King Breaker (10 page)

He leaped onto the ship’s gunwale, caught hold of a rope and searched the deck. If it was clear the merchant sailors were losing, he’d hang back. To his relief, it looked like the other ship’s crew had united behind a real warrior.

Garzik jumped down and plunged into the fray, dodging struggling men. He was so intent on what was happening up ahead, he didn’t notice someone staggering his way; he collapsed under an injured sailor. Hot sticky blood covered his face and throat. He shoved the man aside, rolling to his feet.

Weighing up the odds, Garzik turned the flat of his sword against the defenders. At one point Olbin’s unprotected back was right in front of him, but he could not bring himself to strike the big Utlander. The battle for the ship swirled and eddied like a river, flowing from one side of the deck to the other.

Somehow, Garzik found himself in the thick of battle. The defenders’ leader was a huge warrior who swung his sword like...

Byren? Garzik couldn’t believe his eyes. Surely it couldn’t be? In the fading light, he wasn’t sure. This man looked thinner and older. And he’d never seen Byren’s face twisted in such a ferocious grimace.

An Utlander screamed and went down beside Garzik, who found himself facing Byren, too stunned to move. Without a glimmer of recognition, Byren brought his sword around in a powerful arc to decapitate Garzik. Olbin stepped in and took the force of the blow, shoving Garzik aside.

Rusan sounded the Utland horn, signalling retreat. The raiders turned and ran, helping injured companions.

Garzik tripped over a body. He sprawled on the deck, pretending to be stunned, hoping he’d be left behind.

Olbin hauled Garzik to his feet, swung him over his shoulder and ran for their ship. A dark, sea-filled gap had opened up between the two vessels.

Olbin jumped.

The impact of the landing drove the air from Garzik’s chest with a grunt. Gasping for breath, he looked back. Already, the other ship had fallen away behind them, its sails silhouetted against the first of the evening stars.

Garzik was shocked. Byren had nearly struck his head from his shoulders. Surely he had not changed that much?

Olbin lowered him to the deck. ‘You all right?’ His big hands ran over Garzik, looking for injuries. Finding nothing, he grinned. ‘A blow to the head stunned you? Just as well you’ve got a thick skull.’

‘Look at this!’ Jost pointed to Trafyn, who was hardly restrained at all. Half the ropes had fallen to his feet.

‘I didn’t...’ Trafyn protested. ‘It wasn’t...’

The big Utlander nudged Garzik. ‘Set him free, then take your turn in the crow’s nest. Watch for wyverns. Blood attracts them, so wash first.’

Garzik scrambled to obey him. As he released Trafyn, he warned, ‘Say nothing of our plans.’

‘As if I would,’ Trafyn sneered.

Then Garzik doused himself in seawater and scrambled up to the lookout.

While the Utlanders dealt with their dead and injured on the deck below, he scanned the horizon. Night had fallen. The sky was awash with a froth of stars and the other ship was a dark silhouette in the distance. No doubt they were counting themselves lucky.

What was Byren doing on a ship headed for Rolencia? Had he been to Ostron Isle? He couldn’t have been to Merofynia, not when they were at war.

It was frustrating to have come so close, only to miss his chance. At least he knew Byren still lived.

T
HE MOMENT THE
Utlanders began to retreat, Byren ran to the ship’s side. He could see nothing in the dark sea other than the ship’s wake glowing on the wave crests behind them. Cupping his mouth, he shouted for all he was worth. ‘Orrie! Orrie, hold on. I’m coming for you.’

No answer. The waves were so deep a man could be lost a stone’s throw away.

Byren swung around, grabbing the boatswain.

‘I didn’t know the cap’n meant to sell you to Cobalt,’ the old sailor protested.

‘You’re captain now.’ Byren had no time for this. He’d been lucky that the Utlanders had struck when they did. ‘Turn back. Find my friend.’

The newly appointed captain’s expression told Byren he did not to hold out much hope, but he ordered the ship to change tack.

Byren rolled Talltrees’s body over and retrieved the farseer. He ran up the steps to the high foredeck, to search the sea.

Sylion’s Luck. It was too dark. He raked the sea, searching... searching. Behind him he heard the new captain yell orders. The dead Utlanders were to be thrown overboard. The crew’s dead were sewn into shrouds and buried at sea.

All this was done, and still Byren searched without success.

He lowered the farseer and beckoned the captain. ‘We’ve gone past the point where my friend was thrown overboard, haven’t we?’

