The King's Man (The Chronicles of King Rolen's Kin)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  If he hadn’t been feeling faint with hunger, he would have been happy just to sit and watch and try to figure out what was going on. But he was starving.

  What the Utlanders didn’t eat, they threw to the dogs. He was just about to try fighting off the dogs for a bone, when a girl of about eleven came by with a bowl for him.

  He wondered if it contained tainted Affinity meat and hesitated.

  The girl wrinkled her short nose, as she mimed eating. ‘Is good.’

  He took a mouthful. So good: rich and tasty. He gulped down another mouthful. Right now, the chance of Affinity contagion didn’t matter. It was more important to keep up his strength.

  He’d been afraid the Utlanders would starve their slaves, but here they seemed generous. The soup filled his belly.

  ‘Rusan, Rusan!’ the Utlanders called on Captain Rusan to tell the story of how he’d killed the wyvern to confirm his captaincy.

  The story unfolded with much laughter as Rusan strutted about and acted out his part while Olbin took the part of the wyvern. Two children were roped in to play the parts of himself and Trafyn. They pretended to be tied to a mast and cried for help. He flushed. He hadn’t panicked, Trafyn had.

  The story finished and the other captain stepped forward to act out his adventures.

  Tired as he was, Garzik couldn’t sleep. It was all too new and interesting. But he did doze, slipping into a half-sleep where the singing and laughter of the Utlanders mingled with memories of King Rolen’s great hall... Byren returning with the manticore chitin and gifting it to his father to make a fabulous coat of armour. Piro pretending to be a goat-herd and driving him crazy with worry for her. Piro telling him she was going to be a beardless warrior like an Utlander because she had Affinity after all and she couldn’t bear to live her life locked away in Sylion Abbey. Piro laughing, taunting him as she ran up the tower steps ahead of him. He just knew if he caught her and kissed her, he could convince her to give up this mad idea.

  But when he reached the top of the tower he found himself in the Utlander’s long-hall and remembered Piro was dead. A wave of sadness swamped him.

  Someone walked past, an old woman leading two children. They looked to be about ten years old and seemed to be playing some kind of game, for they had their arms linked so they could walk back-to-back in perfect unison. As they passed him to stand directly in front of the fireplace, he saw the second child’s face.

  It was identical to the first. Twins, then. Everyone waited breathlessly, watching the identical twins and the old woman.

  Iron-hair welcomed the three with great courtesy.

  The old woman removed the twins’ cloak to reveal their nakedness. They were girls, joined at the base of the lower back. Fused.

  Was he dreaming, after all? Garzik sat up, rubbing his face.

  Seeing them reminded him of something. When he was little, he used to creep over to the men-at-arms’ table to listen to their tales. Now a story came back to him, one that had made no sense at the time. They’d called the Utlanders in-bred, claimed that brothers took sisters to their beds and their union produced monsters.

  Later, he’d asked Byren and Orrade about it. They’d dismissed it as the kind of stories men told about their enemies to make them seem less than human.

  Now...

  With eerie coordination, the fused-twins walked the length of the long table, escorted by the old woman. Every now and then they would swap, one taking the lead instead of the other. The switchover was smooth and effortless.

  When this happened, the one in the lead one would indicate a particular person then whisper to the old woman, who would make an announcement. Her voice was surprisingly young for someone with pure white hair.

  Most of what she said made no sense to Garzik. He could follow instructions at sea but there were many new words on land and, besides, everything the old woman said rhymed and the words seemed to be chosen for their pleasing sound patterns.

  Some of the things the fused-twins said through her made everyone laugh. Some things were greeted with hushed silence, then awed whispers. The fused-twins stopped in front of one-eared Jost. He sat up, looking hopeful. His two friends leaned forward.

  But neither of the fused-twins whispered to the old woman. They moved on until they came to Olbin. One of them said something which was greeted by silence, then Captain Rusan clapped his friend on the back and congratulated him.

  Oracles.

