King's Vengeance by Ronald Coleborn Page B

to the routine that had run between them since she was a mere eight annos. Breen stopped singing the song when he felt her full weight on his back. She was dead to the world. He followed the line of the road’s shoulder and kept his eye on the smoke that billowed up from the settlement far below, which marked the hamlet that was their destination.
    Queen Klienne sailed her boat toward a major trading center just off the western coast of the Isle of Payzik. The sun was directly overhead when she spotted green land in the distance, and a half hour later she saw a small vessel approaching. The day was clear and cool, but the queen felt hot from the tension of recent events and anxiety over what lay ahead, and her brow was beaded with perspiration. She tried to calm herself, but she couldn’t cast off the awful memory of the horrors of battle and the dark sorcery she had witnessed. She stopped rowing and allowed her boat to drift as the other vessel approached. As the distance between them closed, she saw that the other boat was a harbor ship, small and light and used mostly for escorting vessels into port. The queen gave a small sigh of relief, hoping the harbormaster himself had sailed out to greet her boat. The people of Payzik were known for being obliging.
    She heard the familiar call “Ahoy” and stood up, waving both hands to show that she was a lady, alone and harmless. The harbor ship soon towered before her, dwarfing her own tosser boat with its lone sail. She was thankful that the north winds had carried her the entire way without abating. The queen looked into the face of a bearded seafarer, a stout man with white hair and deep creases on a face turned leathery from sun and wind. “I hail from Storms Reach,” she called out.
    â€œPermission to board, milady,” said the graybeard.
    â€œPermission granted,” replied the queen, who decided that his worn features and peasant garb marked him as a harbor functionary and no master.
    Two men boarded her ship, the stout functionary and a fresh-faced lad.
    The man gestured toward the youth. “My apprentice, Bevin. I’m Maegor Trinroot.” He extended a hand to Klienne, and she shook it with a delicate grip. “We’re here to inspect your vessel and guide you to the harbor. And, of course, there’s the small matter of tariffs to be collected.”
    â€œI’ve no cargo aboard, good sir. Actually, I’ll have you know that I’m the queen of the Glyssian Realm.”
    Maegor Trinroot snorted derisively. “Cruddles, that. No queen travels on a tosser by her lonesome, no food, no—”
    â€œI’ve taken flight, Maegor. My castle was attacked and put under siege, and my husband, the good king, was … taken from me, and killed for all I know.” Her lips quivered on that last, and a look of weariness and dejection settled on her face.
    Bevin extracted a coin from a pocket and examined its face. He turned to Maegor, who was watching him intently, and flipped the coin toward him. As Maegor caught it, the queen composed herself and turned her profile to him. He peered at the coin and then at Klienne, and gave a small gasp. He clasped a hand over his fist and dropped to one knee with his head deeply bowed. “Beg pardon, your grace.”
    Bevin went to his knee as well, and both men offered their apologies and condolences on the fate of the king.
    â€œYou may rise,” said the queen. “And now I must trouble you for a small favor.”
    â€œName it, your grace,” said Maegor.
    â€œI would that you would take me to see Vassor Thayrin.”
    â€œAt once, your grace. We’ll escort you to harbor and push off after.”
    The frost that had gripped Sapient Breen and Princess Redora during their journey had finally lifted, and only a hint of snow remained on the ground as they entered the Hamlet of Killick, a small settlement nestled between the Village of Heth and High