Read Online The Uncrowned King by Rowena Cory Daniells - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rowena Cory Daniells
Tags: Fantasy
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pleaded for food and water.
'They're only little,' Lenny told Fyn and went to help the nearest who was no bigger than him.
'Hold this.' Fyn handed Lenny his second candle, which had burnt down to a stub, and knelt next to a boy. 'Climb onto my back.'
Thin arms clasped around Fyn's neck, half-choking him. He adjusted the boy's arms then stood, his leg muscles protesting.
Feldspar pushed past the boys, joining them. 'How much longer, Fyn?'
He drew breath to confess that he did not know then stopped. Surely the air tasted fresher?
Hurrying on around the bend, he found the ground and walls illuminated by natural light. Another turn and a sliver of silver daylight greeted him. It was so bright he had to shield his eyes. He let the boy slide to the ground. Relief made him try to shout the news but his voice cracked, even so they came running.
'Stay here. I'll see if it's safe,' Fyn told the others as they rushed to join him.
He stepped cautiously out of the tunnel, blinking fiercely in the silver glow of a winter's dawn. The sun had just broken free of the Snow Bridge's highest peaks and delicate light made the snow glisten.
With the sun on his right, he faced north, into the cold. Back in Rolenhold, south would mean going into the cold. According to the monks, Halcyon Abbey sat on the equator of their world, which made sense since it was the site of the goddess Halcyon's greatest seep.
The Lesser Bay opened on his right and the Greater Bay to his left. Though he was west of Port Cobalt, where the monks took the boats across to Sylion Abbey for the autumn cusp festival, Fyn recognised the distant sheer wall and spotted the silhouette of Sylion Abbey, safe on its cliff-top eyrie.
Beyond the abbey lay Sylion Strait. Like two great arms, the cliffs formed a passage to the Stormy Sea. Fyn had never been that far. The trip across to Sylion Abbey was bad enough for him.
From where he now stood, the land fell away until it met the bay. Fyn could just make out the snow-covered roofs of a small fishing village behind its defensive palisade. Right now the village's wharves would be well above the water line. When the snow and ice melted the water levels would rise and it would become safe for the fisher folk to venture out, past the Utland Isles to the ocean fields where the great shoals of fish would be found. A fisherman's life was not an easy one, but then it was the harshness of winter that made summer all the sweeter.
Fyn knew it would take until early afternoon to reach the village, but the promise of hot food would spur the little boys on. Relief filled him. They had walked under Mount Halcyon to the mountain's far northern slope. He had done what the abbot asked of him. Soon he would be free to help his family.
'It's safe. You can come out,' Fyn called.
Byren shouldered his skates and strode up the rise towards the abbey. The familiar path between the pines was covered in deep snow. From this angle the pines themselves blocked out the abbey. Worry gnawed at him. Other than the royal symbol, what did he have to convince the abbot to hand over command of his warriors?
Only the conviction that he must save Rolencia.
Intent on his plan, Byren strode through the gates which traditionally stood ajar during the day to symbolise that the goddess's loving heart was always open to her children. He waved to the shadowed niche where the monks' gateman stood and strode across the fan-shaped courtyard.
Although it was midday, the acolytes hadn't swept the light carpeting of snow from the paving stones around the central fountain and its pool. Beyond the pool's stone lip, hot water steamed invitingly in the cool air.
Byren glanced to the left where the animals were housed. No sign of life. He glanced to his right. In early spring those chambers were where the monks handed out the hothouse seedlings so that the farmers could get two crops in during the intense, but brief, summer.
He skirted the fountain and headed for the central
'They're only little,' Lenny told Fyn and went to help the nearest who was no bigger than him.
'Hold this.' Fyn handed Lenny his second candle, which had burnt down to a stub, and knelt next to a boy. 'Climb onto my back.'
Thin arms clasped around Fyn's neck, half-choking him. He adjusted the boy's arms then stood, his leg muscles protesting.
Feldspar pushed past the boys, joining them. 'How much longer, Fyn?'
He drew breath to confess that he did not know then stopped. Surely the air tasted fresher?
Hurrying on around the bend, he found the ground and walls illuminated by natural light. Another turn and a sliver of silver daylight greeted him. It was so bright he had to shield his eyes. He let the boy slide to the ground. Relief made him try to shout the news but his voice cracked, even so they came running.
'Stay here. I'll see if it's safe,' Fyn told the others as they rushed to join him.
He stepped cautiously out of the tunnel, blinking fiercely in the silver glow of a winter's dawn. The sun had just broken free of the Snow Bridge's highest peaks and delicate light made the snow glisten.
With the sun on his right, he faced north, into the cold. Back in Rolenhold, south would mean going into the cold. According to the monks, Halcyon Abbey sat on the equator of their world, which made sense since it was the site of the goddess Halcyon's greatest seep.
The Lesser Bay opened on his right and the Greater Bay to his left. Though he was west of Port Cobalt, where the monks took the boats across to Sylion Abbey for the autumn cusp festival, Fyn recognised the distant sheer wall and spotted the silhouette of Sylion Abbey, safe on its cliff-top eyrie.
Beyond the abbey lay Sylion Strait. Like two great arms, the cliffs formed a passage to the Stormy Sea. Fyn had never been that far. The trip across to Sylion Abbey was bad enough for him.
From where he now stood, the land fell away until it met the bay. Fyn could just make out the snow-covered roofs of a small fishing village behind its defensive palisade. Right now the village's wharves would be well above the water line. When the snow and ice melted the water levels would rise and it would become safe for the fisher folk to venture out, past the Utland Isles to the ocean fields where the great shoals of fish would be found. A fisherman's life was not an easy one, but then it was the harshness of winter that made summer all the sweeter.
Fyn knew it would take until early afternoon to reach the village, but the promise of hot food would spur the little boys on. Relief filled him. They had walked under Mount Halcyon to the mountain's far northern slope. He had done what the abbot asked of him. Soon he would be free to help his family.
'It's safe. You can come out,' Fyn called.
Byren shouldered his skates and strode up the rise towards the abbey. The familiar path between the pines was covered in deep snow. From this angle the pines themselves blocked out the abbey. Worry gnawed at him. Other than the royal symbol, what did he have to convince the abbot to hand over command of his warriors?
Only the conviction that he must save Rolencia.
Intent on his plan, Byren strode through the gates which traditionally stood ajar during the day to symbolise that the goddess's loving heart was always open to her children. He waved to the shadowed niche where the monks' gateman stood and strode across the fan-shaped courtyard.
Although it was midday, the acolytes hadn't swept the light carpeting of snow from the paving stones around the central fountain and its pool. Beyond the pool's stone lip, hot water steamed invitingly in the cool air.
Byren glanced to the left where the animals were housed. No sign of life. He glanced to his right. In early spring those chambers were where the monks handed out the hothouse seedlings so that the farmers could get two crops in during the intense, but brief, summer.
He skirted the fountain and headed for the central
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