The Kings Man

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  He noticed Rusan and Olbin deep in conversation with Iron-hair. Out of habit, he wandered over to listen in.

  ‘...Vultar. Heard he’d taken up the holdings on the Isle of Dead,’ Iron-hair was saying.

  Since Garzik had heard this place mentioned in song, he’d thought it was an allegorical name for the afterlife.

  ‘I didn’t believe it,’ Iron-hair admitted. ‘But he boasted of it. Nothing is sacred to him.’

  ‘Sarijana... was she...?’ Olbin began and could not go on.

  ‘Her. All of them. Even me.’ She touched her mouth where her lip had been split open. ‘Just as well you didn’t go after the others and the manticores. Vultar planned to set to sail tomorrow with all our young women.’

  ‘It was Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow who made me come back early,’ Olbin admitted. Garzik noticed Rusan go very still at the mention of the oracles. ‘They said I was meant to save our people and –’

  ‘Has anyone checked on them?’ Rusan interrupted. ‘Did Vultar ask after the oracles?

  ‘No. Not a word,’ Iron-hair said.

  ‘He should have.’ Rusan looked worried. ‘The twins and their mother are known throughout the Utlands. Everyone wishes they had oracles like ours.’

  Olbin turned. ‘You think –’

  ‘Go check on them,’ Iron-hair urged. ‘Go quickly.’

  Garzik grabbed a lantern.

  As Rusan and Olbin went to leave, Iron-hair beckoned them back. ‘Don’t mention this to anyone. They have enough to worry about.’

  They nodded then turned to find Garzik waiting with a lantern. They acknowledged him with a nod.

  The three of them left the long-hall in grim silence. Outside, Rusan fitted the lantern to a pole so Garzik could hold it high to light their way.

  No one spoke as they retraced their steps. This was where they’d hid to plan the burning of the ship. This was where they’d found Trafyn hiding. Where had he got to? Doing as little work as possible, no doubt.

  This was where they’d passed the empty cow byre.

  Rusan cursed as the oracles’ cottage became visible in the circle of lantern light. The door swung off the hinge.

  ‘They might still...’ Olbin began then broke off as, with another step, something pale appeared just inside the cottage.

  Rusan ran a few steps ahead and darted inside, stepping over the body of the twins’ mother. The back of her head had been stove in. Most of her white hair was dark with blood. Those odd pink eyes remained open. Glazed.

  Both Rusan and Olbin fell to their knees next to her.

  Garzik raised the lantern to check the one-room cottage. It had been stripped of all valuables, and there was no sign of the fused-twins. ‘They’re gone.’

  ‘Of course. They were the real prize.’ Rusan nodded to himself. ‘Now Vultar has the greatest oracles in all of the Utland Isles, he’ll –’ Rusan broke off suddenly, horrified. ‘Were they on the ship you burned?’

  Garzik took a step back, heart racing with horror. ‘I don’t know. I –’

  ‘Think. Did you see –’

  ‘I didn’t see them.’ The hold had been half full. He’d chosen that ship because... ‘There were men on the other ship, in the hold with a lantern. I guess they were guarding the oracles.’

  ‘If only we’d known!’ Olbin sprang to his feet and slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a bloody graze on the lime-washed stone. He prowled like a caged beast.

  ‘I should’ve thought of it.’ Rusan sank his head into his hands. ‘I should’ve –’

  ‘You can’t think of everything,’ Garzik told him. ‘You did all you could with the information you had. You chased off Vultar and –’

  ‘But I lost the oracles. I’ve failed my people.’

  ‘No, Vultar has to answer for this.’ Garzik stepped in front of Rusan and held his eyes. ‘There were factors beyond your control. You did the best you could with what you had at your disposal –’

  He broke off as sudden conviction filled him.

  A wave of relief rolled through him and he closed his eyes as he realised he’d done the best he could, when Byren sent him to light the warning beacon. Despite this, he’d failed. Who knows if it would have made a difference? Someone had betrayed Rolenhold castle from within. Mitrovan had tried to tell him, but he’d refused to hear it. He’d been too consumed with grief and self doubt. Now...

  Garzik opened his eyes to discover both Rusan and Olbin watching him.

