Read Online The Usurper by Rowena Cory Daniells - Free Book Online
Authors: Rowena Cory Daniells
Tags: Fantasy
Ads: Link
reach Rolenhold in time to save his family. Little Piro...
He mustn't think of Piro.
Feeling a fraud, he shrugged off the sea-hounds' praise, but they broke open a crate of fine Rolencian red wine, stolen from his homeland, and shared it out, insisting he take a drink.
As Fyn lifted the bottle, he met the captain's eye. Here he was, a captive, forced to rob the Merofynians who had plundered his homeland, forced to drink a toast to the survival of his captors.
Well aware of the nuances, Nefysto raised his bottle with an ironic grin.
In defiance, Fyn upended the bottle, gulping its contents. The rich red wine reminded him of evenings in his father's hall. King Rolen calling for stories and songs, his mother's fond smile. Little Piro dancing about, laughing, teasing the storyteller for tales of Queen Pirola the Fierce.
Argh. He must not think of Piro.
He upended the bottle again, seeking oblivion.
Chapter Five
Byren tensed. The shouting came from his honour guard, who were in the next hollow, teaching the fittest of the loyalists the use of the longsword, and the tone was just a fraction too eager. Normally, Orrade would be with them, but he was out checking the sentries on the approach trails.
Byren blew his breath out in a snort of resignation. Judging by those shouts, someone was about to be knocked silly for the entertainment of the lads. And it was up to him to sort it out.
He skirted an outcropping of rock dusted with last night's snowfall, thinking he did not need trouble now.
After breakfast, Orrade had reported on their numbers - the old, the nursing mothers and children, and the able-bodied men. Then, with Dovecote's redoubtable cook, he had inspected their stores, trying to work out how long they could feed everyone before he'd have to make a trip into the rich Rolencian valley to forage for food. How was he going to pay for this? He didn't want to steal food from his own people.
Normally, the farmers would harvest two crops each summer, but when the Merofynians invaded they'd destroyed the abbey's hothouse-forced seedlings, so the farmers could only hope for one harvest and a lean one at that. Everyone in the valley would have to tighten their belts.
Unless Byren led a successful attack on Rolenhold, recaptured his father's castle, executed Cobalt and retook Rolencia before autumn, there would be deaths from starvation. He needed access to the castle's granary and the abbey's stores.
He needed a lot of things.
Coming around the bend, through the trees, he had a clear view into the hollow below, and paused to take in the tableau.
'Eh, Florin.' He cursed softly under his breath.
The tradepost keeper's daughter swung a staff. It was the traditional weapon of the farmers, who could not afford a sword and armour. She faced Winterfall and, from his expression, he meant to show her her place.
'Now this is why the farmers stay back and let the warriors lead the attack,' Winterfall said, coming in, swinging the sword. He turned the flat for the strike, but even so, Byren knew it would bruise and possibly break a rib.
A cry sprang to Byren's lips, ready to call a halt to the match, but Old Man Narrows stepped out of the trees and touched him lightly on the arm.
'Leave her be. If she's bitten off more than she can chew, it's better she discovers it now, rather than on the battlefield.'
Byren frowned. It seemed a harsh attitude for Florin's father to take, but honest. Female warriors were few and far between. They just didn't have the strength that men had. Queen Pirola had led Rolencia's warriors, but that was different. She'd had to protect her kingdom. Besides, she was safely relegated to history.
Florin was here now, confronting his honour guard. Banning her from these practice sessions would ease the tension, but her father was right, Florin deserved the chance to prove herself, or fail.
He hoped she didn't fail... or did he? He didn't want her risking her life on the battlefield.
'She's her
He mustn't think of Piro.
Feeling a fraud, he shrugged off the sea-hounds' praise, but they broke open a crate of fine Rolencian red wine, stolen from his homeland, and shared it out, insisting he take a drink.
As Fyn lifted the bottle, he met the captain's eye. Here he was, a captive, forced to rob the Merofynians who had plundered his homeland, forced to drink a toast to the survival of his captors.
Well aware of the nuances, Nefysto raised his bottle with an ironic grin.
In defiance, Fyn upended the bottle, gulping its contents. The rich red wine reminded him of evenings in his father's hall. King Rolen calling for stories and songs, his mother's fond smile. Little Piro dancing about, laughing, teasing the storyteller for tales of Queen Pirola the Fierce.
Argh. He must not think of Piro.
He upended the bottle again, seeking oblivion.
Chapter Five
Byren tensed. The shouting came from his honour guard, who were in the next hollow, teaching the fittest of the loyalists the use of the longsword, and the tone was just a fraction too eager. Normally, Orrade would be with them, but he was out checking the sentries on the approach trails.
Byren blew his breath out in a snort of resignation. Judging by those shouts, someone was about to be knocked silly for the entertainment of the lads. And it was up to him to sort it out.
He skirted an outcropping of rock dusted with last night's snowfall, thinking he did not need trouble now.
After breakfast, Orrade had reported on their numbers - the old, the nursing mothers and children, and the able-bodied men. Then, with Dovecote's redoubtable cook, he had inspected their stores, trying to work out how long they could feed everyone before he'd have to make a trip into the rich Rolencian valley to forage for food. How was he going to pay for this? He didn't want to steal food from his own people.
Normally, the farmers would harvest two crops each summer, but when the Merofynians invaded they'd destroyed the abbey's hothouse-forced seedlings, so the farmers could only hope for one harvest and a lean one at that. Everyone in the valley would have to tighten their belts.
Unless Byren led a successful attack on Rolenhold, recaptured his father's castle, executed Cobalt and retook Rolencia before autumn, there would be deaths from starvation. He needed access to the castle's granary and the abbey's stores.
He needed a lot of things.
Coming around the bend, through the trees, he had a clear view into the hollow below, and paused to take in the tableau.
'Eh, Florin.' He cursed softly under his breath.
The tradepost keeper's daughter swung a staff. It was the traditional weapon of the farmers, who could not afford a sword and armour. She faced Winterfall and, from his expression, he meant to show her her place.
'Now this is why the farmers stay back and let the warriors lead the attack,' Winterfall said, coming in, swinging the sword. He turned the flat for the strike, but even so, Byren knew it would bruise and possibly break a rib.
A cry sprang to Byren's lips, ready to call a halt to the match, but Old Man Narrows stepped out of the trees and touched him lightly on the arm.
'Leave her be. If she's bitten off more than she can chew, it's better she discovers it now, rather than on the battlefield.'
Byren frowned. It seemed a harsh attitude for Florin's father to take, but honest. Female warriors were few and far between. They just didn't have the strength that men had. Queen Pirola had led Rolencia's warriors, but that was different. She'd had to protect her kingdom. Besides, she was safely relegated to history.
Florin was here now, confronting his honour guard. Banning her from these practice sessions would ease the tension, but her father was right, Florin deserved the chance to prove herself, or fail.
He hoped she didn't fail... or did he? He didn't want her risking her life on the battlefield.
'She's her
Similar Books
