The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “You've nothing to do old man,” called a fat farmer from the corner as his companion laughed. “That's why you sit alone sucking on that mead all afternoon.”

  Samen shot them a venomous look and turned back to Erinn's smiling face. “I've no time for the bored, untended, spawn of my neighbours' loins. Get on with the lot of you!”

  Erinn's eyes turned hard and she reached into a pouch pulling out a single copper penny and watching Samen falter and glance at his nearly empty tankard.

  “Well bargained young miss,” he said in more friendly tones. “And what was it you were wanting to hear about today? How the stone of the sun was stolen from the firebird's nest and how the thief dropped it as he fled? Leaving it to roll across the skies untended?” he smiled again with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Mayhaps you want to hear about the black-blooded droos ? Wandering the lands searching for red-haired brats to drag across the altar stones and feed their blood to the runes?” he cackled nastily into his tankard as he drained it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “We wanted to hear about the Bjornmen,” Erinn said firmly as Kainen and Devin nodded in agreement.

  “Ah... the wolves of the sea, come to ravage and burn the homes of, fat. Lazy. Farmers.” he said, raising his voice at the last and looking pointedly at the rotund farmer in the corner.

  “From their frozen storm-lashed coasts they come, sailing in their galleys with fearsome figureheads the sight of which strikes fear into all that behold them. It's said that the first you know of their coming is the muffled drumbeat of the oarsmaster and then they are among you. Torches fly into thatch and blood runs down the streets as they hew through flesh and bone with their axes and swords. They come to pillage and burn young mistress, and to take pretty little red-haired blacksmiths' daughters back to their ships,” he cackled again, joined this time by the farmers from the corner who were clearly listening in.

  “Tell us about Frostbeard!” Kainen cried out, already wrapped up in the story.

  “Frostbeard? The worst of the lot he is, bastard son of a Bjornmen clan-chief with no respect for life or title. He earned his place by working from a rower upwards, killing every man, woman or child that got in his way. They say he never cleans his blades and that he leaves tracks of blood wherever he steps. He's said to be as cold as his name, burning to the ground every village or town he strikes.”

  He grinned at the wide-eyed faces of the children in front of him. “Was that what you had in mind young miss?” he asked her nodding face as he held out his cup. “Then get you to the bar and get some more mead in this, and I'll tell you more.”

  Chapter Four

  Selena walked the path through the gardens in silence, her forest green gown trailing behind her and rustling faintly as it dragged the occasional leaf. Her attendants followed some paces behind her, but still she grated at their presence. The grounds were lovely but the high stone wall surrounding them served to remind her of her situation. She was as ornamental as the topiary and the statues in the fountains.

  A page approached from the house and walked briskly towards her. She knew without turning that the ladies behind her would have stopped also. They had initially tried to engage her in conversation, but she found them vapid at best.

  “The Lady Browntree begs an audience, your grace,” the page said, after a tight little bow.

  “Mother?” Selena said with some surprise.

  “Beg pardon, your grace, but no. The Lady Evelyn Browntree.”

  “Auntie Evelyn?” she said with genuine pleasure. “Where is she?”

  “She is taking some tea in the eastern parlour, your grace.”

  “Which one is that again? Is that the ghastly pink one?”

  The page coughed and she fought to keep a smile from her lips. “The very same, your grace.”

  “Well, lead the way,” she smiled. The page bowed again and turned to escort her back into the house.

  “Is Freyton with her?”

  “His Grace is... on the hunt, I believe,” the page replied as they walked.

  Selena caught the pause in the response and wondered at it as they made their way through the hallway.

  The parlour was a comfortable, warm room with over-stuffed divans and settees. Selena ignored the page as he tried to announce her and rushed to the tiny old lady who was struggling to rise from the deep armchair in which she was seated, leaning heavily on an ornate cane.

  “Auntie Evelyn!” she cried, as she took the old woman's hands and kissed her wrinkled cheek.

