King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Footsteps approached the chamber.

  ‘They’re here. You’ll feel better soon.’ Piro squeezed the abbess’s hand and came to her feet.

  Cobalt opened the door.

  Unable to believe her eyes, Piro took a step back and felt the wall behind her.

  The healing mistress swept in after him, followed by the novices mistress.

  ‘Dorafay? Lizavet?’ the abbess whispered. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘We’re making sure Sylion Abbey is not destroyed by your lack of judgement,’ the novices mistress told her, as the healer opened her bag and sorted through it.

  ‘Where’s Zoraya?’ the abbess asked.

  ‘Snoring on her bunk,’ the healer said. ‘I gave her enough dreamless-sleep to knock out a horse.’

  The abbess tried to get up, but didn’t have the strength.

  ‘You told me she’d be dead by now, Dorafay,’ the novices mistress complained.

  ‘How was I to know her heart would hold out so long? I’ll just mix up some more—’

  ‘You should have doubled the dose.’

  ‘Oh, cease this bickering!’ Cobalt took two strides across the chamber, pulled the pillow from behind the abbess’s head and held it over her face. Even with one arm, he had no trouble smothering the frail woman.

  Horrified, Piro tried to pull Cobalt away.

  But the novices mistress grabbed Piro by her plait and swung her around, slapping her so hard she flew across the room and hit the wall. The back of her head struck the stone with such force her teeth seem to rattle in her head. The room swung around Piro as her knees gave way and she sank to the floor.

  ‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand it is a stuck up little kingsdaughter!’ the novices mistress said, standing over her.

  A buzzing filled Piro’s head. It was so unfair. ‘But I did a mountain of dishes.’

  ‘What’s she saying?’ Cobalt asked.

  ‘No idea,’ the novice mistress said.

  Reaching down, Cobalt took Piro’s arm and pulled her to her feet. For some reason, her legs wouldn’t work. She had to clutch him for support. He searched Piro’s face. She couldn’t focus on him.

  Cobalt frowned. ‘You didn’t have to strike her so hard.’

  ‘She hit her head on the wall.’

  ‘You’re certain only you four know about the plan?’ Cobalt asked.

  ‘Three, now,’ the novices mistress said. ‘And Zoraya will keep quiet if she knows what’s good for her.’

  ‘Check the passage.’

  As the healer did so, the novices mistress said, ‘I don’t know why you don’t just send the kingsdaughter back to Sylion Abbey. I’d make sure she never gave you trouble ever again.’

  The thought horrified Piro. Imprisoned in Sylion Abbey for life...

  ‘I’m going to make her pay for all the trouble her family’s caused me,’ Cobalt said.

  Piro thought she heard a noise outside and tried to call for help.

  Cobalt swore. ‘Give me some dreamless-sleep.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ the healer said. ‘Hold her mouth open.’

  Piro fought wildly as Cobalt held her up against the wall. The novice mistress covered her nose, until she had to open her mouth to breathe. The healer tipped the liquid down her throat and she had to swallow.

  ‘Will that be enough?’ Cobalt asked.

  ‘She’s only a little thing. It’ll knock her out.’

  Piro let her head fall forward onto Cobalt’s chest. They did not know she’d built up a tolerance to dreamless-sleep when she’d tried to dull her Affinity visions.

  ‘That’s the kingsdaughter dealt with. Now for Byren,’ Cobalt said, filling Piro with dismay.

  ‘I hear he’s marching with an army,’ the healer said.

  ‘Don’t worry about Byren. He won’t live long enough to disrupt tomorrow’s ceremony. My men are ready to ambush him in the woods.’

  There was a knock at the door, and something was wheeled into the chamber. Piro caught a glimpse of two monks with a large wicker laundry cart.

  ‘Help me lift her,’ Cobalt said.

  The novices mistress bundled Piro unceremoniously into the cart. Head spinning, she looked up through her messy hair only to see the lid close.

  Piro had to warn Byren. The movement of the laundry basket made her dizzy. She fought to stay conscious.

  The next thing she knew was Cobalt discussing her with someone.

