Byren sat up on his heels, searching the hollow. No sign of the seer. In fact, with all the churned-up snow it was impossible to tell that she'd even been there. The dark must be playing tricks on his eyes but her disappearance had made things easier for him. If she had been an ordinary old woman, he would have been bound by the travellers' code to offer her shelter. Since she was a renegade Power-worker, he should have urged her to leave Rolencia.
He grinned. His instinctive fear of renegade Affinity had faded when she proved to be such a terrible seer. As if he'd ever turn on Lence!
She should have stuck to healing. Still smiling, he glanced down at Orrade. His friend was still out cold.
Too cold.
It would be ironic if Orrade caught a chest affliction and died despite the seer's help. Already the first bright stars winked above them in an oyster-shell sky, heralding a fine, extremely cold night. Byren checked Orrade's head wound, binding it with a strip of cloth. The wound had stopped bleeding, but there was too much fresh blood to stay here and, besides, the seep would draw Affinity beasts down from the Dividing Mountains.
Hastily, he rigged a strap for his broken snow shoe. If only the branch had struck Orrade a hand's breadth lower. Then it would have connected with his broad shoulders and done no more than knock him off his feet and maybe wind him. Bad luck.
Sylion's luck. But then it was nearly midwinter and that cold, cruel god had a firm grip on Rolencia.
He collected the spear, then took off his bow and arrow quiver, hefting Orrade onto his back. Now all he had to do was walk until he reached the village. He turned towards the rim where he could still see the passage of Winterfall's party on the silvery snow. Just as he set off, the deep ululating cry of an ulfr pack on the hunt echoed down from the bluffs behind the village. The direction suggested the pack were between him and safety.
'Freezing Sylion!' He adjusted Orrade's weight. The blood and the seep would attract the Affinity beasts. Ulfrs were related to timber wolves, though larger and more cunning than their mundane cousins.
Guilt lanced him, sharp as a blade. He shouldn't have delayed for the lincurium. Orrade must not suffer because of his stupid rivalry with Lence.
With its walls, the village would not need to fear the pack, and he trusted Winterfall had the sense not to send anyone out to help him until the seep was contained and the area made safe. This meant he was on his own, which made climbing a tree useless. He didn't want to be staked out by the pack. The further he went from the seep, the better. Affinity beasts hunted ordinary animals for food, but raw Affinity would draw them. Hopefully Affinity lust would win out over hunger. He had heard reports of the beasts rolling in a seep in a state of ecstasy, an image he found hard to visualise.
But which way should he go? If he travelled east he would be on Dovecote land. He cast his mind back to steamy summers when he and Orrade roamed the estate. He seemed to remember a fortified farmhouse near the foothills. If he walked all night he would get there by dawn.
Byren turned east.
Used to skating the winter canals, his long legs ate up the ground. Despite the cold he was soon sweating, and Orrade seemed to grow heavier with every step. His weapons became a burden but he could not discard them.
Later, when he heard the ulfr pack calling again, he glanced up to the stars and judged he had been walking for two hours. The echoes off the bluffs tended to confuse the source of sounds, but he could not fool himself.
The pack was following him. Their silver-grey winter coats would make them hard to spot, but he did not need to see them. He could tell by the extreme hush of the snow-shrouded forest that its winter inhabitants had gone to ground. The pack was near.
'Halcyon help me!' he muttered, calling on the goddess of healing and growing things. He would not reach the fortified farmhouse. He needed somewhere defensible. If he could just reach the ridge that marked Dovecote land.
Adjusting Orrade, he set off again.
Half an hour later, he felt the land rise under him and looked up. About two bow shots away he could see starry sky through the trunks.
Now to choose a spot and start a fire… pity he didn't have a male and female firestone. Once placed in contact with each other the stones produced a blaze which sustained itself until they were separated. But only the very wealthy could afford them and they were treasured family heirlooms.
No time for if only.
Byren plunged on. By the time he reached the edge of the ridge, the night was filled with the luminescence of stars. He gently lowered Orrade and tried to catch his breath as he surveyed their sanctuary.
