In a matter of heartbeats, the Utland ship was past Mulcibar’s Gate and free of attackers, leaving the sea-hound vessel burning fiercely. The second sea-hound ship bore down on the burning vessel, which had been swept off the rocks and now swung sideways across the entrance to the passage. Garzik imagined the second helmsman trying desperately to avoid collision.
A rending of timbers filled the air, as the second sea-hound vessel rammed the first.
A delighted, derisive cheer rose from the Utlanders. Olbin caught Garzik in a hug and kissed him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BEFORE LUNCH, FYN went to check on Cortomir. Since Rhalwyn was only a little more experienced than Cortomir, it was somewhat a case of the blind leading the blind. But things had gone well so far. Over the last two days, both the boys and the beasts had settled into their new quarters. Isolt seemed to be the one having the most trouble adjusting.
As Fyn stepped out onto the crescent terrace, he spotted the two Affinity beasts at the base of the stairs leading to the first-floor verandah.
‘Not, like that, like this,’ Cortomir told Rhalwyn. They stood halfway up the stairs on the landing.
He held a large tin platter. ‘Throw it high, with spin. Like this, Rhalwyn.’
Flashing in the sun, the dish travelled out across the terrace then over the lawn. Both the wyvern and the foenix ran after it, leaping into the air. Wings beating, they strove to reach the platter. The wyvern shouldered the foenix aside, catching the dish in mid-air. The boys cheered loudly.
Fyn jogged along the terrace and climbed the stairs to the landing, just as the wyvern landed on the balustrade with her prize.
Cortomir accepted the platter and congratulated her. Then Loyalty swooped down to land on the terrace below, where both beasts waited eagerly.
‘Can I have a look?’ Fyn asked, holding his hand out for the platter.
‘It’s gotten a bit chewed up,’ Rhalwyn admitted. ‘But it’s an old one so I didn’t think anyone would mind.’
Fyn tested the weight of the platter before throwing it in a long, graceful curve.
Both beasts scrambled to catch the dish. This time the foenix used his sharp claws to pluck it from the air before the wyvern could beat him to it.
‘Who invented with this game, Cortomir?’
‘Da showed me.’ The spar lad shrugged. ‘Dunno who showed him.’
The foenix returned with the platter, then both beasts waited, ready to play again. This time Rhalwyn threw it and the wyvern and foenix almost collided, jaws snapping, claws flashing. Fyn winced.
Rhalwyn turned to Fyn. ‘Will the queen be coming today?’
‘Probably. She’s having lunch right now.’ Fyn headed back into the maze of corridors.
He found Isolt eating lunch on another terrace that looked out over the Landlocked Sea. Sweet smelling flowers spilled from terracotta pots. Lady Gennalla, her daughter Sefarra and grandson Benowyth shared the queen’s table, while musicians played softly and half a dozen servants waited discreetly. Fyn would have happily consigned them all to the Utlands for a moment alone with Isolt.
Isolt saw him and smiled. He thought there was a special welcome in her eyes just for him, and he felt his pulse quicken.
One servant set a place at the table, while another offered Fyn a tray of pastries. He listened while Lady Gennalla and Isolt discussed the logistics of their family’s return to Benetir Estate. They were concerned for the seven-year slaves who worked in the estate’s sorbt mine.
The servants arrived with another course and Lady Gennalla leant close to Fyn, lowering her voice. ‘Sefarra’s not thinking clearly.’
Fyn glanced to Sefarra, who was staring, stormy-eyed, across the Landlocked Sea.
‘First she refused to dedicate herself to Cyena, and now she doesn’t want to come home. You must convince her.’ Lady Gennalla flushed. ‘Isolt has been kind, but there’s no reason for Sefarra to stay in the palace. She’ll never get a husband now that she’s ruined.’
‘Then it’s lucky I don’t want a husband,’ Sefarra said, proving she had excellent hearing. ‘I keep telling you I don’t want to get married. I want to join the queen’s guard.’
Fyn winced. Captain Elrhodoc would never accept Sefarra.
Lady Gennalla sent Fyn a silent plea.
‘I’m the right age for a squire.’ Sefarra turned to Isolt. ‘Let me go into training to serve you, my queen.’
Isolt sent Fyn a silent plea.
