At some point the sled stopped moving. Byren was woken by the thump as the brigands released the shafts and it came to rest on the snow. They lit a fire, making camp for the night. The fire's heat barely reached the nearest side of him and he shivered with cold. The ulfr fur was pinned under him and gave no protection from the icy air.
His head felt a little clearer. Concentrating, he watched the brigands. There seemed to be no leader. Sveyto told them what to do and they did it… if they agreed. Right now they confronted Sveyto, shouting something about men going missing.
Byren tried to focus, counting five not eight men, so he hadn't been mistaken. He took hope.
'…all they had to do was follow the sled,' Sveyto said, voice hard and flat. 'If they lost the track that's their problem. Besides, a five-way split means all the more gold for us!'
Appeased with this cold logic, the others opened their provisions to heat food. The smell of onions and salted pork made Byren's stomach rumble and his mouth water.
'How about some food?' he called. He had to repeat it twice before they heard him.
Sveyto came over, chewing on some crackling. He took a bite, then held it under Byren's nose, moving it before Byren could get his teeth into it. 'Not so high and mighty now, eh, kingson?'
Byren studied him, as much as he could, with the fire at his back, Sveyto's face was in shadow. If they'd only let him up to pee, he might get away. He knew these foothills. 'I need to take a piss.'
'Too bad.'
'If I piss my pants my trews will freeze. Without a blanket I'll be dead of cold by morning.'
Sveyto considered this, then called over two of the brigands, the same burly ones who had manhandled him down the slope to the sled. They complained as they left the fire circle.
His eyes on the other two, Byren didn't notice what Sveyto was doing, until the sell-sword lunged in and the knife plunged into his belly. He gave a grunt of pain.
'There. You won't be running far with that.'
'It'll kill him,' one of the brigands protested.
'In a few days,' Sveyto replied, untroubled. 'By then he'll belong to the Merofynians. If they want him alive, they can set their mystic healers on him. Help him up.'
Stiff with cold and bent double with pain, Byren hung between the two brigands, weak as a day-old kitten. Blood ran down his legs as they propped him up to pee. Nothing came out.
Soon, he was back on the sled, arms tied above his head. A blanket was thrown over him, right over his face. He was as good as dead.
Yet his mind still raced, refusing to give up hope. Through the smelly, coarse weave of the blanket, he could just make out the glow of the campfire and the silhouettes of the remaining five brigands.
He hated them. Hated everything they represented, unbridled greed and cruelty. This was why King Rolence the First had taken the valley, to impose law on lawless men. This was why he and Lence had ridden the Divide, stamping out brigand nests and putting down rogue Affinity beasts.
If he had the chance, he would throttle Sveyto. Just let them free him from this sled. Even with his arms bound at the wrists, his hands were big enough to circle the sell-sword's neck and choke the life from him.
But for now, he was a captive with a belly wound that leaked his blood and body warmth into the night. What if Sveyto had miscalculated and he froze to death?
The Merofynians would probably pay up either way.
The rage evaporated, leaving him feeling light-headed and thirsty. He called for water, but they didn't hear him, or else were ignoring him.
He must have slept, or passed out, because he woke to shouts, then screams. The fire had died down. He could see nothing but a dull blur of dark bodies against the snow-shrouded pine trees.
Hope animated him.
His rescuers must have picked off Sveyto's brigands and bided their time, until the watch dozed. He would congratulate their leader and thank Veniamyn.
Someone yelped. He hoped his rescuers didn't pay too dearly for saving him. Especially if they couldn't get him to a healer in time.
The fighting ceased.
Silence stretched. He flexed his arms and legs, trying to regain circulation. His numb fingers tingled painfully. The blanket twitched, then slid down and across his body. Cold air hit his face. He blinked and sneezed. The sneeze tore at his stomach and he groaned, panting his way through the pain.
Something damp touched his temple. He inhaled, smelling…
Ulfr?
His eyes flew open. At least five silky-furred Affinity beasts stood around the sled where he lay prone.
Byren tensed, expecting to be torn to shreds before his next breath.
Nothing happened.
Something damp and warm nuzzled his face. Hot ulfr breath huffed over his cold cheeks. Byren opened his eyes to look into the silvery depths of the pack leader's own eyes.
Too stunned to speak, he could only gasp as the ulfr nudged him, as though urging him to get up.
