Rose of the World (FOOLS GOLD) by Fisher Jude

Author:Fisher, Jude [Fisher, Jude]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2014-11-19T23:00:00+00:00

Twenty-six

King of the North

‘No one has seen Erol Bardson these several weeks, sire.’

Ravn Asharson sighed heavily. If there was one subject which he did not wish to reopen, it was this preoccupation the Earl of Stormway had with his unpleasant cousin and the elaborate conspiracy the man was supposed to be embroiled in.

‘He’s probably licking his wounds in his northern stronghold, keeping his head down, if he’s any sense at all.’

‘He’s not in Broadfell.’

Ravn swivelled to regard his ancient retainer with a glimmer of curiosity. ‘How do you know this, Bran? Have you been there?’

Stormway mumbled something into his beard.

‘What?’

‘Spies, your highness.’

‘Spies?’ Ravn sat bolt upright, amazed. ‘You have your own spies?’

‘Actually, they’re your spies, Ravn. Or your late father’s, anyway. If you did but take a little more interest in affairs of state, or the chancellery, you would know such things.’

Ravn Asharson rolled his eyes. In his head was an image of broken-down, grizzled men, survivors of the past regime, crawling arthritically through sodden undergrowth, failing to scale walls, listening at doors with half-deaf ears, misreporting what they thought they’d heard. He grinned broadly.

‘And what do my spies tell you, then, Bran?’

‘That he is not to be found in any of his usual haunts. That no one on the mainland has seen hide nor hair of him since he made his escape. That no ship returning from the Fair Isles or the Westman Isles has word of him. That even his ward has no idea where he is—’

‘You would trust that little minx’s word?’ She was a sly one, Erol’s niece with her pretty, foxy face and her limber body. He’d never taken her to bed, though he’d had more than half a mind to in earlier years; but even his under developed political sense had warned him off such intimacy.

‘We . . . questioned her, sire.’ Stormway looked carefully past Ravn’s shoulder and would not meet his eye. The girl had been defiant, at first, then had wept and railed at her treatment, cursed the King, his witch-wife, troll-child and all. They’d tried not to hurt her too much, though her will was strong. In the end, she’d passed out, and he hadn’t had the heart to continue. ‘She knew nothing. But someone in Halbo, someone with sufficient knowledge of the secret ways around the castle, and the funds to have the dungeon master disposed of, helped him escape. That says to me money, power and a conspiracy, lord.’

‘And are you sure it was not the dungeon master himself who took Erol’s bribe and made a run with him?’

‘We found his remains this morning, sire. Washed up on one of the skerries up the coast. Carried there by the prevailing currents flowing west out of the harbour. From the state of him, he’d been in the water for weeks.’

Ravn wrinkled his nose. Then he shrugged. ‘He wasn’t much use, old Flinn. More wine sack than soldier nowadays, is what I’d heard.’

Stormway raised an eyebrow. There were times when his king took him by surprise.

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