Finnikin of the Rock

  Outside, Evanjalin and Sir Topher were waiting for them in the waning afternoon sun. There was anticipation on Evanjalin's face and disappointment on Sir Topher's.

  "The shutters came down the moment we approached," Sir Topher complained. "Any success on your part?"

  Trevanion didn't speak as they walked toward the edge of the square.

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  "No," Finnikin muttered, exchanging a glance with Evanjalin. "I think I need to do this with my betrothed and not my father," he mumbled to her in Yut.

  Trevanion sent him a furious look. "We speak Lumateran among ourselves!" he said. "What you have to say to Evanjalin, you say to all of us."

  "Most unfair, Finnikin," Sir Topher said.

  Finnikin shook his head in frustration. "Sometimes it's easier for me to stick to one language," he lied.

  Froi was on his feet the moment they approached, searching to see what they had brought. "Where food?" he demanded.

  "It's lovely to know that you are picking up the language, Froi," Evanjalin sniped. "But I do not recall the authority to command being part of your bond."

  "Hungry," Froi muttered.

  "And we're not?" Finnikin snapped back.

  "He's a boy," Sir Topher admonished, "who needs to eat. You were the same at his age, Finnikin."

  "No, I was not."

  Sir Topher snorted with disbelief.

  "All of you stay here," Finnikin ordered. "I will get us food." He pointed a finger at his father. "No fighting with the locals!"

  Trevanion was scowling. "Take my sword and the girl."

  As they walked away he heard Sir Topher say, "There were times I thought he'd eat me in my sleep, I tell you."

  Finnikin strode ahead of Evanjalin until she placed a hand on his arm. She pointed down one of the wider alleys to a courtyard where an outdoor spring was built into the town wall. "Let's at least fill up our water flasks," she said.

  As they walked toward the courtyard, the cooking aromas from nearby cottages caused Finnikin's stomach to rumble loudly again, and he clutched at it.

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  "I think that was actually my stomach," Evanjalin said with a laugh. "Tonight they dine on roast pork. I would give my right arm for roast pork."

  But Finnikin did not want to think of Evanjalin's right arm, branding her a slave. "Then tonight you will eat roast pork," he announced.

  The courtyard was a smaller version of the main square, with houses facing the west. It stood empty, and Finnikin suspected that the town had a curfew, which meant they had little time to organize food and lodgings. He filled up both their flasks and then splashed cold water on his face.

  "Of course, we'll have to steal it," he said, still thinking about their dinner.

  "You're asking me to commit a crime?" she said in mock horror.

  He laughed. "Not a good way to start our married life, but roast pork is my gift to you."

  "And what would you like in return?"

  "A goose would be nice," he said. "But then again, I don't care if it's pottage. Even stale bread would work for me. Anything to shut Froi up." He was about to put his head under the spring to wash away the grime, when the cold touch of a sword on his neck stopped him from moving. Evanjalin stiffened beside him.

  "Turn around," the assailant said. The sound was more like a rumble than a voice.

  He saw Evanjalin's sideways glance, but before he could speak, the assailant pushed her away and she fell.

  "Let this fight be between us!" Finnikin said, swinging around.

  Mercy. He was facing a giant of a man. Massive in height and bulky in width, the giant had dark hair and a beard that were cropped close to his skin. He clutched two swords. His fists

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  were thick, double the size even of Trevanion's, and he defended Finnikin's first blow with great skill.

  Evanjalin was back on her feet, hurling her water flask at the giant, but it made little impact against him as his sword clashed with Finnikin's.

  "I'm playing with him," the giant said, his tone unkind. "Do that again, little girl, and I'll kill him."

  "Push her, threaten her, or even look at her again, and I'll kill you!" Finnikin said, sending the man into momentary retreat.

  "I'll make this easier for you." The giant dropped the sword he was holding in his left hand and held up his right hand, indicating who was in charge.