'Can't,' Byren grunted, jerking his arms and ankles. 'Tied down.'
And, amazingly, the beast moved to where his hands were tied above his head, fixed to the frame. He felt tugs, then, as sensation returned, hot breath and soft fur on his fingers.
Once his hands were free, the beast moved to his legs, performing the same service on those leather straps. Its razor-sharp teeth chewed through the bindings in a heartbeat.
Byren tried to sit up, but couldn't. Tried to roll to one side and fell off the sled onto the snow. He huddled there, panting. So thirsty. He scooped snow into his mouth and sucked on it, knowing it was the wrong thing to do. He was already losing too much body heat.
The ulfr nuzzled him again.
With great effort, he lifted his head, coming as far as his knees. 'I don't know why you're doing this, or even how you know to do it…' His vision blurred. He'd lost too much blood. 'But I'm spent. I can't go on.'
The ulfr didn't believe him. Its solid shoulders nudged him. He fell into the snow on his hands and knees. Another beast nudged him from the other side. Like dogs herding sheep, the ulfr drove him to crawl.
When he paused to gain his breath they waited. If he took too long, they nipped him, not enough to damage, but enough to sting.
At first he was so amazed he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Orrade would never believe this.
Then exhaustion made everything dull and grey. What was the point? Without a healer he'd die.
All he could do was move in the direction the ulfrs drove him. Hands numb, knees numb, blinded by pain.
When he fell over the lip of a rise, into a dip, tumbling down through the drift of deep snow, he didn't try to save himself. He went with the fall.
This was it. He could go no further. All he wanted to do was sleep.
Bleeding in the snow.
Even now, some mad part of his mind refused to give in. And he tunnelled down into the snow drift, trying to make a rudimentary snow-cave. But before he could, he felt the silky-shaggy heat of an ulfr at his back, then another at his side, then another and another, until he was surrounded by the pack.
And they started that whining vibration, with each breath, the same song they had used when the bitch whelped. He wasn't cold any more. Soon he wasn't in pain. Soon he drifted, soothed and sated.
If only he'd had time to tell Orrade how much he regretted that crack about Lence. How could he compare Orrie, who'd never done anything but protect his back and stand at his side, with his belligerent twin brother?
Byren dozed, feeling warm and safe, even as his lifeblood seeped away.
He found himself walking the corridors of New Dovecote House, looking for Elina. In the great hall, he saw the fierce Old Dove himself, feeding his prize doves. Odd, the creatures weren't caged. They flew around the hall, each bird a work of art, all frothy feathers and soft cooing.
Of course – realisation came to Byren with a surge of wonder and joy – this was Halcyon's Sacred Heart, where the righteous waited in peace for their loved ones to join them. He must be close to death, to find himself here.
'Where's Elina?' Byren asked.
Lord Dovecote indicated the far door. He seemed to have forgotten that he'd cursed Byren and banned him from setting foot on his estate. Since Byren was innocent of the crime he'd been accused of, this was only fair, and he silently thanked Halcyon.
Byren found Elina in the library, of course, legs tucked under her as she read a history of Rolencia. No, it was a book on law.
She looked up at him. 'You know, Father could have named me his heir, even though he had another son in Garzik.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Not that it matters, now I'm dead.'
He wanted to deny the harsh truth. She was just as he remembered, slightly astringent, sharp-eyed with a dash of wry humour. How could he go on living without her?
He wouldn't have to.
Dropping to his knees, Byren knelt by her chair and took the book from her. 'I left it too late. I knew Lence was flawed, but I didn't want to admit it. His boasting, his need for praise, the way he used the girls who threw themselves at us. The way he spoke of you…' He touched Elina's cheek. Her features were the female version of Orrade's, softer and riper. Illuminated by her love for him, she glowed with an inner beauty.
When he leant close to kiss her, she let him. Her lips were warm and soft on his. Inviting.
'I'm dying,' he whispered. 'We'll be together soon. Halcyon will see to that.'
'No.' She pushed him away. 'You still have things to do. You can't let Palatyne win. Think of Rolencia, think of your duty!'
Duty? He was so tired. 'How much blood do I have to shed before Rolencia lets me rest?'
But she only shook her head, fixing him with fine imperious eyes. For a moment it seemed she wasn't Elina at all, but something grander and more formidable.
