The Ursuper

'You think we're crazy, don't you, little monk? And we would be, if the cap'n hadn't done this before. He's a true artist, able to feel his way through channels, against tides and over reefs. He knows his way through the Skirling Stones.'

'Why? Why go there in the first place?'

'We're sea-hounds, boy. Ostron Isle pays a bounty for every Utland raider we destroy. But it's hard to catch them unawares on the open sea.' He tilted his head. 'Back home where I grew up, there were spiders big as sparrows. They'd build a trap by digging into the soil and disguise it with bits of twig and bark, so that it looked like a bit of ordinary ground. When an unwary beetle came by, they'd dart out and snatch it. That's a bit like the cap'n's plans. No one expects attack from within the Skirling Stones.'

'That's clever.' Fyn began to hope. 'How many times have you done this?'

Bantam hesitated for a single heartbeat. 'Just the once, to see if it could be done. But the plan's a good one.'

Fyn's heart sank. He'd failed his family, he'd failed the abbot and now it looked like he would die and fail Byren.

Byren arrived at the hidden loyalist camp to find another two maimed youths being treated alongside young Vadik. Equal parts anger and frustration boiled through him, making it hard to accept Esfira's thanks as she hugged her crippled son. At least Vadik was no longer feverish.

Leaving the injured men in the care of Dovecote's stable-master, who was the closest thing they had to a healer, Byren went looking for Orrade. This camp had grown around the survivors of Dovecote Estate, people Orrade had led into the hills to escape the Merofynian invasion. Byren needed to know how many more families had arrived since then, how many were warriors and what food and weapons they had.

Clearly reassured to have Byren back, people came up to him, eager for news, eager for words of encouragement. They'd lost homes and loved ones to the invasion and they looked to him to right these wrongs. He felt the weight of their expectation.

Hiding his fears, he paused, exchanging a word here and there as he made his way up to the cave Orrade shared with what remained of Byren's honour guard.

These were the younger sons of lords and wealthy merchants, who had remained true to Byren when Cobalt tried to destroy his reputation by claiming that Byren sought to usurp Lence's claim to the throne. As evidence Cobalt had provided the lincurium rings and pendant, which Byren had found and had made up for his parents and Lence's betrothed. But the really damning evidence was a poem he'd written to Elina, his Dove. Cobalt had twisted the poem's meaning, claiming it was addressed not to Orrade's sister, but to Orrade himself.

Tonight, there was no sign of Orrade in the cave. Winterfall and Chandler greeted him jovially, pulling him over to the fire circle where a thin soup bubbled. Byren felt indebted to his four remaining honour guard, so he sat and chatted about what they'd seen and heard on their way here.

Byren accepted a bowl as they spoke of better times. No one mentioned Cobalt's accusations and, after a while, they fell silent so that only the fire's crackling filled the cave.

'I wish — ' young Wafin began, then broke off. He was fifteen, around the same age as Orrade's brother Garzik.

Byren felt a familiar stab of guilt over Garzik's death. It helped him to be patient with the youngster. 'What do you wish, Wafin?'

'I wish I knew if my mother and little brother were all right,' he said.

Chandler made an abortive gesture, too late to cut Wafin off. And everyone winced, glancing to Byren, reminded of his losses.

'I'm sorry — ' Chandler began.

Byren silenced him with a wave of his hand as he held Wafin's gaze. 'All you can do is place your trust in the Goddess Halcyon to protect them in this world, or keep them safe in the next.' He said the words, but he didn't believe it. He'd called on Halcyon to help him warn his family, and look what had happened. No, he believed a man made his own luck. Restless, he came to his feet. 'Where's Orrie?'

'Probably up at the Narrows' cave,' Winterfall said. He stood up and walked Byren to the entrance. 'Look, I didn't object when Orrie left Old Man Narrows in charge. He was more experienced than me, but you should do something about that daughter of his. She thinks she's as good as any man.'

Byren hid a smile. 'Up and around the bend, you say?'

Winterfall nodded and went back to the fire circle.

Byren headed off. Florin's unconventional attitude was the least of his worries. With so many people living in close quarters and no proper sanitation, next thing he knew there'd be sickness, claiming the few healthy warriors he had. He could have really used an abbey healer to set up a proper village.

Mind you, with the Merofynians' policy of deliberate cruelty, he didn't know how long he could trust the Rolencian valley people to hide the camp's location. Would the threat of maiming and death succeed, where a bag of gold had failed?

It was all very well to say his people were loyal, but what choice had little Vadik had?

As he approached the cave, he heard Florin's laughter. Pausing in the shadows at the entrance, Byren spotted Orrade and Florin playing a children's game. Red stones and black moved in patterns on a makeshift chequerboard.

Since Dovecote had fallen and Orrade's father, sister and brother had been killed, Byren hadn't seen Orrade let down his guard like this. Although his friend was now Lord Dovecote and Florin was the daughter of a tradepost keeper, events had stripped them of these distinctions, leading them to a cave in a hidden loyalist camp and a game of strategy.

'There!' With a flourish, Florin cleared the board, winning most of his pieces. 'Next time don't underestimate me.'

'Oh, I'd never underestimate you,' Orrade said, a cheeky grin on his narrow face.

Florin pulled back. 'Are you flirting with me, Orrie? Because I'll tell you now, I don't flirt. I don't play silly games. I say what I think.'

'I know,' Orrade said, lowering his voice. Byren edged closer. If his friend had developed an interest in Florin, it would save them both heartache. 'And that's why — '

So fixed was he on the pair by the fire, that Byren didn't notice the bundle of spare fire wood. He brushed against it, toppling the wood and interrupting Orrade.

Florin turned, saw him and sprang to her feet. 'You're back. I saved you some potato and leek soup.'

Orrade put the game away in the shadows of the cave, where Leif, Florin's little brother, slept.

'Soup sounds good,' Byren said, as though he hadn't just devoured a bowl of the same soup back at his honour guard's cave. He accepted it with thanks and they took their places by the fire.

'When I saw young Vadik and the others…' Florin could not go on, her strong hands clenched on her knees, knuckles white with anger. 'It's cruel. It's wrong — '

'It's war,' Orrade said. 'If you want to win, you can't afford to be soft.'

Florin's gaze flew to Byren's face and he felt moved to protest.

'War doesn't have to turn men into animals, Orrie.'

'Who wins?' Orrade countered. 'The lamb or the leogryf?'

'We're men, not animals,' Byren repeated. 'We make choices. Leaders make choices and people follow them because of those choices. Palatyne rules with fear. I won't be that kind of king.' He dunked the flat bread in the soup, tearing off a chunk and swallowing it. Last season's onions made it tasty. 'If I offered a reward for the head of every Merofynian warrior, I'd be no better than Palatyne. I might win, but I'd start my rule under a shadow of cruelty.'

Orrade met his eyes, deliberately not pointing out that his father, King Rolen the Implacable, had been ruthless, executing the Servants of Palos who had tried to put the king's illegitimate half-brother on the throne.

Unaware of this unspoken interchange, Florin took the empty bowl. 'See, Orrie, Byren's right.'

'I stand corrected,' Orrade said. But there was a smile in his eyes as he met Byren's gaze.