The Uncrowned King

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  'He can ride with me, Papa,' the littlest girl offered, making room for him by shuffling back. 'I'll hold him.'

  Veniamyn sent Byren a silent plea. See, these are good girls, kind girls. You are a good man, help me get them to safety.

  'I thank you, little mistress,' Byren said, swinging Rodien up onto the horse in front of the ten-year-old.

  She wrapped her arms around him protectively.

  'I can hold on!' he protested.

  Veniamyn laughed. Sveyto turned away in thinly disguised disgust.

  'We'd best set off,' Byren announced. Suiting his actions to his words, he took the horse's reins from Veniamyn and headed off down the slope, the scholar falling into step with him while Sveyto led the sled horse.

  Byren dug around in his food pack, finding one of last summer's apples and passing it back to Rodien. 'Eat this.'

  'Thank you, Byren Kingson, for coming to my aid,' Scholar Veniamyn whispered.

  'Blacksmith for now,' Byren corrected, casting the sell-word a swift look. For all he knew there was a price on his head. At least, it seemed Veniamyn had not heard about his disgrace. Perhaps all who knew of it had been killed when the castle fell.

  What a terrible thing to be grateful for!

  'I assumed you are headed into the mountains to raise an army. I would stay and fight with you, but what would become of my daughters? I don't want them living wild in caves like savages. Besides,' the scholar confessed, 'I am not a fighter.'

  'Each man must do what his conscience tells him,' Byren agreed. But inside he wondered how he would raise an army to retake Rolencia.

  Fyn woke with a lurch and the sense that time had passed, a lot of time. He lay very still, listening.

  There were voices from the room beyond and the sound of furniture being moved. Light filtered through the single high window. Daylight.

  He'd slept the night away.

  Shame flooded him.

  How could he?

  His mouth went dry with anguish. It had been the perfect opportunity to kill Palatyne. Mortification ate at him. First he had failed the abbot, now this.

  He waited, the voices faded.

  Nothing.

  He sat up and prepared to lower his weight, slinging the grappling hook and rope over his shoulder, then swinging his legs off the beam. He planned to lower himself until he hung by his arms, then drop to the floor which would be more than a body length below his feet.

  The door opened without warning. Fyn froze, legs astride the beam.

  'Empty,' a voice called to others in the far room.

  'Good, the hold's full. If we find anything else, it can travel on the next ship. Palatyne won't miss it until he gets home.'

  'Don't you bet on it,' the one in the doorway muttered. 'He'll inspect the stores, when he gets to Port Marchand. He knows every single thing he took out of the trophy room. He's as much of a pinch-purse as any merchant.' As the Merofynian closed the door Fyn heard him add, 'And I don't want him accusing me of feathering my own...'

  Fyn swung his legs back up then lay full length again. He counted to a hundred, slowly, but there wasn't a sound. All the while, frustration grew - Palatyne was setting off for Port Marchand.

  If the worst came to the worst he could barter a ride to the port and catch up with Palatyne there. This time he must not fail.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mid-afternoon, Byren called a halt for the third time that day. He'd been pushing the horses and they were exhausted, as were the children, but their party needed to reach Cedar tradepost before dusk, when the palisade gate was closed.

  While he helped little Rodien down from the horse, he watched the surrounding trees. No birds sang, possibly because their party was large enough to scare them off. Still, he hadn't failed to note how Sveyto kept watching the pine forest. And the horses had been restive all day, spooked by something.

  'Me next.' The ten year-old held out her arms trustingly.

  Byren lifted her to the snow, feeling the tug of his wound. It felt weeks old, rather than days. That healer had done a fine job. He wished he could have done a better job protecting her brother, the dyer.

  'Thank you, master blacksmith.' The girl beamed up at him, revealing beguiling dimples, then ran off to join her sisters.

  'A few moments, that's all,' Byren called after her.

  Scholar Veniamyn came over to join him, keeping his voice low as he watched his eldest daughter hand out dried fruit and nuts. Despite earlier breaks to rest and eat, it was the first chance they'd had to speak together, without the sell-sword hovering over them. 'You think Sveyto has been leading us astray?'