  ‘What is it...’ Rusan said. ‘What’s your name?’

  Garzik hesitated. He wanted to tell them his real name, but he was going to escape first chance he had. ‘It’s Wynn, short for Wyvern.’

  ‘Wynn. Smart, quick on your feet like a wyvern.’ Olbin grinned. ‘Suits you.’

  Garzik looked down, torn. He didn’t want to lie to them.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rusan asked.

  Garzik recollected his point. ‘Don’t waste time and energy blaming yourself.’ And he said this to himself as much as to them. ‘Think about what must be done next.’

  ‘Next?’ Rusan rocked back onto his heels and sprang to his feet. ‘Next we take her back to our people to mourn.’

  Rusan took the head, Olbin the legs. Garzik held the lantern. They travelled slowly, solemnly in a pool of lantern light.

  Even before they reached the long-hall, children came running. Their cries of horror brought the adults, and soon they were surrounded by a crowd of worried Utlanders. They whispered and looked on anxiously.

  Rusan and Olbin laid her reverently with the rest of the dead, then stepped back. As the others closed in on the dead mother of the oracles, Iron-hair beckoned Rusan and Olbin. Garzik followed them in.

  Iron-hair led them over to the head of the long-table. Someone went past with a big pot of potato and onion soup. Garzik’s stomach contracted painfully. How could he be hungry?

  Bowls, day-old bread, hot soup. He made for the table. Stepped over the nearest long stool and sat down. When the old woman with the soup ladle came along, he held out a bowl.

  She objected. ‘Belongs-to-no-one has no place at our table.’ Raising the ladle, she went to clip him over the head.

  Olbin was already on his feet. In two strides he caught her hand before she could complete the strike. ‘Here, none of that.’

  ‘Serve him.’ Rusan raised his voice, not moving from his place beside Iron-hair. ‘The belongs-to-no-one earned a place at the table tonight. He set fire to Vultar’s ship. More than that, he suggested the diversion.’

  Rusan met Garzik’s eyes and held them, and Garzik recalled Captain Blackwing saying a true leader didn’t feel threatened by initiative in others. All those at the table turned to look at him.

  ‘No longer is he a belongs-to-no-one,’ Rusan stated, as if this was a ritual. ‘I say he belongs-to-us on my ship.’ And he looked to Iron-hair expectantly.

  She studied Garzik, a smile in her eyes. It warmed him. ‘I say he belongs-to-us on our island.’

  And just like that he was no longer a slave. He was an Utlander.

  Olbin pulled him to his feet and hugged him so hard he saw stars and almost stumbled when he was released.

  ‘Wine for the ceremony,’ Olbin said. ‘Wine for Wynn.’

  ‘No ceremony tonight,’ Iron-hair said. ‘Not when our people lie dead outside. Later.’

  ‘Later,’ Olbin told him and clamped one large hand on his shoulder. He pushed Garzik down into the chair and gestured to the old woman. ‘Serve him.’

  As she ladled out some soup the conversation resumed. They spoke of what they’d lost, how many warriors they could muster, Vultar’s numbers, the Isle of Dead and the danger of going there.

  Rusan shook his head. ‘It’s been empty for generations –’

  ‘Vultar lives there now,’ Olbin countered. ‘How –’

  ‘Because he’s a renegade,’ Iron-hair insisted. ‘He’s lost all honour.’

  ‘I still think we should follow him,’ Olbin said. ‘A
ttack. Wipe them out. We’d be doing all the Utland Isles a favour. There’s only one shipload of them now –’

  ‘Vultar boasted he had four other ships. Claimed the renegades of the sea are flocking to serve him. He could be lying, but...’ Iron-hair shook her head. ‘We don’t make a move against him until all the captains come back.’

  That made sense and Garzik finished his soup.

  With food in his stomach there was no denying sleep. He curled up near the wall. His usual place was taken by the injured. Even so, Cheeky-puss found him.

  She offered him one of last year’s apples.

  He looked up at her and slowly accepted it. She sat down next to him, and bit into her own apple.

  The apple was floury and old, but he appreciated the sentiment. ‘The beardless paid the highest price tonight. Still going to join them?’

  ‘How can you ask?’ She waited, but he didn’t have a reply, so she took another bite, chewed and swallowed.