He nodded.

‘Which way would the current carry him?’

The old sailor glanced to one side.

‘Then that’s the way we go. We’ll quarter the sea until we find him.’

The captain didn’t talk about the cold, or the sea’s predators. His expression was far more eloquent.

Byren cursed. Why hadn’t he moved faster? Why hadn’t he suspected Talltrees of treachery? Come to think of it, why hadn’t the captain gotten rid of Orrade earlier?

Because they’d needed him to nurse Byren back to health. Cobalt needed Byren alive so he could hold a trial and destroy his reputation before executing him. And he only needed to do this if there were Rolencians who still believed in Byren.

But that was cold comfort right now.

No time for doubts. He would save Orrie.

He would never give up.

Chapter Eight

J
UDGING THE MOMENT
right, Piro slipped out of the passage onto the middeck. Keeping close to the wall, she remained out of sight of those on the reardeck. A quick glance told her they were preoccupied.

It had taken time to turn the vessel. Now they were only a bowshot behind the abandoned merchant ship and gaining rapidly.

Jakulos waited with several sailors, all carrying grappling hooks and ropes. A thrill ran through Piro. This was how the sea-hounds tackled Utland ships.

‘I’ll go first,’ Siordun said, coming down the steps. ‘Board on my signal.’

Piro held her breath, but he hadn’t seen her. The rest of the sea-hounds clustered along the side of the ship as they approached the merchant vessel.

‘A light!’ Runt cried, pointing.

Piro darted over. She was in time to see a boy of about ten come out of the merchant ship’s cabins with a lantern. He was followed by a white-whiskered man swinging a cleaver and a lad of about fourteen with a large wooden carpenter’s mallet. All three had bandages wrapped around their heads, and they searched the deck as if they were after small but dangerous creatures.

So preoccupied were the merchant ship’s crew, they didn’t notice the W
yvern’s Whelp
.

The youth pointed and all three charged across the deck towards the mainmast.

At the same moment, four grown men climbed out of the hold. Like the others, their heads were bandaged. One carried a lantern, the second a net, the third a shovel and the fourth a wooden bucket with a lid.

‘Stop!’ the shovel-wielder yelled at the first three, who appeared to have something cornered between the mainmast and the water barrel.

Either the white-whiskered man didn’t hear him or he chose to ignore him as he raised the cleaver. The cabin boy yelped and jumped back, dropping the lantern. It smashed, spilling burning oil across the deck.

Instead of stamping out the fire, the sailors concentrated their efforts on the trapped creature. Piro didn’t understand. What could be more terrifying than fire on a ship?

Siordun cupped his hands and shouted across to the other ship. ‘Leave it alone. You’ll only make it defend itself.’

The fourteen-year-old screamed. Falling to the deck, he hugged his leg and rolled about. ‘Me foot! Me foot! Quick, cut it off!’

Siordun turned to Jakulos. ‘I need to board that ship.’

The boatswain flung the grappling hook, which connected with a satisfying
thunk
. Others followed. As the vessels drew closer, the lad kept begging them to cut off his foot.

‘Don’t do it!’ Siordun shouted. ‘I’m coming over. I can help.’

The lad had passed out. Just as well. Two of the men held his leg straight, while another raised the cleaver. Meanwhile, the remaining crew stamped out the flames. Piro assumed the creature had escaped in the confusion.

The vessels shuddered as their sides touched and the sea-hounds lashed them together. Startled, the other crew looked up, some reaching for weapons.

‘Captain Nefysto of the
Wyvern’s Whelp
, come to your aid,’ the captain yelled and gestured to Siordun. ‘We have a Power-worker and a ship’s surgeon.’

The white-whiskered man sprang to his feet, pulled the bandage off his head and took something out of both ears. ‘What?’

Nefysto repeated himself, adding, ‘Looks like you’re having trouble with an Affinity beast.’

‘Aye. Thanks to the spice merchant. A Power-worker, ye say? Come aboard.’

‘Don’t amputate the lad’s leg. Not yet, anyway.’ Siordun jumped onto the other deck. ‘Bring everyone up on deck. If you see the creatures, back off and let me know.’ He looked over his shoulder to the surgeon. ‘Wasilade?’

‘Coming.’ The surgeon pushed past Piro. ‘Where is that stupid boy? He should be back by now.’ He grabbed Runt’s arm. ‘Find my apprentice. I sent him below for my bag.’