Halcyon had favoured him, for he'd reached the ridge where it fell away into a steep ravine, too steep for the ulfrs to attack from that direction. This left him with a half-circle to defend. The wind had scoured the edge of the ridge, stripping it of all but slivers of snow caught in the crevices. Luckily there was no wind tonight to howl down the ravine and tear their fire to shreds, leeching the heat from their bodies.
He propped Orrade in a seated position against a knee-high boulder near the cliff edge, and laid the two spears across his knees so that it looked like he was dozing, with the spears at the ready. Then he strung the bow and left it leaning against the rock as well. It was the best he could do. He would have to leave his friend defenceless for a few moments while he collected fire wood. Byren prayed the ulfr pack didn't find Orrade before he got back and hopefully, if they did, his ploy would keep them at bay.
Despite his weariness, he set off at a run. In the depths of winter there was plenty of fallen dead wood and drifts of leaves which had been blown into hollows during autumn's storms. The trick was to find them under the snow. But he had spent many a day with the hunt-master and knew what to look for. He made three trips, starting a fire after the first. On the last one he selected a sturdy branch his own height and swung it menacingly because the pack were approaching, slinking from tree to tree. First one beast then another howled. Even safe by his own hearth, the sound would have been enough to make Byren's hackles rise. Out here, it made his stomach cramp with fear.
Byren returned to their camp, walking backwards so that he did not turn his back on the pack. He knew when he was getting nearer the camp because the leaping flames of their fire lit up the trunks of the winter-bare trees that grew along the ridge. When he reached Orrade, he found his friend still unconscious, but he must have moved because he had slumped dangerously close to the edge. Worse, he'd knocked the bow over the lip.
'Sylion's luck!' Byren muttered. Why hadn't he anticipated that? A surge of anger warmed him.
No point in berating himself.
Byren pulled Orrade away from the edge. Wrapping his friend's cloak more securely around him, he wedged Orrade's back against the boulder so he wouldn't roll towards the cliff. He didn't stir.
'Orrie?'
No answer, but the seer had promised he would live. It was up to Byren to make sure he had the chance.
'Melt some snow, heat some food,' he told himself. Somehow, he had to stay awake all night after trudging through the snow all day. As long as the fire held out they would be safe.
He hoped.
Byren glanced up. Stars filled the dark bowl above him with an effervescence of light. He would be able to tell the time by the progress of the wanderers, oddly coloured stars which travelled in erratic loops across the heavens.
Turning to face the night he checked on their enemies. Now and then he caught glimpses of fire-bright eyes reflecting back at him and knew the ulfrs waited, silent and grim for the first chink in their defences. Taking the large branch, he split the end and wedged his hunting knife's hilt in the gap, securing it. Tying off the cord, he used his teeth to be sure the knot was tight. The makeshift spear was not a thing of beauty but it was better than a hunting knife alone. It would be strongest driven straight on. The cord binding it to the branch would work loose with too many slashing strikes. Now he had three spears and all he had to do was keep watch.
He glanced at Orrade. 'Trust you to snore your way through the night, leaving all the watches for me.'
There was no answering snort or smart reply. Byren felt a stab of fear and guilt. If Orrade died old Lord Dovecote would be devastated and Elina would be heartbroken. His own heart sank for he had intended, once Lence's betrothal was announced, to tell Elina how he felt. The proud tilt of her chin came to him, making his body clench. How he wanted her.
He gripped the spear shaft and vowed he'd bring Orrade home safe and then he'd ask her. Have to get her a betrothal gift, something special. Perhaps he could give her the lincurium pendant. No, the wife of the kingson could not outshine the wife of the kingsheir. He had to give Lence's betrothed the pendant.
If he got through tonight — no, when he got through tonight, he would make his way to the fortified farmhouse, borrow a sled and take Orrade to Dovecote Keep.
Byren added another branch to the fire and imagined their arrival, the family rushing out to help carry Orrade inside, Lord Dovecote old and frail now, Elina concerned for her brother, grateful to him and Garzik… Byren winced. Fourteen-year-old Garzik adored his big brother. Garzik had been begging to go on raids with them for the last year.
They were all depending on Byren.
He stirred up the fire and watched the night.