  His head buzzed with exhaustion.

  ‘They took turns raping the women. I hid in the wood heap.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘But not very brave.’ Tears spilled over her cheeks. ‘Ilonja is not brave.’

  He lifted one arm and pulled her close. As she sobbed on his chest, the heat of her damp tears seeping through the material, he wished he could have held Piro at the end.

  ‘Sometimes it is wiser to run away,’ he whispered. ‘Ilonja?’

  But she’d fallen asleep, so he settled her on the floor next to him in the pile of furs.

  He took the apple from her hand, finished both and curled up beside her. Dimly he was aware of the Utlanders organising things. Then he was aware of nothing.

  Then the dreams started. The fire, running, fighting for his life. He woke several times. From the moans around him, others were also troubled by nightmares.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THREE DAYS LATER Jost returned with his depleted party and the chitin of three manticores. He returned without Polonika, but Danja wasn’t there to mourn for her. She had died the second night after the attack.

  Jost strode into the settlement expecting to be hailed a hero. Instead, he found everyone in mourning. They’d lost cows, goats, many provisions, the precious lives of defenders, mothers and children and, what’s worse, they’d lost their oracles.

  When Jost heard the full story, he and his group were all for going after Vultar, sailing to the Isle of the Dead and attacking.

  As far as Garzik could tell, Iron-hair ran the settlement, but each captain ran his ship. Jost had no ship. It took half a night of argument but finally, the one-eared Utlander accepted Rusan’s decision with poor grace.

  They would go raiding for now. Their people needed more supplies. The settlement’s other four ships’ captains would return. Then they would mount an attack on Vultar.

  Garzik hardly listened.

  He wouldn’t be here. He was going to escape when they sailed south.

  He would find Byren, tell him about the spy, Mitrovan, and become a courier, but he no longer felt he had to make up for failing Byren.

  In battle you could make a plan but, once the battle started, plans were just scribbles on paper. The trick was to survive. He was a survivor. He wished he’d realised this back in Rolencia.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Rusan ordered his ship stocked. By evening, they were ready to sail with the dawn tide.

  That evening, Iron-hair consulted with Rusan and Olbin, deciding who would remain behind to defend the settlement. They’d lost nearly half their beardless. A couple of the older raiders volunteered to stay, not that they thought Vultar would return. He’d gotten what he wanted, but there were still the Affinity beasts.

  All this went on while Garzik sat at the table, being served like one of Rusan’s crew.

  ‘Wynn, over here,’ Olbin called.

  As he came to his feet and turned around, he saw Iron-hair and Rusan standing in front of the fireplace. Rusan held a sword, Iron-hair held a bundle of furs and skins.

  By the time he’d crossed the paving, everyone was silent.

  Garzik glanced over his shoulder to Olbin, not sure what he should do. The big Utlander grinned and gestured him on.

  Rusan stepped forward, lifted the short sword and cut the Merofynian sailor’s vest and breeches from him. They were too small now anyway. While he did this, Rusan said, ‘Wynn earned his place at the table during Vultar’s raid.’ He picked up the threadbare breaches and vest and tossed them onto the fire. ‘I say he belongs-to-us on my ship.’

  His crew cheered, thumping the table.

  A rush of shame made Garzik’s face burn. He was going to betray them and desert Captain Rusan’s ship first chance he got.

  As Rusan stepped back, Iron-hair stepped forward. ‘This one works hard. He will be an asset to our island. I say he belongs-to-us on our island.’

  As she handed him the bundle, the women and beardless cheered then fell silent.

  He ducked his head, speechless.

  ‘Well, get dressed. Stop flashing your arse at us,’ Olbin told him.

  There was general laughter as he pulled on the leather breaches and laced them up. The fur-lined boots were soft and roomy. When he unrolled a raider’s bad-weather sealskin, an Utlander smock fell out. It was red, made of goat’s wool and decorated with elaborate braid around the neck and the hem. He’d seen the women and men sitting around the fire, working this beautiful braid, and he felt a fraud.

  Still, he pulled it on and brushed hair from his eyes.

  Rusan handed him a belt with a sheath and raider’s short sword. Laughing at his expression, Rusan buckled the belt up and pushed him down to his knees.

