“That’s suicide that is,” Johann put in grimly.
Relam glared at him. “Thank you for that astute observation,” he said icily. “Eric, spread the men out, have them search everywhere for my father’s other guard and . . . and for the king.” Relam’s voice caught in his throat and he blinked back tears. “Johann, get Wil and take care of Kel here. We should take him back to Etares. Did he have a family?”
“A wife and a young ‘un, a girl,” Johann said, grimacing.
“Remind me to visit them and break the news personally,” Relam muttered. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, sir,” Johann agreed. “I’ll find Wil and we’ll see about digging him out of there.”
“And I’ll get the men searching,” Eric said. “We’re losing light quickly.”
Relam nodded, searching for any tracks that would help him discern where his father might have run off to in the confusion. It took him only a moment to find the body of Kel’s horse, just inside the tree fringe opposite where Relam and his hunters had entered the clearing. The horse too had been slashed mercilessly, along its flank and across the muscled neck. The once gleaming coat was crusted with mud and dirt and snow, the liquid brown eyes cold and empty.
“Here, your highness!” a man shouted in the distance. “I’ve found the other guard.”
“No, here!” another shouted, as Relam made to follow the first voice. “It’s the king, hurry!”
Relam turned abruptly, running towards the source of the second voice. He was not the only one. In moments, half of the search party had converged on the spot. The guard who had shouted was on his knees in the snow, kneeling over a still figure turned on its side and half buried. Tears were streaming down the guard’s face. He looked up as Relam approached, then bowed his head.
Relam knelt beside the fallen figure as well. It was his father. The left side of his face was pressed into the ground and he was buried from the waist down in snow. His skin was ashen, bloodless and lifeless, his lips blue. And all across his body, bloody furrows like those on the other victims. The king’s right hand held one of his light spears in a death grip, half of the shaft missing, the stump a mass of splinters. The broken-off part lay in several pieces a meter away, and beyond it was another spear, the tip stained with dried blood.
The prince tugged the gauntlet off his right hand and reached out with trembling the fingers. The cold stung, but Relam had to be sure. He laid trembling fingers on his father’s neck, just below the jaw, searching for a pulse. As soon as he touched his father’s skin, he knew they were too late. The king was as cold as the snow around him, and as lifeless. Several moments with no discernible pulse, not even a faint flutter, confirmed it. Relam sat back on his heels and bowed his head.
“Dead,” he whispered to the surrounding guards. He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away the beginnings of crystal tears. They reformed almost immediately though.
The soldiers knelt and bowed their heads as well, some of them weeping. They stayed there, together, for several minutes, each alone with their grief yet leaning on their neighbor for support. For hope. For strength.
Finally, Galen rested a heavy hand on Relam’s shoulder. “Your majesty, we must go,” he murmured, startling Relam with the use of the title. “We must take your father back to Etares before dark.”
Relam nodded stiffly, the tears still falling. Slowly, he stood and backed away. “Make ready to return to Etares,” he said, choking on the words. “The king has fallen.”
Behind him, Galen drew his sword and raised it overhead. “Long live the king!” he shouted.
All around, soldiers stood and drew their blades, eyes hard and clear, faces set in determined lines. “Long live the king!” they chorused, the cry echoing through the forest defiantly.
Relam gave a tight little smile. “Get my father out of there,” he said, gesturing to the snowbank. “We need a way to get him back. Could we make a sling between some horses?”
“Eckle will have a cart for the hunt still,” Wil supplied. “I can ride and fetch it.”
“Do that,” Relam said gratefully. “We’ll start moving towards the road in the meantime, try to meet you halfway.”
Wil swung into the saddle and galloped off to the north, in the direction of the road. Eric and Johann knelt with several others and began scraping the snow away from the king’s body. As they worked, more and more wounds became visible, revealing the extent to which the monarch had been savaged by the bear.
“They must have really riled it up,” Relam murmured to Galen. “And it must have been a rare specimen.”
“But no tracks,” Galen replied, frowning.
Relam started to reply, then stopped. Galen was right. They had found none of the bear’s tracks.
“Maybe they were hidden by the snow?” he suggested.
“You found that boot print.”
“In the clearing,” Relam remembered.
“Could this have been done by brigands?” the guard wondered, looking around.
“Galen, look at those wounds. That was a powerful beast. With claws,” Relam added.
“Some sort of large cat then? They move more lightly than bears do,” Eric said, looking up from his work around the king.
“Possibly,” Relam conceded. “But I’ve yet to see a human use a weapon that leaves those kinds of wounds. Or a human with the strength to rend armor so easily.”
“You’re right,” Galen admitted finally. “I guess I was just hoping for something I could hunt. Something to take revenge on for this death. Your father was a good man, your majesty. And a