  Finnikin caught his first clear look at the man and fought to suppress a grin. "Go get my father, Evanjalin," he said, blowing hair out of his face. He heard her retreating footsteps as she broke into a run.

  "She's going to get your father," the giant scorned. "Should I be scared?"

  "Probably. Lumateran, aren't you?" Finnikin asked in Yut, trying to sound as if he had the breath to fight and talk.

  A dark look crossed the man's face. "You ask too many questions, skinny boy."

  "Skinny boy? That's the best you can do?"

  The giant's eyes narrowed, and his fighting pace quickened until Finnikin's arm began to ache and his legs buckled.

  "You look like you're from the River," Finnikin taunted. "Second to those of the Lumateran Rock, I hear."

  The giant clenched his teeth, and Finnikin wanted to laugh at how easily he was provoked.

  Moss of the River.

  The Guard had always mocked him because of his name. He was the biggest scoundrel among the king's men, but Balthazar

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  and Isaboe had adored him and he in turn loved the royal children as if they were his own. His anguish at the discovery of Isaboe's blood-soaked hair and clothing in the Forest that morning had been so great that Trevanion had to hold him down to prevent him from pounding his own body with stones.

  "You talk too much," Moss snapped. "And from what I know about Lumatere, the River men come first."

  "Do they?" With a grunt, Finnikin shoved him back and then threw his own weapon to the side.

  Moss of the River stared at him in confusion, the sword still clasped in his hands.

  Finnikin held up one finger at a time. "Rock. River. Monts. Flatlands. Forest. In order of strength," he goaded.

  "You have a death wish, my friend. My father would say that anyone fool enough to think they can better a Lumateran River man does not deserve to live."

  "And my father would say that very few men look good with a broken nose."

  With that, Finnikin twisted around and sent a flying kick to Moss's face. The big man stumbled back in shock, and then a glint of some kind of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. Throwing his sword to the side, he lunged toward Finnikin.

  "Hand to hand," he said, nodding with approval. "Try not to scream like a girl."

  Trevanion sprinted into the courtyard, trailed by Sir Topher, Evanjalin, and Froi. They were just in time to see Finnikin trapped in a headlock by a man who was twice his size.

  "What are they doing?" Sir Topher asked in alarm.

  "They're proving their manhood," Evanjalin said in a bored voice. "One of yours, I presume, Captain Trevanion?"

  Evanjalin and Sir Topher turned to look at him, and Trevanion

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  could not hold back his joy. He felt his lips twitch into a smile. "Yes," he said. "Both mine."

  Finnikin came flying through the air and landed at their feet with a groan.

  "Moss has a weak left," Trevanion managed to tell him before Finnikin was back on his feet.

  "Sweet goddess, it's Moss of the River," Sir Topher said, hitting Trevanion on the shoulder with glee. "He's a lot bigger than Finnikin," he added. "He could hurt him."

  "He says he's only playing with Finnikin," Evanjalin advised them, as some of the villagers came out to their balconies to watch the fighting below.

  Finnikin danced and ducked around the giant, throwing punches at any opportunity he could take. "My father says you have a weak left," he said, his head aching from the constant movement.

  Moss led with his left, and Finnikin ducked again and then leaped onto the big man's b
ack, yanking at his ears. "And my father would know." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evanjalin approach. "Stand back, Evanjalin. You'll get hurt!"

  "How long is this going to take, Finnikin? Ask him if they have food. You promised me roast pork."

  Finnikin rolled his eyes as Moss swung from side to side, trying to dislodge him from his back. "Woman, I'm trying to fight here! Or has that escaped your attention?"

  Moss reached over his shoulder, grabbed Finnikin by his jerkin, and swung him over his head. But then he stopped suddenly, sliding Finnikin back onto the ground, staring at him.

  "Finnikin? Did she say Finnikin?"

  Finnikin felt dizzy, the world spinning out of control.

  "Finn?" Moss asked again, and then something else seemed

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  to occur to him. "Did you tell her to go get your ..." He swung around to where the others stood.