And he recalled his bargain with the goddess Halcyon. He'd pleaded with her to let him reach his family in time to warn them, promising to dedicate his life to her service. But she hadn't. His family were all dead. And this…
Was nothing but the illusion of dying delirium. The revelation hit him with a certainty that went bone-deep. He'd never given much thought to the gods and goddesses, preferring to let the monks and nuns court them instead.
Now it came to him that Affinity was just a tool like fire or steel, turned to good or evil depending on the user. Suddenly, his world was a much harsher place without the buffer of Halcyon's benevolence.
He focused on Elina's face. 'There is no goddess. Life is all we have…'
'Then live it,' she told him. 'Go.'
A roaring like a great wind filled his ears as he was sucked out of the chamber, out of New Dovecote House, to hover high over the Rolencian valley.
And there he drifted, watching starlight bathe the snowy fields and frozen lakes. It was so beautiful and it was his home, even without his family.
Forget the goddess, Elina was right. He owed this land his service.
Pity he was going to bleed to death in the snow, failing Rolencia and himself.
Byren woke to find Orrade kneeling over him. Mid-morning sunlight filled the hollow, amplified by the brilliant white snow, so that they were bathed in a glare almost too bright to bear. Other than Orrade, he was alone. The ulfr pack must have moved on, as they had the last time. Either that or he was hallucinating that he'd passed over into Halcyon's Sacred Heart and it was his fate to hunt the high country until all those he loved had died and joined him.
'What, you dead too?' Byren croaked, throat so dry it felt cracked.
'Idiot,' Orrade told him fondly.
Byren frowned. 'You're here, really here? I'm not hallucinating? How did you find me?'
'Another of those damned visions. I've been travelling non-stop for three days, praying to Halcyon I wouldn't be too late.' He blinked back tears. 'Sylion's luck, Byren. When I found you, I thought you were dead, you lay so still.'
'I am dying. Stomach wound.' As he moved his hand from the wound, he heard his friend hiss in consternation.
'So much blood.'
When Byren tried to focus on Orrade's face, the glare defeated him. But Byren didn't need to see him to sense his friend's fiercely protective nature.
What would it have cost him to acknowledge Orrade's unwanted love? He'd been furious because it complicated their friendship. He'd been selfish. This was his last chance. 'I'm sorry, Orrie. I didn't deserve you. Kiss me before I go.'
'Kiss you?' His friend snorted. 'Not when you stink like a day-old ulfr carcass.' Then he denied his own words, pressing his lips to Byren's. His were hot, as were his tears and the puff of his breath on Byren's face.
It was a kiss of love that demanded nothing and gave everything. Orrade pulled back. 'Now, let's get you out of this stinking seep.'
'Seep?' Byren blinked.
But Orrade had already sprung to his feet. 'Florin, over here!'
'Florin?' A protest died on his lips. He'd thought they were alone. 'Florin's here?' The daughter of Old Man Narrows, from Narrowneck tradepost, she'd helped them kill the manticore pack. Last time he'd seen her, she'd come to Rolenhold to report the Merofynian invasion. Cobalt had denied her. Byren tried to sit up and failed.
'Wait. You'll injure yourself. Wait for Florin.' Orrade dropped to his knees again. 'She insisted on coming with me. And just as well, she knows these foothills like the back of her hand. Her nan's cottage is not far from here. We'll take you there.'
Byren wanted to ask more, but he was exhausted. He must have passed out because, when he came around, he was lying on his back, strung between two stout poles, pines passing him, their tips spearing high into the clear, ice-blue sky.
It was all a dream. He was still on the sled, being dragged by the brigands.
No, because that person carrying the end of the poles was no brigand.
'Florin?' His parched mouth hardly formed the word.
She smiled and called. 'He's awake, Orrie.'
They lowered the makeshift stretcher and knelt next to him. 'How d'you feel?'
'Thirsty.'
Orrade glanced to Florin, then back to him. 'Can't give you a drink, not with a stomach wound.'
Byren grimaced and tried to swallow. His throat scraped. 'Water.'
Eyes closed in pain, he felt something press to his lips, opened his mouth and… blessed liquid settled on his tongue. He swallowed, tasting watered wine.
'Not too much.' Florin pulled it away too soon.
'What happened? Was there a fight?' Orrade asked.
