The Uncrowned King

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Piro watched. If the square continued to fill with townsfolk, the children could be crushed under foot.

  'Come this way.' She picked up the smallest, a toddler of two, and the mother grabbed the four-year-old while the six-year-old hung on her skirt, stuffing bread in his mouth.

  With a judicious jab and an elbow in the right place, Piro pushed through to the place where Temor stood bellowing orders. Captain of the king's honour guard, he had been her father's most trusted advisor until Lord Cobalt insinuated himself into that position, earning the title of lord protector of the castle. Captain Temor had been given the task of evacuating Rolenton.

  Piro slipped behind the grizzled veteran and tugged on his surcoat, which was decorated with the deep red foenix on a black background, its wings and scales picked out in gold thread.

  'Eh, what?' he turned, his eyes widening. 'Piro? You're supposed to be safe in Sylion Abbey, or on your way there at least.'

  She thrust the grizzling two-year-old into his arms. 'See that this woman and her children get safely to the castle.'

  'What?' he protested as the woman began to thank him profusely. Piro melted into the crowd, a little smile tugging at her lips. She was pretty sure Captain Temor didn't believe that she had been passing her mother's traitorous notes to a Merofynian spy, but he had his orders to arrest her.

  Luckily the crowd was so dense and the momentum towards the carts was so forceful, only the most determined could make headway.

  Piro found herself on the steps of the merchants' guild hall with its great bell tower. It was from the fifth floor of this tower that her father had announced Lence's betrothal to Isolt - King Merofyn's daughter - last midwinter's day. This should have ensured the peace. Piro didn't understand what had gone wrong, but one thing was certain, from atop the bell tower she would be able to see the wharves.

  Better to spot a likely sled-ship and make straight for it, than to waste time and energy struggling through the crowd. She entered through the double doors and crossed the landing heading for the tower stairs.

  Further into the hall she could hear men and women arguing over strategies to protect their investments. Orders still had to be filled and ships were currently under sail, their captains unaware of the situation at home. To hear the merchants of Rolenton talk, war was an inconvenience unless they could use it to turn a profit.

  Smiling to herself, Piro ran up the stairs, only puffing slightly when she reached the fifth floor. Hanging over the balcony, she peered down past the busy square, past the sloping roof tops of the terraces towards the lake and the wharves. Some of the sled-ships were already being hauled across the frozen lake. While they still could, they were heading north-east for the canal that eventually linked up with Port Marchand, or west for the canal to Port Cobalt. Watching the ships was one of her favourite pastimes and she knew many of their captains by name. She could pick the fastest and recognise which great merchant house they belonged to.

  There, that three-masted sloop looked like it was making ready to depart. She only hoped she would reach it in time.

  Raising her eyes, Piro looked out across Rolencia, past the chimneys of the great houses opposite, past the town to the countryside. The air was still and thick like soup. She could hardly make out the beautiful, rolling snow-covered fields of Rolencia's rich valley. How could she leave her home behind? How could she live in cold, heartless Sylion Abbey?

  She blinked. What was that shadow moving on the snow?

  She blinked again, her vision crawling oddly. Surely it was mist in a hollow, nothing more. Rubbing her eyes, she wished for a farseer as she strained to make sense of it.

  But instead of clearing, her vision grew blurred and she slipped into Affinity-induced Unseen sight.

  It was not mist. It was a mass of white cloaked men, moving like a cloud's shadow over the fields, under cover of an illusion generated by renegade Power-workers.

  The Merofynian invaders were less than an hour away!

  Chapter Six

  Piro looked down into the seething square. There was no time for people to wait for carts to carry their belongings. If they did not go now, they would be cut off. She flew down the stairs, boots barely touching the wood.

  Instead of running out into the thronging square, she ran into the bell-ringers' little nook, deep inside the tower. Far above her the ropes stretched impossibly high and light filtered down from the great bells.