  "Blessed day," he murmured. "Oh, blessed day." He stepped toward Trevanion, a look of wonder on his face, and then gave a huge roar of laughter. If Finnikin's left ear hadn't already been ringing from a blow, it would have been deafened by the volume. Moss grabbed Trevanion and lifted him from the ground, both of them laughing with a joy that had their balcony spectators clapping.

  "The innkeeper said there were foreigners asking after us. We thought you might be Charynite spies." Moss wiped tears from his eyes. "Never imagined this." He looked at Sir Topher and caught him in a bear hug. "A day blessed by Lagrami, Sir Topher."

  Finnikin staggered to his feet beside them. Moss clapped him on the back with his huge hand before looking at Evanjalin. "Food you say, my beauty?"

  Evanjalin's face beamed at the compliment.

  "Tonight we feast, my friends."

  The King's Guard of Lumatere was lodged in an inn at the far end of town. It had been their home for the past five years. They spent their days training Pietrodore soldiers and working out battle tactics for a strike on the palace if they were ever able to enter Lumatere. Each year, Perri and Moss had returned to the the Valley of Tranquillity to see if there was any change.

  "Too dark to describe," Moss said quietly as he led the way up a flight of crumbling stone steps to the inn's flat roof. "The mist of malevolence surrounds the whole kingdom, as well as the Forest of Lumatere."

  From the rooftop, Finnikin could see down into a large internal courtyard surrounded by high walls.

  "It's where we train the lads of Pietrodore," Moss explained

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  as he unlocked the rooftop door. They went down a set of narrow wooden steps until they reached a large rectangular hall, three floors down. Despite the dimness of the light, there was a great deal of activity in the room. It was full of the former King's Guard, fierce men who looked much the same to Finnikin as they had in the days when they defended Lumatere. They wore their hair cropped short, and their body language spoke of readiness. Some played cards, while others sat with their heads bent together.

  Moss grinned at Finnikin. "Gentlemen," he called out, "and I hear there are some ladies present too, Aldron."

  The men laughed without looking up.

  "Last lady I saw was your woman as I left her this morning, Moss," the man Finnikin presumed was Aldron said from the back of the hall.

  "We have guests."

  Several of the men stopped what they were doing and gave Moss their attention. They squinted in the half-light, and Finnikin realized that, like the town of Pietrodore, visitors rarely entered this domain.

  "Courtesy of a foreign King's Guard," Moss continued.

  This time, every man in the room came to his feet. They pulled their swords from their scabbards in unison.

  "Moss, where is the humor in this?" one man asked, making his way toward them.

  Finnikin recognized him instantly. Perri. Trevanion's second-in-charge. The man who had placed him in Sir Topher's care during the nightmare days after the unspeakable, the man who had given him Trevanion's sword.

  Perri stopped in front of them. He was lean and lacked the height of Moss and Trevanion, but there was no weakness in his body. As he had often done as a child, Finnikin trembled at the sight of men so powerful.

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  Finnikin saw the recognition flash in Perri's eyes. He stood before his captain, their faces twitching with suppressed emotion. They clasped each other's arms, their fists straining from the strength of their feelings. Curious, others in the room stepped forward and suddenly a roar of men's voices shouted Trevanion's name.

  "Crying?" Froi scorned.

  For a moment the room was silent. Finnikin watched the men turn and stare at Froi as if he were a gnat they could crush in a moment. Froi, at least, had the good sense to look frightened.

  "Did he just mock us?" one of the younger guards asked.

  Trevanion grabbed hold of another guard, clapping him on the shoulder. "You were half the size when I saw you last, Aldron."

  "I was fifteen, Captain," Aldron protested. "And you swore you would never allow a guard so young. But you said I had the heart of a lion."

  "As does your little pup." Moss grinned, looking at Finnikin.

  Finnikin felt Perri's dark stare. But the look was one of pride.

  "Little Finch," Perri murmured. Suddenly he grabbed Finnikin in a headlock as the others cheered. "And where is Sir Topher?" Perri asked, swinging around.

