King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘You need someone you trust with your secret on Mage Isle.’

  He nodded. ‘There were two old servants who helped me when my master first died, but they passed away last winter while I was trying to stop Merofynia from invading Rolencia.’ His lips twitched. ‘I was hoping you’d fill that position.’

  She was thrilled to think he trusted her and frightened by the responsibility. ‘I’ll do my very best.’

  ‘I know you will. You always do.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ve booked passage to Ostron Isle. I may have to stay a while. The transition to the new elector was not smooth, and the death of the old Cinnamome comtissa has destabilised the balance of power between the five families. I think this is why Lady Death is testing her limits. I’ve told Gwalt to bring all pica bird messages to you.’

  Piro was honoured. ‘Will you be back by the time Byren arrives?’

  ‘I hope to be but if not, I want you to convey the mage’s messages to him as well.’

  Piro rolled her eyes. ‘He won’t like being told what to do by his little sister.’

  Siordun grinned. ‘Byren is coming through the Snow Bridge pass west of Dunstany’s estate. I’m expecting him to arrive in another seven to ten days. When I sail, Gwalt will tell the servants Lord Dunstany has been taken ill and he’ll send the carriage to Dunistir Estate. In a few days, the Dunistir yacht will arrive at the palace with an invitation for you and Fyn to convalesce on Dunstany’s estate. Go there and wait for Byren.’

  ‘What of Isolt?’

  ‘She’ll be preparing the contracts and planning the celebrations to announce her betrothal. She’s safe here, now that Camoric is captain of her guards.’ He hesitated. ‘You’ll like Dunistir Estate, Piro. I grew up there and often went back when the mage visited my grandfather. These days I hardly ever visit and when I do, it is only as Lord Dunstany. Gwalt’s father, Old Gwalt, knows my secret. You can trust him.’

  ‘And your mother, surely she knows your secret?’

  His mouth hardened. ‘She died.’

  ‘You should forgive her. She wouldn’t have been able to care for a child with so much Affinity.’

  ‘She sold me, Piro. How could she do that?’

  The pain in his voice made her sit up and reach for him. ‘Siordun...’

  He pulled away and strode to the door, where he hesitated. ‘That’s the first time you’ve used my real name.’

  Then he was gone, sailing to confront Lady Death herself. Piro shuddered.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  FLORIN TRIED TO focus on something other than her nausea. They’d camped near the cloud-shrouded summit of the Snow Bridge’s southern pass, where the sky really did meet the earth. As the sun rose, the mist took on a beautiful pearly glow.

  She sucked in a deep breath of thin damp air. It did no good, she still felt breathless. Her head spun and her stomach heaved. She hated feeling this weak.

  As soon as she’d set foot on the ship’s deck, she’d started throwing up and her stomach hadn’t recovered from the sea-sickness when she’d developed sky-sickness. It was no consolation that she was not the only one suffering. The majority of their group were Rolencians. Every third person was struggling with the thin air.

  She could hear them speaking softly behind her. They’d eaten breakfast—those who could—and packed up their travelling kits, and now they were waiting for the mist to clear before crossing the pass into the Snow Bridge.

  Someone cursed, and made a horrible hacking sound as they threw up.

  It was too much for Florin. Her stomach revolted in sympathy and she staggered a few paces out of camp before throwing up.

  Somehow, Byren found her and rubbed her back.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get over it in a couple of days.’ He offered her watered wine. ‘Try thinking about something else.’

  She’d tried that.

  ‘You’ll feel better once we’re moving.’

  She hadn’t yesterday.

  ‘It’s all in the mind.’

  ‘It’s not. It’s in my stomach, and I can’t get enough air.’

  He laughed. Someone called him back to camp and he squeezed her shoulder. ‘You’ll do, Mountain Girl.’

  ‘If I’m a mountain girl I shouldn’t be sky-sick.’

  He laughed again. She loved it when he laughed.

  Florin flushed. As the mist swallowed Byren, she admitted she wasn’t just sky-sick. She was a love-sick fool.

  A stone chinked behind her as Orrade stepped out of the mist. He was pale, and his skin shone with sweat.

