cough. More blood, little bright red rubies scattered on the snow. He had to take shorter and shorter breaths. Time was running out.
All warriors faced death. It did not worry him.
To die dishonoured in his family's eyes, now that was a cruel fate.
There was no time to make a proper snow-cave. He intended to stretch out on his back and drag snow across his body. He hoped the ulfr-fur cloak would protect him from the cold and the seep from the Affinity beasts. Instinct screamed at him to curl into a ball, but he needed to be covered.
A strange, querulous bark alerted him. He froze in a half-crouch and stared up the slope. Silhouetted against the sullen, snow-laden clouds was an adolescent ulfr. A great ruff of silver fur sat across its broad shoulders. Its legs looked too long for its body, as it was not yet fully grown. And, from the way it tilted its head, intelligent winter sky-blue eyes studying him, it was confused by his presence.
Another ulfr joined the first. Byren recognised the clever pack leader from the night he had held them off over Orrade's unconscious body. His gut clenched, expecting the male to give one of its eerily intelligent yelps as it sent its warrior ulfrs to attack him but, like the adolescent, the pack leader hesitated.
Remembering the two birds, Byren forced all wariness and aggression from his stance. Dropping into the snow, he began to roll about as the birds had done, uttering happy crooning sounds. For a heartbeat he wondered if this was what Dinni would have done if she had been allowed to follow her instincts.
But, even as he rolled about wallowing in the seep, he watched the gathering ulfrs. Before long, they lined the rim of the hollow. It had been a tough winter with constant harassment from humans. There were only five large males left, three females and four adolescents.
His heart pounded, tugging at the wound in his side. His breath rasped in his chest as he gulped for air. Either they would tear him to shreds, or they would accept him as another Affinity beast.
With a warning growl, the pack leader trotted down the slope towards Byren. Recalling the way the castle's hunting dogs deferred to their leader, Byren rolled over onto his back and presented his vulnerable belly. The ulfr stood over him, large head and ruff almost blocking out the sky.
In that instant, Byren believed the ulfr would kill him, before the wound could. He closed his eyes and called on Halcyon herself. It was past midwinter so the goddess of the earth and growing things was in ascension. But he called on her because he loved Rolencia and she was the goddess of love.
Let me live long enough to reach my family, he pleaded. Let me live long enough to warn them of Merofynia's treachery. Do this and I will… what? His ancestor had dedicated Halcyon Abbey to thank the goddess for his victory. He had never been particularly religious, preferring to handle things with the strength of his body and the force of his will, rather than call on the gods. But this time…
Do this, and once Rolencia is safe, I will dedicate my life to serving you.
There — he could offer no more.
All resistance left him as he gave himself up to Halcyon's care. The ulfr's hot breath fanned his face, welcome warmth, despite his instinctive reaction to the smell of death. Run, the primitive part of his mind screamed. Play along, his logical mind told him. So he did.
The ulfr sniffed him. The pack leader had to be aware that he was human and injured, but being drenched in the seep's power must have been enough to make him acceptable, because the Affinity beast, servant of the goddess, lifted its head and gave a distinctive howl.
Then it stepped back to roll in the seep, throwing up spirals of powdery snow. The other pack members padded down into the hollow and rolled about, nipping playfully if a youngster infringed on an adult's space. After a time they settled down to sleep and set up a soft whining, almost singing, that was just on the edge of Byren's hearing.
It made his head ring and seemed to fill his mind so that he had trouble remembering who he was, or even that he was lying with this winter's most notorious ulfr pack.
Warmed by the combined heat of the pack, his shivering stopped. He lost all sense of time. The heat and the sense of acceptance was so powerful that he let himself drift, taking short, quick breaths to fill what little space was left in his blood-filled lungs. All he could do was lie there as waves of weariness swept over him.
He did not know whether the goddess had heard his plea, or whether his ploy had convinced the ulfrs to accept him, but it seemed he would live long enough for the wound to kill him.