  “Hello dear,” Evelyn replied, her eyes crinkling in genuine affection.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I'd check in on you, dear. See how married life is treating you.” She looked at Selena's stomach with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Oh, and who are your friends?” She looked up over Selena's shoulder.

  “Friends?” Selena turned to see her ladies-in-waiting stood just inside the door. “Oh. These are my maids. Freyton, assigned them to me.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper, “They follow me everywhere. I can't get a minute's peace.”

  Evelyn frowned and looked over at them. “I think that will be all, ladies.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady,” the dark-haired attendant said. “His Grace, the duke, gave instructions we were to accompany Her Grace at all times.”

  “Whatever for?” Evelyn asked, as she cocked an eyebrow at Selena.

  “I don't really know,” Selena admitted. “I've been trying to get rid of them for days.”

  “Well, I think I would like some privacy with my niece. That will be all.” Evelyn told the woman.

  “But, His Grace...”

  “I said, that will be all,” the old woman said, pressing her lips tightly together and looking at the maid sternly.

  “Yes, my lady.” The trio of maids dipped a curtsey together and filed out through the double doors.

  “Thank you,” Selena said with a heartfelt sigh. “I feel like I'm under constant guard with them always following me around.”

  “I forget sometimes, that you're not used to having servants and the like,” Evelyn said as she eased herself back down into the chair. “You need to keep them in their place, Selena.”

  “You make it seem so easy.” She sat down on the other chair, perching on the edge so as not to rumple her gown overly.

  “Well, I suppose I grew up with them dear. We had our own money back then, of course.”

  “Of course.” Selena said. “And now I suppose we will have it again eventually. Now that you've all sold me off like the family cow.”

  “Oh Selena,” she sighed. “Please do tell me we're not going to go through this again.”

  “It's just... Well, I don't think I was ready for a husband.”

  “Oh my dear child!” the old woman laughed. “No woman wants a husband! They're a terrible nuisance. Smelly and underfoot the whole time and absolutely no idea of what is proper. They are rather necessary in a marriage though I'm afraid.” She picked up her cup and sipped before grimacing. “Cold,” she explained and picked up the elegant silver bell on the table. “Hello again dear,” she said as the page walked through the door in response to her summons. “Do you suppose you could freshen this up? It's gone cold I'm afraid.” She gestured at the ornate tea set on the small table beside the two chairs.

  “At once, Your Ladyship.” The page bowed and retrieved the tea set, closing the door behind him as he left.

  “You see? They do have their uses.” She smirked at the young woman and looked around at the room with an expression of disapproval. “Is it all like this?”

  Selena laughed. “Yes! This isn't even the worst room. What makes things worse is that most of this is new.”

  “Newly Lorded and all the money in the world but, somewhat lacking in taste I'd say,” Evelyn said with a faintly offended tut. “Now Selena, am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

  Selena laughed. “I'm fine. It's fine. Freyton is gone m
ost of the time, hunting and the like. I'm just a bit...”

  “A bit what?”

  “Bored!” Selena laughed. “It sounds ridiculous I suppose, but I'm bored stiff! I'm trapped in the middle of nowhere with no one for company except those insipid maids and stuttering page boys.”

  “I'd have thought Freyton would be keeping you busy. Pretty young thing like you. He should be chasing you around the bedroom by now.”

  “Auntie!” Selena gasped, shocked.

  “Oh, come on girl, we're all grown women in here,” Evelyn said, with an earthy chuckle.

  “I suppose,” she said, still fighting the blush from her cheeks. “He doesn't actually seem very interested.”

  “Well I'm sure that will come with time. It would be nice to have a baby though, to solidify things.”

  “I am well aware of my responsibilities, Auntie. They were made perfectly clear to me before the signing of the betrothal agreement, if you remember?”

  “Yes well, your father was never really one for tact and diplomacy, was he?” She looked towards the door as the chink of fine china came from the hallway and the page struggled through the door with the tea. They sat in silence, as he poured for them both and left.