  ‘Try thinking of something else. It’s all in the mind. So says someone who has never suffered sea-sickness or sky-sickness. Sometimes I could kick him.’

  Florin laughed and offered him the watered wine.

  He took a careful sip, waited and was able to take another. ‘We have to keep drinking. That’s what our family healer used to say.’

  ‘Mother said the same thing.’ She rubbed her face. ‘The mist is clearing.’

  ‘Come on.’

  Florin felt sick and shaky. She had to concentrate on keeping her footing on the damp path.

  Soon the sun burned away the mist and the air became incredibly clear. They could see far to the north, up the great valley that ran the length of the Snow Bridge.

  All day they threaded their way down from the pass, through steep ravines, fording icy-cold streamlets and scrambling across treacherous, rocky slopes.

  As they descended, it grew warmer. Tiny wild flowers sprouted in every crevice and covered the patches of grass, where a moment before their arrival shaggy wild goats had been grazing. The goats perched on impossibly steep rocks to watch them pass by.

  All through the day, Florin could keep nothing down other than a little watered wine. Her head spun and her thighs ached from the steep slope. She marvelled that Vlatajor could find the path in this maze of ravines.

  It felt like the day would never end, but the sun finally slipped towards the western walls of the valley and Florin knew she could rest soon.

  Byren set up camp in a small field, which was bordered on two sides by tall rock walls. As he issued orders to make the camp defensible, Florin dropped her pack and walked a little further along the path, until she finally had a clear view up the valley.

  The thin air was crystal clear. She could see far into the distance along the valley floor, where lakes were fed by mountain streams. A flock of birds flew in formation, wheeling below her as they made their way to their roosts.

  Bozhimir’s voice returned to her, singing the praises of the Snow Bridge. As a child, she hadn’t understood the longing in his voice. Now that Narrowneck had burned, she experienced the same bone-deep ache for home.

  Back then, Bozhimir had taught her a poem about the painted mountains, and now she saw them for herself. As the sun set beyond the western mountains, its last rays painted the eastern peaks a brilliant salmon pink.

  Footsteps crunched on the path behind her and she turned, heart lifting, but it was... ‘Orrie.’

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied. She was grateful for Orrade’s company. Only four of their group ever spoke to her. Vlatajor laid elaborate traps to learn more about Byren. Byren treated her with a determined cheerfulness that was incredibly irritating. Chandler seemed to have decided she was one of the lads, to be treated with casual indifference. Of them all, she felt most at home with Orrade.

  ‘You shouldn’t go off alone,’ he said. ‘The Snow Bridge is dangerous. There are Affinity predators...’ As if on cue, a deep bellow reached them, followed by a string of huffing barks. The sounds echoed around them so it was impossible to tell where they came from. ‘What—’

  ‘Ursodons,’ Florin said. ‘Horned Affinity bears. In winter, their long fur turns white, but they should have their short golden summer coats by now. They generally live in packs like manticore prides. Yes, I’m aware of the dangers of the Snow Bridge.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He offered her
a disarming smile. ‘If you know all this, why go off on your own?’

  ‘A big group like ours is going to scare away all but the most determined predators. And I wanted to see this.’ She gestured to the impossibly beautiful eastern peaks. The colours had deepened as the angle of the sun’s rays changed.

  ‘That’s...’

  Florin grinned. She’d never seen Orrade lost for words. ‘They call them the painted mountains. Bozhimir taught me a poem.’ Florin tried to translate it. ‘The original is better.’

  ‘It’s usually that way with poetry,’ Orrade said. ‘You can’t preserve the rhythm and...’ He swallowed.

  She glanced to him. His skin was pale and clammy. With a word of apology, he made for the nearest large rock and leaned against it to empty his stomach.

  Of course that set her off and she stepped off the path to throw up. As the spasms shook her, the ursodons called again. She rolled her eyes. It would be just her luck to be killed while throwing up.

  She wiped her mouth and lifted her head, eyes streaming.

  Orrade sent her a rueful grin.

  ‘I keep telling myself it’ll be over it in a couple of days.’ She fished in her pocket for a handful of leaves. ‘Try these.’

  ‘What are they? Ginger of some kind?’