  The fused-twins were oracles. Affinity-blessed oracles. If this was Rolencia they would have been given to Sylion Abbey at birth.

  That or exposed on a hillside.

  Garzik couldn’t take his eyes off them. The fusion of their naked bodies exercised a terrible fascination. He couldn’t help wondering how much of their bodies were joined. Did they share one back passage? It was hard to tell.

  Their task done, the fused-twins returned to the fireside. The old woman picked up the cloak. As she helped them dress, he realised it was really a robe with two head holes and four holes for their arms.

  After settling the garment in place, the old woman went to escort them out, but one of the fused-twins turned very slowly towards Garzik. This meant the other one had to turn away. She looked over her shoulder with curious detachment.

  As the first girl studied Garzik her lids lowered and her eyes rolled back in her head, and he knew she must be tapping into Affinity.

  She whispered something to the old woman, who leant closer to Garzik.

  For the first time he looked at her, really looked at her.

  She had the smooth skin of a young woman; her hair wasn’t white due to age. She was also Affinity touched. Her odd pink eyes fringed by white lashes held him transfixed.

  He was so surprised her words made no sense, although he did catch something about striking a light.

  He pulled back, stunned. Her words had rhymed like a children’s word-game and he replayed the words over and over in his head as he tried to fathom them.

  ‘Good news or bad?’

  He looked up to find Olbin crouched opposite him. The white-haired woman and the fused-twins had gone.

  ‘What did she say, hot-lander?’ Olbin asked. ‘What did the Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow say?’

  ‘Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow?’

  Olbin nodded. He touched his own black hair. ‘White-hair is Today, mother of Yesterday and Tomorrow. What did they say?’

  Garzik repeated the rhyme. ‘But I don’t understand it. Something about lighting a lamp?’

  ‘Not lamp. To make fire.’ Olbin gestured to the fireplace and mimed striking flint to tinder. Then he added a string of words, saw that Garzik did not understand and tried again. ‘You light the fire tomorrow and tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought they were Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow?’

  Olbin laughed and Garzik got the impression he was being thick; that, or Affinity oracles were known for being cryptic.

  Someone called for a song. A girl of about fifteen came forward, her clear, high voice carrying in the long-hall. Rusan produced his pipes, Claw-face a stringed instrument and someone else a drum, and they accompanied her.

  Rusan had eyes only for the singer. She would have been pretty, if it wasn’t for the witchy look around her eyes. She entranced Olbin, who did not look away.

  Garzik caught one word in five of her song. Like the oracles’ speech, the lyrics seemed crafted for the pleasing balance of their sounds as much as their meaning.

  When the singer reached the end of a verse, everyone joined in, their voices blending. The effect was beautiful, but sad.

  For some reason, it made Garzik think of his home, of things lost, people passed, Piro...

  Tears stung his eyes.

  The girl resumed her solo part and, to his amazement, Olbin wept openly. Garzik looked around. All of them wept, unashamedly – women and warriors alike.

  When the songstress finished, Olbin wiped his eyes.

  ‘Good song.’ He thumped his chest, over his
heart and said something else that Garzik didn’t understand but took to mean the song was good because it made him feel strongly.

  Rusan put his pipes aside and set out to charm the songstress. She perched on the table, swinging her legs, listening intently.

  Olbin joined them. He tried to cajole the singer into sitting on his lap. Songstress laughed and refused, but she obviously enjoyed the attention. The only one not happy was Jost. He cast both Rusan and Olbin dark looks and muttered to his two companions.

  Iron-hair called for another song, something about lost raiders returning home. Soon the whole settlement was singing along with the chorus as the adventures of the lost raiders unfolded.

  Children climbed into the laps of fierce warriors and drifted off in their arms. It was odd seeing men who had thrown injured sailors overboard without a qualm rocking children to sleep.

  So many marvels... Garzik drifted off, carried on a wave of sound and half-grasped imagery.

  THE NEXT DAY the returned raiders and beardless tackled the task of repairing the ships, while some of the raiders helped with the heavier jobs around the settlement. Garzik kept his eyes opened, listened and mostly followed what was being said.