  "Feeling like the shortest man in the kingdom," Sir Topher said with a laugh, lost in the middle of the group. There were three cheers for the king's First Man.

  After the initial excitement, the Guard seemed overcome. Finnikin could see it in their expressions, as if they had no idea how to comprehend who had just walked into their hall. There were questions in their eyes. Trevanion sensed it and held up his hand for silence. He took in the face of every person in the room and then his gaze settled on Froi and Evanjalin, who looked

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  overwhelmed by all the celebration. Gently Trevanion drew them toward him and turned them to face his men, brushing the back of his hands across their faces.

  "Gentlemen," he said quietly, "I present to you the future of our kingdom. The lifeblood. We take back Lumatere. For them."

  The guards hoisted the two into the air, and Finnikin saw joy and fear on Evanjalin's face.

  But Froi looked around with wonder.

  As if he had never seen the world from up so high before.

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  ***

  CHaPteR 16

  There was little rest to be had in the week that followed. Trevanion wasted no time in preparing his men, yet there was a spirit and energy among the Guard that not even the most backbreaking training could crush. These were men of wisdom and experience, but no one could deny the need for youth and stamina, especially if the battle to reclaim Lumatere was a long one. In the courtyard of the inn, Trevanion and Perri barked out instructions, pushing the men to the limits of their endurance, and at times their tempers.

  "Protect your wrist, Callum!"

  "Your feet are your first line of defense, Finnikin!"

  "If he had an ax, you'd be standing on stumps by now, Aldron!"

  "Oi! Froi! Make yourself useful and get some bindings!"

  Finnikin fought hard for their approval, something he had not needed to work for during the past ten years. Sir Topher's admiration had always been quick, from his wonder at Finnikin's ability to remember every detail of a conversation to praise for his pupil's hunger for learning. But now Finnikin felt the need

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  to convince the Guard that he was worthy to be part of them. He longed for their acceptance, not just because his father was captain but because they saw him as a warrior in his own right.

  And so he trained long before the others arrived at dawn, his fingers bleeding from the constant use of his bow and arrow. During the day, he rarely stopped to eat or drink, his practice sword always ready for the next opponent, despite the pain in his joints. He worked hardest and longest with the glaive, knowing it was his weakn
ess, ignoring his opponents as they winced each time the pole connected. He listened intently to every criticism and afterward worked twice as hard to make sure he did not repeat his mistakes.

  By the end of the first week, his whole body ached and he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bedroll and sleep. Beside him, Froi picked up the practice swords, grumbling with every movement. "Make yourself useful, Froi!" he mimicked. "Fetch, Froi! Slave!"

  Finnikin was beginning to regret the boy's language lessons, which now included every curse under the sun, courtesy of the Guard. He looked up to where Evanjalin sat on the balcony, her legs folded under her, head on the rails.

  "Use more than the weapon to fight," Trevanion ordered. "Fight from the heart, lads."

  "Train your body to do the moving," Perri shouted.

  "Finnikin, too tight," Moss said. "Hold the sword like you'd want a woman holding your--"

  Finnikin heard one of the men clearing his throat as he indicated toward the balcony with his head.

  "Sorry, Evanjalin," Moss said meekly, waving up to her.

  She spent most days watching, not permitted to participate. Despite the resourcefulness she had displayed over the last few months, Sir Topher had ordered that she keep out of harm's way.

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  At times Finnikin felt Sir Topher treated her as if she were some prized possession and not just Evanjalin who could take care of herself. He had noticed that whenever she watched from the balcony, the aggression of the men intensified and the competition became more fierce, especially among the younger guards. Finnikin had received great satisfaction that morning beating Aldron of the River in front of her, catching him across the ears with the buckler. When the fourth serious injury of the day occurred, Trevanion intervened.

  "Froi, go make yourself useful and tell Evanjalin that Sir Topher would like her to join him for a walk. A very long one."