Much later, the crack of a branch collapsing into the fire startled him. Byren woke with a jerk and sat up, dismayed to find the fire had burned dangerously low. Worse, a medium-sized ulfr was only three body lengths from him, creeping in low on its belly.
He leapt to his feet, snatched a brand from the fire and yelled to startle it. The beast spun on its haunches, retreating to the forest of bare trees.
A single large ulfr with a thick winter coat watched him unblinking from the tree line. It was bold enough not to retreat. He snatched a rock and hurled it. The ulfr sprang nimbly to one side, opened its jaws in a silent laugh then melted into the shadows. A moment later he heard it howl and the others answer.
He suspected he had just seen the pack leader. Like wolves, a male and female pair led each ulfr pack, dominating the others with their cunning and strength.
Byren felt shaky and sick as the surge of fear drained away, leaving him exhausted. He hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep. Weariness still dulled his mind.
Concentrate.
Build up the fire.
'That you, Byren?'
Silently, he gave thanks to Halcyon and darted around the blaze to kneel next to Orrade. 'How d'you feel?'
'Wonderful!' he said, but his eyes were firmly closed and he frowned fiercely.
Byren grinned. 'No, really. How do you feel? You've been out for ages.'
'Head's thumping fit to burst. But I'll live.'
'Just as well. Elina would never forgive me if anything happened to you.'
Orrade chuckled, then moaned as even this hurt him. 'Where are we?' He pried open one eye then closed it again, the effort too much. 'What happened and how'd we get away from the lincis?'
For some reason Byren didn't want to mention the old seer. 'Drove it off, but a falling branch clipped the back of your head. You're lucky your skull's thick.' Best to keep him talking. 'We're trapped, Orrie. An ulfr pack have pinned us on the edge of a cliff.'
'Build a fire.'
Byren blinked. Orrade's face was in the shadow of Byren's body, but ruddy fire light gleamed on his friend's hands where they clutched the cloak to his chest.
Fear settled in the pit of Byren's belly. The old seer had said Orrade would never be the same. Had she meant he'd be blind?
Like a three-day-old kitten, Orrade forced his eyes open and peered around. 'No stars to aid us tonight, just when we could have done with — '
'Orrie, the stars are bright enough to cast shadows and, if I move, you'll feel the fire's heat on your face.'
Those sightless eyes travelled to his face, following the sound of his voice. It was uncanny, but he was still blind.
'Byren?'
He heard the fear in Orrade's voice, the unspoken don't leave me.
'I am going to get you out of this, then I am going to take you home. You hear me, Orrie?'
His friend said nothing.
'You hear me?' he repeated. 'I am not going to fail you.'
'I know,' Orrade whispered.
Byren licked dry lips then glanced back to the tree line where the ulfr pack watched and waited. He had made a promise, but he didn't know how he was going to save his friend.
Orrade shifted on the hard rock. 'Could you have found a more uncomfortable bed?'
Byren grinned. Thank Halcyon, there was nothing wrong with his friend's wits. They spoke of this and that. It was easier to stay awake with Orrade conscious. Even so the night dragged.
Not long after midnight, when Byren reached for more wood, he found their supply dangerously low. He tried not to stare into the flames and destroy his night vision while he rebuilt the fire, but he had to look at what he was doing.
'Byren?' Orrade whispered, waking from a doze.
'Who else?' he countered.
Orrade grinned weakly. 'How goes it?'
'Just building up the fire.'
'How's the wood holding out?'
Byren glanced to the depleted pile.
'That bad, eh?' Though Orrade could not see him, he seemed able to read Byren's silences. He lifted onto his elbow, then levered himself to a sitting position with obvious effort. Only the boulder at his back seemed to hold him up.
Byren rubbed his jaw, feeling the prickle of unshaven skin. 'I could venture out to gather more — '
'That would be madness.'
He was right.
'Then I'll bring the fire in closer.' Byren began adjusting the wood.
'You stand a better chance on your own,' Orrade said. 'Leave me.'
