, the Affinity beast gave a harsh cry.
Immediately, three men came running from the guard-house and another two came from the mine entrance. They stood on the far side of the inner fence, squinting into the rising sun.
‘Don’t worry,’ Sefarra called. ‘No one’s hurt.’
‘Lady Sefarra?’ A grey-haired man turned to the man beside him. ‘Your eyes are better than mine, Guto. Who’s that with her?’
Sefarra introduced them. ‘This is Lord Protector Merofyn and Lord Cadmor’s grandson, Camoric. We’re coming in.’
‘Don’t. We haven’t fed the lincis. No one’s brought us food for a couple of days. The last time this happened—’ He broke off as he took in the approaching sea-hounds. ‘Don’t tell me Centicore Spar attacked again?’
Alarmed, his men called out, asking after their families.
‘I don’t know what’s happened since we escaped,’ Sefarra admitted. She beckoned her people and lowered her voice. ‘Go up to the high end of the field. Throw half the meat to the lincis. Make sure it falls roughly between the two fences so she can get to it.’
They nodded and moved off.
‘How many mine guards?’ Fyn asked.
‘Twelve.’
‘I’m guessing it didn’t occur to your father that all the seven-year slaves had to do was kill the guards, feed them to the lincis and walk out?’ Fyn asked.
‘Walk to where?’ Camoric argued. ‘They couldn’t go over the spar. Spar warriors hate Rolencians as much as they hate Merofynians. If they knew how to sail, two hundred men could have stolen the Flying Sarre—’
‘You’d never fit two hundred men on my father’s yacht,’ Sefarra argued.
‘They could have used it to attack and steal other vessels,’ Camoric said. ‘At a pinch, they could have crowded onto three ships and all sailed home.’
‘If they had enough men who knew how to sail, and only if they had a leader to unite them,’ Fyn said. This was what had been worrying him. Two hundred men, armed with picks and shovels, might just turn on his men.
‘We’re lucky they were farmers and apprentices,’ Sefarra said, ‘and not warriors.’
A strange coughing bark made them all turn. The lincis was calling her cubs. They trotted up the field to where she stood guard over the meat. She tore off strips of flesh and chewed, not taking her eyes off her human enemies.
‘It’s safe. We can go in now.’ Sefarra indicated the gate down at the lower end of the field. Cart tracks ran through the grass to the inner gate, which opened into the mine-camp.
The gate creaked on its leather hinges as Sefarra opened it. ‘The carts carry the stones down to the wharves, where they are taken to the abbeys.’
Fyn hardly heard her. He was concentrating on getting across the field as quickly as possible. Everyone poured across and entered the mine-yard.
‘Are you in hiding, Lady Sefarra?’ the grey-haired man asked. ‘We’ll help you, but there’s not—’
Sefarra laughed. ‘I’m planning to recapture Benetir Estate.’
He blinked. ‘With us?’
‘With you and with them.’ She nodded towards several seven-year slaves, who had been scrubbing the porridge pots.
Fyn edged closer to Sefarra and the captain of the guards. ‘Do they know that Byren killed Palatyne?’
‘No,’ the man said. ‘My lord didn’t want them getting ideas.’
Fyn caught Camoric’s eye. ‘Line your men up around the lower end of the field, then come up and join us.’ He turned to the grey-haired man. ‘Bring out all the seven-year slaves and have them sit down.’
They came willingly. Fyn figured they would; sitting in the sun on a beautiful late spring morning was better than working down a cold, dark mine.
At the high end of the mine-yard, he spotted a woodheap. He was about to climb onto a nearby chopping block when Sefarra caught up with him.
‘Fyn? I’ve been thinking...’ She cast the slaves a worried look. ‘There’s so many of them and they’ve every reason to hate Merofynians. What if they turn on us?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Fyn said, climbing onto the block. Looking down on the sea of pale faces, he noted that some of captives looked curious, but the majority regarded the Merofynian nobles with resentment. But Fyn wasn’t Merofynian.
‘Some of you may remember King Rolen’s youngest son, who was sent to Halcyon Abbey,’ Fyn said, gesturing to his shorn head. ‘I am Fyn Rolen Kingson, brother of Byren Kingsheir, and I bring good news.’
Several sprang to their feet, looking hopeful.
Fyn grinned. ‘Byren has defeated Palatyne and is betrothed to Queen Isolt. He—’
Their cheering drowned him out.