  ‘...don’t want her where one of Byren’s sympathisers can find her, Firefox. Put her somewhere safe. When all this is over, she’s going to regret ever crossing me.’

  ‘I have just the place,’ the abbot said.

  Piro’s heart sank. How would she warn Byren?

  Even though she tried to stay awake, the gentle rocking of the laundry basket lulled her to sleep. The next time she woke, she found herself lying on the ground. She could smell Cobalt’s Ostronite perfume nearby. The golden glow of a lamp came through her closed lids. She felt nauseous with exhaustion, and sounds around her echoed strangely.

  ‘Should we leave her a candle?’ the abbot asked.

  ‘No,’ Cobalt said. ‘A day or two in the dark with nothing but water will make her more cooperative.’

  She would never cooperate. She’d tear his throat out with her teeth.

  As they left, the abbot said something, and they both laughed. Piro’s stomach knotted with fury and fear.

  She forced her eyes open. The world spun but she glimpsed the glow of the lamp as Cobalt and the abbot entered a passage. The glow dimmed as their footsteps faded, along with all thought.

  FLORIN WALKED THE camp. She passed the four men-at-arms who took care of the two huge ursodon horns. They sat by the fire oiling and polishing their cumbersome instruments with loving care.

  The old scholar hobbled over to Florin. Surely they could have found someone younger to translate for the kingsdaughter? Sending him on a long journey in his condition seemed cruel.

  ‘We will reach the abbey tomorrow?’ Yosiv asked.

  ‘Late tomorrow,’ Florin said. By then, the battle would be over, while she was stuck minding Byren’s bride-to-be.

  The kingsdaughter had six servants. They finished preparing her meal and placed it on a silver tray. The old scholar bid Florin good night and went to join the kingsdaughter for dinner. She always ate inside her carriage, although it had to be hot and stuffy.

  Anger burned Florin. The kingsdaughter had never had to do a day’s hard work in her life and never would. Florin had worked from before dawn until she fell into bed exhausted.

  Florin wanted to march over and open the carriage door, throw back the veil and confront the pretty kingsdaughter. The memory of the way Skevlaxa had preened for the men of her father’s court still infuriated her. Stupid girl. She thought her beauty gave her power over men. Didn’t she realise they saw her as a prize, not as a person?

  She wanted to ask Skevlaxa how it felt to know her father had purchased a husband for her. The girl had to know Byren was only marrying her for her father’s army. Maybe she didn’t care. After all, Byren would still be coming to her bed each night.

  Florin gasped and bent double.

  She felt like she’d been punched. Why should this woman, who did not care for Byren, have what Florin could not? Byren had only chosen her because one sister was too old and the other too young.

  And she was beautiful...

  Florin had to turn and walk away before she did something terrible.

  BYREN REMEMBERED TRAVELLING around the foothills of Mount Halcyon, back when he’d been escaping the Merofynian invaders. At the time, he’d been injured and desperate. Now he was returning with an army to confront Cobalt.

  As they ate a cold meal and bedded down on blankets on the forested slopes, he went from group to group, talking of his plans for Rolencia.

  Later he returned to his bedroll and found young Wafin waiting up for him.

  ‘No need to act as my squire,’ Byren told the la
d. ‘Where’s the foenix?’

  ‘He took off a little while ago. I thought he’d gone to find you.’

  Byren stretched and felt his joints pop. Resolute flew overhead, giving voice. The foenix’s piercing cry echoed through the forest. ‘Eh, he’ll give us away, calling like that.’

  The foenix cried again, urgently.

  ‘It’s a warning!’ Byren said and sure enough, he heard shouting and the clash of metal on metal.

  ‘It’s coming from up there,’ Wafin pointed. ‘Now it’s coming from over there. We’re surrounded!’

  ‘We’ve been betrayed.’ Bitterness closed around Byren’s heart. At least Orrade and Florin were safe.

  ‘Who would do that?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Come.’ Byren snatched his blade and ran towards the nearest sounds of fighting with Wafin at his heels.