  At one point he saw Rusan and Olbin head up the valley carrying a selection of foods and treasures from their ship. They went to a lonely cottage tucked into the hillside, where a thin stream of blue smoke rose on the still air.

  The door opened and they handed over the gifts. Even from this distance, Garzik could see it was the white-haired woman. It made sense that she and her daughters would be valued by the settlement.

  Living as they did, out here on the edge of the habitable islands, Utlanders would need people who had an affinity with the gods to intervene on their behalf.

  While the men and beardless worked, young children helped by running and fetching. Back home, Garzik had been in training to become a warrior. He could hunt, plan a battle, read and write, but he was no carpenter. He couldn’t make a mortise and tenon joint, so they sent him to chop firewood. There was a large wood heap waiting to be cut down. Like cooking, it was a never-ending task.

  Yet it was satisfying.

  After a while, he paused to wipe his forehead and noticed Songstress coming down the path with a tray of honey cakes and cheese. The eleven year-old girl trotted along behind, carrying a jug of ale and cups with great concentration. Now that he looked, Songstress had the same short nose and full lips as the girl.

  Sisters, no doubt about it.

  When Songstress reached Rusan’s ship, the captain called a halt and came down the gangplank to see her. Olbin was only one step behind him. Watching them, Garzik couldn’t tell which one she preferred. It amused him, but it didn’t amuse Jost and his friends.

  Apparently, it didn’t amuse the little sister either, because she mimicked her big sister and rolled her eyes as if flirting was a chore. She already carried herself like one of the beardless. Garzik grinned. Cheeky-puss reminded him of Piro.

  And that reminded him of all he’d lost.

  He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Needing time to think, he left the axe on the wood block and went to the out-house. It was after he’d doused his head and shoulders in cold water and was headed back that he heard someone calling his name. He turned to find Trafyn beckoning from behind a snow-shrouded spruce.

  What now?

  With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he darted over to join Trafyn.

  ‘I’m running away. Are you with me?’ Trafyn demanded. One eye was swollen shut and he held a bundle to his chest.

  Garzik gestured to his face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘One of those Utland bitches punched me. I nearly lost my eye.’

  ‘She punched you? What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing. I just objected to doing women’s work,’ Trafyn said, aggrieved. ‘I’ve had it. I’m not putting up with this any longer. How dare they treat me like a slave?’

  ‘You are a slave.’ Garzik felt like laughing, but he controlled the urge and searched for words. ‘We’re Utland captives. That makes us their slaves. If you pull your weight, they’ll treat you well.’ While the food lasted. Captain Blackwing had told him the slaves were the first to starve on Utland islands. ‘You just have to work hard.’

  ‘Why should I work for them? I’m Lord Trafyn’s son. Servants work for me.’

  Garzik didn’t know what to say in the face of Trafyn’s wilful blindness.

  ‘You coming?’

  ‘Where?’ Garzik gestured to the valley, the sheer sides reflected in the mirror-like bay. ‘The only way out of here is by ship.’

  Trafyn glanced up to the peaks.

  ‘Inland?’ Garzik shook his head. ‘Into the wild highlands.’ He’d heard the perils of the highlands described in songs last night. ‘Didn’t you notice the Affinity beast trophies in the long-hall? There’s nothing in the highlands but dangerous beasts, snow and ice. You wouldn’t last a day on your own.’

  ‘So you’re happy to be a slave?’

  ‘Of course not. But I’m not stupid either. When the ships are repaired, Rusan and the other captain will be going back to the hot-lands and I’ll be going with them. That’s when we can escape.’

  ‘I wouldn’t need to escape if you’d talk to them and explain who I am.’

  ‘I will, when I know what to say. For now, come back to the long-hall. Keep your head down. Bide your time,’ Garzik advised. He didn’t know why he bothered. ‘We’ll be sailing south soon.’