He should get up now while they were relaxed and slip away, but he knew he would not get far. Any movement would trigger coughing and one of these coughing fits would be his last. An adolescent gave a soft bark in its sleep and shifted so that its jaw rested on Byren's chest. He lifted his hand and let his fingers sink into the beast's thick shoulder ruff. So soft, so warm and silky.
He felt honoured to be accepted. Pity he would not live long enough to tell anyone about this. How Orrade would shake his head in disbelief, then his thin face would light up with wonder.
Or would he turn away?
Pain curled through Byren. He should never have compared Orrade to Lence. Despite Cobalt's threat to expose Orrade as a lover of men, his friend had remained loyal to Byren. Unlike Lence. His twin had only been too ready to believe Cobalt's half-truths. It stung to discover how easily Lence had been swayed. No wonder Orrade was furious with him. Shame filled Byren.
He wasn't in pain but it hurt to think he would die before he could apologise to Orrade. Before he could prove his loyalty to his father. The king would live on, grieving, believing his second son had betrayed Rolencia. An ache that was not physical curled through Byren, making his throat tight and his breath catch.
The ulfr at his side gave a whimper of pain as if in sympathy with him, and he felt the other pack members shift. When another whimper followed the first, Byren understood what was happening. He had watched his prized hunting bitches whelp enough times to recognise the sounds of birth.
Carefully, he lifted his hand and rested it on the female beside him. He could feel her belly tighten like a drum as her womb contracted. The power of the seep must have brought on the birth, for usually the cubs were born in the spring and spring cusp was still a little way off.
Sprawled on his back, surrounded by ulfrs, Byren watched the pack leader take up a protective stance over the whelping female. For his hunting dogs the process was usually quick and the ulfr was no exception. Byren felt the whole pack ride the contractions with her, their whining song rising in pitch with the peak of each pain. The sound triggered a vibration through the pack's chests, a vibration of attunement. It relaxed Byren's aching chest and, with this relaxation, he found his breath came more easily.
Three more contractions and the female gave a grunt of satisfaction as she expelled the pup. It rushed out in a hot, wet slither of sound. The female wriggled around to nose the newborn and lick its snout. After a moment it whimpered, and Byren heard the distinctive snuffling as it searched for its mother's nipple. The rest of the pack nuzzled closer. The pack leader drove them back and the male shared the afterbirth with the female.
As they shifted, Byren risked lifting his head to take a quick look. The mother had licked the pup clean but its fur had not dried yet. The pup had, however, settled in place attached to one of her nipples. The pack leader watched it proudly, for all the world like a human father. And, unlike his hunting hounds, there was only one pup.
Byren felt stunned and privileged as the pack settled down, still whining softly in unison, the vibration travelling through them as if they were one great animal. He lay back and concentrated on breathing, which was not so hard now. It seemed he would last out the night. If only he could live long enough to reach Rolenhold. He willed his wound to mend. There was still so much he had to do.
Finally, he slept, warm and safe in the ulfr pack. And he dreamed he was back home in Rolenhold, visiting his mother in the solarium, only he was a child and she wept because they'd just tested little Fyn and found he had Affinity. They were preparing to take him away. Byren remembered his impotent fury. How, at ten, he had volunteered to ride across Rolencia to rescue his little brother from the monks. How he had been filled with the conviction that his father's law was wrong. Strange… why had he forgotten this?
In his dream, which he now realised was really a hidden memory, his mother placed her hand on his forehead and whispered, 'Don't, Byren! Obey your father in this, or I will lose you too.' And, as she spoke, she seemed to siphon off his roiling emotions, so that he was left feeling calmer, if not happy. And he understood why he had forgotten the moment.
He was woken by a whistle that imitated a bird call, only Byren knew that this particular bird would not be out of hibernation until after spring cusp. The sound echoed across the seep. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he