  Piro only hoped she remembered the right bell sequence for the warning. It was meant to be rung by a team of three, so she would just have to do her best. Leaping off her feet, she clutched the first rope and let her weight drag it down. A thunderous stroke echoed above her. Even as the rope rode up, she was reaching for the next one. This bell was pitched higher. Prompted by the old rhyme learnt as a child when her mother used to sing her to sleep, she rang the sequence, leaping from rope to rope. She was playing it too slow, but that could not be helped. People would recognise it and realise why she was ringing the warning.

  'You, girly?' A plump merchant wearing the fashions of Ostron Isle confronted her. 'What mischief are you up to -'

  'Merofynians an hour away, probably less,' she shouted to be heard.

  'What nonsense!' The Ostronite merchant glared at her, secure in his ermine-collared cloak.

  'Send someone up to the top of the tower if you don't believe me.'

  A silver-haired woman entered, with three burly male servants at her back. 'What's holding... Piro Kingsdaughter, what are you doing here?'

  'Markiza,' Piro gasped, letting the bell rope go. 'Is the markiz with you? You must get out of the town.' The Ostronite merchant stared at Piro. 'The kingsdaughter? The one that's wanted for treason?'

  'The same. Servants, hold her,' the markiza ordered, ignoring Piro's warning. Three men thrust past the Ostronite.

  'That was a misunderstanding,' Piro insisted. 'Today I've been sent to Sylion Abbey, ask Captain Temor. But there's no time. The Merofynians are just outside the town. Go to the top of the tower yourself, if you don't believe me.' Frustration made Piro stamp her foot. 'Would you hand everyone over to the Merofynians?'

  'At least send someone to see,' the Ostronite merchant urged.

  The markiza tapped one of her servants on the shoulder. 'Go to the top of the tower. Quickly now, and tell me what you see.'

  As he hurried off, Piro tried to dart under the nearest man's arm and through the door.

  The markiza caught her by the shoulder. 'Not so fast, kingsdaughter.'

  The two servants held Piro between them.

  'But I must warn Captain Temor!' Piro insisted.

  'You're not going anywhere until I know what's going on,' the markiza told her.

  Piro rolled her eyes.

  A muffled shout echoed down the stairs.

  'What was that?' the markiza called up the stairwell, thrusting the door further ajar.

  'I see nothing but low-lying mist.'

  'Because their Power-workers are cloaking them,' Piro snapped. 'That's why our lookouts didn't spot them.'

  The markiza frowned. 'Then how could you -'

  'I have Affinity. That's why I was being sent to Sylion Abbey.' Piro told the truth. It no longer mattered.

  The markiza's eyes widened. 'If the Merofynians are at the gates -'

  'I knew I should have left when I first heard the news,' the Ostronite merchant moaned.

  Both Piro and the markiza ignored him. She nodded to her remaining servants. 'Help sound the warning bells.'

  'I don't know the sequence, markiza,' the younger servant protested.

  'I do. Set me down!' Piro shrugged free of the servants. 'I'll need two of your servants, markiza.'

  'Take them.' She caught Piro's arm. 'Have you seen my son, Chandler? Last I heard he'd joined Byren Kingson's honour guard.'

  Piro gulped. Clearly, Cobalt's accusations and her father's subsequent banishment of Byren had not reached the townsfolk and now was not the time to explain. 'Byren's honour guard se
t off three days ago. Chandler must be with him by now.'

  'Set off for where?'

  'Dovecote estate.' Right into the path of the invading Merofynians. 'I...'

  'He will do what's right. He's a good boy. May Halcyon watch over him. May she watch over you, too, little Piro.' The markiza tapped the Ostronite merchant's arm. 'Now I must see to my family's investments. Come.' They hurried off.

  Piro turned back to the servants. It took two sequences, but they caught on to the simple system. Soon the bells rang out their warning at the proper pace.

  Piro's head pounded and her body thrummed with the effort of leaping and tugging on the great bell ropes. But she'd spent so much time hiding recently that it felt good to be active.

