The Ursuper

The wyvern backed off a step. Isolt darted in to drag Piro behind Fyn. The wyvern's gaze followed them. It opened its jaws and roared a challenge.

Fyn swung the cloak again, yelling a challenge of his own.

How long would his trick confuse the beast?

Wyverns weren't stupid. If raised by people the fresh-water kind were more intelligent and loyal than dogs. All too soon the beast would realise Fyn was a single puny creature, not a rival wyvern.

Jakulos roared as he raced up beside Fyn with a long spear, its tip ended in a vicious barbed spike. The big man sprang in, jabbing the beast's belly where it met the chestplate.

The wyvern took a swipe at Jakulos with its short front paw, claws splayed. Bantam sprang forwards on Fyn's other side. With a crack, the quarter-master flicked a whip at the wyvern, stinging its skin and drawing blood.

It roared its dismay and fury. Fyn flung his cloak into the beast's face.

In a frenzy it tore at the cloak, teeth sinking through the fabric, claws shredding it. Then it leapt into the air, dropping the mangled material like a dead body. The downdraught of its massive wings nearly knocked Fyn off his feet. Jakulos went for it again as it hovered a body-length above them, the spear's tip just missing its target. Bantam's whip cracked a warning.

With a bellow of anger, the old male worked to gain height, circling above them, before heading off.

Fyn dragged in a chest full of air and bent double. Jakulos clapped him on the back so hard he fell to his knees on the deck.

Bantam dragged him to his feet. 'Thought you'd tackle a lone male wyvern without us?'

Fyn shook his head, unable to speak.

Captain Nefysto joined them and studied the sky through his farseer, then lowered the tube and clicked it shut. 'Looks like he was a loner. But still… Bantam, set a watch. Select three of our best archers and have them on deck.'

Bantam hurried off to obey and the captain looked at Fyn. 'You never cease to amaze me, Agent Monk. Well done.'

'I was only protecting… Isolt's maid.' Fyn managed not to reveal Piro's identity. Had he shouted her name? He didn't remember.

Nefysto glanced at Piro.

'The wyvern came after my mistress's foenix,' she explained.

'So you thought you'd take on an adult wyvern to protect it?' The captain grinned. 'Wyverns consider foenix flesh a delicacy. I suggest you take that bird into my cabin until we are sure it's safe.'

Bantam arrived back on deck with the bowmen.

'Fun's over, back to work!' Nefysto called.

Jakulos took his spear below decks. Piro collected her foenix and climbed down the ladder to the cabin. Now that it was all over, Fyn felt shaky and slightly nauseous.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Isolt standing there with his torn cloak.

'I'll mend this for you.' She smoothed the material over her arm.

He gaped.

So stunned was he by the thought of Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter mending his clothes that she was gone before he had time to speak. Now she would think him a lout.

Once in the cabin, Piro sat her foenix on the floor. The bird went straight to the screen, which the pica pair were caged behind. Luckily, he was too small to be a threat to them, but had he been larger he might have found a way past the screen to devour them.

Isolt entered with Fyn's cloak.

'Seela.' Isolt used her assumed name even when they were alone. 'See if you can find me a sewing kit.'

'You don't have to mend Fyn's cloak. I'll do it,' Piro said. 'As your maid I should do it.'

Isolt hugged the cloak to her chest. 'Bring me the sewing kit.'

When Piro returned with a pouch of needles, thread and a pair of sharp scissors, Isolt had spread the cloak out to survey the damage. There were several long rents caused by the wyvern's razor-sharp claws and a whole section had been chewed to ribbons.

'It's going to take more than invisible darning to mend that,' Piro said.

'I wanted to mend it as a way of saying thank you.'

'Well, there's enough good material left in it to make a jerkin.' She smiled at Isolt's expression. 'I often helped my mother make-down my father's clothes for my brothers. At least until they grew bigger than him.'

'Queen Myrella had to make-down clothes for her sons?' Isolt looked aghast. 'Why didn't she pass them on to servants and get new ones?'

Piro stiffened. 'Father wasted nothing. The Merofynian war, combined with the revolt by the Servants of Palos, nearly ruined the kingdom. So times were tough. It was only after I was born that peace bought prosperity. And, by then, Father was set in his ways.' She felt a half-smile tug at her lips. 'Besides, my mother didn't mind. Why, sometimes she would roll up her sleeves and prepare a meal for him with her own hands, just for the fun of it. He loved it when she did that.'

Isolt shook her head slowly. 'I'd trade every gown and jewel I have for what you have.'

' Had.' Anger, sharp and hard as winter wind sliced through Piro's memories. 'My parents are dead, Lence is dead, and all because your father wanted Rolencia for his own.'

The kingsdaughter went very still. Then she looked up at Piro. 'Why would my father attack, if he'd betrothed me to your brother?'

'That was a diversion, to lull us into a false sense of security. He meant to invade all along. Deeds speak louder than words.'

The silence stretched. After a moment, Isolt spread her hand across the remains of Fyn's cloak. 'Can you show me how to make this down into a jerkin?'

Piro had to draw a long, slow breath to change tack. Then she nodded. 'First I'll need one of Fyn's for size.'

When she came back, Isolt was fingering the torn material thoughtfully. 'I've never seen anyone take on a full-grown wyvern armed with nothing but a cloak before. Fyn must know no fear.'

Piro laughed, remembering Fyn's reason for not joining the warrior monks.

'What?'

'A secret I can't share.' Piro saw Isolt's expression. 'I would not betray my brother's confidence, even for you.'

Isolt was silent for a moment.

'How strange,' she said. 'A warrior who hates to kill. A brave man who is afraid.'

Piro's Affinity tingled, making the foenix nudge her hand with his head.

'You'll make a good queen one day,' Piro said, with a strange air.

Isolt shivered. 'You just gave me goose bumps. Why?'

Piro shook her head and placed Fyn's jerkin on the desk. 'Let's see if we have enough material.'

Byren hid his annoyance. The warlord of Leogryf Spar had sent his nephew, a man who insisted on being called Lord Leon and had an exaggerated sense of his own importance. At least Lord Leon came promising his uncle's support.

Last night they had feasted. Today they talked tactics. Lord Leon was not like most spar warriors. Byren did not blame a man for being wary, but Leon's smile did not reach his eyes. Still, he had come with the promise of seven hundred warriors, so he had a right to his place at the council of war.

They stood around Feid's war table, Master Catillum, Orrade and Feid himself. Unistag's representative had sailed home to await Byren's call for the promised warriors.

This war table was not as finely detailed as the one Byren had grown up with. Instead of three-dimensional models the map was drawn on a square of fine vellum, stretched on a frame. Instead of delicately moulded metal inset with jewels, the pieces were carved from wood.

Lord Leon indicated Feid's spar. 'So you plan to go over the pass, take the fort and attack Rolenhold from behind?'

Byren nodded. Anyone could guess his plans. There were only so many ways he could attack. Feid went to speak but, just in case he had been about to reveal the secret pass, Byren spoke over him. 'We have four hundred men from Unistag Spar, Foenix's six hundred, my own men and the seven hundred your uncle promises. Plus, as soon as I march over the Divide the people of Rolencia will rise up.'