She freed Iltis first, then the outlaw. “Guard the steps!”

“What about taking the ship?” the outlaw asked.

Lyrna glanced at the splintered hull and moved on to the next captive, a woman about her own age, sobbing in gratitude. “Soon there won’t be any ship to take,” she said, helping the woman to her feet.

She freed the next man in line and handed him the key. “Free the others. Hurry.”

She went to Fermin, finding him near senseless with exhaustion, although the blood had stopped flowing. “Wake up!” She slapped him across the face. “Wake up, my lord!”

Focus returned to his gaze and he groaned in protest as she hauled him upright. “What is it?” she said. “What did you do?”

“They’re always hungry,” he said in a whisper.

The ship tilted, the captives shouting in alarm as something scraped along the hull, the ever-rising water sloshing about. A guard came trotting down the stairs, probably sent to check on the overseer, drawing up in shock at the sight of Iltis and the outlaw. He turned to shout something at his comrades above but the outlaw whipped his chains around the man’s legs before he could speak, pulling him onto his face and dragging him down the remaining steps. Iltis forced him under the rising waters, keeping him submerged until his thrashing subsided.

“See if he has another key,” Lyrna said.

Iltis searched the corpse but raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

Lyrna surveyed the captives, maybe twenty were free now, and the water kept rising.

“Can you keep it at bay?” she asked Fermin in desperation. “Until everyone is freed?”

He smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth. “Given all I have to give . . .”

The deck exploded, a huge fountain of water gushing forth and in the centre a great triangular head, impossibly wide jaws opening, revealing row upon row of spear-point teeth. The jaws closed on two of the captives, cutting through both like a scythe through straw, the gushing water turned red. The head thrashed from side to side, more wood splintering, the whole ship shuddering with the force, then it was gone.

“Convinced him we were a whale,” Fermin said to Lyrna, the water nearly at his shoulders. He met her gaze. “My mother’s name is Trella. Remember your promise, my Queen.”

Iltis’s large hands grabbed her, pulling her towards the steps as the water rose to cover Fermin’s head. Iltis pushed her ahead of him, up the steps and onto the upper deck. All was confusion, a few freed captives milling about, the crew either frozen in shock or desperately trying to launch their boats, deaf to the orders shouted by a tall man in a black robe.

“We need a boat,” Lyrna said.

Iltis nodded, striding towards the nearest boat, laying about with his chains, the outlaw fighting at his side as they forced a path, the remaining captives following in a dense knot. Some crewmen fought, others fled, most just stood and stared.

Lyrna found one of the guards on his knees, twitching fingers exploring the bleeding gash Iltis had left on his forehead. She pulled the short sword from his scabbard and strode to where the tall black-robed man stood shouting his pointless orders from a hoarse throat. He had his back to her so could offer no defence as she thrust the blade into it. He shouted in shock and pain as he sank to his knees.

“I would like you to know,” she said in Volarian, placing her mouth close to his ear, “that from this day every moment of my life will be spent rending your empire to dust and flame. I’ll give your regards to your collection when I burn your estate to the ground, Master.”

She left the sword embedded in his back and ran to the boat. The crew were now solely concerned with preserving themselves and the prisoners had a free hand in heaving it over the side, a task made easier by the fact that the sea was now almost level with the rail. The outlaw vaulted into the boat, reaching back to help a captive aboard, the slender girl who had been so popular with the crew. Lyrna noticed her nails were bloody and broken.

The ship shuddered once more and the sea swamped the deck. Lyrna found herself lifted by Iltis and thrust at the boat, catching hold of a cleat, the outlaw hauling her aboard with the aid of the others. Iltis pulled himself over the side and lay panting on the deck amidst the survivors. Lyrna counted five in all, ragged, exhausted, and all looking at her.

