He collected the spear, then took off his bow and arrow quiver, hefting Orrade onto his back. Now all he had to do was walk until he reached the village. He turned towards the rim where he could still see the passage of Winterfall's party on the silvery snow. Just as he set off, the deep ululating cry of an ulfr pack on the hunt echoed down from the bluffs behind the village. The direction suggested the pack were between him and safety.
'Freezing Sylion!' He adjusted Orrade's weight. The blood and the seep would attract the Affinity beasts. Ulfrs were related to timber wolves, though larger and more cunning than their mundane cousins.
Guilt lanced him, sharp as a blade. He shouldn't have delayed for the lincurium. Orrade must not suffer because of his stupid rivalry with Lence.
With its walls, the village would not need to fear the pack, and he trusted Winterfall had the sense not to send anyone out to help him until the seep was contained and the area made safe. This meant he was on his own, which made climbing a tree useless. He didn't want to be staked out by the pack. The further he went from the seep, the better. Affinity beasts hunted ordinary animals for food, but raw Affinity would draw them. Hopefully Affinity lust would win out over hunger. He had heard reports of the beasts rolling in a seep in a state of ecstasy, an image he found hard to visualise.
But which way should he go? If he travelled east he would be on Dovecote land. He cast his mind back to steamy summers when he and Orrade roamed the estate. He seemed to remember a fortified farmhouse near the foothills. If he walked all night he would get there by dawn.
Byren turned east.
Used to skating the winter canals, his long legs ate up the ground. Despite the cold he was soon sweating, and Orrade seemed to grow heavier with every step. His weapons became a burden but he could not discard them.
Later, when he heard the ulfr pack calling again, he glanced up to the stars and judged he had been walking for two hours. The echoes off the bluffs tended to confuse the source of sounds, but he could not fool himself.
The pack was following him. Their silver-grey winter coats would make them hard to spot, but he did not need to see them. He could tell by the extreme hush of the snow-shrouded forest that its winter inhabitants had gone to ground. The pack was near.
'Halcyon help me!' he muttered, calling on the goddess of healing and growing things. He would not reach the fortified farmhouse. He needed somewhere defensible. If he could just reach the ridge that marked Dovecote land.
Adjusting Orrade, he set off again.
Half an hour later, he felt the land rise under him and looked up. About two bow shots away he could see starry sky through the trunks.
Now to choose a spot and start a fire… pity he didn't have a male and female firestone. Once placed in contact with each other the stones produced a blaze which sustained itself until they were separated. But only the very wealthy could afford them and they were treasured family heirlooms.
No time for
Byren plunged on. By the time he reached the edge of the ridge, the night was filled with the luminescence of stars. He gently lowered Orrade and tried to catch his breath as he surveyed their sanctuary.
Halcyon had favoured him, for he'd reached the ridge where it fell away into a steep ravine, too steep for the ulfrs to attack from that direction. This left him with a half-circle to defend. The wind had scoured the edge of the ridge, stripping it of all but slivers of snow caught in the crevices. Luckily there was no wind tonight to howl down the ravine and tear their fire to shreds, leeching the heat from their bodies.
He propped Orrade in a seated position against a knee-high boulder near the cliff edge, and laid the two spears across his knees so that it looked like he was dozing, with the spears at the ready. Then he strung the bow and left it leaning against the rock as well. It was the best he could do. He would have to leave his friend defenceless for a few moments while he collected fire wood. Byren prayed the ulfr pack didn't find Orrade before he got back and hopefully, if they did, his ploy would keep them at bay.
Despite his weariness, he set off at a run. In the depths of winter there was plenty of fallen dead wood and drifts of leaves which had been blown into hollows during autumn's storms. The trick was to find them under the snow. But he had spent many a day with the hunt-master and knew what to look for. He made three trips, starting a fire after the first. On the last one he selected a sturdy branch his own height and swung it menacingly because the pack were approaching, slinking from tree to tree. First one beast then another howled. Even safe by his own hearth, the sound would have been enough to make Byren's hackles rise. Out here, it made his stomach cramp with fear.
Byren returned to their camp, walking backwards so that he did not turn his back on the pack. He knew when he was getting nearer the camp because the leaping flames of their fire lit up the trunks of the winter-bare trees that grew along the ridge. When he reached Orrade, he found his friend still unconscious, but he must have moved because he had slumped dangerously close to the edge. Worse, he'd knocked the bow over the lip.
'Sylion's luck!' Byren muttered. Why hadn't he anticipated that? A surge of anger warmed him.
No point in berating himself.
Byren pulled Orrade away from the edge. Wrapping his friend's cloak more securely around him, he wedged Orrade's back against the boulder so he wouldn't roll towards the cliff. He didn't stir.
'Orrie?'
No answer, but the seer had promised he would live. It was up to Byren to make sure he had the chance.
'Melt some snow, heat some food,' he told himself. Somehow, he had to stay awake all night after trudging through the snow all day. As long as the fire held out they would be safe.
He hoped.
Byren glanced up. Stars filled the dark bowl above him with an effervescence of light. He would be able to tell the time by the progress of the wanderers, oddly coloured stars which travelled in erratic loops across the heavens.
Turning to face the night he checked on their enemies. Now and then he caught glimpses of fire-bright eyes reflecting back at him and knew the ulfrs waited, silent and grim for the first chink in their defences. Taking the large branch, he split the end and wedged his hunting knife's hilt in the gap, securing it. Tying off the cord, he used his teeth to be sure the knot was tight. The makeshift spear was not a thing of beauty but it was better than a hunting knife alone. It would be strongest driven straight on. The cord binding it to the branch would work loose with too many slashing strikes. Now he had three spears and all he had to do was keep watch.
He glanced at Orrade. 'Trust you to snore your way through the night, leaving all the watches for me.'
There was no answering snort or smart reply. Byren felt a stab of fear and guilt. If Orrade died old Lord Dovecote would be devastated and Elina would be heartbroken. His own heart sank for he had intended, once Lence's betrothal was announced, to tell Elina how he felt. The proud tilt of her chin came to him, making his body clench. How he wanted her.
He gripped the spear shaft and vowed he'd bring Orrade home safe and then he'd ask her. Have to get her a betrothal gift, something special. Perhaps he could give her the lincurium pendant. No, the wife of the kingson could not outshine the wife of the kingsheir. He had to give Lence's betrothed the pendant.
If he got through tonight — no,
Byren added another branch to the fire and imagined their arrival, the family rushing out to help carry Orrade inside, Lord Dovecote old and frail now, Elina concerned for her brother, grateful to him and Garzik… Byren winced. Fourteen-year-old Garzik adored his big brother. Garzik had been begging to go on raids with them for the last year.
They were all depending on Byren.
He stirred up the fire and watched the night.
Much later, the crack of a branch collapsing into the fire startled him. Byren woke with a jerk and sat up, dismayed to find the fire had burned dangerously low. Worse, a medium-sized ulfr was only three body lengths from him, creeping in low on its belly.
He leapt to his feet, snatched a brand from the fire and yelled to startle it. The beast spun on its haunches, retreating to the forest of bare trees.
A single large ulfr with a thick winter coat watched him unblinking from the tree line. It was bold enough not