‘Lord Protector?’ Sefarra fixed hard eyes on him. He knew what she was capable of. She would never be the girl her mother remembered. Perhaps she had never been that girl.
Even if the nobles had welcomed her back, he doubted she would have been satisfied as the wife of a lord.
‘Well?’ Lady Gennalla urged Fyn to speak.
Compared with this, defeating a spar warlord was simple. Fyn drew breath.
Just then an altercation caused them all to turn.
‘I’ll see the queen, thank you very much. And you’d better not try to stop me.’
There was a scuffle. Fyn jumped to his feet as an iron-haired man sent two of the queen’s guards flying, then strode across the terrace towards them.
‘It’s the bay lord,’ Isolt whispered to Fyn. Coming to her feet, she raised her voice. ‘How nice to see you, Lord Cadmor.’
‘They haven’t told you, I knew it!’ Cadmor cursed roundly.
Despite his grey hair, he’d had no trouble dealing with Captain Elrhodoc’s men. Fyn stepped in front of Isolt.
Lord Cadmor looked Fyn up and down, amused. ‘So this is King Rolen’s pup? Favours his grandmother. Hope for your sake he’s as sharp as she was.’
Fyn flushed. He hadn’t known his grandmothers. Recollecting his manners, he gave a formal bow. ‘Lord Protector Merofyn at your service, Lord Cadmor.’
‘Captain will do. I come bearing bad news, Queen Isolt.’ He glanced to the others at the table and jerked his head towards the edge of the terrace.
As soon as they reached the rail, Cadmor gave his report. ‘Utlanders sailed into Mero Bay, bold as brass, and attacked a merchant ship.’
‘Utlanders?’ Isolt turned worried eyes to Fyn. Just when they thought the kingdom was safe from threat. ‘But it must be a hundred years since—’
‘Ninety-two, to be precise. My grandfather dealt with them then. This time my grandson gave chase. He managed to lose his ship and half his crew, and get himself burned to boot.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Isolt said. ‘Will he be all right?’
A smile broke across the bay lord’s face. ‘He’ll be fine. Bless you for asking. Maybe next time he won’t be so hot-headed. The Utland captain was a canny one, he lured—’
‘There you are, my queen.’ Captain Elrhodoc hurried over to join them, gold braid and silver buttons flashing in the sun. He gave the bay lord the slightest of nods. ‘Cadmor.’
‘Elrhodoc.’ Cadmor looked him up and down. ‘I see you take after your father. He never did have any—’
‘Over here.’ Elrhodoc beckoned Captain Aeran and the harbour-master. As they strode across the terrace, Elrhodoc turned to Isolt. ‘Terrible news, my queen, Utlanders—’
‘I’ve already told her,’ Cadmor cut him off. He nodded to the captain of the city-watch. ‘Aeran.’ Then to the harbour-master. ‘Still having trouble making your books balance, Fercwyf?’
The harbour-master flushed. ‘There’s no problem with my books, bay lord. I keep track of all goods in and out of Port Mero.’
‘Is that what you call it?’
‘I’m guessing Cadmor’s told you that Utlanders entered the bay last night,’ Aeran said quickly. ‘They murdered a merchant ship’s captain and stripped his vessel.’
‘I’ve spent all morning dealing with his surviving crew and employer,’ the harbour-master said.
Fyn frowned. ‘I don’t see how an Utland ship could sail into Mero Bay unnoticed.’
The harbour-master turned to Cadmor. ‘Well, bay lord?’
‘They sailed a captured merchant ship.’ Cadmor shrugged. ‘No one realised it had an Utland crew. They would have gotten away with it, if trouble hadn’t broken out between the Utlanders. As soon as the alarm was given, my grandson gave chase. An Ostronite sea-hound ship followed him. My grandson’s ship was destroyed and the Ostronite ship severely damaged.’
‘And the Utlanders escaped unpunished. We can’t have this. It’s bad for trade,’ the harbour-master insisted. ‘As bay lord, it’s your responsibility to protect Port Mero.’
‘Let me see...’ Cadmor rubbed his jaw. ‘It must be over fifty years since the merchants and lords stopped paying their tithe for the bay lord’s protection. Reckon that’s about right, because I was sent to sea when I was ten and I’m sixty-five now. Fifty-five years of making ends meet. I reckon my family’s owed fifty-five years of tithes for—’
‘For what?’ the harbour-master sneered. ‘For letting the Utlanders escape?’
