sent Garzik to his death and held Elina while she died. He wasn't losing Orrade. Besides...
'You don't understand, Florin. I'm a king without a country. If I want the people of Rolencia to follow me, I must inspire them. Sitting safe up here in the caves while someone else risks their life to kill Cobalt will not win me their trust!'
Chapter Eight
Fyn sat on the window seat of the captain's cabin, trying hard to contain his resentment and frustration. Here he was, a prisoner, as far east of his homeland as he could be.
Their ship had just entered the Ring Sea. Ostron Isle was actually two islands, a larger circle of steep peaks called Ostron Ring, with one break that led through towering headlands. On the inside the peaks sloped away more gently, down to the Ring Sea and Ostron Isle itself.
As the Wyvern's Whelp sailed the Ring Sea, famous for its perfect blue-green shade, the water reflected the terraced slopes of the outer island, Ostron Ring.
Ostron Isle was completely cultivated, dotted with pleasant villas and terraced fields. The Ostronites believed their inner island and city, with its boulevards and parks, was the most beautiful place in the known world. Watching these glide past, Fyn could almost agree.
'How many days before we head out again, cap'n?' Jakulos asked. 'We're missing those fat Merofynian merchant ships full of Rolencian booty.'
Fyn turned away from the windows.
Jakulos had lathered Nefysto's face and now sharpened the razor on the strop. The captain's finest clothes were laid out on the bunk. Runt sat cross-legged on the floor polishing the captain's knee-high boots. Fyn suspected Nefysto was going to report to the elector's spymaster.
Across the cabin, by the door, Bantam cleaned his nails with his dagger, saying nothing, watching everything.
Nefysto caught Jakulos's hand as he went to scrape off the bristles. 'We're returning with a full hold and our lives, thanks to the little monk. Your share will be more than you would have earned in a lifetime serving the Merofynian navy. Why the urge to make more?'
'There's a pretty lass I mean to marry, but not before I set myself up like an Ostronite noble.'
'Is it the seamstress, the lace-maker or the hat-shop girl?' Bantam asked.
Jakulos smiled and shook his head.
Nefysto gave a shout of laughter. 'Well, Jaku? He has you there.'
'I'm not about to bandy about the name of the lass I mean to marry.'
'Then it's none of them,' Bantam said.
Fyn felt a smile tug at his lips. He liked these men. He didn't want to have to kill them to escape.
'So you're motivated by true love, Jaku?' Nefysto teased. He sent Fyn a sly glance. 'The little monk here is motivated by revenge.'
Bantam returned his knife to his belt. 'And what's wrong with that?'
Fyn watched the interplay, torn between curiosity and resentment.
'What can one man, even an abbey trained warrior such as Fyn, achieve?' Nefysto said. 'Palatyne has gone back to Merofynia. Our monk could assassinate Cobalt but the Merofynians would just send another puppet ruler.'
Nefysto was right, but Fyn did not intend to kill Cobalt. He'd promised to help his cousin find Byren so they could retake Rolencia.
Byren did need allies. Even if Fyn could slip back into Rolencia and reach Cobalt without the Merofynians capturing him, his cousin was little better than a prisoner and his brother hid in the hills like a common brigand. Byren needed powerful allies.
'There's the warlords of Rolencia,' Nefysto said, as though following Fyn's line of thought. 'The monk could call on them for help. But, knowing them, they'll sit back and see which way the wind blows. To really strike at Merofynia he needs a powerful ally.'
'Like the elector?' Runt said, proving he was listening and learning.
Nefysto's eyes smiled as Jakulos scraped his bristles off under his nose. Fyn waited.
As Jakulos turned away to wipe lather off the blade, Nefysto answered. 'Normally, you'd be right, Runt. But the elector's health is failing
'You don't understand, Florin. I'm a king without a country. If I want the people of Rolencia to follow me, I must inspire them. Sitting safe up here in the caves while someone else risks their life to kill Cobalt will not win me their trust!'
Chapter Eight
Fyn sat on the window seat of the captain's cabin, trying hard to contain his resentment and frustration. Here he was, a prisoner, as far east of his homeland as he could be.
Their ship had just entered the Ring Sea. Ostron Isle was actually two islands, a larger circle of steep peaks called Ostron Ring, with one break that led through towering headlands. On the inside the peaks sloped away more gently, down to the Ring Sea and Ostron Isle itself.
As the Wyvern's Whelp sailed the Ring Sea, famous for its perfect blue-green shade, the water reflected the terraced slopes of the outer island, Ostron Ring.
Ostron Isle was completely cultivated, dotted with pleasant villas and terraced fields. The Ostronites believed their inner island and city, with its boulevards and parks, was the most beautiful place in the known world. Watching these glide past, Fyn could almost agree.
'How many days before we head out again, cap'n?' Jakulos asked. 'We're missing those fat Merofynian merchant ships full of Rolencian booty.'
Fyn turned away from the windows.
Jakulos had lathered Nefysto's face and now sharpened the razor on the strop. The captain's finest clothes were laid out on the bunk. Runt sat cross-legged on the floor polishing the captain's knee-high boots. Fyn suspected Nefysto was going to report to the elector's spymaster.
Across the cabin, by the door, Bantam cleaned his nails with his dagger, saying nothing, watching everything.
Nefysto caught Jakulos's hand as he went to scrape off the bristles. 'We're returning with a full hold and our lives, thanks to the little monk. Your share will be more than you would have earned in a lifetime serving the Merofynian navy. Why the urge to make more?'
'There's a pretty lass I mean to marry, but not before I set myself up like an Ostronite noble.'
'Is it the seamstress, the lace-maker or the hat-shop girl?' Bantam asked.
Jakulos smiled and shook his head.
Nefysto gave a shout of laughter. 'Well, Jaku? He has you there.'
'I'm not about to bandy about the name of the lass I mean to marry.'
'Then it's none of them,' Bantam said.
Fyn felt a smile tug at his lips. He liked these men. He didn't want to have to kill them to escape.
'So you're motivated by true love, Jaku?' Nefysto teased. He sent Fyn a sly glance. 'The little monk here is motivated by revenge.'
Bantam returned his knife to his belt. 'And what's wrong with that?'
Fyn watched the interplay, torn between curiosity and resentment.
'What can one man, even an abbey trained warrior such as Fyn, achieve?' Nefysto said. 'Palatyne has gone back to Merofynia. Our monk could assassinate Cobalt but the Merofynians would just send another puppet ruler.'
Nefysto was right, but Fyn did not intend to kill Cobalt. He'd promised to help his cousin find Byren so they could retake Rolencia.
Byren did need allies. Even if Fyn could slip back into Rolencia and reach Cobalt without the Merofynians capturing him, his cousin was little better than a prisoner and his brother hid in the hills like a common brigand. Byren needed powerful allies.
'There's the warlords of Rolencia,' Nefysto said, as though following Fyn's line of thought. 'The monk could call on them for help. But, knowing them, they'll sit back and see which way the wind blows. To really strike at Merofynia he needs a powerful ally.'
'Like the elector?' Runt said, proving he was listening and learning.
Nefysto's eyes smiled as Jakulos scraped his bristles off under his nose. Fyn waited.
As Jakulos turned away to wipe lather off the blade, Nefysto answered. 'Normally, you'd be right, Runt. But the elector's health is failing
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