The Uncrowned King

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  In the front room half a dozen Merofynian warriors waited with a small bundle slung between them. Piro looked, but could not identify the Utlander's brother amongst them.

  'Show me,' Dunstany said.

  The men held the bundle open to reveal a shrunken, wizened old man curled into a huddled shape, no bigger than a child of six. Piro shuddered. Surely he was dead?

  'On the counter,' Dunsany ordered. As they complied, he turned the lamp up. Seeing Piro, he thrust several starkiss candles into her hands. 'We'll need more light.'

  She lit one from the lamp and stood the rest in a candle branch, lighting them in turn. Their flickering light dispelled the gloom, while Dunstany unwound the blankets covering the injured man and tried to straighten his limbs. But the man's body seemed to have constricted so that his limbs would not move. Piro glanced at his face. The skin was like wax parchment, sucked onto the bones. Even the man's eyes were sunken.

  Dunstany managed to unwind the material around the man's stomach then pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, an Ostronite curse on his lips.

  Why would he curse in Ostronite?

  Piro forgot the question as she realised the Power-worker was curled around a sorbt stone. No wonder he looked like this.

  She shuddered.

  'What were you thinking?' Dunstany demanded of the Utlander's men. 'Why didn't you remove it? Who did this to him?'

  'We couldn't get his hands off it,' their leader protested, torn between indignation and fear. 'So we brought him back.'

  Dunstany massaged his temples. 'Tell me how it happened.'

  'While we were on our way to Halcyon Abbey the Utlander argued with the Mulcibar mystic and we set off on our own. Then we found the seep.' The man frowned. 'Or maybe he sensed the seep, and argued so that he could hoard its power for himself.' He shrugged. 'At any rate, he set the stone in the seep to absorb its power, then we all went to bed. Next morning we found his Affinity-slave had slipped her chain, killed the sentry, placed the stone in his arms and stolen the calandrius.'

  'What calandrius?'

  'The one we found at the seep.'

  Dunstany shook his head, as he walked around the counter, studying the contorted Power-worker from all angles. 'I doubt it was the Utlander's Affinity-slave that did this.'

  'She hated him. She could've moved the stone like he did, wrapped in something. She -'

  'I doubt she could kill a man. How did the sentry die?'

  'Someone snapped his neck,' the man admitted. 'No signs of a fight.'

  'Then she didn't do this,' Dunstany decided.

  'Aren't you going to remove the stone?' the man asked.

  'No point. He's dead. Was probably beyond help when you found him. If the stone was placed in contact with his skin while he was asleep, he had no mental guards in place. It would have plunged straight into where his Affinity power fed his life force and drained him at the source.'

  The men shivered and muttered wards under their breath, reminding Piro how Fyn had taught her to protect herself against renegade Affinity. She must be on alert, ready to use the whispered chants and repetitive movements.

  Piro glanced from the warriors to the noble Power-worker. She wasn't supposed to understand Merofynian, but anyone could tell from their stance and tone that this was serious.

  'No, there was nothing you could have done,' Dunstany said slowly. 'You can go. His brother will be here soon.'

  'You'll speak for us, my lord. He won't -'

  'I will speak for you. You need not fear his anger.'

  The men accepted this and hurried out. Piro recognised the same trust that her father's men had had in their king. While Palatyne's own men feared and fawned over him, the Merofynians respected Dunstany. More revealingly, they expected him to be fair and protect them from the Utland Power-worker.

  She stared at Dunstany.

  He caught her looking and spoke in Rolencian. 'This is what happens when someone with Affinity comes in contact with an unleashed sorbt stone. Never underestimate their power.'

  She nodded. He seemed to expect it of her.

  'You can go back to the kitchen now, Seela. Tell Cook to serve wine in the dining room and that we may have at least one more to dinner.'

  Dismissed, she returned to the kitchen and delivered the message. Soterro and the cook had been helping themselves to what was left of the dismembered roast chickens and all of them had grease on their fingers and chins.

  'More for dinner? That's easy for him to say,' Cook muttered in Merofynian, then asked Piro. 'So? What's going on?'

  She glanced to the remains of the birds, stomach clenching and unclenching. They had almost been picked clean but...