  Byren lifted his head as the dreaded ulfr howl echoed across the frozen lake. Snow flakes kissed his face, falling lightly from low-slung clouds. Somehow he'd kept skating. He'd stuck to the lake shore, so he hadn't made good time. Had the snow been thicker he might have risked skating directly across the lake. But the Merofynians were after him. He had heard their hunting horns. Had he been organising this search he would have separated his men into small groups. They knew he was injured and, by now, they knew he was on foot. He hoped that they would be searching on the land but he would have had his men search the lake. So he had to assume his pursuers were just as canny.

  Though desperate, he had deliberately avoided the farmhouse where he'd eaten breakfast, not wanting to bring trouble down on the family there. Hopefully, they had already packed up their things and headed for the nearest fortified town. So he was injured and alone, with half a dozen Merofynian search parties tracking him. His only advantage was that he knew the area intimately and they didn't.

  Since he was twelve he'd been as big as a grown man and his body had never failed him. It must not fail him now.

  He'd felt certain he would reach Rolenhold before this wound stole his life force. Until now...

  Now the ulfr pack was on the prowl. At least the Merofynians would be equally reluctant to meet up with the pack. But the ulfrs would smell the blood on him for sure. They'd hunt him, a single injured man. The only thing that appealed more to them was... an Affinity seep!

  Without hesitation he struck out for the spot where he'd come across the Power-worker and Dinni. He hoped she was safe at Sylion Abbey by now. This was not a good time to be wandering the Rolencian valley.

  Head down, powerful thighs driving him on, he winced with every breath. Grey spots ate into the corners of his vision, but he would not give in.

  Lifting his head, he took note of the landmarks, shrouded in winter snow but still clear to his experienced eye. This was where he'd fallen and ploughed through a drift into a little inlet. Already the wind and snow had smoothed his passage so that others would have trouble reading the signs. He weaved through the gap in the snow drift and headed for the shore. There he unstrapped his skates and ploughed up the slope, being careful to smooth the signs of his passing.

  There it was - the seep, still oozing Affinity since he had removed the sorbt stone before it could fully drain the source. Since childhood he had been trained to avoid untamed Affinity. Now he meant to hide in an Affinity seep, and every proper instinct revolted.

  He hesitated on the lip of the hollow. It was empty. Had the Utland Power-worker survived the night, and what had happened to his warrior escort?

  Another howl reached him, closer this time. No more delays.

  He had no choice. It was the seep or death.

  Praying the falling snow would finish cloaking his steps from his mortal pursuers, he plunged down into the hollow. With no Affinity to sense it, he remained blind to the power surge, but his heart raced with reluctance as he sank into the deepest part of the hollow and began to scoop out a body-length depression. The exertion made him cough. More blood, little bright red rubies scattered on the snow. He had to take shorter and shorter breaths. Time was running out.

  All warriors faced death. It did not worry him.

  To die dishonoured in his family's eyes, now that was a cruel fate.

  There was no time to make a proper snow-cave. He intended to stretch out on his back and drag snow across his body. He hoped the ulfr-fur cloak would protect him from the cold and the seep from the Affinity beasts. Instinct screamed at him to curl into a ball, but he needed to be covered.

  A strange, querulous bark alerted him. He froze in a half-crouch and stared up the slope. Silhouetted against the sullen, snow-laden clouds was an adolescent ulfr. A great ruff of silver fur sat across its broad shoulders. Its legs looked too long for its body, as it was not yet fully grown. And, from the way it tilted its head, intelligent winter sky-blue eyes studying him, it was confused by his presence.

  Another ulfr joined the first. Byren recognised the clever pack leader from the night he had held them off over Orrade's unconscious body. His gut clenched, expecting the male to give one of its eerily intelligent yelps as it sent its warrior ulfrs to attack him but, like the adolescent, the pack leader hesitated.

  Remembering the two birds, Byren forced all wariness and aggression from his stance. Dropping into the snow, he began to roll about as the birds had done, uttering happy crooning sounds. For a heartbeat he wondered if this was what Dinni would have done if she had been allowed to follow her instincts.

  But, even as he rolled about wallowing in the seep, he watched the gathering ulfrs. Before long, they lined the rim of the hollow. It had been a tough winter with constant harassment from humans. There were only five large males left, three females and four adolescents.