  There was no time for strategy, only hacking and brutal killing on the dappled, starlit forest floor. The first man he killed had run ahead of the others and paid for it. The second put up more of a fight, and the third met him blow for blow. Even as he fought, Byren realised all three men had worn a strip of white cloth around their heads. Deflecting a strike, Byren’s blade skipped over his attacker’s defences and slid into his chest.

  Putting his boot on the man, he pulled his sword free.

  ‘I heard him curse in Merofynian,’ Wafin said.

  ‘Cobalt trusts the turncoats to do his dirty-work.’

  Byren ran on, calling to his men, trying to rally those nearest him, and they succeeded for a time, but were gradually driven back amidst the screams of the dying and the cries of the wounded.

  Byren found himself in a hollow where the leaf mulch was knee-deep. Somehow, Wafin was still at his side. In the confusion, Byren tripped over a body and went down on one knee. Wafin blocked a blow and lost his weapon. Shoving the lad out of harm’s way, Byren swept his blade around and took the man’s legs out from under him.

  They had to get out of this hollow. He sprang to his feet, hauled Wafin upright and forged up the rise. Taking heart, the men followed him. They broke through the fighters and ran through the trunks, cutting down those who gave chase until the fighting was left far behind them.

  Byren called a halt. Seventeen men, two of them wounded. No sign of Wafin. When had he lost him?

  ‘Take the white bandanas from the dead,’ Byren told them. ‘Tie them around your heads and come back with me.’

  His men had just escaped with their lives, but their companions were being butchered and they did not falter. They came up behind the fighting and attacked their enemies’ backs.

  The white bandannas confused the Merofynians. Byren and his men fought their way through to a knot of defenders. As his supporters dealt with the last of the attackers, Byren diverted a desperate blow from one of his own men. ‘It’s me. Put on a bandanna and come with us.’

  The second time Byren used this ploy, he had more followers and they overcame the attackers quickly. The third, fourth and fifth time, they were just as successful.

  The sixth time they had to go further to find the fighting. This time, they were too late to reach their men. Not one man was left alive.

  In the dawn light, a Merofynian captain rode by and ordered them to fall in behind him with the rest of his men. As the captain joined a much larger group of men from different companies, Byren warned his companions to keep their heads down and follow his lead. He hoped they would find more of his men and be able to set them free before turning on the enemy. He hoped to find Wafin. The lad had come so far and survived so much, it would be too cruel if he’d died on the slopes of Mount Halcyon.

  Before long, they met up with two other Merofynian captains and their men. As the captains shouted news to each other, Byren realised his men were the only survivors of the attack. Bloodied and muddied, they hid in the dishevelled ranks of the Merofynians.

  In the dim light of dawn, they reached the shores of Lake Viridian, where Cobalt waited astride a horse.

  ‘Did you find Byren?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s dead. We left no one alive!’

  ‘That’s what my captains always tell me, and next thing I know Byren is back causing trouble.’ As Cobalt stood in the stirrups to survey his men, Byren kept his head down. ‘Go back into the forest. There’s a pouch of gold for the man who brings Byren’s head to the abbey!’

  They cheered.

  So Byren turned back with his followers, close to eighty of them now, to search for himself. The captain sent men out and Byren led his men up the slope, higher and higher, until they lost sight of the others. Now they moved through the sparse pines and rocky outcroppings.

  Something stirred above them and Byren called up the gully, ‘I see you up there.’

  ‘Byren?’ Wafin rose from behind a rock, and five more men came out of hiding.

  ‘Come down here.’ Byren hugged Wafin.

  ‘I lost Resolute,’ Wafin confessed. ‘I don’t know where he went.’

  ‘Don’t worry. He will have gone back to the ship.’

  By midmorning, they had found more survivors and were high enough to look down on the abbey from above and see the crowd gathering in the courtyard.

  Wafin lay on a rock next to Byren, surveying the scene. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘We stay hidden. There’s over a hundred of us now. Enough to cause trouble. Sometime today, Orrade will arrive with Snow Bridge warriors and Chandler will come in from the spar.’ Byren’s mind raced. They’d been betrayed, but... ‘Cobalt doesn’t know about Orrade and Chandler. When he sets off for the castle tomorrow, he’ll ride right into our ambush.’

