'What if the ulfr pack gets Miron, too?'
There was danger and little Rodien was no fool, so Byren chose his words carefully. 'Miron's a clever boy. And he's big and strong. He should have reached Rolenton and be on his way back by now. He'll find other travellers and stay with them. He'll be safe.'
Byren felt Rodien nod and snuggle closer. In no time at all the little boy's body went limp with sleep. Byren knew he should sleep too, but his mind wandered. Until now, he had ignored how the leader of the ulfr pack sniffed his hand and moved on.
Now he tried to make sense of the meeting with the ulfr. Although his clothes had been washed, there must have been enough residual Affinity on his skin to make him seem like part of the pack to the beast.
Satisfied with his reasoning, Byren rested his head against the trunk. He was just drifting off when he heard the pony shift uneasily. Surreptitiously, Byren eased his right arm free and felt for his knife.
Rodien stirred. Byren placed a finger on his lips.
The pony reared, pulling against the rope that tethered it to the trunk.
Something large crashed through the drooping branches, scattering snow. The pony screamed. There was an ominous crunch, then silence, then the sound of dragging.
Rodien whimpered, clinging to Byren.
He covered the boy's mouth and they remained absolutely still, listening. Nasty noises ensured as two beasts snarled over the pony's carcass.
'A lincis pair,' Byren breathed. 'Usually solitary hunters. Possibly a mother and her cub.'
'C-can they climb?' Rodien asked.
They could but… 'One pony is enough for the pair of them. We're safe.'
'Poor Blossom,' the boy muttered and dissolved into silent, wracking sobs. He hadn't cried over his father, and now he cried unrestrainedly. Byren held him until his sobs slowed and he fell asleep. The occasional dry sob still shook his little frame, making Byren realise just how young and vulnerable the lad was.
They'd have to leave the sled, carry what they could on their backs and hope to meet up with other travellers. The lincis pair would be satisfied for a day or two, maybe three.
Last time he'd met up with a lincis, Orrade had been with him, and only the old seer's arrival had saved his friend's life. To think, he'd risked his best friend's life for a few priceless lincurium stones just so he could outdo Lence's gift for his parents' Jubilee.
Now his parents were dead, as was Lence, and he would give anything to go back and warn himself. The Byren of midwinter seemed so young and thoughtless compared to the Byren who now hid up a tree, protector of a small boy.
And he had no idea where the three lincurium stones were. He'd had two set on matching rings for his parents and the largest set as a pendant for Lence to give his betrothed, but Cobalt had used them, along with a poem he'd written for Elina, to convince his father he was Orrade's lover.
Every word he'd said in his own defence had been true, but Cobalt had twisted the truth to paint him a usurper, out to steal his twin's throne.
Since then his whole life had fallen apart. Who was he to save Rolencia? He would be lucky if he could save Rodien and himself.
As Fyn stretched out along the massive oak beam, he silently thanked his father for insisting the royal family stay with tradition and live in the old wing. Below him lay his parents' chambers, only now they housed Overlord Palatyne.
The narrow, empty chamber had once been a nursery-maid's room or healer's room depending on the need, but Palatyne would have no one near him while he slept. Beyond it lay the royal bedchamber where Palatyne would sleep tonight.
Right now the overlord was down in the great hall, bestowing the title of duke on Illien of Cobalt. In return, Fyn's cousin would rule Rolencia on King Merofyn's behalf. But that didn't matter since, by dawn, Palatyne would be dead. Most of his warriors were barracked down in the town. This left those remaining in the castle vulnerable if the castle's servants rose up against them, and Fyn was sure they would, once they knew Palatyne was dead. They could retake the castle and hold off the warriors quartered in town.
Byren would hear of it and come down from the mountains with his warriors. Inspired, the townspeople would turn on the Merofynians in Rolenhold and, together with Byren's men, wipe them out. So Fyn wouldn't have to use the Fate to find him.
A snuffling whine came from just beyond the door and it swung open, bringing a shaft of lamp light. Fyn held his breath. Because of his dread of assassination, Palatyne's chambers were searched every night before he went to bed. That was why Fyn had come with the grappling hook, swung it over the beam, hauled himself up and hidden the rope and hook.
Fyn did not dare look. Instead he lay perfectly still, hardly breathing. Below, he heard the hounds snuffling as they sniffed the floor.
'Hurry up, boys,' the servant muttered. 'We're missing the feast.'
The dogs whined.
'What?' the man demanded of his hounds. 'There's nothing here. The room's empty.'
The dogs whined again, one barked. The short, sharp sound made Fyn's heart race.
'Rats,' another voice muttered from the door. 'Cook was complaining of them in the kitchen.'
'Rats? Is that it, boys?' the first voice asked. 'I've got something much tastier for you. Come on.'
He dragged them out, their nails sliding on the polished wood. Fyn relaxed gradually. The weapons master had been right. When they were indoors, people rarely looked up for threat. Outside, it was a different story, with leogryfs and cockatrices on the prowl.
Now all he had to do was wait until the overlord returned and fell asleep, then cut his throat and take the news to Cobalt. A yawn snuck up on him. He was tired. He'd hardly slept in the last four days.
Byren woke, shoulders cold and stiff, but he was warm from the centre out, because in his arms was a sleeping bundle of small boy. For several heartbeats he just sat there. He'd led men and youths, who were eager to be warriors. He'd taught them to hunt and kill in the defence of Rolencia, but he'd never been solely responsible for a small child before today.
Seeing Rodien's trusting face, the fan of his dark lashes on smooth cheeks, Byren was overcome with the immensity of this responsibility.
Rodien stirred and focused on him. Byren saw emotions race across his face, confusion, sorrow and fear, finally he smiled. 'I'm hungry.'
Byren laughed softly. 'You and me both. Come on.'
He climbed down, lifting Rodien to the ground. Here, a trail of blood and disturbed snow were evidence of where the pony had been dragged out from under the tree. A small gap in the branches let a ray of dawn light filter through.
'Poor Blossom,' Rodien whispered.
He seemed close to tears, so Byren began unpacking the sled. 'We'll have to leave this and take only the food we can carry.'
Rodien nodded and looked up to Byren, waiting for instructions. Everything rested on him. The fate of one small boy and the fate of a kingdom.
'Hail, fellow travellers,' a voice called.
Byren froze. The voice was male and the accent revealed he was poorly educated, possibly only one generation out from the spars.
'We offer traveller's ease,' the stranger said, giving the traditional greeting.
This didn't reassure Byren. In the mountain passes spar warriors eager for wealth preyed on travellers. End of winter, early spring was when they would come out of hiding, desperate for goods to trade for food. And, with the valley under attack, they'd know they were safe from King Rolen's justice. Many a time Lence and Byren had led punitive raids against such men.
In one swift movement Byren picked Rodien up and dropped him behind the sled. 'Stay down. Stay quiet.'
Silent, pleading eyes looked up at Byren but the boy nodded his understanding.
Byren turned to face the gap in the branches where a clump of snow fell as the man thrust his head through
