The King's bastard cokrk-1

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The King's bastard

  ( Chronicles of King Rolen's kin - 1 )

  Rowena Cory Daniells

  Rowena Cory Daniells

  The King's bastard

  Chapter One

  Rolencia, near Midwinter's Day

  Byren went first, hoping to spot the Affinity beast's tracks so he could judge its size and the danger to his men. Despite the clumsy snow shoes, he ploughed on. Cold air stung his nostrils and the drifts lay deep with a crust of crisp ice crystals, glinting in the rays of the setting sun. Ah, how he loved Rolencia!

  When he reached the rim of a small, treeless hollow, he searched for signs of the beast. No tracks in the smooth white snow. And they hadn't had a fall since dusk, last night.

  'Slow down, Byren. Lence isn't with us this time,' Orrade called, short of breath despite the reserves of strength in his wiry frame.

  Byren grinned ruefully. For as long as he could remember, he'd pushed himself to challenge Lence, but his twin had remained at the castle to welcome the Merofynian ambassador. Byren did not envy Lence. As kingsheir, his twin had to marry to consolidate Rolencia's alliance with Merofynia. While Byren…

  Orrade joined him, sucking in deep breaths.

  To give the others time to catch up, Byren studied the bluffs and ridges of the Dividing Mountains which formed a barrier between the rich Rolencian valley kingdom and the savage spars. Familiar peaks told him they weren't far from the border of Dovecote estate. Why, if he climbed a tree and looked east, he could probably spot the nearest warning tower looming over the snow-shrouded forest and fields.

  What was Elina doing right now? Last spring he'd caught her in the cold-cellar and demanded a kiss. She'd promptly clipped him over the head with a frozen ham, almost knocking him out. Moaning convincingly, he'd let her put fresh mountain ice on the bruise. Her contrite sympathy was better than any kiss. He smiled to himself. Back in Rolencia's war-torn past she would have made a fine warrior's wife.

  'Say, Orrie, when our work's done here do you want to go down to Dovecote and visit your father?'

  'Visit Elina, you mean.'

  Byren chuckled and went to move, but Orrade stopped him. His friend's sharp, dark eyes surveyed the hollow, and his black brows drew together to form a single line of worry.

  'What?'

  'Don't know.' Orrade spoke slowly. 'Something's not right.'

  Byren studied the trees lining the rim. Mostly evergreens, their skirts were mantled with snow and could easily hide the beast they sought. The size of a large wolf, with the markings of a leopard, lincis were rarely sighted this close to habitation. All Affinity beasts were dangerous but a lone predator was not a great threat for a party of armed men like his. And it was a lincis the villagers had reported, not a manticore pride or a fearsome leogryf. 'Could it be the beastie?'

  'Don't know… nearly midwinter so the walls between the Seen and Unseen are at their weakest.' Orrade shrugged. Byren reached for his bow, but Orrade gave himself a shake and grimaced. 'No sign of the beast and I don't have Affinity, yet — '

  'Byren Kingson?' The village's Affinity warder caught up with them, red-faced and insistent.

  'Monk Hedgerow,' Byren greeted him, then had to wait while the man bent double, gasping. He had seen the monk ordering the villagers about, insisting on the best of the harvest for himself. No wonder he'd grown so plump in just one summer. Halcyon's monks were renowned for their fighting skills but this one would be useless if the warlord of Cockatrice Spar sent raiders over the pass, or if they met up with the beast. Byren began to regret not bringing the village's healer as well. She had looked lean and eager, despite having seen sixty winters. Consideration for the nun's age had stopped him; that and the thought of them bickering. Rivalry between the monks of Halcyon and nuns of Sylion went as deep as the rift between summer and winter.

  'So where did they see this lincis, Hedgerow?' Byren prompted.

  'Not far from here,' the monk said, and frowned. 'Why haven't you strung your bows?'

  Orrade raised his eyebrows, and Byren shrugged. 'There's been no sign of tracks. It could be hours before we sight the beast, if at all.'

  When the monk looked blank, Orrade added, 'If we leave the bows strung, the strings will lose tension. They'd be useless when we needed them.'

  The monk seemed unconvinced, but gave an ingratiating bow. 'Kingson, I ask a boon. I shouldn't be serving a rural village whose only claim to fame is discovering a tin mine by accident. I'm a scholar, not a dirt grubber. You will be seeing the mystics master this midwinter. Can you mention my name to him? I've written five times asking to be transferred back to the abbey but my messages must be going astray.'