  His heart pounded, tugging at the wound in his side. His breath rasped in his chest as he gulped for air. Either they would tear him to shreds, or they would accept him as another Affinity beast.

  With a warning growl, the pack leader trotted down the slope towards Byren. Recalling the way the castle's hunting dogs deferred to their leader, Byren rolled over onto his back and presented his vulnerable belly. The ulfr stood over him, large head and ruff almost blocking out the sky.

  In that instant, Byren believed the ulfr would kill him, before the wound could. He closed his eyes and called on Halcyon herself. It was past midwinter so the goddess of the earth and growing things was in ascension. But he called on her because he loved Rolencia and she was the goddess of love.

  Let me live long enough to reach my family, he pleaded. Let me live long enough to warn them of Merofynia's treachery. Do this and I will... what? His ancestor had dedicated Halcyon Abbey to thank the goddess for his victory. He had never been particularly religious, preferring to handle things with the strength of his body and the force of his will, rather than call on the gods. But this time...

  Do this, and once Rolencia is safe, I will dedicate my life to serving you.

  There - he could offer no more.

  All resistance left him as he gave himself up to Halcyon's care. The ulfr's hot breath fanned his face, welcome warmth, despite his instinctive reaction to the smell of death. Run, the primitive part of his mind screamed. Play along, his logical mind told him. So he did.

  The ulfr sniffed him. The pack leader had to be aware that he was human and injured, but being drenched in the seep's power must have been enough to make him acceptable, because the Affinity beast, servant of the goddess, lifted its head and gave a distinctive howl.

  Then it stepped back to roll in the seep, throwing up spirals of powdery snow. The other pack members padded down into the hollow and rolled about, nipping playfully if a youngster infringed on an adult's space. After a time they settled down to sleep and set up a soft whining, almost singing, that was just on the edge of Byren's hearing.

  It made his head ring and seemed to fill his mind so that he had trouble remembering who he was, or even that he was lying with this winter's most notorious ulfr pack.

  Warmed by the combined heat of the pack, his shivering stopped. He lost all sense of time. The heat and the sense of acceptance was so powerful that he let himself drift, takin
g short, quick breaths to fill what little space was left in his blood-filled lungs. All he could do was lie there as waves of weariness swept over him.

  He did not know whether the goddess had heard his plea, or whether his ploy had convinced the ulfrs to accept him, but it seemed he would live long enough for the wound to kill him.

  He should get up now while they were relaxed and slip away, but he knew he would not get far. Any movement would trigger coughing and one of these coughing fits would be his last. An adolescent gave a soft bark in its sleep and shifted so that its jaw rested on Byren's chest. He lifted his hand and let his fingers sink into the beast's thick shoulder ruff. So soft, so warm and silky.

  He felt honoured to be accepted. Pity he would not live long enough to tell anyone about this. How Orrade would shake his head in disbelief, then his thin face would light up with wonder.

  Or would he turn away?

  Pain curled through Byren. He should never have compared Orrade to Lence. Despite Cobalt's threat to expose Orrade as a lover of men, his friend had remained loyal to Byren. Unlike Lence. His twin had only been too ready to believe Cobalt's half-truths. It stung to discover how easily Lence had been swayed. No wonder Orrade was furious with him. Shame filled Byren.

  He wasn't in pain but it hurt to think he would die before he could apologise to Orrade. Before he could prove his loyalty to his father. The king would live on, grieving, believing his second son had betrayed Rolencia. An ache that was not physical curled through Byren, making his throat tight and his breath catch.

  The ulfr at his side gave a whimper of pain as if in sympathy with him, and he felt the other pack members shift. When another whimper followed the first, Byren understood what was happening. He had watched his prized hunting bitches whelp enough times to recognise the sounds of birth.

  Carefully, he lifted his hand and rested it on the female beside him. He could feel her belly tighten like a drum as her womb contracted. The power of the seep must have brought on the birth, for usually the cubs were born in the spring and spring cusp was still a little way off.