‘For patrolling the bay and deterring Utlanders!’
‘And how much of that have you been doing? Half the time your ships are working as common sea-hound escorts.’
‘To make ends meet. You’ve no idea how much it costs to maintain my ships and crews. If the lords and merchants had paid their dues, my other two ships wouldn’t have been serving as sea-hounds on route to Rolencia. They would’ve been patrolling the bay yesterday—’
‘But they weren’t, and look what happened!’
Cadmor’s hands curled into fists. Aeran put a hand on his shoulder.
Elrhodoc turned his back on them. ‘We must mount a punitive expedition, my queen. Teach those barbaric Utlanders a lesson. Bring them back and execute them in the town square.’
‘But how do we catch them?’ Isolt asked. ‘Once on the open sea they could go anywhere.’
‘It’s pointless to go after them.’ Fyn spoke from experience. ‘By the time we send out ships, the Utlanders will have a day’s head-start. Our ships would have to stop and board every Merofynian merchant ship they came across to find the one under Utlander control.’
‘It doesn’t matter, as long as they capture some Utlanders and bring them back here to be executed,’ Elrhodoc said. ‘And we can’t leave this to the bay lord. He said himself he hasn’t any ships to spare. We need the king’s ships.’
Fyn’s father hadn’t maintained a navy. When they needed ships, King Rolen would commandeer merchants’ ships. Fyn caught Isolt’s eye. ‘How many ships in the royal navy?’
‘Five in all,’ Elrhodoc answered for her. ‘We’ll—’
‘True,’ she cut in, ‘but when not at war, they serve the crown’s interests as merchant ships. I’m not sure how many are in port.’
‘I’ll find out and bring their captains to the war-table,’ Aeran said.
‘I’ll tell the nobles.’ Elrhodoc strode off.
‘I’ll tell the merchants.’ The harbour-master left.
Isolt turned to the bay lord. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea the merchants and lords had stopped paying their tithes.’
‘About the same time they stopped offering their daughters to my family. When my father went looking for a wife, every last girl was promised. Or so they claimed.’ He shrugged.
Isolt smiled slowly, her eyes lighting up. ‘The royal yacht is the best that Wythrontir shipyard has built.’
‘I know the royal yacht, she’s a beauty.’
‘Fit for the open sea?’
‘Of a certainty.’
‘Then she’s yours.’
The bay lord’s jaw dropped.
‘You lost a ship in Merofynia’s service.’
The bay lord dropped to one knee. ‘You have my family’s loyalty to the end of our days, Queen Isolt.’
Isolt laughed. ‘I thank you. But be careful what you swear. Who knows what will happen?’
Cadmor came to his feet and his gaze went past her to where the royal yacht was moored.
‘Go look her over,’ Isolt said. ‘I’ll send a message to have her re-stocked. Do you want the crew or your own people?’
‘My people, begging your pardon.’
Fyn nodded. ‘A captain needs to know he can rely on his crew.’
‘Your lord protector has the right of it.’ He took his leave, with a spring in his step.
This left Fyn and Isolt virtually alone on the terrace. Lady Gennalla, Sefarra and little Benowyth had slipped away to give them privacy. The servants waited to clear the table.
‘You did the right thing,’ Fyn said. ‘For all his rough edges, I’d trust Cadmor at my back, before I’d trust...’ He thought better of criticising the captain of the queen’s guards.
‘Utlanders in Mero Bay, what next?’ Isolt shook her head. ‘I know you say we won’t catch them, but we have to do something.’
‘With a spar raid and now an Utland raid, I think you should cancel the royal tour. Your birthday is in midsummer and we’re planning a big celebration. Tell the lords to come here, to give their oaths of allegiance.’
‘You’re right. I can stage a grand ceremony.’
‘Have them bring their families, then keep them here.’
‘As hostages?’
‘As welcome guests,’ Fyn said. ‘Children who grow up in your court will support you as adults. This is your chance to win the loyalty of the next generation of Merofynian nobles.’
Isolt’s eyes widened. ‘I must admit, I had not thought that far ahead.’
‘I was trained in statecraft.’
‘My father made no effort to train me. He thought my mother would give him a son.’
Fyn wanted to reach out and hug her. He folded his arms. ‘Do you want to finish your lunch?’
