Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

They'd be equally quick to turn on her, if they knew she had Affinity. She shuddered as the ramifications hit her. With the castle under siege, Cobalt would be within his rights to have her executed. She shivered.

The spit-turner rubbed her hands. 'You're cold. And hungry, I expect. Stay here. I'll find you some food.'

Again, she squeezed his fingers then let him go. He returned after several moments with a calico bag containing smelly cheese and other items.

'Promise me you'll hide?' He held the bag up between them but did not release it. 'Cobalt's looking for you.'

'I know. I'll take care.'

He did not look convinced, but he gave her the bag and she slipped away, heading for the stable courtyard.

The place was so crowded, people had camped in the passages. She picked her way over bundles and through outstretched legs. She passed two old men, both veterans of other wars by the look of them. One was without a leg from the knee down and the other's hands were crippled with the bone-ache.

'They're saying all the king's old honour guard are dead,' One-leg muttered. 'I remember Temor as a boy, remember his da. Good men, both of 'em.'

'Good men,' the other echoed. 'Young Rolen lost a lot of good men today.'

It took a moment for Piro to realise they were talking about her father.

'Eh, he can't afford to. Not with the enemy at the gates again.' One-leg shook his head. 'The Bastard's brat shouldn't have punished Sawtree.'

'Aye. Good man, Sawtree,' the other agreed.

Piro's stomach lurched and her skin went cold. So the spit-turner hadn't been entirely honest with her. She wanted to ask these old men what Cobalt had done to punish Sawtree, but she didn't dare.

'I hear the Bastard's brat's offering a reward for news of Rolen's girl,' One-leg said and spat.

Piro crept away feeling guilty. What had Cobalt done to Sawtree? She wanted to go to him and help, but that would be an insult when he had chosen to sacrifice himself for her. Tears stung her eyes. She searched for somewhere safe, somewhere that if she was found she would not endanger others.

At last she settled in a store room. Everything had gone wrong. Her two oldest brothers were missing, her mother was locked up, her father was sick and had placed his trust in a trickster and now, Rolenhold was under siege.

Unable to eat, she stared out the single high window. The stars were covered by thick cloud tonight, which meant the usual dusk breeze hadn't come in from the sea. Had the Ostronite merchant escaped?

He was probably wealthy enough to cry hostage and pay for his release but his sailors and servants would not be so lucky. The best they could hope for was to be kept as seven-year slaves. Merofynians exacted seven years' servitude in return for captives' lives. Strange to think that a kingdom which considered itself the most civilised in the known world should keep slaves and hold to such harsh laws. For all that the Merofynians looked down on Rolencians as barbarians, her father had preferred a simple beheading to the hanging, drawing and quartering of the convicted.

It had taken the better part of the day for Fyn to lead the boys down the slope towards the village and now he hesitated in a hollow, out of sight of the village's gate tower. Finding Merofynian invaders inside the abbey had unnerved him. Who knew where the enemy was?

He ordered the boys to wait but, with the promise of hot food only two bow shots away, the older boys muttered about the delay and the little ones cried softly.

'They're just about done, Fyn,' Feldspar protested, catching up with him. 'Can't we — '

'No, we can't!' He grimaced. 'Sorry. I don't want to lead you all into a trap.'

'Do you think the Merofynians are already there?' Joff asked.

Fyn shrugged. 'I just don't know.'

'We'll wait,' Feldspar whispered. 'Settle them down, Joff.'

He moved off and Feldspar squeezed Fyn's shoulder.

He wanted to brush off that supporting hand. Felt a fraud. No one would be following him if they knew how he'd failed the abbot.

On top of that, impatience and worry ate at Fyn. Already, he had lost a night and a day since the abbey had been taken. And he still had to cross Rolencia's ripe valley. No matter how often he told himself Piro was safe in Rolenhold, he couldn't rid himself of the worm of worry that gnawed at his belly. She was in trouble, he just knew it.

'What is it?' Feldspar asked.

Fyn glanced around the hollow while Lenny waited at his side, shivering but not complaining. This was all that remained of Halcyon's warrior monks, small boys and acolytes who were too young to go to war. A wave of loss engulfed Fyn. Tears burned his eyes as he thought of the knowledge lost with the monks' deaths. The Merofynians were probably ransacking the great library even now. On a more practical note, who would tend the hothouse seedlings? How would the farmers get two crops harvested this summer? A summer spent warring meant a winter spent starving.

Speaking of which, the boys were hungry and needed somewhere warm to sleep. It was getting dark. 'I'll approach the village, see if it's safe.'

'I'll come with you,' Feldspar decided.

Lenny shivered and his stomach rumbled loudly.

Fyn grinned. 'Wait here, Len.'

He slipped out of the hollow with Feldspar at his heels, and made for the isolated cover of stunted pines until they reached a cairn of stones about a bow-shot from the gate. This was where the traveller coming from up the path around the far side of Mount Halcyon would stop to give thanks for a safe journey before entering the village.

From behind this cairn, Fyn studied the village's single gate tower. Several youths between thirteen and seventeen were standing on the platform, hovering over a wyvern harpoon which some enterprising fisherman had mounted up there.

The business end of the harpoon was pointed at a winter-bare, gnarled tree across the field just off the path from the valley.

Feldspar shaded his eyes as he studied the village chimney pots, visible above the wall. 'No more than a dozen cottages. I think we outnumber them. I hope there's enough food to go around.'

'The abbess can replace their supplies later.' Fyn glanced to the clouds. 'More snow on the way. Good. It'll hide our trail.'

'You think the Merofynians will send warriors after us?'

'I think we have a day or so before they begin to wonder where we got to. And, if they have a Power-worker with them, which they're sure to do, they will eventually find Halcyon's Sacred Heart.' He shivered, thinking of the invaders desecrating the mummies of the old monks and tapping into Halcyon's own seep. 'The sooner you lot are safe behind Sylion's walls the better.'

'Well, something has stirred up the fisher folk.' Feldspar pointed to the tower with its cluster of defenders.

Fyn agreed. He stepped out from behind the cairn and called. 'We're from Halcyon Abbey and we claim traveller's ease.'

Several dogs barked. The youths swung the wyvern harpoon towards them. Fyn and Feldspar instinctively opened their arms to show they carried no weapons.

'Halcyon Abbey,' they yelled to be sure there were no mistakes.

The youths cheered and one of them shouted an order to the youngest. 'Fetch Lame Klimen. Tell him Halcyon Abbey has come.'

'I'll go back and get the boys,' Feldspar offered and turned around only to mutter, 'Oh, I see Joff's bringing them.'

Fyn glanced over his shoulder to find the others plodding after Joff, too eager to wait for his signal.

Another head, this one weathered by time, appeared on the gate tower. There was some confusion as the old man pushed the youths aside. Then he raised his voice to call to Fyn. 'It's just as well the abbey sent you, we have a renegade Power-worker trying to get in.' He pointed to the gnarled tree.