Byren increased his pace. Hopefully the pack was feeding and they would have time to get away. But they had only gone half a bowshot, down into a hollow, when a grey form detached itself from a shadow and entered the path to confront him.
Byren swallowed, recognising the leader of the ulfr pack, the one he had lain with in the seep.
The Affinity beast watched him from intelligent winter sky-blue eyes.
He froze.
Last time he had seen this creature, he had offered it his belly and it had let him live. This time he stood tall, one hand on the pony's reins, the other on his hunting knife. Now he wished he'd thought to cut the sled's tracings so that the pony could run free. But there was no time. He must not show weakness.
The pack leader padded towards them. Byren watched its approach, trying to make sense of what he saw, for there was no threat in the way the Affinity beast moved, only curiosity.
The pony shuddered and tried to pull back. Byren had to use two hands to steady it. When he focused on the ulfr again it was close enough to touch him, large head and muzzle level with his waist. On its hind legs it would be taller than him.
Delicately, the Affinity beast sniffed his chest, looked up into his face and licked his closest hand.
'He likes you,' Rodien marvelled.
The ulfr sent the boy a quick look, then turned and loped off.
Byren slowly let his breath out. What had just happened?
His head was filled with a rushing sound and sparks danced in his vision.
'Da's not coming back, is he?' Rodien whispered, after what seemed an age.
Byren swallowed. 'No.'
'You saved me from the Affinity beasts.'
'Yes.' Somehow.
'Where are we going now?'
The immensity of it hit Byren. He had an old pony and a four-year-old boy to protect, while the Merofynians searched the valley for him. This time he must not fail.
As if sensing his fears, the boy whimpered. 'I wants Miron.'
'He'll join us at Cedar tradepost.'
Rodien accepted this.
And it was decided. Byren would take Rodien to the tradepost, which was on the path coming down from the pass to Foenix Spar pass. He could leave Rodien with the family who ran it, and then…
He couldn't think further than that.
Piro hesitated. Foot on the gangplank, she glanced back to her father's castle, seeing the Merofynian banners flying from Rolenhold's towers. Her stomach lurched.
Soterro clipped her across the ear, making her eyes water. 'Get moving.'
Determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, she adjusted her bundle and turned to face the sled-boat. She used to love riding the sled-boats. Now she boarded this one knowing it was taking her away from Byren, and Fyn.
'Get a move on.' Grysha elbowed her in the ribs as he shoved past.
She adjusted her grip on the bundle and stepped onto the gangplank, vowing she would return and she would avenge her family.
Fyn skidded to a halt, and bent to unstrap the skates in the shadow of a wharf. Above him the porters chanted a familiar work song as they loaded a sled-boat. From Rolenton came the equally familiar scents of cooking as people sat down to their midday meal. It felt good to be back home.
If it weren't for the churning in his stomach, Fyn would have been happy. But he dreaded telling his father the bad news.
Regaining his feet, he slung the skates over his shoulder and climbed up the wharf. A Merofynian yelled at the porters in badly accented Rolencian. If rumour of the Merofynian invasion had reached Rolenton the foreign merchants would be eager to get out before their cargoes became prizes of war.
Fyn's head came level with the wharf. A blur of azure wyverns on black surcoats met his eyes as two dozen warriors rode onto the wharf.
He blinked. The men rode like they owned Rolenton, and did not bother dismounting but milled around, their horses' shod hooves loud on the wooden planks. The porters retreated, casting them fearful glances while the Merofynian leader bellowed for the ship's captain.
Fyn ducked behind a bale to watch, as a burly sailor made his way across deck to the top of the gangplank.
'I'm the captain, what d'you want?'
'This ship has been impounded by order of Overlord Palatyne.'
'What's this?' A well-dressed man objected in Ostronite-accented Merofynian. 'Lord Dunstany has hired this sled-boat to take him to Port Marchand. We are to set off as soon as the wind rises.'
'You'll set off on Palatyne's orders or not at all!' the warrior bellowed.
Behind the bale, Fyn sank to his knees, head reeling. Overlord Palatyne had already taken the town. He was too late, much too late.
No. Just because Rolenton had fallen, it did not mean the castle had.
The clip of a single horse's hooves made Fyn rise and peer over the bale again. A man rode onto the wharf and dismounted. The warriors deferred to him. He wore a rich surcoat emblazoned with both the Merofynian azure and the twin-headed amfina. Palatyne himself, or a messenger from him.
Fyn watched the man mount the gangplank. The ship's captain deferred to him warily and they both went below.
Fyn knelt and rested his forehead on the bale. How was he going to get into a castle under siege? And what could he, one acolyte, do to aid his father?
He would not give in to despair. He had to reach the king.
Piro noticed the noble scholar's shoulders stiffen as men argued above, their words lost but their tone unmistakable. There was a pause, then heavy footsteps sounded on the gangplank. At the same moment, light footsteps ran down the narrow passage to the main cabin. Both Piro and Dunstany turned to face the door.
Grysha thrust it open without knocking. 'The overlord's here, master, and he's spitting fire.'
Dunstany cast Piro a quick look. 'Go see if Cook needs you.'
But before she could leave the cabin, heavy footsteps echoed down the passage. Grysha cast one look behind him then backed out of the way as Palatyne's broad shoulders filled the doorway.
'Overlord.' Dunstany inclined his head as much as a noble would to a powerful, unpredictable warlord. 'To what do I owe the pleasure — '
'Don't play your courtly airs on me. I know what you're up to.' Palatyne fixed black eyes on him. 'You were running back to the king to undermine me behind my back.'
'Not at all.' Dunstany spread his hands disarmingly. 'I merely saw that you no longer needed me, what with Cobalt on the mend and the mystics and Utlander to hunt down the last kingson. I simply sought to take my treasures home before the Utland raiders begin their spring ravages on the shipping routes.'
Palatyne considered this for a moment then conceded. 'We'd be safest travelling in convoy with well-manned ships and sea-hounds to fight off raiders. But you were also out to curry favour with the king, don't deny it.' He thumped his chest with one fist. 'This is my victory, Dunstany. Mine. And I will sail into Port Mero to lay it before the king.'
Dunstany bowed. 'It was never going to be any other way.'
Palatyne gave him a considering look.
Piro dared not move. Dunstany remained, head bent, waiting for a signal.
'Very well,' Palatyne muttered and the noble scholar straightened up. 'Go ahead to Port Marchand and organise a convoy of ships to carry us home. Hire sea-hounds to protect us. I know they'll charge the earth, but it's worth it. No Utland raiders will get their hands on my treasures. Arrange somewhere for me to stay when we reach Port Marchand, and see that I am treated as befits the future emperor of the Twin Kingdoms.'
Dunstany bowed. 'As you wish.'
Palatyne turned to stride out.