Byren licked his lips. 'Brigands. They were going to turn me over to the Merofynians for a bag of gold. Stabbed me, so I couldn't run. Said the mystic healers could save me. But the ulfr pack came and killed them. Saved me.'
'He's delirious,' Florin whispered.
Byren wanted to object, but even that required too much effort. He was vaguely aware of the sled moving again.
Next time he woke it was late and they were manoeuvring inside a hill-crofter's cottage. He smelt barley broth and goats.
An old woman, Florin's nan, fussed over him as he was lifted onto her kitchen table. Meanwhile, a boy's high-pitched voice demanded to know what was going on. Leif, Florin's little brother. He struggled to open his eyes.
'We're at Florin's nan's,' Orrade told him, unnecessarily. 'She's a herbal healer. Hold on.'
Byren nodded. They'd do their best but he needed more than a herbalist. If his blood loss was anything to go by, he needed the touch of a great mystic. 'Thirsty.'
'Soon.'
Lamps were lit, water heated, cloth torn and herbs crumbled into hot water. He smelt the astringent, piney aroma of rosemary.
'Florin, take him outside,' the old woman ordered.
Who? Oh, the boy. Leif protested. The adults ignored him.
'But I can help you, Nan,' Florin insisted.
'I won't leave him,' Orrade said with quiet certainty.
Byren forced his eyes open in time to see the old woman send Florin and her little brother off with a nod.
Then Florin's nan turned to him. Gingerly, she cut away the material covering his wound, peeling it back from his skin. Blood had made it stick. His pants felt stiff with dried, caked blood.
She made tut-tutting sounds under her breath as she worked, passing each piece of ruined clothing to Orrade. 'Burn it. He smells like a day old ulfr carcass.'
'That's what I told him.' A laugh edged Orrade's voice, but underneath it Byren could hear fear.
As the old woman worked, Byren wished he could lift his head to see the extent of the wound, but he couldn't do more than watch her and Orrade as they stood beside the table.
Once his chest was bare, her fingers fumbled with the laces on his breeches. Byren was overcome with an urge to hide himself from Orrade, something he would never have thought of. It was absurd, considering the girls they'd shared.
Luckily, the old woman peeled back his pants only enough to reveal the wound low on his belly. Then she took a warm cloth, dipped in herbal water to sponge him clean. He ached with deep pain, but there was no sharp stinging sensation. In fact, the cleansing felt soothing.
The woman gave a soft hiss of surprise as the wound became clear. 'When did you say this happened?'
'Last night,' Byren answered. 'They did it to stop me running. How… how bad is it?'
The old woman exchanged looks with Orrade, both appeared stunned, so it had to be bad. Perhaps that was why he felt no fresh pain. He was beyond help.
Wordlessly, the old woman took Byren's hand and placed it on his belly. Gingerly, he felt smooth skin and a ridge of scar tissue.
No, that wasn't right. He tried to sit up, grunting with pain. Orrade helped him, supporting his weight. Byren starred at the fresh pink scar on his belly. 'It – it -'
'Looks a week old, not a day.' The old woman washed her hands and turned to them. 'I'm no fool, boys, don't insult me with lies. Orrie, you and Florin came rushing through here late last night, in a mad hurry to reach the kingson. You described where you would find him and I told you how to get there. You'd had a vision.'
Orrade nodded slowly. 'I never had them before this midwinter, but I took a blow to the head and I've been -'
'It's my fault,' Byren revealed. 'Orrie nearly died. He would have died. There was clear fluid coming from his ears and eyes,' He reached up to clasp Orrade's hand where it supported him and met his eyes. 'I never told you, I'm sorry. I couldn't bear to let you go. An old woman came by. Even without a scrap of Affinity I could tell she reeked of it. I begged her to save your life. She said she could, but you would never be the same. I told her go ahead. I couldn't let you die and she did save you, only you were blind…'
Orrade swallowed audibly. 'The blindness passed. But the headaches, they come on me whenever I have a vision. Sylion's luck, Byren, I'll have to leave Rolencia. Your father -'
'My father's dead.' He squeezed Orrade's arm. 'And I say stay.'
'And so you should. You're the pot calling the kettle black.' The old woman's voice was sharp. 'You've healed yourself of a mortal wound, Byren Kingson. That's a mighty useful kind of Affinity.'
'I don't know anything about healing,' Byren protested. 'I couldn't -'
'I found him in a seep,' Orrade confessed. 'Could that have done it?'