  ‘Bozhimir told me about it. It’s supposed to help with the sky-sickness.’

  ‘You were eight years old last time you spoke to him. Are you sure this is the right plant?’

  ‘Yes, he made me memorise the plant’s description.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged. ‘He was a scholar and I was curious.’

  Orrade grinned. ‘You have hidden depths, Florin.’

  She shrugged, not sure how to take him. More huffing barks reached them. ‘We should get back to camp.’

  When they returned, Florin noticed how the men of Byren’s honour guard grinned at her and nudged each other. Even the six Snow Bridge men–at-arms smirked. ‘What are they grinning about?’

  ‘We went off alone together,’ Orrade said.

  ‘So?’ But even as she said this, understanding came to her. Heat raced up her cheeks. ‘That’s... that’s...’

  ‘That’s just the way their minds work. Ignore them.’

  They joined Byren’s fire circle in time to see Vlatajor open his pouch and remove his fire stone. It sat neatly in the palm of his hand. With these stones there was no need for fuel, which was lucky, since they had only just reached the treeline.

  Small stones had been placed in a circle. A pot sat over them, supported by a metal tripod. Vlatajor placed his fire stone in the circle. ‘Hristo.’

  A hush fell over those nearby as the older of his two companions removed the other fire stone from his pouch. Florin looked up to see at least two dozen men gathered around to watch.

  Hristo held his fire stone on a long metal spoon and leaned forward. When the fire stone was less than a half an arm’s length from its counterpart it began to glow. In another heartbeat flames leapt from one stone to the other. By the time he had placed the second stone in the fire circle, a strong fire burned, giving off a fierce heat.

  The gathering gave a sigh of wonder and one by one they took burning wood back to their more conventional fires.

  ‘A useful thing for travellers,’ Florin said. She had heard of fire stones, but had never seen a pair.

  Hristo tossed some leaves into a bubbling pot of water, along with red wine, honey and cardamom.

  ‘My father had a pair of fire stones.’ Orrade indicated something the size of a pumpkin. ‘This big.’

  ‘A great treasure,’ Vlatajor said. ‘Your family was very lucky.’

  Orrade glanced to Byren, who looked grim.

  ‘We kept them on pedestals, one on each side of the hearth in the great hall,’ Orrade said. ‘Just far enough apart from them to sense each other. They glowed with an inner radiance.’

  ‘That was...’ The ambassador hesitated.

  ‘Dangerous?’ Orrade met Vlatajor’s eyes across the fire. ‘I know.’

  ‘Why?’ Florin asked. ‘I mean if they’re kept apart, they won’t burst into flames, surely?’

  The roar of a male ursodon reached them, followed by more huffing barks. It seemed to Florin that the pack was closer now.

  ‘Time to check the camp’s defences.’ Byren nodded to Orrade and they went off together.

  Florin watched them go.

  ‘It’s true that fire stones flame on contact,’ Vlatajor told her. ‘But before that there is a point where they respond to each other. Keeping them apart, yet close enough to glow, is asking for trouble. Fire stones have been known to spontaneously flame up in that situation. I heard Lord Dovecote’s great house burned to the ground.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Florin said, bristling at the implied criticism. ‘Byren and Orrade burned it to kill their enemies.’

  ‘They have the hearts of warriors,’ Vlatajor said.

  ‘It was Orrade’s sister who told them to do it.’ Florin felt Elina deserved the credit.

  He nodded. His Snow Bridge accent reminded her of Bozhimir, but he was a very different kind of man, as his next question confirmed. ‘When we were hunting the manticore pride, Byren led us unerringly to ulfr spoor, not once, but several times. How was he able to do this?’

  ‘Ulfr spoor smells pretty bad.’

  ‘Byren smelled the spoor long before the rest of us.’

  ‘Then he must have a better sense of smell.’ Florin gave a studiedly casual shrug.

  Hristo stirred the bubbling pot. The aroma was wonderful.

  A wave of nausea drove Florin to her feet. ‘I’ll take first watch.’

  She picked her way through the camp and eventually found Byren and Orrade on the path leading back up towards the pass.

  ‘What is it?’ Florin asked.

