King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The lords and merchants raised their glasses, repeating the toast. This time there were no complaints about lack of men.

  Fyn gestured to Yorale and Wythrod. ‘The spar warriors are marching towards your estates, but Istyntir and Elenstir Estates lie east of the invasion. Where’s Lord Istyn?’

  ‘He’s in mourning. His only son was killed when Travany’s ship was taken, leaving him with five daughters!’ Elrhodoc’s lips twitched. ‘He’s already offered me my pick.’

  ‘Five daughters...’ Rhoderich shook his head.

  Fyn ignored him. ‘Neiron, I want you to gather as many fighting men as you can in Port Mero. Elenstir Estate is under threat, so Elrhodoc’s brother needs to help you retake Nevantir, Neiron. Once you’ve reclaimed your estate, march west in pursuit of the warlords’ main force. Meanwhile, Wythrod will march his men north towards the mountains and Lord Yorale will march east.’ Fyn traced the path of the advancing lords and tapped a point where all three would meet. ‘The warlords will be trapped between the mountains and our pincer attack.’

  ‘And you?’ Neiron asked. ‘What will you be doing while our men take on the spar warriors, Lord Protector Merofyn?’ Fyn hesitated. If he stayed here in the palace, they’d call him a coward. If he accompanied the lords, they’d resent his interference. He’d only led the retaking of Benetir Estate because Lady Gennalla’s male relatives were all dead or under-age. He drew breath, not sure what to say.

  ‘Lord Protector Merofyn will be with me,’ a familiar voice announced, ‘coordinating his battle plan.’

  ‘Dunstany...’ Isolt whispered. Fyn glanced to her. They both knew Lord Dunstany was really the mage’s apprentice; even so, she looked relieved.

  Abbot Murheg and the abbess had entered behind the old lord. Dunstany wore the indigo robes of a scholar, and as he made his slow way along the table, leaning heavily on his staff, Murheg slipped around the nobles to stand beside Fyn, and Celunyd joined Isolt. Meanwhile, the lords greeted Dunstany with a deference that barely masked their resentment and fear. He exuded a perceptible aura of power, which Fyn found pleasant but, from their expressions, the other lords found it unnerving.

  ‘They fear him,’ the abbot whispered to Fyn. ‘And well they should. Dunstany is close to a hundred years old, yet he looks like a spritely fifty. He was already an adult when the oldest of them were born. They cannot forget that the day Palatyne died, lightning struck the tip of Dunstany’s staff, leaving him unharmed.’

  Dunstany bowed to the queen, then turned to Fyn. He gestured to the windows overlooking the Landlocked Sea. ‘You’ll need to travel swiftly. Allow me to offer my pleasure yacht. From the Dunsior you can coordinate the attack.’

  Fyn nodded in thanks.

  ‘You offer your yacht, Dunstany,’ Yorale said. ‘I trust you’ll honour the alliance you made with my grandfather sixty years ago and offer men as well.’

  ‘But of course.’ Dunstany gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I would lead them myself if it were not for these old bones.’

  ‘I’d offer to help Neiron,’ Captain Elrhodoc said. ‘But my duty is here in Port Mero, protecting the queen.’

  ‘I won’t be here, captain. I’ll be on the Dunsior,’ Isolt announced. ‘After all, I cannot remain in the palace while my lords fight for the kingdom’s future.’ Isolt favoured Dunstany with a sweet smile. ‘That is, if there’s room for me, my lord?’

  ‘I’d be honoured, my queen.’

  ‘The queen cannot sail unprotected. I’ll tell my men to make ready,’ Elrhodoc announced.

  The abbot nodded. ‘This venture will need Mulcibar’s blessing.’

  ‘And the queen will need the cool-headed advice of Cyena’s representative,’ the abbess added.

  Fyn hid his disappointment. Once again, Isolt would be surrounded by whispering, fawning courtiers.

  ‘Since Lord Protector Merofyn sails with you, my queen, you’ll need someone to coordinate the attack on land,’ Neiron said, bowing low. ‘Allow me to offer my services as your lord general.’

  Isolt glanced to Dunstany.

  ‘Three lords will be leading their men,’ Dunstany said. ‘Someone must be in charge.’

  Neiron cast Fyn a look of triumph.

  Fyn caught Isolt’s eye and glanced to Yorale.