'Affinity is untamed power.' The old woman shrugged. 'It has to be guided.'
'The ulfr pack,' Byren whispered.
Both turned to him.
Byren frowned as everything fell into place. 'Look on my back, up here.' He gestured and Orrade helped hold him forwards while they lifted his shirt away to study his ribs.
'A new scar,' Orrade muttered.
'Looks old,' the woman said.
'No, Orrie's right. It's new since he saw me seven days ago, yet it looks old.'
'What's this got to do with an ulfr pack?' Orrade asked.
'I was bleeding from that wound. It had pierced my lung. Thought it was only a matter of time. Plus I was being hunted by Merofynians and the ulfr pack. I took shelter in a seep. I'd no choice. My only hope was that the ulfrs would prefer the seep's Affinity to me. They did. They lay down around me… Eh, Orrie, I thought of you as I lay there, surrounded by Affinity beasts, warmed by them. One of the bitches whelped a cub. The pack did something to help her, they whined and made a strange vibrating sound, deep in their chests. It was a bit like a cat purring.'
Byren shook his head in wonder and worked his tongue in his dry mouth. The old woman offered him a sip of watered wine. He swallowed and nodded his thanks.
'And this time?' Orrade prodded.
'This time the brigands had me and the ulfrs…' Byren hesitated, not sure even now if he could believe it. 'They came after me. They took down the men. I didn't see it. They'd thrown a blanket over my face. When the blanket was pulled off me, I was surrounded by ulfrs. The leader chewed through my bonds, led me to the seep. They all stretched out with me and began that odd whining-purr again.'
'Well…' Orrade said. 'That explains the stench.'
Byren barked a laugh that ended abruptly.
Silence stretched. A log fell in the fireplace, sending spiralling ash up the chimney.
'I've never -' Orrade began.
'You would if you'd heard the old tales,' Florin's nan snapped as she dried her hands. 'After his da and brother were killed by Merofynian Power-workers, King Rolen turned his back on everything to do with Affinity. He banned Affinity unless it served the abbeys, but that's like banning sunshine, unless it falls on the king's castle. Affinity rises where it will.'
Byren caught her wiry old hand. 'You can't tell anyone. I'll be hounded out of Rolencia.'
She studied him. 'Thirty years ago your father decreed all those with Affinity had to serve the abbeys or leave. But before that, for as long as there have been people living in Halcyon's rich valley, those with Affinity served their family and friends. They healed, they had visions of raids and sent out warnings…' She gave him a gap-toothed smile. 'And when King Rolen sent out his decree, they paid him lip service, because he was their king, but they kept to their old ways, especially here in the high country. You can't change the way things really are with a royal decree. We knew it would pass. Why, your very own grandfather, King Byren the Fourth, he had Affinity.'
Byren blinked.
'Why do you think he collected Affinity beasts?' she asked. 'You take after him, I'll warrant.'
'But I was tested at six like everyone else. I'm completely normal.'
She lifted one eyebrow. 'You hid in an Affinity seep, surrounded by ulfrs -'
'Can we come in now?' Florin's plaintive voice called. 'It's awful cold out here, Nan.'
The old woman sent Byren and Orrade a wry look. 'I'll say no more. But you think on what I've said.' She raised her voice. 'Hold your horses, lass. Don't want to make you blush. We'll just get him into bed.'
Businesslike, she finished stripping Byren, bathed the blood from his body and gave him one of her dead husband's night-shirts. It only came to mid-thigh on him.
As Orrade helped him into the tiny bedroom, which was behind the chimney, Byren grimaced. 'I might be healed, but every step I take tugs on my stomach muscles.'
'You can't expect miracles,' Orrade muttered, then laughed. And Byren joined him, because it was a miracle, an Affinity-induced miracle. But even laughing hurt.
Byren stretched out carefully, letting Orrade tuck him in as if he was a child. He caught his friend's arm. 'Thank you.'
'Rest for a day or two, then we'll take you back to my camp. Remember when Dovecote fell and you headed off to the abbey? I led the servants and villagers up into the foothills of the Dividing Mountains. Well, we…'
But Orrade's voice was already fading. Byren squeezed his hand. He thought he felt lips brush his forehead as he fell asleep and annoyance flared through him. Must tell Orrade not to touch him like that. It would give people the wrong idea.