Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

'Mage protection,' Bantam explained in answer to Fyn's unasked question.

Mages were the most formidable of Power-workers. According to abbey lore, all Affinity renegades aimed to become mages but ninety-nine out of a hundred fell by the way side. In fact, the only living mage was Tsulamyth, a native of Ostron Isle. An eccentric recluse, he was said to be more than two hundred years old.

Ten years of abbey teaching made Fyn shudder. To think their ship was tainted by the evil of a mage. Halcyon protect him, he had not even sensed it. 'Mage magic in the sails?'

Jakulos laughed and shook his head. 'Don't listen to Bantam. The canvas's been soaked in something that resists flame.'

Fyn wondered what the scholars at Halcyon Abbey would have made of this.

Bantam stole a look over the barrier. 'Not long now.'

Fyn's hand clasped the sword hilt, his palm damp with sweat. Defending himself was one thing, attacking fleeing sailors was another. He had been filled with righteous indignation when he defended himself from the Merofynians in the abbey. Now he was filled with terror. He only hoped he did not disgrace himself.

He glanced around. Some of the sea-hounds were fingering lucky charms and religious icons, others whispered under their breath.

It surprised Fyn to discover they were all frightened, even Bantam. Hard as he seemed, there was a brittleness to the little sea-hound's voice.

Bantam risked another look, then cursed. 'Warriors. Just our luck to pick a ship transporting the army back to Merofynia!'

But Fyn was secretly relieved. He'd rather battle the enemy than sailors going about their living.

'Grapplers!' Captain Nefysto called.

Jakulos stepped from behind the barrier. He planted his feet and spun his grappling hook. Sea-hounds left the protection of their shields and scurried up the rigging, grabbing ropes as they prepared to swing across to the other deck. Fyn waited next to Bantam, a gangplank ready.

He risked a look. They were close enough to see the faces of the defenders. His heart pounded. Now he just wanted to get it over with.

'Steady… steady,' Captain Nefysto warned. 'Let them go!'

Grappling hooks flew across the gap, landing on the deck and in the rigging. There were too many for the defending soldiers to cut all the ropes. The two great ships' timbers groaned as they were drawn together.

Uttering shrill cries that mimicked the shrieks of attacking wyverns, the sea-hounds swung across the gap, landing on the deck, fighting even as they found their footing.

Bantam pressed the tip of his blade into Fyn's ribs. 'Remember, I'll be at your side, little monk. But I'll be watching my back, so don't think to plant your blade — '

'Merofynians murdered my family,' Fyn ground out. 'I owe them no loyalty.'

'Good.' Bantam turned to the others. 'Attack!'

They shoved the gangplank across the gap, which was less than a body length now and, light-footed as his namesake, Bantam ran across with Fyn at his heels.

When Fyn dropped onto the deck, someone collided with him. He spun to see Jakulos down on one knee. Of its own volition, Fyn's sword swung up to block a blow that would have severed the big man's neck. Fyn turned the Merofynian's blade aside, following through with a strike as he had been trained to do. But he used the flat of the blade at the last minute. Even so, the man fell to the deck, out cold.

Jakulos sprang up. 'Stay by me.'

He charged across the deck, expecting Fyn to protect his left side. Bantam was on Jakulos's right, fighting with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, as he battled to keep up. Fyn ran after them.

Block, strike, hack.

A man dropped with each step Fyn took. Merofynian warriors sprang forwards to attack him and his companions, but no one could stop them. Burning canvas fell. Men tumbled off the rigging screaming. The merchant sailors avoided confrontation where they could, letting the warriors do the fighting.

Jakulos made for the merchant captain on the bridge. A Merofynian warrior tried to prevent them climbing the ladder, but Jakulos hauled him off and charged up. Fyn was one step behind him. He could hear nothing but the roaring of men and flames.

Jakulos charged, driving the three warriors back. Fyn followed, hacking through these last defenders until only a middle-aged Merofynian noble confronted him. From the way the noble held his blade, he seemed a skilled swordsman. The Merofynian noble attacked Jakulos so fiercely the big man was hard-put to defend himself.

Fyn glanced around. They'd left Bantam behind. The upper rear deck was almost empty. Two men stood at the wheel. Fyn recognised the captain by his coat of office. Both men were watching Jakulos and the Merofynian noble.

Fyn darted around the flying swords to confront the merchant captain. As the man lifted his blade, Fyn could see he was not skilled. Fyn used Master Oakstand's first disarming technique, catching the blade, turning his wrist and flicking. The merchant captain's sword was torn from his fingers and Fyn's blade pressed to his throat.

'Surrender the ship.'

'Well done, monk!' Captain Nefysto strode past Jakulos, who was cleaning his blade. The Merofynian noble was on his knees, wounded and disarmed. 'Not a wasted movement. Who was your teacher?'

'The abbey weapons master,' Fyn answered.

'Well, captain,' Nefysto confronted the merchant, 'your life or your ship? Either way, I'll have your ship.'

He grimaced. 'Helmsman, sound the surrender.'

Jakulos took the wheel and the helmsman went to the ship's bell. As it rang out the surrender, fighting ceased. Fyn cleaned his sword and sheathed it, noting it had suffered one or two nicks, confirming his suspicion that it was not a high-quality weapon. He felt strangely detached. He had tried to keep his promise, but in that mad rush across the deck he had struck and struck again, without thought to anything but preserving his own life.

'Wise decision, captain,' Nefysto told the merchant and strode to the rail, calling to Bantam. 'See that the flames are put out. Empty the hold.'

Fyn went to the rail, looking down at the mid-deck where two dozen disarmed Merofynian warriors stood in tattered azure and black, looking miserable.

Bantam cocked his head towards them. 'What of these men, cap'n?'

Nefysto joined Fyn at the rail. 'What a sorry lot!'

Fyn sensed movement behind them and spun. The wounded Merofynian noble had leapt to his feet and lunged, dagger aimed for Nefysto's back. Behind the wheel, Jakulos cried a warning.

Fyn's training took over. He stepped into the attack, avoided the blow, caught the hand with the dagger and twisted the wrist so that the blade flew from numbed fingers.

The noble gasped, then dropped to his knees, clutching his broken wrist.

As the man fell at Fyn's feet Captain Nefysto looked down, then up, meeting Fyn's eyes.

'That was very neatly done, little monk.' Nefysto straightened the ruffle of lace at his cuff. 'From that display, I gather you could have disarmed and killed Bantam at any time.'

'Halcyon's monks value life.'

Captain Nefysto studied Fyn, a slow smile spreading across his face. 'As long as it's my life you value!' Then he turned back to Bantam on the lower deck with a laugh. 'Send the warriors down into the hold. They can unload the Rolencian treasures for us.'

Fyn felt a rush of relief. He had been afraid Captain Nefysto would order the surviving warriors thrown overboard. Then he made sense of the last part of Nefysto's comment. This ship carried booty stolen from Rolencia. In that case, Fyn felt no remorse.

Knees suddenly weak, vision blurring, his stomach revolted and, even though Fyn hadn't eaten since last night, he ran to the side and threw up.

Bending double, he wiped tears from his eyes and tried to catch his breath.