  ‘You’re right, Neiron.’ Isolt smiled. ‘Lord Yorale?’

  The elder statesman sank to one knee before the young queen as she named him her lord general.

  It was preferable to Neiron, but it still rankled with Fyn. As lord protector of Merofynia, the nobles should turn to him to lead them.

  What more did he have to do to win their respect?

  THE STORM SHROUDED the ship in perpetual twilight, but Piro guessed it was still afternoon. After two days of battling the weather, she had grown adept at moving on a heaving deck. She’d treated numerous small injuries as well as setting Old Dalf’s arm.

  She’d been waiting for the storm to ease off a little, before going below to check on her patients, but there seemed to be no end in sight. Slipping off her bunk, she made for the cabin door. The ship shuddered and lurched to one side so violently she fell to her knees.

  Cursing the wind shear, she wrapped her cloak around her before plunging out the door and down the passage to the middeck. Ankle-deep water sloshed back and forth in the passage.

  She threw open the door to the deck and the sound of the roaring wind hit her like a physical blow. The ship’s nose began to dip into the next wave trough. Even though the ship flew very little sail, the spars creaked and the ropes snapped as the canvas strained above her.

  Before Piro could grab for the rope that ran from the hook by the door across the deck to the mast, the ship reached the valley between the waves. Lightning flashed and she saw a wall of water coming towards them.

  Her stomach plunged, and her hand went to the stone around her neck.

  The ship’s nose lifted, trying to climb the wave. Water broke over the prow, forming a knee-high roller. It bore down on her, capped by a crest of foam. She darted back into the passage and slammed the door shut, bracing against it as the water hit.

  Judging it safe, she opened the door to middeck to find seawater pouring off the deck through the gaps along the ship’s sides. She spotted Bantam making his way down the steps from the reardeck above her. He looked grim. The ship tilted nose-down as it slid into the next wave trough.

  Piro stepped onto the deck and stood with her legs braced, holding onto the rope.

  Despite his seal-skin coat and cap, Bantam was wet through. He had to shout to be heard above the roaring of the wind, and even then she only caught a few words. ‘Shut the bloody door... back... your cabin.’

  ‘I must check on the injured.’

  Lightning flashed again, revealing mountainous seas all around them. The ship, which had appeared so sleek and proud in port, now looked small and fragile. Piro’s heart quailed. At this moment, Cobalt’s duplicitous marriage didn’t seem so important, and proving herself to Siordun felt like a petty concern.

  Right now she didn’t care how long it took to reach Rolencia. She just wanted to be safe on dry land.

  ‘Check them tomorrow.’ Bantam gestured for her to go inside.

  Before she could move, a wind shear slammed into the ship, and the mainmast snapped with a loud crack. Canvas and tangled ropes fell across the deck, trailing in the sea as the deck tilted alarmingly to starboard.

  Piro clutched Bantam, horrified.

  ‘Go inside!’ he barked, running across the deck.

  Other sea-hounds joined him as they tried to cut the damaged sails free. The ship had reached the valley between the waves now, and the nose began to rise, but the drag of the fallen rigging made the ship list badly. Instead of the ship’s prow cutting cleanly into the sea as she climbed the wave, a single large wave rolled in from starboard, sweeping sailors off their feet.

  An unconscious sailor was carried towards Piro. She just had time to slam the door shut behind her to prevent
seawater pouring into the cabins.

  Icy cold water swirled around her knees and up to her thighs. Gasping, she clasped the rope and tried to grab the sailor with her free arm. The stunned sailor collided with her just as a flash of lightning revealed his pale face. Cormorant.

  In desperation, Piro hooked her legs around him, and the rope sagged with their combined weight. Now she was shoulder-deep in seawater. The wave hit the cabin wall then the water began to wash back as it poured off the deck. This time the water was so high, it went right over the ship’s side.

  It streamed past her with such force it almost tore her hands from the rope and the sailor from her legs. She prayed he would not drown as water boiled around them. Someone shouted, and she felt the deck rise as the damaged rigging was shoved overboard.

  By the time the ship crested the peak of the wave, the last of the water had poured off the deck. She blinked wet hair from her eyes and found herself hanging from the rope with the sailor slumped against her. It was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead.

  The ship headed down into another wave trough. She didn’t know if she could hold onto him for much longer, but when she tried to call for help her teeth chattered so badly that she couldn’t speak. Luckily, Bantam spotted her and came to take Cormorant.