  Chapter Eleven

  BUT THREE DAYS later, only one of the ships left the valley. Rusan’s stolen Merofynian vessel remained. The captain had decided to lighten the ship. Beds, cabinets and anything vaguely worth using were dismantled and carried off the ship, then distributed.

  Garzik gathered that the lightening of the ship meant less of the vessel below the sea’s surface, which meant less drag, resulting in a faster ship. And since the Utlanders slept on deck, belowdeck could be used for storage.

  It was another six days before the ship was fitted out to Rusan’s liking. During this time Trafyn managed to keep out of trouble, although Garzik suspected the squire did as little work as possible.

  As for Garzik, he kept his mouth shut and listened. The more he listened, the more he understood, and the better he became with the Utland language.

  He didn’t mind the work. There was something satisfying about getting things done. In a settlement this size one person’s efforts made a difference. The busy days flew by and, in the evenings, he watched Rusan and Olbin competing for the pretty singer’s favours. It was as good as watching a mummers’ play back home in King Rolen’s court.

  Garzik was inclined to think Rusan’s ability to play the pipes gave him an edge with the songstress over Olbin. It meant they shared a love of music. Certainly Jost was out of the running. Even his captured nobleman’s sword and dagger failed to impress her.

  That evening, Garzik took his customary place, sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, to observe the long table. Knowing the raiders sailed with the dawn tide, Garzik watched Rusan and Olbin to see if either of them would succeed with the girl tonight. Both seemed equally determined to woo her but, strangely enough, this didn’t cause friction between them.

  When Cheeky-puss passed Garzik, he pointed to Rusan and Olbin. ‘Which one will win her?’

  The girl blinked at him like he’d missed something.

  Recalling Iron-hair and her air of authority, it came to him that Utland women were not prizes, they were partners. He rephrased the question. ‘Which one will your sister choose?’

  The girl laughed.

  He flushed, certain he was still missing something.

  Cheeky-puss’s sharp witchy eyes held amusement leavened with intelligence. ‘You think like a hot-lander. Lazy hot-landers have an easy life. We Utlanders live a hard life.’

  She waited as if he should be able to work out what she meant.

  H
e lifted his hands in confusion.

  ‘In the Utlands children go hungry, children die. One man can’t feed half a dozen children, so brothers make a pact.’ She gestured to Rusan and Olbin. ‘Same mother, different fathers. No need for Sarijana to choose between them.’

  They would share her? No wonder his father’s men-at-arms used to tell those stories. Garzik felt heat stain his cheeks and looked away.

  ‘Hot-landers!’ Cheeky-puss snorted. ‘You think our way is wrong?’ She tilted her head watching him. ‘In the hot-lands what happens to a woman and her children if her man dies?’

  Sometimes one of the man’s brothers married the woman and raised the children, but if he didn’t and there wasn’t any family to take her in, the woman was turned out. She had to sell herself on the street to feed her children. Garzik struggled to find the right Utland words.

  ‘Life is hard.’ Cheeky-puss was nodding before he finished. ‘But Utland life is harder. Men die in battle. They die on raids and fighting Affinity beasts. But they die knowing their family will be looked after.’ She held his eyes. ‘How can you say your way is right and our way is wrong?’

  That stopped him in his tracks. Then he thought of something. ‘There’d be enough girls to go around if half of them didn’t become beardless.’

  ‘Not enough girls is not the problem.’ She rolled her eyes like he was stupid. ‘Who do you think defends our home when the raiders are away? Beardless are brave and fearless. We sing songs about them. I’m going to be –’

  ‘But...’ What a waste. She was smart and he found her more interesting than her sister, who liked to flirt. One day, when she grew up, Cheeky-puss would set men’s hearts hammering. ‘I’d marry you.’

  ‘You?’ She threw back her head and laughed. ‘You can’t even feed yourself. You have no sword and no brothers.’

  It was true. Shame stung his cheeks. As she walked off, he ducked his head, wrapping his arms around his bent knees. A little later, he saw Cheeky-puss talking with Sarijana. The singer looked his way and laughed.