Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

A viridian, padded silk coat fringed with black lace stretched across Captain Nefysto's shoulders. Its hem brushed his knees, meeting knee-high boots. As he strode towards them the coat flapped open, revealing tight leggings. He might look like an Ostronite abeille but his hard thigh muscles told another story. Fyn would not make the mistake of underestimating him.

He guessed he was probably a younger son of one of the five princely merchant families of Ostron Isle, out to make his fortune. This gave Fyn hope.

He bowed to the captain, as befitted his rank. 'I am from Halcyon Abbey. As one man of learning to another, I ask that you return me to Port Marchand.'

Nefysto's lips twitched. His men gathered around to watch and a bad feeling settled in the pit of Fyn's stomach. While sea-hounds might be the sworn enemies of Utland raiders, they were not like his father's men-at-arms.

The captain stepped closer to inspect Fyn's scalp tattoos. 'What is a monk of Halcyon doing dressed as a fisherman? Spying on Overlord Palatyne?'

Since this was close to the truth Fyn could only shrug. His head throbbed every time he moved and his stomach heaved. He did not feel ready to confront this hard-eyed, young captain. He must not reveal who he really was, or that he could lead them to Byren. Nefysto's assumption would do. 'Overlord Palatyne lured the warriors of 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.'