  “You're not really in the middle of nowhere anyway dear. Kavtrin is only a day or so away.”

  “Kavtrin, Auntie? Really? I want a bit of life and culture, not the smell of old fish.”

  Selena sipped at her steaming cup, enjoying the heat of the tea as it burned its way down her throat.

  “I'll never understand how you can drink it so hot dear. You must be close to scalding your own tongue there.”

  Selena smiled at her over the rim of her cup.

  “As for boredom. Well, if Freyton won't go to you, then perhaps you should go to him? That's the last I'll say of it,” she added quickly, holding up her long gloved hand in a placating gesture as she caught Selena's expression. “As for the rest of your time, do as you wish. If Kavtrin is not to your liking then try riding, read, try needlepoint.”

  Selena pulled a face. “I loathe horses and needlepoint is for women who have lost the right to own their own minds. I would read, but the library is hardly extensive. What little there is in there doesn't often stray from dry histories and philosophy.”

  “What in all the world would Freyton want with those? Do you think he's trying to appear educated and intellectual?” Evelyn asked in a conspiratorial whisper and then gave a wicked chuckle.

  “Auntie, you are awful.” Selena gave the door a guilty little look.

  “Life is no fun if you play by the rules all the time dear. You should try to remember that.”

  The visit passed all too quickly and Selena found herself wandering the halls of the mansion. A pointed glare at the ladies-in-waiting soon sent them scurrying when they tried to join her and for want of anything else to do she eventually made her way to the library.

  It was a dark-panelled affair, with oil lamps turned low on the walls. She lit a taper from a lamp and touched it to the kindling laid in the fireplace before turning her attention to the bookshelves. The books were leather-bound and dusty, clearly Freyton thought a ducal palace should have a library and so he'd had one put in. Judging by the dust in the room and the impeccable state of the books, the library had been put to little use.

  “Decorative,” she muttered. “Just like his wife.”

  She wandered around the room trailing her fingertips along the shelves and tutting at the dust. It was, as she'd said, mostly histories and philosophies. A dark green binding caught her eye and she tugged out the thick book, a history of Eastern Anlan.

  “Well if I do have to live here, I might as well learn something about the place,” she said quietly to herself and settled back into a deep armchair to read as the fireplace crackled merrily against the far wall.

  ***

  The seagull banked with the strong wind and dove towards the slate grey sea that surrounded the small chain of islands. The largest island, closest to where the seagull now flew, was covered in high mountains and rocky terrain. It was a harsh looking place, more suited to seabirds than men. Despite this, and with the tenacity only mankind can exhibit, the inhabitants clung to the island like limpets to a rock. Every tiny green valley was crammed with farms and crops. Towns dotted the coastline and fishing fleets bobbed about in the bays. A fortified city filled the southernmost end of the island, glowering out over the sea like an old man watching unruly children.

  The gull cried its ululating call and flew on towards the city. It seemed a cramped place, with narrow streets and tall thin buildings that were nevertheless, sturdy-looking stone structures with dark slate rooftops. The city had few wide roads and avenues. It was criss-crossed with tiny alleyways giving the impression it had been struck a mighty blow, and covered with a thousand cracks. Its thick, granite walls were surmounted with intimidating-looking battlements, liberally dotted with catapults and ballistae.

  A rocky islet sat directly opposite the city. It was largely a wind-scoured and inhospitable rock, but towers and small forts had been forced into the surface, which were also bristling with their own weapons. Its presence, so close to the harbour, formed a crescent shaped stretch of water and restricted access to the narrow channels leading between the two. Had the gull cared about such things it would have been left with the impression that the city was almost impervious to attack.

  The rain fell gently and was then whipped away by the winds as they clawed at the islands as if seeking to tear them from the sea. The surging waves crashed hard against the dark stone cliffs and the gull banked again, before flying steadily towards the flotilla of small ships making its way around the coast towards the harbour. The vessels were sleek and clearly designed for speed with sharp narrow prows, and long thin beams. Their blood-red sails hung limp and oars sprouted from each side of the boats, driving in unison through the white-capped waves.

