Finnikin of the Rock

the face of the earth. Trevanion's informant in the mines had told him that his Guard could be found in one of the rock villages of Yutlind Sud. To reach the territory from Sif, they would need to travel by cog down the coast and around the cape, which would take them to the mouth of the Yack River and into the war-torn kingdom.

'No one travels to Yutlind Sud,' the captain of the Myrinhall muttered, eyeing Trevanion and Finnikin and spitting orange pips into the water below.

They were standing on the deck of the merchant cog, which boasted a crew of twenty men. It was a flat- bottomed vessel with a central mast carrying a square-rigged sail, sturdy enough to sail the open seas and compact enough to be steered down a river, ideal for navigating among the Yack's shallow reed beds.

'We have been told you travel south today,' Trevanion said, 'to collect produce and merchandise from Yutlind Sud.'

'If we get paid enough, we collect goods from the traders on the river's edge, but we don't take passengers. Could hardly convince my men to come along today. Foreigners don't survive the Yack.'

'We need to travel to the rock villages close to the north-south border.'

The captain sent them a look of disbelief. 'You come all the way south to travel north? You'd be better off going over the mountains and through Belegonia.'

'Ye gods, really?' Finnikin said sarcastically. 'Why didn't anyone tell us?'

Trevanion silenced him with a frown. 'Take our silver and let us board,' he said to the captain.

The merchant looked beyond Trevanion to where the others of their party were sitting on the pier, waiting. 'Want advice?'

'No!' Finnikin said, only to receive another glare from his father.

'Give it to you anyway,' the man said, spitting out another pip. 'Leave the young and the old behind. Especially the girl.'

Neither Finnikin nor his father responded.

'Won't be responsible for what my men or the Yuts want from the girl. Money up front. We leave the moment my men are on board.'

The captain walked away. Finnikin saw the hint of a smile on Trevanion's face as he looked toward the horizon. He had read stories from the books in royal courts about the port town of Sif, where brave men set off for the undiscovered world beyond their land. Some believed the mythical stories of fire-breathing dragons and oceans tipping into an abyss, which kept the fainthearted away.

'Have you ever wondered what lies beyond?' Finnikin asked his father.

'A kinder world than this, I would hope,' Trevanion murmured.

'I say the merchant is right,' Finnikin said, looking toward the pier. 'It'll be safer if we leave them here. Yutlind's a bloodbath and if anything happens to her ... to them ...'

Trevanion nodded as they walked toward the others. Evanjalin was instantly on her feet, picking up her bedroll and pointing to the provisions. 'Make yourself useful, Froi,' they heard her order.

'You can do the honors of telling her she's staying behind, Finn,' Trevanion said under his breath.

Mercy. Finnikin cleared his throat, trying to avoid her eyes. 'We will be back in ten days,' he announced.

'Back?' Evanjalin asked, confused. She gave Froi another shove. 'By the time we find the Guard, it will be safer and closer to cross over the Belegonian border. Why return here?'

'For you. For all of you.'

The crew of the Myrinhall jostled past. By the looks of them, they had been out all night. They appeared disheveled and somewhat sinister, especially when they caught sight of Evanjalin. Sir Topher glanced at them uneasily.

'It is safer for all,' Finnikin said firmly.

'You are leaving us behind?' Evanjalin asked in disbelief. 'To return here would be a waste,' she hissed. 'If we travel to the rock villages, then we are halfway to Belegonia heading north.'

'Why would I not know that, Evanjalin?' Finnikin asked, trying to curb his growing frustration at her inability to take orders. 'It's too dangerous. They say the spirit warriors guard the Yack River and could be a threat to foreigners.'

Froi sat himself back down, but Evanjalin pulled him to his feet. 'We are not staying,' she said. 'Sir Topher, tell him we are not staying.'

'We don't know enough about these people, Evanjalin,' Sir Topher said. 'The southerners may be Yuts, but they have different ways from the north and do not speak the same language. The south belongs to tribes of natives, and their king is in hiding. They are not going to take too kindly to foreigners in their land.'

'This is the only way,' Finnikin said. 'It will be easier to hide if there are only two of us. It will be quicker. If we find Trevanion's men, they can travel farther north to Belegonia and we will return for you. On my oath, we will, Evanjalin.'

Fury crossed Evanjalin's face. 'You will be dead the moment one of the clans has you in its possession,' she said, pointing at Finnikin. 'You look like a foreigner. Like one from the north.' She looked at Trevanion pleadingly. 'No matter how superior you are as fighters, Captain, they will outnumber you and you will have nothing to bargain with.'

'And with you, we will?' Finnikin said angrily. 'Or do you suggest we sell Froi again? Personally I wouldn't mind in the slightest, except I know you'll drag me off to some godsforsaken place in order to steal him back.'

'That's enough,' Trevanion said.

Froi grunted. 'Staying.'

'It would be wrong to separate,' she said, pushing past Finnikin with her bedroll. 'Froi! I said to make yourself useful.'

'You are not coming!' Finnikin grabbed her arm. 'You stay here. Safe.'

'That's enough, both of you,' Trevanion said.

'Safe for who?' she shouted. 'What happens when they capture you, Finnikin? Do we stay here waiting for eternity?'

'What makes you think we'll be caught?' he asked. 'The only time that's ever happened to me, Evanjalin, is when you gave me up to the Sorelians.'

There was silence, except for the sound of Evanjalin's breathing.

'We are wasting time,' Trevanion said, grabbing the provisions from a relieved Froi.

Evanjalin shook free of Finnikin. 'What is it?' she asked him coldly. 'Really? What bothers you? That I found a way of getting your father out of the mines while you left him there to rot for years?'

The sound of blood rushing in his ears was almost deafening, yet Finnikin heard the sharp intake of Trevanion's breath and saw Froi's look of spiteful glee.

'Enough!' Sir Topher shouted. His cheeks were flushed with anger. 'Vow of silence,' he ordered, pointing his finger at Evanjalin. 'You do not speak until you are given permission. Can you see that being a problem, Evanjalin? Because if it is, I will be the first to leave you behind at the mouth of the Yack. We stay together,' he added more calmly, looking at Finnikin. 'There are risks both ways, but we need to stay together.'

Evanjalin pushed past Froi and walked up the plank before anyone could say another word. Finnikin caught the looks on the faces of the crew on board. Predators, like the prisoners of Sorel. But he didn't care what they did to her. His ears still rang from the brutality of her words. Is that what Trevanion thought and was not able to say? That his son was a coward who left him languishing in the bowels of hell?

The captain of the Myrinhall watched them as they filed on board, shaking his head. 'You sign your death sentence, my friends. Indeed you do.'

Finnikin sat by himself for the first half of the journey. His only consolation was that Evanjalin spent most of her time with her head over the side, emptying the contents of her stomach into the sea. After so many hours, he wondered that there was anything left inside her. He watched as she staggered to her bedroll on the deck, but each time she attempted to sit down, she would begin to retch again and rush to the side. Froi joined her for much of the time, a sight that brought Finnikin even more satisfaction.

In all his travels, he had never been on the open seas and he found it both frightening and exhilarating. If it wasn't the swelling waves that suddenly dropped in height and jolted them forward, it was the storms that churned the seawater into a mass of boiling foam. L'essoupi, the sailors called this stretch of