Byren didn't even bother to reply. He stretched what was left of their fuel in an arc and set it all alight. With the fire burning in a semi circle the wood would run out faster, but it meant he had a smaller area to defend. And, when the fire did burn out, the hot coals might slow the ulfrs.
Shading his eyes, Byren stared into the tree line. The leader was watching him again, waiting. The beast seemed to know he could afford to wait. Byren wished his bow was not at the bottom of the ravine.
'What do you see?' Orrade asked.
'Mangy, winter-starved ulfrs,' Byren lied. Taking the three spears across his knees, he crouched next to Orrade.
Time stretched.
'If I were truly brave I would roll off the edge and you could save yourself,' Orrade muttered, rising to his knees and crawling around the boulder, feeling with his hands for the lip of the ravine.
'Don't say that. Don't!' Byren jerked him back, holding him so tight he could feel Orrade's muscles trembling.
His friend protested and pulled away. The hollows under his high cheekbones starkly defined his grim face.
Byren felt frustrated, helpless. 'We're going to get out of this, Orrie.'
His friend nodded once, but it was clear he wasn't convinced.
For a long while they were silent and the fire burned on, while the wandering stars crawled with deliberate slowness across their allotted paths.
Eventually, Byren shifted, easing his muscles, preparing for the worst. The ulfrs had begun to close in, their eyes glowing beyond the fire's semi circle.
He lifted one of the good spears and picked his first target, the male that had nearly crept up on him before. The distance was too great for an average man to throw but Byren was not an average man. Silently, he thanked King Rolence the First, who had bequeathed his descendants with unusual height.
The ulfr watched him, watched his eyes, not the spear.
When Byren went to throw it crouched, presenting a smaller target. Sylion take it, the beasts were too clever.
Byren swallowed.
The massive pack leader padded out from the tree line, lifted its head to reveal white fur on its chest and gave voice to that dreaded howl. Fear prickled across Byren's skin.
The rest of the ulfrs echoed their leader.
In the moment that the first, smaller male was distracted, Byren threw his spear with all his strength and training. It took the beast high in the shoulder. The impact threw the ulfr off its feet as its howl became a whine of pain. The others ducked and whined as if in sympathy, slinking back to the trees.
'You got one!' Orrade struggled to his knees, adjusting the cloak.
'They'll attack again,' Byren warned. He crouched and felt for Orrade's shoulder, thrusting the makeshift spear into his hands. 'If any of them get past me, deal with them.'
'How? I won't know where they are until their jaws close on me!' Orrade's voice dropped and he tugged on Byren's arm drawing him closer still. 'I'm going to die but I don't care as long as you live. I want you to know that I love you. I've always loved you!' He smiled ruefully as if he could see Byren's startled expression. 'And you've only ever had eyes for my sister!'
'But… the girls we've shared — '
'Meant nothing.' Orrade reached into his vest and pulled out a chain. On the end swung the symbol of the archer. 'I have foresworn women just like Palos.' Palos was a semi-mythical warlord whose feats with the bow had not been matched since. He'd almost united Rolencia in a time before King Rolence. His exploits were legendary.
But it was the more recent return of Palos that people remembered. During the rule of Byren's grandfather, a group calling themselves the Servants of Palos had sought to overthrow King Byren the Fourth. Their treachery had weakened Rolencia, inviting invasion from Merofynia and ultimately to the deaths of Byren's grandfather and uncle. At barely eighteen Byren's father had become king and defeated the Merofynians. In the first years of his reign he hunted down the remaining Servants of Palos, executing every last one, no matter who they were.
'You can't be a Servant of Palos,' Byren protested. 'You're loyal to — '
'Of course I am. This has nothing to do with the Servants of Palos.'
'Then why wear that hated symbol?'
'Don't you see? Palos was a great warrior. His followers loved and respected him, even though he was a lover of men.' Orrade sat forwards, one hand reaching for Byren, who pulled back. 'Byren?'
He did not know what to say. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he made sure the ulfrs were not creeping up on them.
Orrade's hand dropped, his face bleak. 'You despise me.'
Byren stared. Orrade looked no different, but he was, and every moment they'd ever shared flashed through Byren's head, tainting their friendship. He fixed on the most recent thing. 'Why did you offer to come with me to hunt the lincis?'