  Two ships were clearly in competition with each other for the lead position. They were far ahead of the other vessels, but with only a dozen feet separating them. The gull swooped down and settled on the prow of the lead vessel. Carved into the shape of a wolf's head with snarling teeth, the prow was an imposing sight. The gull stamped its webbed feet onto the head of the wolf and settled down to preen.

  Klöss swore into his thin beard and hauled back on the oar, trying to keep to the beat of the drum. At fourteen it was his first time on the oars and he needed to prove himself. Had it not been for his size they would never have considered him, but a chance he had been given and so the chance he had. The boat knifed through the waves using both sail and oars for maximum speed but for the moment the sails hung slack and empty as the cliff blocked the wind. Klöss glanced up for a moment across the water towards the other ship. It was a scant fifty yards away, they were catching them.

  “Bend your back boy!” cried the oarsmaster and flicked the lash lightly at Klöss's back. Its kiss was as light as a feather but soon turned into a sting of fire and ice. He ignored the pain and hauled on the oar, bracing his feet on the base of the bench in front and leaning back into it. After a time he lost himself in the rhythm of it, the beat of the drum, the spray of the sea in his face and all around the smell of sweat and tar. He heard boots on the deck above him and the roar of the Shipmaster, “faster by the gods!” and then the drumming became frenetic.

  “Steersman! Make the turn when you're ready, but make it clean! If you lose my speed on this you'll be swimming home,” called the Shipmaster.

  Klöss felt the ship begin to turn as it listed to the right, the drumbeat urging him on even as the wind whipped at his hair. He risked another glimpse to the right and saw that their angle was going to cut in front of the other boat, a move that risked them colliding or grinding them both into the rocky cliffs.

  “More speed now!” cried the Shipmaster. “Give it all you have!”

  The drumbeat increased again and the ship soared towards the rocks. Klöss hauled in time with the ot
hers, sweat running freely down his face and neck as he strove to keep pace. They had made the turn smoothly, with little speed lost, and sailed past the cliff face with barely an oar's length distance. Klöss could probably have reached out and brushed his fingers on the cliff, if he dared risk the ire of the oarsmaster.

  The sails billowed as the wind filled them again, snapping ropes and canvas tight, and the boat fairly leapt ahead. Klöss felt the shock through his oar and grinned in spite of the torturous labour. He could see the shore now, a glimpse every time he leaned back into the oar. Houses and streets becoming clearer with every stroke.

  “Now then my boys, one last push,” called the oarsmaster. They were clearly doing well, for the evil-faced man had no good word to say at any other time. They might be “my boys” today, but two days ago they'd been “useless dogs,” as he laid about with lash and cudgel.

  He could hear the roar of the crowds as they came closer to the harbour, and the drum-beat increased yet again to a ramming speed. Oarsmaster, Shipmaster and Steersman were screaming at the oarsmen in unison now, urging more speed, just one last push. Then they passed the anchored raft with its fire-pot belching oily smoke, and the drums stopped. There was an awful moment of silence. Then cheers and roars erupted in the boat as the oarsmen dropped the oars and flung themselves at each other in congratulations.

  Klöss looked over his shoulder and saw the other ship a good three lengths behind them, just now passing the marker. Another fifty ships followed close behind. He slumped down and braced his head in his hands as he laughed through his tears. They'd done it. He'd got the best chance he could.

  “Klöss! Stop bawling and get up here!” shouted the oarsmaster, grasping his upper arms and helping him out of the oarpit before moving forward to stand near the prow. Klöss groaned inwardly. He'd received black looks since the first day of training and didn't need this attention.

  “You see this lad?” the oarsmaster shouted at the crew over the wind and the still-roaring crowds. “Fourteen summers he has and already man-sized. Frostbeard's blood runs in his veins and it shows. Is he fit to join this crew?” He screamed the last, pointing at Klöss and the crew roared back their affirmation, thrusting fists into the air.