‘I don’t think I could eat right now. Besides, I had better sign the royal yacht over to Lord Cadmor before he’s accused of trying to steal it.’
‘THEY’RE LATE.’ BYREN adjusted his borrowed Merofynian finery. ‘I wish I wasn’t meeting Rolencian merchants dressed like one of the enemy.’
‘Merofynia is no longer our enemy, now that Queen Isolt is our ally.’ Orrade gestured to their clothing. ‘And this will serve as a reminder.’
Even empty, the wool warehouse was thick with the smell of lanolin. Byren opened the little window. They were right across from the wharfs and the calls of seagulls carried on the breeze, along with the smell of seaweed.
To one side of where they stood was the shuttered opening where bales were winched up. Light filtered in through the gaps around the shutters.
The corax’s voice reached them from the floor below as he welcomed an arrival. ‘Markiz Samidor.’
The other merchants greeted the markiz.
‘We’ll wait for—’
‘No point,’ someone said. ‘The others aren’t coming, or they would have been here by now.’
Byren and Orrade exchanged looks.
‘Then go right up,’ the corax told them. ‘I’ll keep watch.’
Orrade leant closer to Byren. ‘Let me speak first.’
Four well-dressed merchants filed onto the mezzanine floor under the sloping roof. Byren frowned. Only four?
Three merchant markizes and one markiza. Byren knew the markiza. Her son, Chandler, had served in his honour guard. The other three he knew by name and reputation, but that was all. He wished now that he had spent more time in trade meetings.
‘By now you will have heard the good news,’ Orrade said. ‘King Merofyn is dead. Byren killed the upstart spar warlord, Palatyne, claimed Isolt for his queen and named his brother lord protector of Merofynia. Now he needs your help.’
They all looked to Byren. He spread his feet and hooked his hands in his belt. ‘I’m going to raise an army to remove my bastard cousin from my father’s throne.’
‘King Rolen’s death was a great loss,’ the old wool merchant said. He reminded Byren of Orrade’s father—tall, thin and austere.
‘Thirty years of peace and prosperity King Rolen gave us.’ Markiz Samidor shook his head. He was
middle-aged and seemed to have a perpetual frown. ‘I fear we won’t see his like again.’
The others nodded.
‘He will be sadly missed.’ The plump spice merchant agreed, and Byren recognised his voice. Yarraskem had been the one who said no more merchants were coming. Now the spice merchant gestured, rings glinting as his lace cuff fell away from his hand. ‘While we are glad to see King Rolen’s son safely returned, having secured the Merofynian queen for his bride, one wonders why he did not bring Merofynian men-at-arms to oust Cobalt.’
Byren was prepared for this. ‘Rolencia has suffered at the hands of Merofynia. I’m not marching more Merofynians across Rolencian soil.’
‘Besides,’ the wool merchant said. ‘You could not trust Merofynians to fight their own brothers-at-arms. Cobalt has five captains and their men at his disposal.’
‘Forget them,’ Orrade said. ‘They’ll be recalled to Merofynia. In fact they probably won’t wait for orders. They’ll sail when they hear that Byren is betrothed to their queen.’
‘Does this mean you’ve ordered the Merofynian nobles to relinquish the properties and businesses they laid claim to?’ Yarraskem asked.
‘Some,’ Byren conceded. The Merofynian nobles had not been eager to give up what they’d won. ‘They fought a war, lost men and—’
‘Stole our stock and confiscated our cargo,’ Yarraskem supplied.
‘Which is why we need to reclaim Rolencia and make the kingdom strong,’ Byren forged on. ‘Soon the streets will be clear of strutting Merofynian men-at-arms. Soon our only enemies will be Cobalt’s men and those Rolencians who’ve sold their loyalty to him for land and titles.’
‘Civil war...’ The markiza shook her head.
‘What do you want from us?’ Samidor asked, eyes wary. ‘Gold?’
‘I have the Merofynian treasury.’ In theory. But he could not travel with a fortune. Byren had some gold with him and a letter from Queen Isolt. ‘I need you to support me. Spread the word that I’ve returned, so I can gather an army and—’
‘An army of cripples?’ Yarraskem grimaced. ‘Those who weren’t killed or captured in the invasion paid with their right hands when they refused to reveal your whereabouts to Cobalt. Who will flock to your banner a second time?’
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