'To keep you safe. The king's forest is a dangerous place, especially this close to midwinter.' Orrade shook his head. 'Then you went and saved me!'
And suddenly it didn't matter. He was still Orrade.
Byren frowned at the chain and its damning symbol, resting on Orrade's vest. 'You should take that bloody thing off and throw it away.'
'Pretend to be something I'm not?' Orrade countered, temper rising.
'If your father knew he would disown you!'
'I know. He never speaks my brother's name,' Orrade admitted.
When Lord Dovecote discovered his eldest son was a Servant of Palos, he had turned him over to the harsh justice of young King Rolen. 'But it doesn't matter now. I'm going to die and I cannot die with a lie on my lips.' His unseeing eyes searched for Byren. 'I — '
The heavy pad of fast approaching paws made Byren look up. An ulfr, large as a small pony, charged their position.
'Down.' He shoved Orrade flat, aimed and threw his last good spear in one movement. The beast staggered, skidding on its side in the snow. But another came in from the other direction.
Byren plucked the makeshift spear from Orrade's hands, wedged the end with his foot and took the impact of the beast's leap on the spear point, guiding it over them, out into the ravine. The ulfr's weight and momentum tore the spear from his hands, taking the weapon with it as it fell. The beast's whine of pain still hung on the air as Byren spun to face the rest of the pack, empty-handed but for his eating knife.
Across the remains of the flickering flames the pack leader gave voice to another howl. To Byren it sounded like an exultation of victory.
'Save yourself. I'll divert them,' Orrade urged, lurching to his feet. He shoved Byren to his knees and, blind and defenceless, stumbled through what was left of the fire, heading towards the ulfrs with a cry of challenge on his lips.
'No!' Byren sprang upright and charged after him, knowing he would be too late. Even as he ran an ulfr leapt for Orrade.
Thunk.
An arrow took it high in the ribs. The beast whined but still collided with Orrade, knocking him down.
Thunk… thunk. More arrows followed.
Stunned. Byren stared as arrows blossomed in grey-furred thighs and bellies. Beasts fell whimpering and yelping. Their leader stared at Byren and uttered a strange whine, and the rest turned tail, slinking into the trees, leaving at least six dead and the wounded trying to crawl after them.
'Orrade?' Byren ran to him, leaping over a dead ulfr.
Orrade was trying to roll out from under the body of the one that had brought him down. Byren dragged him clear.
'You still here, Byren? Thought I told you to run,' Orrade muttered. 'What happened?'
'I don't know. Halcyon sent help.'
'Byren? Orrade?' Garzik called, as he darted through the trunks, a hunting bow strung and notched with an arrow. Behind him came half a dozen warriors wearing the Dovecote crest, the feather and the sword. Unlike most of the lords, the thirty-year peace had not made Orrade's father disband his estate's defences.
'Garza!' Byren laughed. 'What're you doing here!'
Garzik grinned. Seeing no more targets he returned the arrow to the quiver and released the bowstring, slinging the bow over his shoulder. 'Hunting an ulfr pack that's been troubling our farms on the foothills.'
'The howls led us to you, Byren Kingson,' the old Dovecote captain explained as he approached.
'With not a moment to spare, Blackwing!' Byren confessed.
Garzik grinned. He was obviously Orrade's brother, with the same thin frame and wiry strength but, at fourteen, his cheeks were still rounded and showed no sign of sprouting a beard. 'Now, will you take me raiding with you, Byren?'
The captain caught Byren's eye, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
'Ask again this time next year,' Byren temporised.
Garzik went to argue, but the Dovecote captain overrode him, pointing to the estate's only remaining Affinity warder, old Wispowill, who was standing over a dead ulfr and making the signs. 'Go help the monk. He has to settle the ulfrs' Affinity, now that it's been released on their deaths. Then dispatch the wounded ulfrs, and retrieve the arrows.'
As Garzik went off, Captain Blackwing gestured to half a dozen warriors, boys like Garzik or men in their fifties and sixties. 'Look what I'm left with, babes or grandfathers. All the able young men have been lured away to the ports where trade with Merofynia and Ostron Isle has made the lucky ones rich as lords. What are you two doing here, Byren?'