  ‘I was just about to send for you,’ Byren said. ‘Look there.’

  She sighted along his arm, seeing nothing but starlit rocks, mottled by dark shadows. Florin ignored the constant nausea and concentrated.

  ‘We saw something glowing and moving amongst the rocks,’ Orrade explained. ‘There it is again.’

  ‘Bozhimir once told me about a glowing Affinity beast, but...’ The name and description eluded Florin for the moment.

  As they caught another glimpse of the glow, those huffing barks sounded again. Florin shivered.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s coming closer.’ Orrade glanced over his shoulder. ‘Our camp fires could be drawing it.’

  ‘I’m not dousing them,’ Byren said. ‘We’ll—’

  ‘Silfron!’ The name came back to Florin. ‘It means silver-sniffer. They have long legs and long necks. When full grown, the bird stands twice as tall as a man. Their wings have a beautiful metallic sheen and their eyes glow in the dark. They live in caves where they feed off silver. If a Power-worker can capture one and bond with it, he can use it to locate seams of silver.’

  Byren cursed. ‘Looks like the silver-sniffer is leading the ursodon pack right to us.’

  ‘There’s too many of us for the ursodons to attack,’ Orrade said.

  ‘Normally,’ Florin conceded. ‘But Affinity beasts consider the flesh of other Affinity beasts a delicacy!’

  Orrade cursed.

  Florin realised they would certainly consider Orrade a delicacy, and she went cold with fear for him.

  Byren jumped down. ‘We don’t have long. Come on.’

  FYN SET UP the board and laid out the Duelling Kingdoms pieces. Any moment now, Camoric would join him. They’d eat dinner, play the game and discuss the state of Merofynia. It was good to have him back.

  There was a soft scratching at the door and Fyn reached for his knife. According to Dunstany, the mage had reached an agreement with Lady Death and she had called off her coraxes, but Fyn was taking no chances. He stepped to one side of the door, then opened it.

  Mitrovan stepped into the chamber.

  Fyn sheathed his knife. ‘I thought
you were back on Travantir Estate?’

  ‘I was. But...’ Mitrovan blinked.

  The scribe had just noticed his face. Dunstany had been able to hasten the healing, but the scar would always be there, distorting his face.

  ‘Elrhodoc gave me this to remember him by.’ Fyn shrugged. ‘I was lucky, I could have lost my eye.’

  ‘They’re saying you butchered him like a pig.’

  ‘I had to. I was losing blood too fast for fancy sword work.’

  ‘When Travany heard about Elrhodoc’s death, he sent word to the other lords and sailed for the palace. They’ll all be here soon.’

  Fyn nodded. He had expected as much, although he had thought he’d have more time.

  ‘But that’s not all...’ Mitrovan broke off as Camoric entered.

  ‘Close the door, Cam,’ Fyn said, adding for Mitrovan’s benefit, ‘He’s the new captain of the queen’s guard. You can speak freely.’

  The scribe glanced to Camoric, then faced Fyn. ‘Travany is afraid his seven-year slaves will revolt, so he’s cut their food rations and told the supervisors to go hard on them.’

  ‘And he thinks that will win him their loyalty?’ Camoric raised an eyebrow.

  Fyn grinned.

  ‘There’s more. I overheard young Trafyn complaining. He’s angry because he won’t inherit an estate like Lord Yorale’s youngest son. His father told him that Neiron deliberately delayed meeting up with Wythrod, then sent men to stir up the spar warriors and lead them back to Wythrod’s camp.’ Mitrovan lifted his hands. ‘Don’t you see? He baited the bear, or in this case the amfina and lincis. He knew the warlords would attack that night. Neiron betrayed Wythrod.’

  ‘It fits with Murheg’s description of the attack.’ Fyn ran his hand through his short hair. ‘I thought it was Wythrod’s impatience and the spars’ cunning that led to his death. I never thought for a moment that Neiron would betray him. Why? It’s not as if he profited from Wythrod’s death.’

  But Yorale had. His son was heir to Wythrontir Estate through the maternal line. Had Yorale known about Neiron’s betrayal? Could they trust Lord Yorale? Isolt thought so, and Dunstany trusted him, up to a point.