  The cook thrust the platter towards her and she began going through the bones for slivers of meat. 'It's the Utland Power-worker's brother -'

  'We know that,' Cook snapped. 'Tell us something we don't know.'

  'He's dead.'

  They looked suitably impressed.

  'Killed by an unleashed sorbt stone,' Piro supplied.

  'I'll bet it was the Affinity-slave,' Soterro muttered. 'Can't keep an Affinity-touched person chained.'

  The cook nodded wisely.

  Piro shook her head. 'Lord Dunstany thinks not. He doesn't believe the slave could have snapped the sentry's neck without a fight.'

  Their eyes widened.

  'What, what? Who's dead?' the kitchen boy demanded in Merofynian, unable to follow more than the rudiments of Rolencian.

  As the cook explained, Piro polished off the birds. She had only just washed her hands when the bell from the dining room rang.

  Piro stood up but Soterro beat her to it, eager to hear the latest news while serving his master and guest. When he left, the cook and kitchen boy fell silent, straining to hear, but could only detect the murmur of voices. Soterro returned a few minutes later looking slightly flustered.

  'How did the Utlander take it?' Cook whispered.

  'He's furious. Thinks there's an enemy Power-worker wandering Rolencia,' Soterro explained with relish. 'We'll need two more goblets, Seela. Hurry, girl. The overlord's here, too. Dinner settings for three, Grysha.'

  At this, Cook began to fuss over the presentation of the food while Soterro made up another tray with glasses and more wine, a Merofynian white this time. Heart thudding, Piro watched him.

  Palatyne was here...

  All she needed to do was slip some hellsbane into his food to avenge her family. Only she didn't have any yet.

  'The door,' Soterro snapped.

  Piro hastened down the short hall to hold the door open so that he could back through with the tray. She caught a quick glimpse of the room beyond.

  Palatyne and the Utlander stood in front of the fireplace with Dunstany. Palatyne had discarded his battle armour for a padded black velvet vest and silk shirt of royal azure, its long sleeves pinned up with brooches. He wore a circlet of silver with a blue topaz set in the centre of his forehead. He looked like a warlord, trying to look like a Merofynian noble. Someone had broken his nose and it lay flat against his face, making him seem pugnacious, but she knew how cunning he was.

  But it was the Utlander who drew her eye. He bristled as he paced the floor, radiating fury and Affinity. Grateful to escape, she let the door swing shut and returned to the kitchen, where the cook and kitchen boy exchanged looks.

  'Well?' Cook demanded.

  'They didn't say anything. The Utlander's furious.'

  'That Utlander...' Grysha shuddered and made the sign to ward off evil. Which struck Piro as odd, because their master was a renegade Power-worker, but somehow Lord Dunstany was much more civilised.

  'It's Palatyne I dread. He'll want to punish someone for sure.' The cook wiped his hands on his apron. 'We must be sure the dinner's perfect.'

  Piro helped them stack more cutlery and plates on a tray while the cook freshened up the garnishes.

  Soterro returned. 'Time to serve up. Come along, Seela. Give the overlord the same courtesies yo
u'd give royalty. He might be nothing more than the most vicious of the spar warlords, but he sees himself as a suitor to Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter.'

  So Piro had no choice, she had to serve the overlord.

  She and Grysha took a tray each and trooped out after Soterro, placing the food on the sideboard. Soterro sent the boy back but kept Piro with him, giving her a severe look that promised retribution if she brought shame on Lord Dunstany's household.

  '...seems a renegade Power-worker roams Rolencia,' Dunstany was saying, 'one who is our enemy but has not, so far, sought us out.'

  'Could it have been a simple case of theft? He saw an opportunity, took the Affinity-slave and the calandrius? One thing is for sure, it was not the abbey's mystics master,' Palatyne remarked. 'My men tossed his body into a ditch along with the rest of the abbey's warrior monks!'

  Piro paused as she placed clean cutlery on the table before each man. The abbey's warrior monks were dead? Impossible.

  Soterro nudged her to keep setting the table. Fresh cutlery was a Merofynian noble custom her father had not bothered with, preferring to use his knife and fingers, but her mother had schooled her in its use.