'Long story. The ulfr pack got between us and the rest of my men.' That reminded Byren. 'Winterfall and the others are up at the village with the new tin mine. They expected us back tonight. If you take your men up that way the villagers will help you hunt out the pack and you can tell Winterfall we're safe. But beware the new seep.'
'Seep? That explains the ulfr pack. Wispowill can deal with a seep…' He broke off with a frown, as he spotted two fourteen-year-olds struggling with an ulfr carcass. 'Here, that's not the way to go about it!'
Byren watched him march off. They'd keep the skins, but the carcasses would be left for forest creatures to scavenge. No self-respecting person ate Affinity-touched meat.
While the others set to work skinning the beasts, Byren knelt next to Orrade. His hand slipped under his friend's vest to close over the symbol of Palos.
Orrade's hand caught his arm. 'Why…'
'I'm hiding it.' With a tug, Byren broke the chain, shoving the pendant into his pouch. 'You'll be stripped and cleaned for the healer.'
'How'd Orrie hurt his head?' Garzik said as he returned and dropped to his knees beside Byren. 'Was it raiders or beasts?'
'Nothing so exciting, a falling branch!' Orrade told him.
His brother's face fell.
Byren laughed. 'Help me get him home, Garza. But first, did you bring any food?'
'Of course — '
'Good,' Orrade muttered. 'I could do with a hot dinner.'
Byren grinned and stood up, hauling Orrade to his feet. His friend went to move, tripping over a dead ulfr. Garzik caught him, laughing. Then the laughter died on his lips, as Orrade's sightless eyes sought the source of his voice.
'Halcyon save us!' The boy turned to Byren. 'Orrie's blind!'
Hearing this, the Dovecote captain came over, his gaze going straight to Byren who lifted his hands helplessly.
'It was the blow to my head.' Orrade touched the lump behind his right ear gingerly. Below the hasty bandage, matted blood made his long black hair a tangled mess. 'When I came round I had a pounding headache and I couldn't see.'
Byren sought Blackwing's eyes, hoping the experienced campaigner could offer him some hope, but there was only sympathy in his gaze. Byren felt sick to his stomach.
Garzik's face went white. 'What will Father say?'
'He'll say he's glad his son's not dead!' Captain Blackwing told them. 'Then he'll call for his healer. Prepare some hot food, Garza.'
While the lad built a cooking fire, Blackwing took Byren aside. He glanced to the Dovecote brothers, who were crouched by the fire adding chunks of salted meat and spices to the pot. 'I can send a couple of men back with you — '
'You'll need every man you have until you get to the village. Garza and I can manage, we're heading away from danger.'
'Hmmm.' Blackwing considered this. 'We're not far from the Ridgetop Farm. They can loan you a horse and sled — '
'I can skate. I'm not useless.' Orrade raised his voice. 'If Byren leads me, I can skate.'
'Of course you can,' Byren said. He and Blackwing exchanged looks. 'Can we borrow skates from you?'
The canals followed the lie of the land, weaving through the valleys. In midwinter, they formed frozen roads between the major settlements.
'Certainly.' Blackwing studied Orrade, who had to feel around to find wood to feed the fire. The captain lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Are you sure you can manage, kingson?'
'We'll tie him between us.' Byren said. 'He'll be fine.'
And he was, for a while. They travelled overland, reaching Topaz Lake in the hour before dawn, and strapped on their skates. Fortunately for Byren, they were basic skates — a bladed sole, with straps — so he could tie them around his large boots. From Topaz they followed the shoreline, skating northeast to reach the canals, and wended their way south to Dovecote stronghold.
They were skating three across when Orrade lost his balance. He sprawled on his belly, taking them with him. They laughed and lay there panting on the ice which reflected the brilliant stars. Then Byren realised Orrade was the only one not laughing.
'You all right, Orrie?' he asked, scrambling over to him.
'Sorry.' His friend struggled to sit up. 'It's my head… thumping fit to burst.'
'Can you keep going?' Byren asked.