  'Undoubtedly.' Byren glanced around the clearing. 'Speaking of which, where is he?'

  'He stepped into the trees to relieve himself.'

  Byren nodded. 'Think I'll follow his lead.' He raised his voice. 'Rodien, do you need to pee?'

  The boy trotted over, chewing on his dried fruit, cheeks bulging. He swallowed and nodded.

  Taking his hand, Byren followed Sveyto's tracks into the trees, chose a spot and unlaced his breeches. When they were done he came back and took the girls off, standing guard with his back to them.

  The necessities taken care of, he returned to find there was still no sign of the sell-sword.

  'Help the children mount up,' Byren told Veniamyn. 'I'm going to check on Sveyto.'

  He jogged through the snow following the man's tracks. Soon he found where Sveyto had stopped to urinate, but instead of returning, the sell-sword had made off through the snow and the length of his stride indicated he'd been in a hurry.

  It confirmed Byren's worst fears. The man had gone looking for his companions, meaning to lead them back to cut off Byren's group before they could reach safety.

  Cursing fluently, he turned around to find the ulfr pack leader only two body lengths from him, between him and the clearing.

  Surprise made his heart race.

  'Eh, there,' Byren whispered, deliberately making his voice low and crooning. 'Have you been following me?' Was there enough residual Affinity from the seep on his skin to fool the beast a second time? There'd been no chance for him to bathe.

  Swallowing, Byren glanced around and spotted the silver-white coats of another two ulfrs, further back in the trees. No wonder the horses were skittish.

  Well, they hadn't attacked him yet. Animals smelled fear. Telling himself there was no reason to be afraid - hadn't the ulfr let him pass just yesterday? - Byren gathered his courage and walked slowly up the rise towards the pack leader.

  The beast watched him with eyes that held far too much intelligence for an animal. It was said, all Affinity beasts carried a little of the goddess Halcyon in them. Looking into those eyes, Byren believed it.

  When he was less than a body length from the beast, Byren hesitated. It still had not moved from the path and he did not want to turn his back on it. On impulse, he dropped to his knees and raised his hand, wrist forwards, fingers down for the ulfr to sniff.

  The beast's muzzle twitched delicately as it stepped forwards and accepted his offering. He felt the heat of its exhalation and then the damp of its nose as it nuzzled his skin.

  'You are a beautiful beast,' Byren whispered, and he meant it. Yielding to another impulse, he edged closer, running his hand through the pack leader's thick pelt, where it grew long in a ruff behind the beast's head. The fur felt incredibly soft on his fingers and he fought the urge to apologise because he still wore the ulfr coat the farmholder had given him.

  The ulfr nuzzled his ear, startling a chuckle from Byren. Strange, once he had thought the scent of ulfrs invasive and dangerous. Now it seemed as right and familiar as the scent of horses.

  The dominant ulfr lifted its head, sniffed the air, uttered a soft sound like a cough and trotted off. At its signal, the others beasts melted into the snow-shrouded forest.

  Not sure what had just happened, Byren came to his feet with renewed urgency. If he didn't get Veniamyn and his family safely to Cedar
tradepost tonight, the girls would be gracing some fierce Utlander's piss-pot of a great hall by spring cusp.

  Grim determination driving him on, Byren ran back to the others. Veniamyn blanched when he met Byren's eyes.

  'Where's our guide?' the middle girl asked.

  'Hush,' the eldest chided her, quick to pick up on her father's concern.

  'Will we be there soon?' the youngest asked, unaware of the undercurrents.

  'By dusk.' Or not at all, Byren thought. 'Veniamyn, you bring up the rear. I'll lead. I'm going to push the horses, so hold on. If you feel tired and grumpy, think of the lovely hot dinner and warm bed waiting for you at the journey's end.' It was what his mother used to say, when he and Lence were little and fed up with travelling.

  His mother... pain twisted in his gut, but there was no time for grief.

  Byren took the reins of the horse Rodien rode and set off at a jog. Each step tugged at his wound. He ignored it. The short afternoon sped by. Every time they breasted a crest, he hoped to see the tradepost, but another empty gully lay before them.