Fyn gave them a moment to savour the news before gesturing for silence. ‘Byren appointed me lord protector to serve Queen Isolt. And I need your help—’
‘Anything,’ several yelled. ‘Name it.’
‘Spar warriors murdered the Lady Sefarra’s parents and took her home. I need your help recapturing it.’
‘Why should we help a Merofynian noble?’ someone yelled.
‘Yeah, why do we care what happens to them?’
‘Byren needs your help to hold onto Merofynia,’ Fyn said.
‘Last I heard, Cobalt the Turncoat had made a bargain with Palatyne,’ someone yelled. ‘Last I heard, Byren had no kingdom to go back to.’
Some tried to shout him down, others demanded to know if it was true. Again Fyn signalled for silence. ‘When Palatyne attacked, Cobalt did collaborate with the enemy. He became their puppet king...’ Fyn had to wait for the outraged seven-year slaves to settle down. ‘That’s why I’m here, holding Merofynia for Byren. Cobalt still sits on our father’s throne. If you help Lady Sefarra reclaim Benetir Estate, she’ll declare you free men. Then you can go home to help Byren win back Rolencia.’
They leapt to their feet, cheering.
Fyn was so relieved that when he jumped down his knees nearly gave way, and Camoric had to steady him.
‘You did it!’ Sefarra said, beaming with pride.
‘Well done.’ Camoric slung his arm around Fyn’s shoulders. ‘Now all we have to do is get a small army down the mountain and into position by dusk.’
‘Line everyone up, see that they have boots, or some sort of foot covering.’ Fyn noticed many of the slaves went barefoot. ‘See that they bring something they can use as a weapon, and collect whatever food is left in the guard-house.’ He turned to Sefarra. ‘After we’re gone, I’m going to leave the outer gate open for the lincis and her cubs to escape.’
FLORIN WAS DRESSED and had packed her travelling bag. There was no sign of Leif at the kitchen table or in the dining hall, so she went over to Byren’s table, where he was sharing breakfast with the ambassador from the Snow Bridge.
Rather than interrupt their conversation, she slipped around behind the table and leaned over Orrade’s shoulder. ‘Do you know where my brother is?’
‘He’s still asleep in our chamber. Wait.’ He caught Florin’s arm. ‘Leif snuck in during the night and climbed into bed with Byren. I heard him weeping, heard Byren singing to him. He didn’t stir when we got up. Let him sleep.’
Why hadn’t Leif come to her...? Because he would have had to creep past the warlord and his wife. Florin couldn’t bear the thought of her little brother crying alone in the dark. ‘Would you...’ He
r throat felt so tight she could hardly speak. ‘Would you thank Byren?’
‘No need.’ Orrade saw her expression. ‘All right, I’ll thank him. But he’s very fond of Leif, we both are. Are you really leaving today?’
‘As soon as...’ Florin fell silent as she heard the Snow Bridge ambassador’s escorts mention her name.
‘...the king’s half-savage lover,’ the tall one said. ‘She might as well be a man.’
‘From what I heard, that wouldn’t bother him!’
‘Why do you expect? For all he calls himself a king, he’s a barbarian, and he’s not king until he reclaims his throne.’
Orrade drew Florin close so he could whisper. ‘What are they saying?’
‘They think we are savages.’
This stunned Orrade.
She laughed. ‘I learnt one thing growing up in a tradepost. Everyone thinks they are more civilised than their neighbours.’
He nodded and released her arm. She slipped away.
When she woke Leif, she found him fretful after a bad night’s sleep. As she helped him take off his nightshirt, she realised his skin was too hot, and when she turned him around to help him into his breeches, she found the tell-tale rosettes of summer flower-fever on his belly and chest.
Florin sank into the chair by the empty fireplace. The fever wasn’t deadly unless the child was already sickly, but it would delay their departure.
Leif shivered. ‘I’m cold. Everything hurts. I want to go back to bed. Why do we have to leave?’ Tears trickled down his cheeks. ‘Now that Byren’s here, I want to stay. Why are you so mean to him?’
‘I’m not mean to him.’
‘You don’t laugh with him anymore.’
It was true. ‘He’ll be king soon, and we don’t even have our tradepost to go home to. When he’s king, he won’t have anything to do with—’
‘He’s not like that.’ A sob shook Leif. ‘He promised to look after me. He promised!’
She hugged him and told him she’d come back with something to make him feel better, then went looking for Cinna. Servants directed her to the scullery, where she found Cinna alone, bent over in pain. Equal parts excitement and dread filled Florin. ‘Is the baby coming?’
King Breaker Page 41