'Of course I can. I'd do anything for a warm bath and bed,' Orrade said, but his smile was strained.
Byren hauled him upright and they skated on.
The second time Orrade fell, skidding full length on the ice, Byren slewed his skates side-on and came to a stop before he was jerked off his feet. Garzik did likewise, looking to Byren.
'We can build a sled and pull him,' Byren answered his unspoken question.
When they bent to help Orrade, he reared up on his knees like a startled deer. 'Quick, off the canal. They're almost upon us!'
The panic in his voice made Byren spin around. He saw no one on the lake, but a bend obscured his view along the shore.
'Hide!' Orrade lunged, his movements taking him towards the bank by chance.
'What — ' Garzik began.
'Help him,' Byren urged.
They guided Orrade to the bank, but that wasn't enough. He began to climb it. 'We have to get out of sight, over the lip and lie in the snow.'
'Why?' Garzik muttered.
Then Byren heard the unmistakable, almost silent scissoring sound of many skate blades on ice. He ploughed up the slope, dragging Orrade with him. They rolled over the lip of the bank, lying flat on the snow with Garzik between them.
Peering over the lip, Byren watched a band of thirty silent, armed warriors surge around the bend. They were travelling so fast that they went past in a matter of heartbeats, which was lucky because the frantic scramble up the slope had left tracks that led right to where Byren and the others hid.
'Raiders, but which warlord sent them?' Garzik muttered in the silence left by their passage. 'Rejulas of Cockatrice Spar is closest, yet they did not wear cockatrice cloaks or carry his symbol.'
'True, and why would he send a raiding party over the pass into Rolencia's valley when he could attack the easier prey in the high villages?' Byren wondered aloud. There were other reasons why Rejulas would not attack which he could not share with his friends just yet. 'Why travel at night in total silence when a raid is meant to be noisy and frightening?'
'Because this is no ordinary raid?' Garzik guessed. 'I wonder where they were going?'
'Or coming from. This close to dawn they should be headed back over the Divide.' Byren whispered slowly. 'Orrie. What do you…'
He broke off. Garzik lifted onto his elbows as they both stared at Orrade's ominously still body.
'Orrie?' Byren rolled his friend onto his back and tore off his glove to check Orrade's pulse. It beat steadily under the pad of his fingers. 'Out cold again.'
'He saved our lives. They would have killed us quick as look at us,' Garzik whispered. 'How did he know they were coming?'
How indeed?
'Must have felt the vibration when he hit the ice,' Byren guessed.
Garzik nodded slowly, accepting this.
But Byren was not so sure. He feared Orrade's prescience was a by-product of the old seer's healing. Had his friend lost his sight only to gain Affinity sight?
Never trust untamed Affinity, the old saying came back to taunt him.
'Come on, Garza, I'll carry him on my back. He can't spend another night in the cold.' If they skated all day they'd reach Dovecote stronghold by early evening.
But Byren didn't need to carry him. Orrade recovered as Byren hauled him down the slope. Though groggy, he was able to skate, so they went on.
All day, as they passed gaps in the snow-shrouded evergreens, they caught glimpses of the distant warning tower, tallest of Dovecote's old stronghold towers. Built on the outcrop of a defensible ridge, Dovecote Keep protected the lands within a day's hard ride as well as the pass to Cockatrice Spar.
Anticipating the old lord and Elina's reaction, Byren was feeling the strain by the time they reached Doveton. Little more than a village, it was built at the base of the ridge next to a small lake which was linked by canals to the major lakes. Everyone had retired for the night. The Old Dove did not approve of drunkenness and loose morals so their one tavern was already closed. There was no locked gate to stop Byren entering the single main street. Unlike the fortified farmhouses this village did not have high walls and gates. The people expected to have enough warning to take shelter in Dovecote Keep.
'Doveton looks deserted. Half the houses have no lights in the windows,' Byren observed, slinging his borrowed skates over his shoulders.
'That's because most of the young people have gone to Rolenton and Port Marchand to make their fortunes,' Garzik said.
'And to get away from father's dour rule,' Orrade muttered. Now nearly eighty, the Old Dove had been a contemporary of King Byren the Fourth. He'd outlived two wives and four sons. All his hopes rested on his heir, Orrade. Byren felt the weight of this.