  'Then you've heard from the abbey as well?' Dunstany asked.

  Close as she was to the overlord, she could not help but notice Palatyne cast the Utlander a swift look, rather like one might at a trained but vicious dog. But it was not a look of fear so much as wary, sly amusement, as if Palatyne enjoyed baiting the Utlander.

  'My strategy overcame the abbey,' the overlord announced, still watching the Utlander. 'Even without your brother. Cyena and Mulcibar's mystics, along with my men, had no trouble subduing Halcyon's monks, nothing but boys and old men left to defend the abbey. They didn't stand a chance.'

  Nausea roiling in Piro's belly. Fyn dead. A rushing noise filled her head.

  No. She would not give up hope. He might yet have escaped. Fyn was clever and fast.

  Piro stepped back, into the shadows. Dimly, she was aware that a branch of candles lit the men's faces where they sat around the table, while she stood by the sideboard in shadow. No one noticed her sudden retreat, for Soterro chose that moment to display the white meat with its fruit garnishes. Dunstany nodded his approval and Soterro returned to the sideboard to serve the food.

  'This renegade Power-worker must be stopped,' the Utlander muttered, 'before he -'

  'Does what?' Palatyne demanded.

  Soterro nudged Piro, who took the plate from him and placed it before the overlord. He shoved it towards the noble scholar, who took a small portion from the meat and vegetables and ate them.

  Piro stared stunned. She was sure this was not a Merofynian custom. Then it hit her. Palatyne feared poison. Dunstany, as host, was proving there was no poison in the food from his kitchen. Just as well she had not used the hellsbane. She didn't want to kill Dunstany.

  Did she?

  'Halcyon's warrior monks are all dead and the abbey is ours,' Palatyne went on. 'Sylion's sluts are trapped in their abbey where we can deal with them when we are ready. All of King Rolen's kin are either dead or soon to be recaptured. Only Cobalt remains and he's a by-blow.'

  'So they found the body of the other kingson, the one gifted to the abbey?' the Utlander asked.

  Piro held her breath, waiting for the answer. Soterro nudged her to take the Utlander's plate to the table. Then she returned to Soterro, who had just finished serving up Dunstany's plate.

  'They sent word the moment the abbey fell. His body will be there. Then I will have one more emblem to add to my collection.' Palatyne stroked the three foenixes.

  When Piro placed Dunstany's plate before him, she was close enough to the overlord to recognise the locket with Isolt Kingsdaughter's portrait, which she had last seen on Lence's chest. Her oldest brother must be dead.

  Betraying tears threatened. She blinked them away fiercely, telling herself it meant no such thing. Lence might have escaped from Palatyne after losing the locket. But if Lence had been killed, then surely Byren still lived?

  Not knowing which of her brothers to mourn was worse than knowing and mourning.

  A finger prodded painfully in her ribs.

  'You forgot the sauce. Go get it,' Soterro hissed and she hurried to obey.

  Apart from one sharp glance when she returned, Dunstany paid no attention to her. The overlord and his two Power-workers ate in silence. Dunstany used the utensils with the same precise elegance as Piro had been taught. Soterro watched his master's guests eat with barely disguised disgust. Palatyne devoured his food, tearing into it with his teeth, and the Utlander ignored all but the knife, spearing his food on the end of it.

  The eating done, Dunstany signalled Piro to clear the table.

  'And what news of Cobalt?' Dunstany asked, as she removed the plates.

  'His body's crippled now, to match his crippled claim to the throne.' Palatyne was well pleased. 'As a broken man he is even more useful. No, everything is going according to plan, but for that accursed kingson. I can't have Rolen's heir wandering Rolencia, stirring up the people against me.' He glared at his table companions.

  Piro hid her dismay. He'd said 'Rolen's heir' which meant Lence was free, or did it? If Lence had been killed, Byren would be heir. She felt so frustrated she wanted to break something.

  'What good are mystics and Power-workers if they can't find one troublesome warrior?' Palatyne demanded.

  The Utlander and Dunstany exchanged looks, in agreement on something.