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  FYN STOOD BESIDE Isolt’s chair on the royal dais at the lords’ council. Later today, they would hold the coronation and accept loyalty oaths from the nobles and the conquered spar warlords. But right now, they were about to decide the fate of Nevantir Estate. There were several contenders eager to advance their families.

  Fyn looked out over the gathering. The abbess and abbot stood to each side of the dais, with several nuns and monks. The nobles lined up on each side of the chamber. Travany had not attended, as he was under house arrest. By rights, they could have confiscated Travantir Estate, but they both felt they’d rather Travrhon inherited the title and supported them. Just as they would rather the new lord of Nevantir supported them.

  Isolt caught Fyn’s eye and he announced, ‘Lord Yorale will speak to the fate of Nevantir Estate.’

  The elder statesman stepped forward. ‘Three noble houses have legitimate claim to Nevantir Estate. Elcwyff and Travrhon’s mothers were both daughters of Nevantir, and so was Rhoderich’s second wife. Each noble house has younger sons.’

  ‘If all three lords have equal and legitimate claims, we don’t want to stir up resentment,’ Fyn said, looking to Isolt.

  ‘As it turns out, we don’t need to go back a generation to find an heir,’ Isolt said. The rich tone of her voice told Fyn that she was enjoying herself, and so she should. She’d argued long and hard to convince Nerysa to leave Cyena Abbey. ‘Not when Neiron’s sister lives. Come forward, Lady Nerysa.’

  Wearing the pale blue robe of a novice, Nerysa stepped from the ranks of the nuns. She pushed back her hood and knelt before the queen. There was much whispering from Rhoderich and Elcwyff’s supporters, and Fyn caught the word ‘ruined’.

  Nerysa flushed, but kept her eyes on Isolt.

  ‘This woman spent five days in the hands of the spar warlord,’ Rhoderich protested. ‘How do we know she does not carry a spar bastard?’

  ‘Lady Nerysa is not with child,’ the abbess said.

  ‘Since I have granted Lady Isfynia special dispensation to inherit her family’s title, I can hardly refuse Lady Nerysa the same consideration,’ Isolt said. ‘Rise, Lady Nerysa of Nevantir Estate. Any child of your marriage will be a Nevantir.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ Rhoderich sneered. ‘She’ll never marry.’

  Nerysa’s
cheeks flamed and she looked to the queen.

  ‘Really, my lord?’ Isolt bristled. Fyn hid a smile. ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘No honourable man would take a spar warlord’s discard for his wife.’

  Sefarra’s angry muttering reached Fyn, and he half expected her to come to Nerysa’s defence.

  But it was Camoric who stepped forward. ‘If a man let this consideration prevent him from offering for Lady Nerysa, or any other woman who has been unfortunate enough to suffer at the hands of spar warriors, I would consider him dishonoured!’

  ‘Well said!’ Isolt applauded. The nuns, Isfynia and Rishardt, and the mother of the young Geraltir lord all joined her.

  Sefarra took Nerysa’s arm and drew her into their ranks.

  Elcwyff had been about to speak, but he stepped back, leaving Rhoderich to shake his head. ‘I don’t know what this kingdom is coming to. Our forefathers must be turning in their graves.’

  Isolt glanced to Fyn.

  ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ Fyn said. ‘We will stand on the Merofynity Stone under the linden tree just as our forefathers did, and you will see for yourselves if it welcomes us.’

  A buzz of excitement travelled through the hall.

  A little later, they approached the linden tree, dressed in simple white robes. Fifty common folk, drawn by lot, watched from the front ranks of the crowd. The nobles and merchants watched from horseback, and from the comfort of their carriages.

  Barefoot to symbolise their connection to the land, Fyn took Isolt’s hand and they stepped onto the Merofynity Stone.

  Abbess Celunyd and Abbot Murheg blessed them and Fyn and Isolt bent forward to be crowned. As they lifted their heads, Fyn summoned his Affinity. He felt the rush of power slide down his legs and pool in his feet, before flowing into the stone. It glowed under them, enveloping them in a beam of light which rose up through the linden tree and high into the sky.