Read Online The Uncrowned King by Rowena Cory Daniells - Free Book Online
Authors: Rowena Cory Daniells
Tags: Fantasy
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rose high in the morning light. With renewed energy Byren set off, hoping the farmwife would give him breakfast. The dog barked once, a deep authoritative warning, then fell silent. The girl watched Byren approach, curious and only slightly wary.
He wanted to shake her, warn her. 'Watch out for Merofynians, take shelter in the mountains!' But that would only frighten her. He'd tell her elders.
As he glided up to the rough jetty, he smelt garlic sausages and fresh bread, and his stomach rumbled.
The dog growled softly.
'Quiet, Rusty,' the girl ordered.
'Sounds like he's a good watch dog,' Byren said, hunger cramps tying his stomach in knots. He bent to unlace his skates, his fingers trembling with haste. Shouldn't have given Dinni all his food.
He stood up, slinging the skates over his shoulder. 'How about some breakfast for a weary traveller?'
'This way.' The girl led him up the shore and through the farm yard where another wolf hound barked a warning. An old man and a boy came out of the barn to look at him. Byren realised how vulnerable his people were, going about their everyday tasks in the belief they were at peace with Merofynia.
In the kitchen, the mother and grandmother were cleaning up after breakfast. The old woman looked up from scrubbing the kitchen table, the wood almost white from cleaning. The mother wiped her hands on her apron, cheeks flushed from hovering over the hearth. No one was wary of him. This was what thirty years of peace in Rolencia's rich valley had done to his people. They were unready for war.
'What's this I hear? We have a traveller?' The father strode in with the boy and grandfather, a grin on his weathered face.
Byren pulled the royal emblem from under his vest. 'Byren Kingson. I need food and I bring bad news. The Merofynians have invaded.'
The elders sent each other worried looks, while the children watched their faces.
'We've seen no warning beacons,' the old man muttered. 'Last time the beacons were lit.'
'I'm on my way to Halcyon Abbey, to alert the abbot. I need his warrior monks,' Byren said, and his stomach rumbled loudly.
The women laughed.
'You need some food. Sit yourself down,' the mother said and the grandmother hastened to get their best plates from the shelf.
The father looked Byren up and down. 'Eh, you're a big one, too big for our cart horse, but I could loan you the draught horse.'
Byren leant back as the women ladled a spoonful of chopped sausages and beans onto his plate. 'Thanks. But I'll skate if it's all the same to you.'
They nodded, understanding his choice. Travel by frozen canal and lake was faster than going overland this time of year.
'How far are the Merofynians?' the grandfather asked.
'I saw the main army over near Dovecote two nights ago,' Byren said, talking between mouthfuls. 'And last night I ran into scouts on the lake shore, over there.' He pointed. 'They had a filthy Utland Power-worker with them. I'd get your family to the nearest town as soon as possible.'
While he gulped his meal, the elders debated the relative merits of Port Marchand's defences over Port Cobalt's. When he had done eating they walked Byren out onto the lake and saw him off, wishing him luck, insisting he take the family's prize ulfr-fur cloak.
He set off with a half-loaf of hot bread in his travel bag and a meal in his stomach, heading towards Mount Halcyon. He'd be there by midday. Once he had the warrior monks at his back, he could return to Rolenhold.
Actions spoke louder than words. When he returned to help defend the castle, his father would have to believe his loyalty.
Beneath Fyn's feet the flagstones gave way to unworked stone. They must have left the man-made tunnels and entered a natural cave system. Here, he slowed his pace, wondering what he would do if he came to a fork and the sylion was not carved into the floor, but he saw no more side passages.
Exhausted, the youngest boys faltered. Some sat on the ground and wept quietly, while others
He wanted to shake her, warn her. 'Watch out for Merofynians, take shelter in the mountains!' But that would only frighten her. He'd tell her elders.
As he glided up to the rough jetty, he smelt garlic sausages and fresh bread, and his stomach rumbled.
The dog growled softly.
'Quiet, Rusty,' the girl ordered.
'Sounds like he's a good watch dog,' Byren said, hunger cramps tying his stomach in knots. He bent to unlace his skates, his fingers trembling with haste. Shouldn't have given Dinni all his food.
He stood up, slinging the skates over his shoulder. 'How about some breakfast for a weary traveller?'
'This way.' The girl led him up the shore and through the farm yard where another wolf hound barked a warning. An old man and a boy came out of the barn to look at him. Byren realised how vulnerable his people were, going about their everyday tasks in the belief they were at peace with Merofynia.
In the kitchen, the mother and grandmother were cleaning up after breakfast. The old woman looked up from scrubbing the kitchen table, the wood almost white from cleaning. The mother wiped her hands on her apron, cheeks flushed from hovering over the hearth. No one was wary of him. This was what thirty years of peace in Rolencia's rich valley had done to his people. They were unready for war.
'What's this I hear? We have a traveller?' The father strode in with the boy and grandfather, a grin on his weathered face.
Byren pulled the royal emblem from under his vest. 'Byren Kingson. I need food and I bring bad news. The Merofynians have invaded.'
The elders sent each other worried looks, while the children watched their faces.
'We've seen no warning beacons,' the old man muttered. 'Last time the beacons were lit.'
'I'm on my way to Halcyon Abbey, to alert the abbot. I need his warrior monks,' Byren said, and his stomach rumbled loudly.
The women laughed.
'You need some food. Sit yourself down,' the mother said and the grandmother hastened to get their best plates from the shelf.
The father looked Byren up and down. 'Eh, you're a big one, too big for our cart horse, but I could loan you the draught horse.'
Byren leant back as the women ladled a spoonful of chopped sausages and beans onto his plate. 'Thanks. But I'll skate if it's all the same to you.'
They nodded, understanding his choice. Travel by frozen canal and lake was faster than going overland this time of year.
'How far are the Merofynians?' the grandfather asked.
'I saw the main army over near Dovecote two nights ago,' Byren said, talking between mouthfuls. 'And last night I ran into scouts on the lake shore, over there.' He pointed. 'They had a filthy Utland Power-worker with them. I'd get your family to the nearest town as soon as possible.'
While he gulped his meal, the elders debated the relative merits of Port Marchand's defences over Port Cobalt's. When he had done eating they walked Byren out onto the lake and saw him off, wishing him luck, insisting he take the family's prize ulfr-fur cloak.
He set off with a half-loaf of hot bread in his travel bag and a meal in his stomach, heading towards Mount Halcyon. He'd be there by midday. Once he had the warrior monks at his back, he could return to Rolenhold.
Actions spoke louder than words. When he returned to help defend the castle, his father would have to believe his loyalty.
Beneath Fyn's feet the flagstones gave way to unworked stone. They must have left the man-made tunnels and entered a natural cave system. Here, he slowed his pace, wondering what he would do if he came to a fork and the sylion was not carved into the floor, but he saw no more side passages.
Exhausted, the youngest boys faltered. Some sat on the ground and wept quietly, while others
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