  The noble scholar spoke, choosing his words carefully. 'Affinity is like fire, a tool that can be used to perform tasks. Like fire, it has its limitations. It -'

  'I don't need a lecture, Dunstany. I want you to try and find him now. Let's see who is successful, the Merofynian noble or the Utlander!' Palatyne's dark eyes gleamed with cruel delight as he pulled something from inside his vest, unrolling a stained scrap of material to reveal a human finger.

  Piro blinked.

  'King Rolen's ring finger,' Palatyne announced.

  Blood roared in Piro's ears.

  'I know a little of your renegade arts.' Palatyne was very pleased with himself. 'It is easier to find someone if you have something of theirs.'

  'Father's blood calls to son's!' The Utlander cackled.

  She hated them, hated them all.

  'Clear this, Soterro,' Lord Dunstany ordered, indicating the wine bottle and goblets.

  Soterro nudged Piro and they hastily cleared the table. As Piro took the gravy dish, Dunstany said, 'Return and stand behind me, slave. I may have need of your services.'

  It was only as Piro put the dish on the sideboard that she realised what the Utlander meant. They would use her father's finger to point to the missing kingson, but it would point to her since she was the nearest blood relative.

  A surge of panic made her heart race. Wiping trembling fingers on her leggings, she wondered what to do. Running was hopeless. She eyed the table, clear now except for the finger which lay on the gleaming cherrywood surface. Somehow she could not see it as her father's finger. It was just a threatening object. What if she picked up the finger and flung it in the fire?

  No point. It wouldn't burn quickly enough to be destroyed and her actions would betray her.

  What could she do?

  If the finger revealed who she was, Piro decided she would drive her hidden knife straight into Overlord Palatyne's cunning black heart. The blade felt reassuringly solid inside her sleeve.

  'Soterro, bring me my Duelling Kingdoms board,' Lord Dunstany ordered. He beckoned Piro, who went to stand just behind him, slightly to his left. His formidable black eyes seemed to hold a warning that was meant only for her. 'Say nothing, slave. You will break my concentration.'

  Soterro returned with the game board, which was larger than the one King Rolen used and hinged down the middle. Lord Dunstany opened it out, revealing a beautifully made Kingdoms board. A gold vineleaf border twined around the edge, salt-water wyvern scales had been set into th
e wood, filling the sea with gleaming blue. The two crescents of Rolencia and Merofynia were made from white mother-of-pearl while black onyx indicated the Dividing Mountains and the border of the Snow Bridge. The spars poked out from the dividing mountains like the spokes of a wheel. Like Ostron Isle and the Snow Bridge, they were made of mother-of-pearl.

  Dunstany adjusted the board until he was happy with its position and, with a nod to his colleague and opponent, placed the king's finger in the Headlands, facing the valley of Rolencia. Piro noticed that the overlord's eyes gleamed and he shifted in his seat, as if he was both fascinated and fearful.

  'You are dismissed, Soterro,' Lord Dunstany said, then nodded to the other Power-worker. 'You may go first, Utlander.'

  Piro wondered briefly why no one used his name, then remembered hearing somewhere that Utlanders believed their names held power.

  This Utlander made several passes over the finger, not touching it, but stroking the air above it. He frowned and whined a phrase under his breath, over and over. Piro felt a thickening of the atmosphere, as if a storm were imminent. Her nostrils stung as though she had inhaled repugnant fumes. They said evil renegades could be distinguished by their foul stench. Her vision wavered as she shifted to Unseen sight. The Utlander and the noble scholar both radiated Affinity. Oddly enough, a dull glow also emanated from Palatyne. So he was sensitive to Affinity. No wonder he was both fearful of it and fascinated by it. They all focused on the board and the finger. She hoped that, standing behind Dunstany, any Affinity coming off her would be mistaken for his.

  Even so, she eased the knife down until its hilt rested in the palm of her hand.

  All the small hairs on her body rose as the king's severed finger crawled slowly across Rolencia. Her father had been a hard worker and a fighter all his life and his hands reflected this. The work-blunted nail came to rest, pointing to Rolenton. Or to Piro who was directly in line with it, behind Dunstany.

  'Ha!' Palatyne said. 'It points to Rolenton where all the king's ancestors are buried. Your focus is not refined enough, Utlander.'