'Valens?' Cobalt beckoned a perfumed servant who, now that Byren had a better look, had to be fifty if he was a day. Surely that glossy black hair was not natural? 'My manservant has wonderful hands. He can massage away the stiffness. Let me make a gift of him to you, Uncle.'
Valens bobbed down on one knee, head bowed. Byren saw his father blink in surprise. Having a personal manservant was an Ostronite custom.
'But how will you manage, Illien?' Rolen asked, glancing to Cobalt's bandaged arm.
He shrugged this aside. 'Please, let me do this for you. At least let him try.'
Valens lifted his head. 'If I cannot get the stiffness out of your knee in ten days you may chop off my hands!'
'Extravagant Ostronites!' Orrade muttered in Byren's ear.
'Uncle?' Cobalt pressed.
'Very well.' Rolen laughed.
'I'm honoured.' Cobalt bowed. 'King Rolen, I must speak with you on another matter. I bring grave news from the elector.'
Byren frowned as his father led Cobalt away. What could the Elector of Ostron Isle have to say? If it was important Byren would hear about it at the next war table meeting. He had enough on his mind without borrowing trouble.
Byren lay absolutely still, breathing slow and deep, wary of giving his position away. They were lucky the village's hunters had been tracking the leogryf and were able to lead them straight to its lair. The beast was old and canny, and knew the mountains well, but it was the leogryf's age that was its downfall. Although its wings were broader than the greatest of eagles', it could no longer lift its weight, so its lair was not atop a lonely pinnacle, but deep in a cave off a narrow goat track high on the Dividing Mountains. The beast had been spotted dragging its kill to feed in the privacy of the cave.
Shifting on the snow-covered rocks, Byren tried to keep his muscles limber. Who knew how long they would have to wait? Strange how he could feel bored and frightened at the same time. Not that he would ever admit to fear in front of Lence.
He licked dry lips.
Though old and weaker than it once was, the leogryf stood as tall as Byren's chest and, with one slash of its paw, could still disembowel a grown man or break his leg.
It was too dangerous to get in close. Byren had argued that they should trap the beast and dispatch it quickly, but Lence had got the idea in his head that he had to kill it from close quarters. Both the hunt-master and the Affinity warder had tried to talk him out of this and failed.
Byren adjusted his white fur coat, which blended perfectly with the deep snow. Focusing across the path to where his twin hid, Byren could just make out the gleam of Lence's eyes in the shadow of the rock crevice and a flash of white teeth as he smiled. In a way he was glad they were facing the leogryf alone together. Nothing had been right between them since Orrade had refused to reveal why he was disinherited. Cobalt was always at his twin's side, where Byren should have been.
The track zig-zagged up behind Lence to the cave entrance, which was the only way in. Eventually the leogryf would come back to its lair.
There was no breeze so they could not get downwind of the beast, but luckily its sense of smell was fading. To help disguise their own scents, Byren and Lence had scrubbed their bodies, aired their furs and rubbed dried heather on their skin.
The rest of the hunting party were waiting further down the track watching the three different approaches, ready to warn them when the beast was spotted and drive it back this way if it tried to retreat.
Not long now. The big muscles of Byren's legs trembled with tension. Waiting was always the worst. He had chosen to crouch on the extreme edge of the track. Behind him was a sheer drop into the ravine. Lence couldn't have done it. His head swam just looking at a drop like that, but heights had never troubled Byren.
Just then, a distinctive bird's cry floated on the cold, still air. Byren tensed and caught Lence's eyes across the path. The lookout's signal. Lence nodded. The leogryf approached.
Soundlessly, Byren strung his bow and selected an arrow, determined not to let the beast slink away wounded. It was better to kill it outright. If Lence's spear missed its mark, his arrow wouldn't.
Heart beating like a great drum, he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and fixed his gaze on the path. Like him, Lence would be preparing to meet the beast. But Lence's weapon of choice was the spear. There was no glory in killing from a distance.
Winter coat white against the snow, the leogryf's fur almost cloaked its presence as it padded up the path, wings folded along its back, forming a shield. The angle was bad for a shot, too great a chance of missing the spot where the shoulder met the neck. Still, Byren could have attempted it, an arrow striking there would pierce the beast's lungs or heart, but he held back so that Lence could make his move.
His brother would wait until the beast moved between them, then leap in to drive the spear in behind the foreleg, under the wing nodule. If the angle was right the spear would sever the spine, crippling the leogryf. Then Lence could finish it quickly and, tonight, the hunting party would celebrate his bravery around the feasting fire.
Byren held his breath as the leogryf hesitated. Massive head down, it sniffed the snow suspiciously. Unable to make out their scents, it kept coming, moving into full view.
Byren bit back a whistle of appreciation. They'd known from the size of the paw prints and the length of the stride that the beast was big, but knowing and seeing were two different things. Rearing on its hind legs this leogryf would be twice as tall as a grown man. Though hollow-boned, it would weigh more than him.
Barely breathing, Byren waited as the beast prowled up the path. The moment its head passed them, Lence sprang from behind the rock, took aim and threw. But the leogryf reared back and Lence's spear missed, skittering across the snow not far from Byren.
The beast spun to confront Lence, tattered wings lifting, revealing its back and providing a target for Byren. He could have put an arrow into the base of the leogryf's neck, but Lence had a second spear and Byren was not about to spoil his brother's chance of making the kill.
Lence aimed and threw. This spear took the leogryf in the shoulder. It screamed in fury, staggering, then snarled and dropped to all fours, muscles bunching to leap.
Byren sprang to his feet, aimed and let the arrow fly, but the beast chose that instant to spring. His arrow lodged in the muscle of a rear leg. Again, it gave that uncanny scream.
The leogryf collided with Lence, its momentum carrying him to the ground.
Lence did not stand a chance.
Byren plucked another arrow, notched and drew.
Thwang.
The string broke.
He'd waxed it only this morning, but there were no guarantees in life. Dropping the bow, he reached for his hunting knife. It was razor-sharp and as long as his forearm. He knew the others would be making their way up the track but they would not be in time to save Lence.
Desperate, Byren leapt onto the rock he'd been crouching behind and flung himself onto the leogryf's broad back. The half-raised wings collapsed under the impact.
The leogryf released Lence and reared, trying to throw Byren. His thighs flexed, clamping around the beast's flanks. The leogryf writhed, wings struggling to beat, thick mane nearly blinding him. It was worse than breaking a horse.
Byren buried his face in the leogryf's neck and held on with one arm, while reaching past the thick mane. He plunged the knife into the point where the leogryf's shoulder met the neck.
The beast screamed again and rolled, tearing the knife hilt from Byren's hands and crushing the air from his chest. It sprang to its feet, rounding on him.
He lay sprawled in the snow, facing certain death, unable to lift his head, unable even to catch his breath. He must not die like this!
Yet he could not move.
The beast took one step, then another, then fell to its knees and collapsed. Hardly able to believe his life had been spared, Byren scrambled to his haunches.