Not much of a kingdom, she thought, surveying the boat as they rose and fell at the ocean’s whim. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the ship’s mainmast slipping beneath the waves amidst a swirling cluster of flotsam. “Do we have any oars?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Frentis

They ambushed a Free Sword cavalry patrol on the north road, four men having the misfortune to dismount for a piss close to where they lay in the long grass. Davoka’s spear took one, Frentis’s sword two more whilst Ratter and Draker wrestled the fourth to the ground as he struggled to remount his horse, cudgel and knife rising and falling in a frenzy after which they squabbled over who got his boots. Davoka covered herself with a bloodstained jerkin taken from the man she killed and Frentis took the sword belt and scabbard from another, throwing away the long-bladed weapon favoured by Volarian cavalry and replacing it with his own Asraelin blade. He also found some bandages in the saddlebags to bind his knife wound which had begun to burn with increasing persistence, drawing sweat from his brow and adding an unwelcome cloudiness to his vision.

Daylight was coming on fast as they mounted up and rode west, Arendil riding double with Davoka. Ratter and Draker clearly demonstrated their lack of experience on horseback as they bounced along behind. Frentis had expected them to take to their heels as soon as they reached the beach on the other side of the bluffs, but for some reason they stayed, perhaps fearing his retribution, though he suspected their loyalty had more to do with the Volarians who now seemed to be everywhere. They passed two more patrols in the space of an hour, too distant to offer a threat, but then spied a full regiment of cavalry cresting a hill half a mile ahead.

“This is hopeless, brother,” Ratter said. “The road is choked with the bastards.”

He was right, the most direct route to the Order House was denied them, leaving only one option. “The Urlish,” he said, turning his horse towards the great mass of trees to the north. “Six miles in and we’ll be at the river. We can follow it to the house.”

“Don’t like the forest,” Draker grumbled. “Got bears in there.”

“Rather them than that lot,” Ratter said, kicking at his horse’s flanks. “Come on you bloody thing!”

Frentis spurred to a gallop, hearing a shrill pealing from the Volarian cavalry, similar to a noble’s hunting horn. They had been seen. The trees soon closed in, forcing them to slow to a canter, the ground becoming so rough they had to dismount. Frentis strained for signs of pursuit but heard only the song of the forest. Probably decided we weren’t worth the effort.

He removed the saddlebags from the horse and slapped a palm against its rump, sending it trotting off into the trees. “We walk from here,” he told the others.

“Thank the Faith!” Draker groaned, climbing down from the saddle and rubbing his backside.

“The house we go to,” Davoka said. “It’s the home of the blue cloaks?”

“That’s right.” My home.

“These new Merim Her seem to know much,” Davoka went on. “They will know of your House, your Order.”

“Yes.” Frentis hoisted the saddlebag over his shoulder and began to walk north.

“Then they will attack it,” she persisted, striding alongside. “Or already have.”

“Then we had best not linger.” The wound in his side flared again, making him hiss in discomfort, but he kept walking.

? ? ?

They came to the river around midday and paused for a brief rest, Draker and Ratter collapsing on the bank with a flurry of curses. Frentis took off his shirt and began to change the bandage on his wound. Davoka came over to peer at it, nose wrinkling as she sniffed, saying something in her own language.

“What?” Frentis asked.

“Wound is . . .” She fumbled for the right word. “Sick, more sick.”

“Festering,” he said, fingers gently probing the cut, still leaking some blood but also now swollen and angry, lines of deeper red tracing through the surrounding flesh. “I know.”

“I heal it,” she said, glancing around at the undergrowth. “Need to find the right plants.”

“No time,” Frentis told her, tossing aside the used bandage and extracting another from the saddlebag.

“I do it.” Davoka took the bandage and wrapped it around his midriff, binding it tight. “Shouldn’t leave it like this. Kill you before long.”

Killed by a princess, he thought. A fitting end. “We need to move on,” he said, getting to his feet.

They followed the river west, keeping back from the bank, shrouded by the trees. After a while they saw a barge, drifting with the current, ropes and blocks swaying, the sail tumbled from the rigging and covering the deck. There was no sign of any crew.

“What does it mean?” Arendil wondered.

“We’re close to the house,” Frentis said. “Barges rarely travel this far upriver except to bring us supplies.”