  Big arms lifted her, peeling her chilled hands from the rope. She thanked Jakulos and turned to Bantam, who had his ear to the youth’s chest. ‘Is he—’

  ‘Alive,’ Bantam reported. ‘Barely.’

  Her knees nearly gave way, and she would have fallen but for Jakulos. She felt the ship shudder as it reached the trough between waves and she had to brace herself again.

  Bantam passed the unconscious sea-hound to Jakulos, who threw Cormorant over his shoulder and shoved Piro towards the cabin door. Somehow, her frozen fingers managed the door latch, and then she closed it behind them as Jakulos carried the unconscious sailor down the passage to the cabin, where he tipped the youth onto the floor by the brazier.

  ‘Mulcy girl.’ Jakulos cupped her cheek, wet calloused palm rasping against her skin. ‘See to the lad.’

  Now that they were in the heated cabin, Cormorant’s head was beginning to bleed. She bound his wound, but before long another injured sailor arrived; and all because she’d tricked Bantam into sailing for Rolencia.

  Orrade would have said she hadn’t caused the storm, so she wasn’t at fault. That didn’t stop her feeling responsible for the fate of the ship. If she hadn’t tricked Bantam, they would all be sitting safe on Ostron Isle’s Ring Sea right now. Instead they battled the storm. Every time the ship’s nose struggled to rise, she feared a wave of water would swallow the sea-hound vessel whole.

  And still the storm went on.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  FYN SLUNG HIS travelling bag over one shoulder and climbed the gangplank to board Dunstany’s yacht. Yorale, Neiron and Wythrod had already sailed across the Landlocked Sea to gather their men.

  Once aboard, a servant offered to escort Fyn to his lordship.

  ‘Don’t worry, I can find him.’ Fyn followed the sound of Dunsany’s voice down the passage.

  Dunstany looked up as he stepped into the cabin. ‘I’ve told the servants, the abbess can share the queen’s cabin and the abbot can share with Captain Elrhodoc. I suppose you’ll have to bunk in here with me. But I’m having the bed. These old bones won’t give me any rest if I sleep on the floor.’ He gestured to a servant, who was putting his clothing in a chest. ‘Leave that. See that the bedding is changed in my old cabin. The queen doesn’t want to rest her head where an old man has slept.’

  The servant nodded and scurried away.

  ‘How do you do it?’ Fyn whispered. ‘How do you play Lord Dunstany without slipping?’

  ‘Habit. I’ve been Dunstany for so long...’ Siordun shrugged. ‘To tell the truth, I’m more comfortable as him than as the mage’s apprentice. He was just an unwanted boy who grew up on Dunistir Estate. You saw how the lords responded to Dunstany. They respect him. They would never acknowledge Dunstany’s bastard grandson.’

  Fyn had seen the way Elrhodoc treated Captain Aeran. But... ‘A man should be valued for his worth, not his birth.’

  ‘So says King Rolen’s legitimate son.’

  Fyn flushed.

  Siordun rose to his feet. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve had word from Rolencia. Cobalt is to marry Piro.’

  ‘What? When did Piro return to Rolencia?’

  ‘She didn’t. I’m guessing Cobalt has learnt that Byren defeated Palatyne, and he needs a way to legitimise his claim on the throne.’

  ‘So he hired some doxy to play Piro?’ Fyn was outraged. ‘Surely someone will denounce him?’

  ‘Fear will silence anyone who knew Piro.’

  ‘This is terrible.’

  ‘Not necessarily. I told Orrade to seek out my Rolencian agent. She’ll help Byren to rescue the girl.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell him that the real Piro is safe?’

  ‘If he thinks he’s saving the real Piro, he’ll react with genuine surprise and outrage when he discovers Cobalt’s deception.’ Siordun met Fyn’s eyes. ‘Byren is a good man, but he’s not...’

  ‘Not what?’

  ‘Not devious.’

  ‘That’s why he has Orrie.’

  Siordun grinned. ‘Byren’s no actor. It’s much better if he reacts with righteous indignation on discovering Cobalt’s duplicity. Unmasking the false-Piro will unmask Cobalt for the manipulative liar he is, in front of the most powerful nobles and merchants in Rolencia. The wedding will be Byren’s chance to destroy the usurper’s credibility.’

  ‘...and win back Rolencia without a costly battle. Excellent. How do you do it?’

