The King

mother's surprised delight made him smile. As a king's daughter from Merofynia, she had given up much to marry his father for the sake of peace. For their twenty-first wedding anniversary this spring cusp, they planned a grand Jubilee. He'd wanted to give them a special gift. Even better, lincurium were so rare that there was no chance Lence could get his hands on anything to equal the stones!

'You all right, Byren?' Orrade asked.

'Never better.' Byren straightened up, containing his excitement.

'We're ready, Byren Kingson,' Winterfall reported.

'Good.' He glanced to the sky then went down to join his men. 'Nearly dark, but there'll be no clouds tonight. If you leave now and walk by starlight you'll reach the village come midnight. Orrie and I will be right behind you. We'll bring the lincis in. Tell the headcouple no one is to come this way until the seep's been contained. They'll have to send for at least one pair of sorbt stones and another warder. The healer can advise them.'

Winterfall nodded. 'Chandler can manage on his own. With four to carry the stretcher and one to spell them we'll make good time. Are you sure you want to bring the lincis now? We can come back for it.'

'If we leave the body scavengers might get it and I've a hankering for a lincis fur coat,' Byren said, deciding he might just have one made up for Lence. It was the sort of finery that would appeal to his twin.

Winterfall nodded, then turned to the others. 'Right. If you want a hot meal and a warm bed tonight, get your backs into it.'

As they lifted the stretcher Hedgerow groaned and Byren wondered how long before he began haranguing them. Chandler picked up his spear to use as a staff. Winterfall took the rest of the spears, leaving two for Byren and Orrade to string the lincis from.

Orrade said nothing until they were out of hearing beyond the rim, then he swung around to face Byren.

'A hankering for a lincis coat?' He snorted, thin face animated. 'What are you up to?'

Byren grinned. 'This way.'

Orrade followed him back up the slope to the lightning-blasted tree. Byren pointed to the scratch marks.

Orrade frowned. 'Could it be…'

'It is. Lincis bury their territory markers so that only their own kind can sense them,' Byren whispered. 'Then they mark the surrounding trees like this. That's why the beastie attacked.'

Orrade nodded slowly. 'I don't see why you didn't say something when you first spotted the signs. We had the others to back us up then.'

'Because I don't want Lence to hear about it.'

Orrade said nothing.

Byren grinned.

'No good will come of baiting Lence, Byren.'

He laughed, leant his bow against the far side of the tree and dropped to his knees in the snow.

Orrade leant against the trunk, arms folded across his chest. 'Do you really intend to bring the lincis back with us? It'll be a struggle. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.'

Byren didn't answer, intent on digging. He used his hunting knife, the blade as long as his forearm, to break the crust and loosen the snow. Then he gripped the fingertips of his right glove in his teeth and tore it off, plunging his hand into the snow to feel for the hard, round lincurium.

'Any luck?' Orrade asked.

The cold burnt his fingers but he persevered, searching partly by touch, partly by sight in the rapidly fading light.

'Ha!' He pulled up three stones, one large and two smaller. Turning his hand over, he brushed snow off their glistening red-gold surface. Byren wanted nothing more than to light a fire and hold them to the flame to see if these were the finest winter-crystallines.

Orrade whistled softly, dropping to his haunches. 'Three lincurium. What a haul!'

'I'll get the two smaller ones set on matching rings for my parents. As for the larger…' Byren visualised it set on a simple chain. It would make an exquisite pendant. Exactly the right gift for his brother's betrothed. What would she be like, this daughter of the cunning Merofynian king, who had usurped his mother's brother? As cunning as her father, no doubt. As his old nurse would say, the apple never falls far from the tree.

Poor Lence, forced to marry -

'Byren,' Orrade warned softly.

A low growl sounded behind him. It was so deep it seemed to vibrate through Byren's body, setting his teeth on edge. He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of a juvenile lincis. It stood over the body of its mother. Not much smaller than her, it was probably due to strike out on its own come spring.

Kneeling in the snow like this, Byren felt vulnerable but he was not afraid. Two full-grown men could frighten off a lone, inexperienced lincis. If only he had collected the spears before heading back to the tree. The lincis was between him and the weapons.

Orrade came to his full height. Moving smoothly so as not to startle the beast, he slid his bow from his back and bent to string it.

Shoving the stones into his belt pouch, Byren went to rise, turning to face the lincis at the same time. One snow shoe twisted, obstructing the other. Heart thudding, he struggled to free the snow shoe, snapping the thongs that held his right boot in place. Standing at last, he glanced up to check on the beast.

About two body lengths down the slope, the lincis confronted them, hackles raised. Oh, but it was a beauty. The silvery fur made it hard to see against the twilit snow. Lence would have killed it for its coat alone, but Byren was content with the stones.

Unfortunately the lincis was not. A low, warning rumble came from deep in its chest, making its muzzle pull back from its teeth.

Byren swore softly. Too late to put the lincurium back, too late to climb a tree, too late to do anything but bluff.

With the speed and economy of long practice, Orrade stepped in front of Byren, reaching behind his shoulder for an arrow. His arm hit one of the dead tree's low-hanging branches, triggering a fall of snow and a terrible screech as if the dead tree itself was protesting. Before Byren could yell a warning, a large branch split from the trunk. Byren watched it swing for Orrade, gathering momentum as it fell, striking the back of his head below his right ear with a sickening crunch. His friend toppled into the snow, pinned under the branch between Byren and the beast.

The lincis sprang back startled by the noise, but it grew bold when it smelt the fresh blood from Orrade's head wound.

Byren's mouth went dry with fear.

Instinct told him if he lowered his guard to collect his bow and string it the lincis would attack Orrade, so he raised his hunting knife, eyeing the beast. The knife was an in-close weapon. No one in their right mind would tackle a lincis with only a hunting knife but all he wanted to do was scare it.

He leaped over Orrade and the fallen branch, roaring.

It might have been enough but, as he landed, his right boot, with no snow shoe to cushion it, went through the crust. Combined weight and momentum drove his leg down into thigh-deep snow, toppling him sideways. Hard to look menacing, when his head was level with the beast's. At least he was between it and his unconscious friend.

Desperate, he shoved his right hand out to lever himself up, only his hand went through the fractured crust plunging his arm deep into the snow. His right cheek stung as it slammed into the ice crystals. Rearing up, he twisted about trying to get purchase.

Meanwhile, the lincis padded back and forth a little more than a body length from him, broad paws barely denting the snow's crust, as it prepared to attack.

Stupid! In a heartbeat the lincis would be on him, going for his throat and then Orrade would freeze to death, if the seep didn't attract some other beast to make a meal of him.

Taking the knife blade between his teeth, Byren lurched back, trying to scramble out of the hole he'd dug with his thrashing.

The beast yelped.

Byren looked up, startled, then stopped struggling to gape. The knife dropped from his mouth.

An old woman, draped in straggling furs, clipped the lincis over the nose with the end of her staff as if it was