  At one point he heard the cry of a lincis defending its territory. Probably one of the pair that had taken his pony. The sound came from the north, not between him and the tradepost, so he ignored it. He had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble, as his old nurse Seela would say.

  Another stab of loss hit him. Did she still live? Had the Merofynians mistreated her? Surely they would respect her grey hair.

  His impotence made him angry and he channelled that anger into his body, driving himself and the horses onwards.

  All through that interminable afternoon, the children did not complain. Like the horses they seemed to be aware of his urgency, or they thought it was some sort of game, because they held on, ducking low branches, laughing when snow fell on them and brushing it off their shoulders with good humour.

  All too soon the sun dipped, leaving a smear of brilliant salmon-pink behind the pines on Byren's right. On his left he glimpsed the first star of evening between the tree tops. No one suggested they rest or make camp.

  Still, he drove himself on. How Veniamyn managed, Byren did not know. His thighs burned by the time he came to the top of a ridge and spotted the thin spiral of smoke behind the next crest.

  Sucking in deep breaths, he waited for the other horses to catch up. Veniamyn had fallen a long way behind, leading the horse drawing the sled.

  'Are we there?' Rodien asked.

  'See the smoke?' Byren pointed.

  The children nodded.

  'That's Cedar tradepost.' Or he was much mistaken. 'You'll be safe inside its palisade. All we have to do is cross this gully, climb that next ridge and go down into the next gully.'

  'What's taking Father so long?' the eldest girl muttered, twisting from the waist.

  'Come on, Da,' the youngest called.

  'Hush,' Byren warned.

  All four children looked to him for an explanation.

  'Sound carries. We don't want to attract attention.' It was just as well they hadn't come by the traditional route up from Rolenton, where the brigands would almost certainly be watching the trail, prepared to attack any party that looked too weak to defend itself. Sveyto's meandering meant they were coming across country.

  Veniamyn joined them. He bent over double and did not lift his head for several minutes.

  'I'm s-sorry,' he panted, still bent double.

  'We're almost there. Catch your breath,' Byren said. 'It'll give the horses a chance to get their second wind.'

  Veniamyn cast him a swift look. In that instant Byren noticed his pallor. The scholar would not last much longer. Too much time spent poring over books.

  When he did straighten up, he did not look much better. Byren stepped closer and raised his arm, pointing. In the few moments that they'd been waiting the last of the colour had left the western sky, and an effervescence of stars filled the night above. By their silver-blue light, Byren could clearly make out the silhouettes of the trees on the next ridge. 'See where the stars are obscured? That's the smoke from Cedar tradepost. We're that close.'

  Veniamyn nodded. 'I don't know what I would have done without you, Byren Kingson.'

  'Kingson?' the eldest girl echoed. Her eyes widened with horror. 'Byren Kingson, Father? But we peed in front of him!'

  Her dismay made Byren laugh softly. 'I turned m'back. Come on.'

  He led the horse carrying Rodien and the youngest girl down the slope. Behind him, the two bigger girls whispered, their tone a mixture of excitement and chagrin.

  They'd reached the bottom of the gully when he heard a shout and turned to his right to see a dozen dark figures break from the trees.

  His party was close to the base of the next ridge but the snow was knee-deep. It would be impossible for the laden horses to make it up to the crest and over before the men reached them.

  'They're not fellow travellers, are they?' the eldest girl asked grimly. She had been aware of the danger all along.

  'No such luck,' Byren muttered. Tying the halter of Rodien's horse to hers, he looked up into her face. 'I'm relying on you to get the little ones up the hill, over the ridge and down to Cedar tradepost. Don't look back.' And he slapped her horse's rear.

  It took off, frightened by Byren's shout.

  Veniamyn came running up to Byren, the heavy sled impeding his horse's progress. 'Is it -'

  'Yes. Up.' Byren caught his thigh and lifted him, almost throwing him onto the horse's back. Then he ran a couple of paces to the leather traces that connected to the sled and slashed them. 'We'll have to leave this.'