  ‘Now you give your oath of allegiance to me. Repeat after me.’ And he told Garzik the right words.

  As he swore to protect his brother raiders and die for them, the words tasted bitter on his lips. As far as he was concerned, he’d already sworn to serve Byren back when the kingson was accepting his honour guard. This made him foresworn.

  Rusan helped him to his feet and turned him around to face the hall.

  They cheered.

  Garzik noticed Trafyn. His nose was swollen and both eyes were black, but there was no mistaking his expression. His mouth twisted with contempt.

  Rusan slung an arm around Garzik’s shoulder. ‘Wynn sails with us tomorrow.’

  ‘You can take him, too.’ The old woman who was in charge of the kitchen dragged Trafyn forward by his ear. ‘This belongs-to-no-one’s more trouble than he’s worth.’ She shoved the squire so that he almost fell at Rusan and Garzik’s feet.

  ‘Out of the way, belongs-to-no-one,’ Rusan aimed a kick at Trafyn’s thigh and the squire scrambled to one side, joining the dogs as they gnawed on bones.

  The raiders mocked Trafyn, even as Olbin welcomed Garzik back to the bench by the table. But the ceremonies weren’t over yet; everyone fell silent.

  ‘What now?’ Garzik whispered.

  ‘Swearing in the new beardless,’ Olbin said. ‘They’ll be trained up so our raiders can return to sea.’

  One by one the girls of twelve and thirteen stepped forward. Rusan had moved away to give Iron-hair pride of place before the fireplace, and she took their vows as the girls swore to take the beardless path.

  No men and babies for them. They’d fight to the death to protect their island home.

  Garzik was not surprised to see the last one was Ilonja. She spoke up, her voice strong and clear; no doubts now.

  Ilonja turned and grinned at him, before going to join the beardless at the table. He felt it was a waste, but he understood.

  Conversation resumed.

  ‘Wait.’ It was the singer, Sarijana, who stepped forward. ‘I want to give my vow.’

  Olbin gasped and looked to Rusan, who’d clearly had no idea this was going to happen. Face stony, Rusan watched as Sarijana took the solemn oath. Garzik could feel the tension in Olbin’s massive body.

  When she’d finishe
d and joined the beardless on their bench, Olbin left the table and went over to join Rusan by the door. Both of them stepped outside. Garzik wasn’t going to follow them, but he noticed Jost and his two friends leave the table, then drift out.

  Garzik stepped over the bench. As he darted across the hall, he felt Trafyn’s eyes on him. Ignoring the squire, he slipped out the door.

  Where he found Jost and his friends confronting Rusan and Olbin. They’d taken off their weapons and tossed them aside. Garzik spotted the surgeon’s beautifully worked sword and dagger.

  ‘Now no-one will have her, and you know what?’ Jost leered. ‘I’m glad they raped her. If I can’t have her, I don’t –’

  Rusan struck him. Then it was on. A flurry of blows, two against three, with Garzik ready to jump in if it looked like Rusan and Olbin needed help.

  It was all about solid thumps, grunts. The whoosh of air being driven from the chest. At one point the door opened and Iron-hair looked out. She took in the fighting, glanced to Garzik, then went back inside.

  By the time Garzik looked back, Rusan and Olbin were occupied with Jost’s two friends, while the one-eared Utlander reached for his sword.

  Garzik rapped him over the head with the flat of his own sword. Furious, Jost would have gone for him, but a glance over his shoulder revealed his two companions were out cold and Rusan was pulling Olbin to his feet.

  Jost went to help his friends, while Rusan and Olbin retrieved their weapons and Garzik sheathed his sword. The look Jost sent Garzik told him his interference would not be forgotten.

  There was no laughter and slapping of backs, no invitation inside for a drink.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ Jost told Rusan, when they were all on their feet.The captain lifted his hands as if to say, come on.

  But Jost and his two friends turned and strode inside. As they passed Garzik, Jost gave him a filthy look.

  Rusan and Olbin came up to Garzik. Both were flushed, bleeding and dishevelled.

  ‘Watching our backs, Wynn?’ Rusan asked.

  He nodded.

  But it didn’t make any difference. He was escaping, first chance got. He had to break his oath to Rusan. Byren needed him.