The Ursuper

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Fyn stood in the crow's nest, squinting into the westering sun to watch the merchant ship's mainmast fall. It groaned like a toppling tree, taking rigging and sails with it, leaving him with a savage surge of satisfaction.

As the two vessels drifted apart, he could just make out the merchant captain shaking a fist at the Wyvern's Whelp.

But Fyn felt no qualms. The Merofynians' ship had been laden with Rolencian treasures stolen from his homeland. His vision blurred, hot tears of grief stinging his eyes. His mother, father and eldest brother were all dead. Even little Piro…

He must not think of Piro. Must not dwell on how his thirteen-year-old sister would have felt, seeing their father killed under a flag of truce. Had Overlord Palatyne executed their mother in front of Piro, or had she been killed first? He hoped she hadn't watched. He hoped she hadn't wept and pleaded. Somehow, he couldn't see Piro doing that. She'd be angry and defiant to the end. A sob caught in his throat.

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