  With a slap, he sent the scholar's horse after the children's horses. Then he ran along behind.

  At first the horses made good time, but then they hit the slope of the next ridge. Spent horses, burdened with riders, running uphill through snow, were not much faster than determined men.

  And the brigands had veered to cut them off, climbing the ridge at an angle. Faceless, menacing black silhouettes against the star-bright snow, they forged on, intent on their prey.

  Byren loosened his hunting knife, wishing he had more weapons.

  Halfway up the ridge, he veered towards the brigands. The nearest man huffed madly as he ran and drew his sword, intending to cut Byren down with one slash.

  Byren ducked, then rose, driving his knife into the man's gut. The brigand crumpled. Byren pulled his knife free and snatched the sword.

  Then he raced towards another brigand, who was trying to grab the scholar's horse by the tail with one hand, while reaching to pull Veniamyn from its back with the other. Byren slashed the brigand's back, shoved him aside and ran on as he fell.

  Between the pounding in his head and the shouts of the brigands, Byren was aware of nothing but each moment, each frantic breath, each thudding step.

  Amazingly, he saw the crest ahead with the children's two horses silhouetted against the stars. Veniamyn's horse snorted and struggled up the last of the incline to join them, with Byren a step behind.

  Below, nestled in the valley between ridges, the welcome lights of Cedar tradepost glowed in the dark. The palisade gate was closed but they wouldn't turn away a party made up mostly of frightened children.

  'There it is, go!' Byren ordered.

  'What about you?' the eldest girl cried.

  'Go!'

  Veniamyn cast him a look of thanks, then plunged after the children.

  Byren turned to face the brigands, hoping none of them carried bows. Even if they did, shooting down hill at racing targets was not easy. Their aim would be off.

  He held the high ground as he confronted the first two bandits, who raced up the rise towards him. Lifting his borrowed sword, Byren waited grimly. He'd killed two but there were another ten - not good odds, as Lence would say...

  His twin's loss cut deep and hard. No time for grief.

  The two brigands slowed, eyeing him warily. Clearly, they weren't about to attack. As they waited for others to join them, Byren wa
s aware of some making their way across the crest and around behind him.

  He cast a look over his shoulder and spotted three horses streaking across the snow towards the palisade gate. Thank Halcyon, Rodien and the others were safe.

  He, however, was about to face the brigands' anger.

  There was no point running. They would cut him down the moment he turned his back. Byren preferred to die fighting. He did not regret his actions. He could not have abandoned Rodien, or Veniamyn and his girls. But he did regret failing his father, failing Rolencia.

  'They're getting away!' one of the brigands panted.

  'Forget them. We have a richer prize here,' Sveyto said. 'The Merofynians are offering a bag of gold for the kingson.'

  For a heartbeat, Byren considered denying it, but Byren Kingson was worth more to them than Byren Blacksmith.

  'What gave me away?' he asked. 'Was it something Veniamyn said?'

  Sveyto laughed. 'That old fart? No. You and your twin attacked a band I was with last spring cusp. I saw you then, all high and mighty, before I ran off into the trees. Took me a while to place you, but you have the manner of a lord, not a blacksmith.'

  Byren shrugged. Piro would have been disappointed in him. She was the one who loved to dress up and perform plays. He lowered his sword tip. 'So you've been after me all along, not -'

  'Oh, the girls would have warmed our beds before we sold them to the Utlanders.' Sveyto spat. 'Now we'll have to sleep cold. Drop your weapon.'

  There was no point resisting. They were going to capture him eventually and he would stand a better chance of escaping if he was uninjured. Byren tossed the borrowed sword and his hunting knife in the snow at Sveyto's feet and lifted his hands.

  'Tie him up, good and tight,' Sveyto ordered.

  Byren didn't offer resistance, but the nearest brigand stepped in and sent a punch into his belly that drove the air from his lungs. He went down on his knees in the snow. More blows followed.

  'Hurry,' Sveyto warned. 'Before that nagging scholar convinces Cedar tradepost to send out warriors to rescue his precious kingson.'