  ‘Years of experience, lad.’

  Fyn laughed. Siordun was only a few years older than Byren. The iron-haired old man was an illusion. Then he told Siordun about the footpad attack. ‘Could they have been coraxes, hired by Cobalt? Could the mage speak to—’

  ‘The mage has a long and troubled relationship with House Nictocorax. Some of its leaders have aided him when it suited them, while others... I wouldn’t put it past the current Lady Death to accept a commission from Cobalt. We’ll both have to be on our guard. Wait here.’ He left the cabin and returned shortly with a walking stick. ‘I think it is time Lord Dunstany resorted to a cane.’

  ‘You already have your staff.’

  ‘My enemies know that Dunstany focuses power through his staff. But they will leave an old man his walking stick. I might have to cultivate a feeble walk, but this is no ordinary cane!’

  With a grin, Siordun revealed a sword from within the cane, which he flourished. Fyn held out his hand, but there was a knock at the door.

  Siordun sheathed the sword cane then leant on it. ‘Can’t an old man get any rest? Enter.’

  A servant opened the door. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord. Lord Cadmor’s grandson, Captain Camoric, to see you.’

  The captain who had let the Utlanders escape walked into Lord Dunstany’s cabin. Camoric was no older than Byren, and he moved stiffly as if annoyed.

  ‘My grandfather said I should meet you, Lord Dunstany.’ His tone said he didn’t see why.

  ‘You should meet Lord Protector Merofyn, too.’ Dunstany indicated Fyn.

  As Camoric turned stiffly towards Fyn, he saw the reason behind the captain’s unusual stance. Livid red blisters covered his lower jaw and neck. From the way he held his right arm, the burns probably covered his shoulder as well.

  Fyn had mistaken pain for anger. He gestured to Camoric’s injury. ‘Your grandfather told us you were burnt, but he said you’d be all right.’

  ‘And so I shall.’ Camoric frowned. ‘It’s worse than it looks.’

  ‘I very much doubt that,’ Dunstany said. ‘Come here, lad.’

  Camoric bristled. ‘I’m nearly twenty, and I’ve been captaining a ship since I was sixteen.’

  ‘When you get to my age, anyone under fifty is a lad
.’

  Camoric grinned, then winced.

  Settling himself on the chest at the end of the bed, Dunstany gestured. ‘Kneel down and save an old man’s back.’

  While the young captain knelt, Dunstany asked Fyn to bring a lamp. Then he turned Camoric towards the light. ‘I take it the burns continue under your shirt?’

  Camoric nodded. As Dunstany unwound the bandage, Camoric’s breathing became laboured. The blisters made Fyn shudder.

  ‘Do you have a salve?’ Camoric’s voice was strained.

  ‘Yes,’ Dunstany said. ‘But first I’ll help you heal faster. You’ll still have scars. I fear complete repair is beyond me.’

  ‘You think I care about scars?’

  ‘You need to relax before I can help. Light the starkiss incense, Fyn.’

  He brought the burner over and fanned the incense towards the young captain.

  ‘Inhale deeply,’ Dunstany advised.

  Camoric did as instructed. After a few moments, the grim lines around his mouth eased and his pupils grew large.

  Dunstany gestured for Fyn to extinguish the incense. ‘We don’t want to become befuddled.’

  ‘Are you trying to confuse me?’ Camoric asked, but his voice held only the memory of its former bite.

  ‘No,’ Dunstany said. ‘I don’t want to confuse myself.’

  ‘Speaking of tricking people...’ Camoric gestured to Fyn. ‘King Cobalt will wish he’d kept his mouth shut.’

  ‘Why?’ Fyn asked.

  ‘He burned your body in Rolenton Square,’ Camoric said. ‘Heard it today in port. Sailors thought it a great joke. Cobalt’ll kick himself when he hears you’re lord protector now.’

  ‘Cobalt declared me dead?’ Fyn was amused by this turn of events.

  ‘Can’t have two Fyns,’ Camoric said.

  ‘You lay low for so long, Cobalt must have thought it safe to produce a body and declare you dead,’ Dunstany said. ‘He’s tripped himself with his lies. Now put the burner away.’

  As Fyn did so, he sensed the surge of Affinity and heard a thud. He turned to find that Camoric had slumped forward and went to help, but the bay lord’s grandson was already lifting his head.