Halcyon Abbey into an ambush. He murdered the remaining boys and old men. I am sworn to avenge his treachery.'
'You might be, but the internal politics of kingdoms mean nothing to sea-hounds like us. We're kings in our own right, kings of the sea.' Nefysto gave Fyn a thoughtful look. 'You saw this attack happen?'
Fyn nodded.
'Get these lazy sea-snakes back to work, Jaku,' the captain said. He caught Fyn's eye. 'You may yet prove useful. Bring him to my cabin, Bantam.'
Fyn held his tongue as Captain Nefysto led him to the cabin under the high rear deck. A bank of windows ran across the bow of the ship, books sat behind glass-fronted shelves. Rolled maps were tucked into neat little niches. Everything was finished in polished wood, gleaming brass and glass.
From behind a screen came one bird song after another. Surely a dozen birds could not be caged in so small a space? Fyn identified a smell that reminded him of Piro's foenix and he made the connection. Could they be rare pica birds?
Ostron Isle was renowned for taming and breeding these Affinity beasts in captivity. Pica birds were natural mimics, and could be taught to mimic human speech in a sing-song way. They mated for life and the female could find her way back to the male no matter how far they were separated. Through judicious use of pica birds, the elector of Ostron Isle kept himself informed of developments across the known world.
It seemed Nefysto was more than just a sea-hound out to line his pockets. Fyn returned his attention to the captain, who dropped into the chair by the desk and propped his booted feet on the polished wooden top. He steepled his fingers, watching Fyn thoughtfully.
'How fresh is your news, little monk?'
'Seven — no, eight days, maybe nine. Overlord Palatyne has taken Rolenhold, though I don't know how he breached their defences.'
The door opened behind Fyn and he turned to see Bantam.
'What else can you tell me about Rolencia?' the captain asked. 'What is the fate of the royal family?'
'Rolencia is full of rumour.' Which was true enough. 'Merofynian soldiers roam the valley hunting for Byren Kingson. As for the rest of the royal family, people say they are dead.'
'Put him to work, Bantam.' Nefysto swung his boots off the desk. He grinned with gallows humour. 'We've had all kinds on the Wyvern's Whelp, but never a monk. We should be honoured.'
The captain dipped a quill in the ink and began writing. Fyn tilted his head, trying to catch the name the captain wrote with a flourish across the top of the page.
'It's code, boy.' Bantam clipped him over the ear. 'The captain writes in code. Back to work.'
Fyn hurried to obey, his ear still burning from the blow. He did not need to read the name to guess who the captain reported to. For all he knew, Nefysto was a younger son of the elector's own family. Hounding Utland raiders was considered an honourable, if dangerous, line of work, for someone from Ostron Isle. Rolencia and Merofynia encouraged the sea-hounds, because they helped keep the sea-lanes free of plunderers.
Once on deck, Bantam turned to Fyn. Despite being smaller than him, the little sea-hound exuded an air of menace. 'I'm quartermaster of this ship, which means my word is as good as the captain's. Now listen, lad, I'm not impressed by your fancy heathen tattoos. Behave yourself or you go overboard.'
Fyn shuddered. He could swim, but in the open sea, at this time of year, he would be dead of cold before the wyverns crunched his bones.
Bantam set him to work beside Jakulos, who was the ship's boatswain, in charge of the anchors, cordage and rigging. Jaku put him alongside a youth about his own age. Fyn did his best to keep up as they lowered the sails, now that the wind was rising. Fyn didn't understand why the captain wanted to slow their pace, but he'd learnt at the abbey to keep his head down and watch, so this was what he did.
The light wooden slats running horizontal across the sail had a concertina effect. Fyn was glad he had a good head for heights, if only the deck would stop swaying.
Hanging over the cross beam he saw a black and white bird fly up from the captain's cabin windows at the rear of the ship and disappear to the east. He guessed it was on its way to Ostron Isle.
What his father would have given for some pica Affinity beasts. But the electors of Ostron Isle kept the breeding and training of their messenger birds a closely guarded secret.
Fyn climbed down and returned to Jaku.
'Does the ruler of Ostron pay well for information?' Fyn asked Jakulos.
The big man laughed. 'The elector is dying. The nobles eat and drink and watch, waiting like vultures for him to drop so they can bicker over the electorship!'
Fyn frowned. If that was so, then who was Nefysto reporting to? There had to be a power behind the elector.
It did not concern Fyn. He would bide his time and obey Bantam on the Wyvern's Whelp until they put into Ostron Isle, where he would jump ship and barter a berth back to Port Marchand.
Piro found it hard to say goodbye to Rolencia. She bit her bottom lip as she stood on the ship's deck, watching Port Marchand recede. True, they had yet to cross the bay and sail through the headlands, where Sylion Abbey perched high on the cliff, but it was symbolic, seeing the grand houses of Port Marchand fade in the distance.
High above her the sails, with their ribs of fine wood, caught the wind, creaking with the strain. If it hadn't meant leaving her homeland behind, she would have been excited. Her mother had told her so many stories about Merofynia, she felt as if she knew the palace already.
As it was, she couldn't help thrilling to the sight of their vessel sailing in formation with seven other fat- bellied merchant ships, all heavy with Rolencian booty, laden with warriors to fight off raiders. As well as this, four sea-hounds — fleet shallow-draught vessels, race-horses to the merchant plough-horses — kept pace with them, offering a further deterrent.
As long as she kept out of the overlord's way, she'd be safe. But that was hardly a plan. Until she could free her essence from the amber pendant, she dared not run away from Lord Dunstany. Frustration ate at her.
Dunstany's servant, Soterro, joined her at the rail. 'His lordship wants you.'
She took a step back. 'How long will it take to reach Port Mero?'
'Five days with a good wind, never if we meet up with pirates.'
He sounded so lugubrious, she laughed.
'Don't mock me. Our holds are crammed with Rolencian treasure, the perfect lure — '
'And hundreds of warriors, plus four shiploads of sea-hounds. That should be enough to keep us safe!'
Byren sat by their smokeless fire that night, pleased to see Florin happy. Nan hadn't been harmed, but the Merofynians continued to scour the foothills, searching for the missing kingson. It made Byren suspect one of the brigands had escaped the ulfr pack and carried word of his near-capture back to the invaders.
'We can't go down into the valley to go back the way we came. We cannot risk walking into a band of Merofynian warriors, eager to win favour with their overlord.' Orrade looked grim. 'We'll have to trek across country, over the high foothills, and it will take days to pick our way through the ravines back to the camp.'
'I can guide you. Pa is a valley-man, but Ma was high-country bred. There are paths known only to hill- people,' Florin revealed. 'Hidden signs for those who know.'
Byren snorted. He had long suspected as much.
'Good. We leave in a couple of days,' Orrade announced.
'We leave tomorrow,' Byren corrected. 'I've had one day's rest and I can't bear to sit still any longer. As long as we go slow, I'll build up my strength. How long will it take?'
Florin shrugged. 'It would have been quicker to skate the canals. Through the ravines… five days, maybe more.'
Five days before he faced the survivors of Dovecote estate. Five days to make his plans and gather his strength. So much depended on him, the second son, the spare heir, now the only survivor of King Rolen's kin.
Sorrow and bitterness sat heavy in his belly like indigestible green fruit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