Piro caught up with Runt at the hatch to the hold. ‘I’ll get him.’

Eager to stay and watch, Runt did not argue.

She headed for the surgeon’s workroom, where she found the apprentice holding a bag in one hand and a rolled-up leather apron in the other.

Seeing her, he jumped with fear and guilt.

‘The surgeon wants you,’ Piro told him. ‘They’re about to cut off the lad’s foot. Hurry or you’ll miss it.’

Etore went even paler, dumped the things on the work table, covered his mouth and ran out of the cabin. She heard him throwing up in the passage.

Piro smiled, grabbed the bag and the apron, and went up on deck. No one tried to stop her as she climbed onto the merchant ship’s deck.

The belligerent shovel-wielder and the white-whiskered man had gone, but the rest of the crew stood around watching the surgeon, who knelt by the side of the unconscious youth, listening to his chest.

‘This is for Surgeon Wasilade.’ Piro handed the bag and apron to one of the men, then went around behind the group, trying to find a good vantage point.

‘He’s stopped breathing,’ the net-man told the surgeon. ‘Yer too late.’

‘Not if the Power-worker is right. A few drops of this under his tongue should...’ Wasilade opened a jar. ‘Hold the boy’s mouth open.’

Several men shook their heads. The net-man muttered, ‘I’m not touchin’—’

Piro shoved past them and did as instructed. The surgeon was focused on his patient and didn’t acknowledge her. She saw him dribble some of the liquid into the lad’s mouth.

‘Hold him.’

None of the men moved.

‘Hold him!’

The youth’s body arched and his heels drummed on the deck. The merchant sailors fought to hold his arms and legs down and Piro almost lost her grip on his head.

No one spoke until the seizures stopped.

Pale and still, the lad lay there with blood-flecked spittle dribbling from the side of his mouth. The sailors waited in silence as the surgeon tried to wake the youth. There was no reaction.

‘I told yer...’ the net-man muttered.

‘His heart beats,’ Wasilade said. ‘If you believe in a god or goddess, now is the time to pray.’

Piro went to find Siordun. She heard angry shouting, interspersed with Siordun’s measured tones, and slipped into the passage where she found the cabin boy listening at a partially open door. Piro joined him and they peeped into the captain’s cabin. The white-whiskered man sat behind the desk and the belligerent man still held his shovel, which he shook to emphasise what he was saying. ‘...and I’m telling you, this is all legal and above board. Lord Cobalt relaxed the laws on importing Affinity beasts and products, and Merchant Yarraskem brought the cargo on Ostron Isle. I have the papers to prove it. It’s none of your business what my master imports.’

‘Don’t tell me what’s legal, Nikoforus,’ Siordun said. ‘I’m talking about what’s
right
. And it’ll be everyone’s business if your master brings dangerous Affinity creatures into Rolencia.’

‘Niko told me they were safe,’ the white-whiskered captain said.

‘Affinity beasts are never “safe,”’ Siordun said, turning to the merchant’s agent. ‘They can never be truly tamed.’

He was wrong. Piro knew her foenix loved her.

‘Affinity beasts are safe if they haven’t hatched,’ Nikoforus argued. ‘What’s safer than an egg? And if yon silly cabin boy hadn’t opened the box to take a look—’

‘But they
had
hatched. Miron heard them crying,’ the captain countered. ‘You told me they wouldn’t hatch until after we made port. You told me they were to be sold as pets for rich men’s wives and children. You told me they were pretty little winged creatures, which sang sweet songs. You—’

‘And so they are, if they’re looked after proper. But your crazy cook took to them with a cleaver. No wonder they’re frightened.’

‘My cook and boatswain are both dead. These—’

‘What kind of Affinity beasts are they?’ Siordun asked the merchant’s agent.

‘You won’t have heard of them,’ Nikoforus told him. ‘They’re a new crossbreed, kresatrices. Kressies for short. Bred to be pets.’

‘Next you’ll be telling me you got them for a good price,’ Siordun said. ‘Keeping Affinity beast as pets has gone out of fashion on Ostron Isle. I bet the breeder was glad to be rid of them. How big did you say they were?’

‘Big as a half-grown cat.’

‘And how big are they supposed to grow?’

‘He said knee high...’ But now Nikoforus sounded uneasy.

‘If the hatchlings’ bites can kill a man, what do you think they’ll do when they are mature?’