'Come on,' Orrade muttered. 'Might as well get this over with.'
Garzik looked to Byren but there was nothing he could say so they trudged up the slope towards the lights of New Dovecote. Old Dovecote had been built and added to over the three hundred years since King Rolence united the valley people. It was dark and draughty and the plumbing was terrible.
Since the peace with Merofynia the great lords had all built themselves modern residences and Lord Dovecote was no exception. New Dovecote sprawled on the ridge below the old stronghold. With its large windows, parquetry floors, gracious rooms and hot running water from cisterns on each floor, it was considered as fine as any Merofynian palace.
The original dovecote, which the estate had been named after, had been moved into the new great hall. Its ornate cage boasted doves bred for their beauty. Their frothy tails and plumes made them works of art. From New Dovecote's great hall double doors overlooked a terrace. On a fine day you could see Rolenhold. In pride of place two great royal foenix bronzes stood guard, one to each side of the doors. They'd been gifted to Lord Dovecote by King Byren the Fourth, in gratitude for his support quelling the spar warlords' uprising fifty years ago.
New Dovecote was not defensible but the old lord had maintained his original stronghold so that the family, their retainers and the townsfolk could all retreat to it if threatened.
Usually Byren would have gone around the back to the courtyard and entered through the kitchen. This place had been a second home to him while he was growing up. Tonight he headed straight for the double doors, too exhausted to delay. As they stepped onto the terrace he noticed the glow of a lamp in the window of Elina's ground-floor study. On second thoughts, he did not want to rouse the servants to answer the main doors. The commotion would drag the frail old lord out of bed and might trigger another brain spasm. Last spring the Old Dove had suffered a spasm which left one side of his face and his left arm useless. Elina could let them in and she would know how to handle her father.
'Wait here.' Byren went over to the window and peered in. There she was, poring over the papers spread across her cedar desk, imported from Ostron Isle. Either she was checking the estate's accounts, or she was writing the history of the last Merofynian War. Byren had no trouble admitting Elina's scholarship surpassed his.
Her midnight hair and moon-pale skin gleamed in the lamplight. She was beautiful, with her wide cheekbones and tilted black eyes, but it was her expression of intense concentration that made Byren smile. He pulled off his glove and tapped his nails on the nearest square pane.
Elina looked up, frowning, then smiled and pushed back her chair, running over to unlatch the window.
Byren stepped back as it swung open, then he stepped in towards her as a rush of warm air caressed his face.
'Byren? What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you until the midwinter ceremony.'
He smiled despite himself, then sobered. 'I've bad news, Lina. Orrie's been hurt.'
She glanced past him to her brothers standing on the terrace. The taller leaned on the shorter. 'He's walking. Can't be too bad. Come around to the stable yard door.'
Without giving Byren a chance to explain, she swung the window shut, latched it and ran off taking the lamp with her.
Byren returned to the others. 'Elina's going to let us in the stable yard door. Don't want to give your father a shock.'
Orrade and Garzik nodded. They went along the terrace which wrapped around the building. At the rear, modern stables had been built to house the Old Dove's prize horses. A much-used door opened from the house to the stable yards and it swung open now as Elina appeared with a lamp turned down low.
'Come in, quickly. I'll clean Orrie up and see if we need to wake the healer. Better come up to my chamber.'
She ushered them in, leading the way through the storage rooms and into the kitchen where half a dozen kitchen children, no older than ten, slept in a huddle in front of the ovens.
Lifting one finger to her lips she beckoned Byren and her brothers.
One child raised his head, a sleepy query on his lips.
'It's nothing, Rifkin, go back to sleep,' she told him.
Without waiting to see if Byren and the others followed, she slipped out of the kitchen and into the corridor which led to the public rooms.
This end of the building housed the library and music room, both Merofynian affectations. The family's bed chambers were on the floor above and servants slept in the attics. Elina headed straight for the private family stairs.
They had just reached the halfway landing when they met with the Old Dove coming down in his night shirt with a single candle.
'F-father,' Elina greeted him.