Byren grinned and stood up, hauling Orrade to his feet. His friend went to move, tripping over a dead ulfr. Garzik caught him, laughing. Then the laughter died on his lips, as Orrade's sightless eyes sought the source of his voice.
'Halcyon save us!' The boy turned to Byren. 'Orrie's blind!'
Hearing this, the Dovecote captain came over, his gaze going straight to Byren who lifted his hands helplessly.
'It was the blow to my head.' Orrade touched the lump behind his right ear gingerly. Below the hasty bandage, matted blood made his long black hair a tangled mess. 'When I came round I had a pounding headache and I couldn't see.'
Byren sought Blackwing's eyes, hoping the experienced campaigner could offer him some hope, but there was only sympathy in his gaze. Byren felt sick to his stomach.
Garzik's face went white. 'What will Father say?'
'He'll say he's glad his son's not dead!' Captain Blackwing told them. 'Then he'll call for his healer. Prepare some hot food, Garza.'
While the lad built a cooking fire, Blackwing took Byren aside. He glanced to the Dovecote brothers, who were crouched by the fire adding chunks of salted meat and spices to the pot. 'I can send a couple of men back with you — '
'You'll need every man you have until you get to the village. Garza and I can manage, we're heading away from danger.'
'Hmmm.' Blackwing considered this. 'We're not far from the Ridgetop Farm. They can loan you a horse and sled — '
'I can skate. I'm not useless.' Orrade raised his voice. 'If Byren leads me, I can skate.'
'Of course you can,' Byren said. He and Blackwing exchanged looks. 'Can we borrow skates from you?'
The canals followed the lie of the land, weaving through the valleys. In midwinter, they formed frozen roads between the major settlements.
'Certainly.' Blackwing studied Orrade, who had to feel around to find wood to feed the fire. The captain lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Are you sure you can manage, kingson?'
'We'll tie him between us.' Byren said. 'He'll be fine.'
And he was, for a while. They travelled overland, reaching Topaz Lake in the hour before dawn, and strapped on their skates. Fortunately for Byren, they were basic skates — a bladed sole, with straps — so he could tie them around his large boots. From Topaz they followed the shoreline, skating northeast to reach the canals, and wended their way south to Dovecote stronghold.
They were skating three across when Orrade lost his balance. He sprawled on his belly, taking them with him. They laughed and lay there panting on the ice which reflected the brilliant stars. Then Byren realised Orrade was the only one not laughing.
'You all right, Orrie?' he asked, scrambling over to him.
'Sorry.' His friend struggled to sit up. 'It's my head… thumping fit to burst.'
'Can you keep going?' Byren asked.
'Of course I can. I'd do anything for a warm bath and bed,' Orrade said, but his smile was strained.
Byren hauled him upright and they skated on.
The second time Orrade fell, skidding full length on the ice, Byren slewed his skates side-on and came to a stop before he was jerked off his feet. Garzik did likewise, looking to Byren.
'We can build a sled and pull him,' Byren answered his unspoken question.
When they bent to help Orrade, he reared up on his knees like a startled deer. 'Quick, off the canal. They're almost upon us!'
The panic in his voice made Byren spin around. He saw no one on the lake, but a bend obscured his view along the shore.
'Hide!' Orrade lunged, his movements taking him towards the bank by chance.
'What — ' Garzik began.
'Help him,' Byren urged.
They guided Orrade to the bank, but that wasn't enough. He began to climb it. 'We have to get out of sight, over the lip and lie in the snow.'
'Why?' Garzik muttered.
Then Byren heard the unmistakable, almost silent scissoring sound of many skate blades on ice. He ploughed up the slope, dragging Orrade with him. They rolled over the lip of the bank, lying flat on the snow with Garzik between them.
Peering over the lip, Byren watched a band of thirty silent, armed warriors surge around the bend. They were travelling so fast that they went past in a matter of heartbeats, which was lucky because the frantic scramble up the slope had left tracks that led right to where Byren and the others hid.
'Raiders, but which warlord sent them?' Garzik muttered in the silence left by their passage. 'Rejulas of Cockatrice Spar is closest, yet they did not wear cockatrice cloaks or carry his symbol.'
'True, and why would he send a raiding party over the pass into Rolencia's valley when he could attack the easier prey in the high villages?' Byren wondered aloud. There were other reasons why Rejulas would not attack which he could not share with his friends just yet. 'Why travel at night in total silence when a raid is meant to be noisy and frightening?'
'Because this is no ordinary raid?' Garzik guessed. 'I wonder where they were going?'
'Or coming from. This close to dawn they should be headed back over the Divide.' Byren whispered slowly. 'Orrie. What do you…'
He broke off. Garzik lifted onto his elbows as they both stared at Orrade's ominously still body.
'Orrie?' Byren rolled his friend onto his back and tore off his glove to check Orrade's pulse. It beat steadily under the pad of his fingers. 'Out cold again.'
'He saved our lives. They would have killed us quick as look at us,' Garzik whispered. 'How did he know they were coming?'
How indeed?
'Must have felt the vibration when he hit the ice,' Byren guessed.
Garzik nodded slowly, accepting this.
But Byren was not so sure. He feared Orrade's prescience was a by-product of the old seer's healing. Had his friend lost his sight only to gain Affinity sight?
'Come on, Garza, I'll carry him on my back. He can't spend another night in the cold.' If they skated all day they'd reach Dovecote stronghold by early evening.
But Byren didn't need to carry him. Orrade recovered as Byren hauled him down the slope. Though groggy, he was able to skate, so they went on.
All day, as they passed gaps in the snow-shrouded evergreens, they caught glimpses of the distant warning tower, tallest of Dovecote's old stronghold towers. Built on the outcrop of a defensible ridge, Dovecote Keep protected the lands within a day's hard ride as well as the pass to Cockatrice Spar.
Anticipating the old lord and Elina's reaction, Byren was feeling the strain by the time they reached Doveton. Little more than a village, it was built at the base of the ridge next to a small lake which was linked by canals to the major lakes. Everyone had retired for the night. The Old Dove did not approve of drunkenness and loose morals so their one tavern was already closed. There was no locked gate to stop Byren entering the single main street. Unlike the fortified farmhouses this village did not have high walls and gates. The people expected to have enough warning to take shelter in Dovecote Keep.
'Doveton looks deserted. Half the houses have no lights in the windows,' Byren observed, slinging his borrowed skates over his shoulders.
'That's because most of the young people have gone to Rolenton and Port Marchand to make their fortunes,' Garzik said.
'And to get away from father's dour rule,' Orrade muttered. Now nearly eighty, the Old Dove had been a contemporary of King Byren the Fourth. He'd outlived two wives and four sons. All his hopes rested on his heir, Orrade. Byren felt the weight of this.
