Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

Secretly terrified, Fyn fixed on the tree. How he wished he'd completed his training under the mystics master. He was no match for a Power-worker.

No one spoke.

The gnarled tree continued to look innocuous.

'Come out, you heathen wyvern!' Lame Klimen yelled. Several more heads had joined him on the gate tower and they added their abuse to his.

Nothing happened.

Joff jogged over to join them. 'There must be something you can do, Fyn.'

'Neither of us are trained mystics,' Feldspar whispered.

'True.' Fyn's fear receded as he thought things through. 'But if the Power-worker is so powerful, why is he hiding behind a tree, dodging the harpoon?'

'I'd be scared of a wyvern harpoon,' Joff offered.

Feldspar grinned. 'But you have no Affinity training. You can't manipulate the Unseen world.'

Fyn reached a decision and set off across the field towards the tree. As he approached, he made out someone huddled behind it, someone young with a large bundle that they cradled like a baby.

Fyn came to a stop as frightened, slightly lopsided eyes looked up at him from a dirty, tear-stained face. Odd, the renegade Power-worker might look like a grubby street urchin but they were wrapped in a rich Rolencian travelling fur, fit for a king.

The bundle in their arms stirred and made a soft interrogative sound that reminded Fyn of his sister's foenix. At the same moment his nostrils stung with a rush of Affinity power. 'What have you got there?'

The child's arms moved protectively and they muttered something that sounded Merofynian.

Fyn switched to his mother's native tongue. 'Whatever that is, it's giving off enough Affinity to make me sneeze.' And before he could help himself he did, sneezing three times in a row.

The child smiled reluctantly and let the blanket fall away to reveal a rare, feathered Affinity beast. 'It's a calandrius but it's injured. The kingson told me to take it to the village and ask for safe passage to Sylion Abbey in his name, but no one speaks Merofynian and they won't let me in.'

'Kingson, you say?' Fyn tried not to sound too excited. 'Byren or Lence?'

The child shrugged. 'He was nice and he had a crooked smile.'

'Byren.' So Byren was somewhere in the Rolencian valley. 'Where is he?'

She shrugged. 'He was on the king's business. He sent me here, but they won't let me in.'

'Well, you're lucky I came along. What's your name?'

'Dinni.'

Fyn leant forwards and offered his hand. 'Come on, Dinni.'

She did not accept his help or let him take the bird, but struggled to her feet alone. And, as she did, Fyn noticed a thick metal collar around her neck which had left angry marks on her pale skin. He had heard of Affinity-slaves but never actually seen one before. 'You're a runaway slave.'

'Sold to a Power-worker who beat me, but the kingson freed me and saved the calandrius.'

'That sounds like Byren.' A rush of pride filled Fyn, making it hard to speak. 'When did you see him?'

'Last night.'

So they were only a day apart. If Byren had run into a Merofynian Power-worker, and Fyn could not imagine how his brother had bested the Power-worker, Byren had to be headed back to Rolenhold to warn their father.

If Fyn set out tomorrow he would be two days behind Byren, with no chance of catching up. He had to reach the castle to report the violation of the abbey and the destruction of the warrior monks. That would be a blow to his father's battle plans.

'Master monk?' Dinni whispered.

'I'm no master, not even a monk, only an acolyte,' Fyn told her. 'Come on.'

He led her down the slope back to Feldspar and the others. Their eyes widened as he approached.

'Beware, Fyn,' Feldspar called. 'I smell Affinity on her from here.'

'It's safe,' Fyn assured them. 'The Affinity's coming off the calandrius. My brother sent her.'

'Calandrius?' Feldspar approached to take a look at the bird. The rest fell into step beside Fyn, giving the girl a wide berth. Fyn blinked a snowflake from his right eye as he looked up at the wary heads on the gate tower. 'This is Dinni, an escaped Affinity-slave who wants to claim sanctuary at Sylion Abbey. She brings a prized calandrius with her as a gift to the abbey. Open up.'

In a moment the gate was winched open. Fyn watched, thinking that the village's defences would hold off the occasional brigand or small raiding party, but not a Merofynian army. What would become of these people then? His father could not protect every small village across Rolencia's rich valley.

'Apologies, master monk,' Lame Klimen greeted Fyn, giving him the title of master even though the old man would have known by his plait that he was still an acolyte. 'We did not understand the slave.'

'And you were being cautious which is understandable, grandfather.' Fyn gave him the honorific title, and slowed his pace so that the fisherman could keep up with them, despite his pronounced limp. On closer inspection, Klimen was not so old, just weathered by the sea and too injured to remain a fisherman. When the five youths had a good look at Dinni they mocked each other, shamefaced.

Inside the wall, each little house had its own vegetable plot, empty now of anything but snow. The path wound through these blanketed gardens to the village square. Not even a bow shot across, it sloped down to the wharves.

By the time most of the boys had reached the square all the villagers had gathered. Some carried fish-oil lanterns, bringing an early twilight as well as the oil's distinctive scent.

Recognising the village elders by their air of authority, and by the way they greeted Lame Klimen, Fyn bowed to honour them. After Klimen explained who Dinni was, he turned to Fyn. 'Why has the abbot sent Halcyon's boys and acolytes to us?'

'To save our lives. Last night Merofynians violated the sanctity of the abbey, killing everyone else.'

'No. Never!' an old woman objected. 'Never in all my days…'

The fisher folk muttered in dismay.

'But the warriors?' Lame Klimen asked. 'Surely they — '

'Lured away. Only the very old and the boys stayed in the abbey,' Fyn explained. 'We are all that remain of Halcyon's monks. We've walked all night and eaten nothing for a day.'

Lenny made a funny noise in his throat and pitched forwards.

'Oh, the poor bantling,' an old woman muttered, catching him before he could hit the ground. 'Enough talking. It's clear what these boys need.'

At her words the womenfolk stepped in, leading the boys off. There would not be enough beds, but at least they would be warm and fed. Fyn was grateful. He was so tired he could barely think and all the while there was the worry for Piro and the need to reach his father weighing him down. Lame Klimen stepped aside to organise the men, sending any male over the age of fourteen to the walls.

Lenny revived and protested as the woman tried to lead him away.

'I've got hot fish stew cooking on the hearth,' she told him.

'Go on, Lenny,' Fyn urged, then switched to Merofynian. 'You too, Dinni.'

She looked doubtful but, when the old woman smiled and nodded, she allowed herself to be led away even as Klimen returned. He gave Fyn a bow which felt wrong to him, especially in front of Feldspar and Joff, who knew he was nothing special.

'You're welcome to take your ease in my place, master monk,' Lame Klimen said.

'I'm no master,' Fyn insisted.

'If you've led these boys to safety, then you've done the work of a master,' the old fisherman told him. 'This way.'

'All I did was lead them here so they could take shelter in Sylion Abbey,' Fyn said.

'Only women and girls are allowed past the abbey's portals.'

'I think the abbess will put aside the old laws for now.'

Lame Klimen led them through the now-dark village to his home. A welcome light glowed in the single pane of uneven blown glass.