Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

Fyn straightened the sheepskin cap, which covered his ears and was wonderfully warm. His plait had not been cut since he entered the abbey at the age of six, and it fell to his waist. This spring cusp it would have been shaved off, when he left the ranks of the acolytes and became a monk. Already a dark fuzz threatened to cover the tattoos because he hadn't shaved his head for two mornings. In a couple of weeks he would be able to cut off his plait and no one would guess he had been a monk. They'd think he'd been sick and had shorn his head because of the fever.

Loss tugged at him, but he did not have time to mourn.

'There's Great Granna and Granda,' the girl said, skipping towards the old woman and Lame Klimen. He waited at the gate along with the rest of the village who had come to see him off.

The old woman handed Fyn a shoulder pack, saying. 'This should last you.'

He thanked her even though he knew she couldn't hear.

'Your clothes are a bit big, but you'll be safer as a fisherman than a monk,' Lame Klimen told him.

Fyn looked around at the villagers then held the old man's eyes for a heartbeat. They needed to talk. Privately.

Taking his meaning, Lame Klimen stepped through the gate with him.

Fyn gestured to the gate and wall. 'Your defences won't hold against the Merofynians. You must go to Port Cobalt.'

The old man rubbed his chin. 'The port defends the valley from the Lesser Sea. The Merofynians are sure to attack it to bring in supplies. But our village…' He shrugged. 'Who would bother to attack us? Besides, we can run up to the cave. I'll have my people store food and blankets up there. We always kept it stocked when I was a youth, but we haven't bothered since I was a young man. That's what thirty years of peace does to you.'

Fyn bent to strap on his skis. 'I hope you are right. I appreciate your help. I don't know what's going to happen,' he straightened up, 'but if we come through this I'll — '

'Don't worry.' Lame Klimen touched his arm. 'When the nobles make war they make their names. When the people make war they make sacrifices. Remember this and you will be a good king, one day.'

'I'm not going to be king,' Fyn objected, but Lame Klimen only nodded, smiled and stepped back to wave him off.

The villagers on the gate tower waved and cheered.

Fyn returned their wave and set off. Somehow he must get across Rolencia with Merofynian warriors roaming the countryside, and reach his family.

Piro's slippered feet made no sound as she raced through the busy yards and passages. When she found herself in the courtyard at the base of the mourning tower, she could only think of one thing, telling her mother. The queen had always been able to guide the king with a subtle word here or there. If anyone could convince her father not to ride out, her mother could.

She surveyed the courtyard. Between townsfolk come to check on their animals and others come to discuss the news, the courtyard was as busy as a hiring fair market. The shouts of a pugnacious, bald man attracted her attention. He was disputing the ownership of a goat with a harassed pregnant woman. His bullying manner told Piro he had every intention of winning the argument.

Determined to get past the guards, Piro snatched a red speckled bantam hen that had slipped its cage and headed across the courtyard, with the vague intention of attempting bribery.

Two of the guards stood on the bottom of the external stair to the first-floor entrance, deep in discussion. She knew them to be honourable men. They weren't part of her father's original honour guard but they both knew her by sight, so that ruled out approaching them herself.

The bald bully raised his voice again and gave the pregnant woman a shove. That decided Piro. She tapped a boy of about six on the shoulder and thrust the chicken into his arms.

'Give this to the guards. Tell them the bald man sent it.' She jerked her head towards the two who were still arguing.

The boy nodded and tucked the chicken under his arm. Piro watched as the guard received the chicken, glanced to the man and went over to settle the argument.

Piro smiled, because these were honourable men, they would not accept bribes.

She ran up the steps. Now there was just the guard at her mother's door, but when she got there she found he had left his post. Probably stepped out to relieve himself, knowing the others guarded the base of the tower.

'Mother?' Piro tapped at the door.

'Piro? What are you doing here? Where's the — '

'He's gone.' Piro gulped, her words rushing over themselves. 'Father's going to ride out to meet the Merofynian commander. Palatyne will kill him. I know he will. You've got to stop it.'

There was a moment's silence.

'Mother?'

'Listen, Piro.' It was Seela, her old nurse. 'Can you see the key?'

She glanced around. There was a tray, with what was left of the guard's breakfast right under the narrow window. 'No.'

And even as she said it, she realised it was pointless to worry her mother with Father's fate, when there was nothing the queen could do. 'I'm sorry. I — '

'Don't fret, Piro,' Seela told her. 'You can't be sure. Dream visions — '

'Piro?' her mother broke in. 'Run to the top of Eagle Tower. From there you can see Rolenton Square. And I can see the top of Eagle Tower from my window. If Rolen falls, signal me. Can you do that?'

'I can. I'll wave my smock,' Piro whispered. Perhaps there was something her mother could do. 'I'm going now.'

'Wait. Piro?'

'I'm still here.'

'If Rolenhold falls — '

'It'll never fall!'

'If the castle falls we'll need to negotiate surrender. Dress as befits a kingsdaughter.'

'If it comes to that I will,' Piro agreed, dismissing it as an impossibility. 'I'm going now.'

She turned and ran down the steps, pausing on the landing at the first-floor doorway. The altercation over the goat was still going strong, only now the bully was denying that he had tried to bribe the guards with a stolen chicken.

It was the work of only a few minutes to reach Eagle Tower. By the time Piro climbed to the top, her heart was pounding like a drum, but she wasn't hot and bothered. Instead shivers shook her body and her teeth chattered so that even clenching her jaw didn't stop them.

The castle's parapets were thick with people watching the confrontation, while a dozen castle servants had climbed Eagle Tower. Piro burrowed through them to get a viewing spot. They were all straining to see the king's party and no one paid her any attention. The family's banner, a flash of deep red on black, attracted her eye as her father and his companions rode into Rolenton's square. The large bonfire had burned down, only a thin finger of smoke rose on the air.

Overlord Palatyne waited astride his great black warhorse. The Merofynian banner stood behind him, stretched on two poles. Piro could just make out the shape of a rearing wyvern depicted in rich azure.

Her father rode out under a flag of truce. According to the code of war the overlord would threaten and bluster, while King Rolen would dare him to do his worst. They would trade insults, then the Rolencian party would ride back to the castle and wait for the warrior monks to arrive. That was how it should have gone, but Piro knew better.

Being so far away she could only read large actions. Overlord Palatyne gestured to his warriors. King Rolen gestured to the castle.

Movement drew Piro's eye to insect-like creatures which crept across the roofs of the houses that faced onto the square. Bowmen… silent assassins. Her mouth went dry.

Their presence might just be a display of strength.

But when they stood and drew their bows, notching arrows, she knew. A silent scream of warning drove the air from her lungs.