  Byren was careful not to catch Orrade's eye. If the monks back at Halcyon Abbey found Hedgerow as annoying as they did, it was not surprising his requests had been ignored.

  'I can mention your name, but that's not why I'm here, you know.' No, he'd been diverted from his true purpose by the report of the lincis sighting. Originally, he had been sent to escort the Royal Ingeniator to see if it was possible to link the village to the canal network so they could transport their tin. After three hundred years of rule, his family had linked the great lakes of Rolencia with a clever network of canals that made trade so much easier. Despite its longer pedigree and its claim to a higher culture, Merofynia had nothing to compare with Rolencia's canals.

  'Just remember me to Master Catillum, that's all I ask, kingson. Please?' The monk fixed slightly protuberant eyes on Byren until he nodded.

  Satisfied, Hedgerow set off down the slope only to stumble over his snow shoes, sliding down into the base of the hollow amid a rush of loose snow.

  'Freezing Sylion!' The monk screeched.

  'That should scare off the lincis,' Orrade muttered.

  'Well, we wanted to either scare it or kill it. Come on.' Byren ploughed down after the monk, who was dusting snow off his goatskin cloak. Orrade followed, muttering under his breath.

  'What's wrong?' young Chandler yelled from the rim of the hollow as the others joined him.

  'Keep your voice down,' Byren warned. 'You don't want to scare off the little beastie.'

  They laughed, all bravado. Byren smiled grimly. Five years ago he'd been just like them, an untried warrior of fifteen, desperate to prove his worth. Today he led a hunting party of half a dozen armed men, more than enough to tackle a lincis. The last thing he wanted was to return to the castle bearing someone's dead brother or son. But five of his warriors were the inexperienced younger sons of rich merchants and Rolencian lords, eager to distinguish themselves. Even though Byren's task was only to escort the Royal Ingeniator, they'd volunteered hoping for a run-in with warlord raiders or Affinity beasts. When the Affinity warder revealed the reported sighting of a lincis, Byren had thought it the perfect chance to give the youths some experience without too much risk. But, with the racket Monk Hedgerow was making, they'd be disappointed.

  Byren and Orrade reached the monk in the hollow.

  'So which way is it?' Byren asked Hedgerow.

  The monk lifted his hands to his face, sniffed, and drew back, his lips twisting with revulsion. He flicked the snow away convulsively and began tapping on his eyelids, ears, mouth and chest while muttering under his breath.

  'What now?' Orrade asked, scooping up a handful of the white, powdery snow. He sniffed, frowned, then thrust the snow towards the monk. 'I don't smell anything. What's wrong with it?'

  Hedgerow stumbled back a step, tripped and fell into a drift so deep that only his legs protruded, thrashing about.

  Byren was tempted to leave him there.

  Orrade read his expression and grinned, then flung the snow away, dusted off his palms reache
d into the drift to grab one of the monk's arms. 'Come on.'

  Together they hauled Hedgerow to his feet.

  'It's a new seep. Affinity seep!' the monk whimpered.

  Byren's amusement died. A seep would attract all manner of Affinity beasts. God-touched, they ranged from the bizarre to the deadly. 'Where — '

  'Everywhere. The hollow's full of it!' Hedgerow gestured widely, then winced and ducked as if assaulted by screeching birds. His began to shiver. 'Probably triggered by digging the tin mine. You can't t-take from the land without paying Halcyon her due. I warned them but they wouldn't listen. Blame Sylion's nun. It's all her fault, now it's t-too late…' His teeth chattered and he slumped.

  Byren shook him, waited for the monk to focus on his face, and said, 'you're an Affinity warder. You've been trained to contain — '

  'This is seeping up from Halcyon herself. I need help. It's too powerful!' Hedgerow glanced around frantically. 'Besides, I don't have any sorbt stones. We'll have to go back and send — '

  'We can't leave it uncontained. It'll contaminate the land,' Byren decided. He feared Affinity as much as the next man, but he knew his duty. After nothing for twenty years, this was the third Affinity seep reported since spring. And he'd led his men right into it. Sylion take this useless monk. 'Untamed Affinity will attract the beasts. It probably drew the lincis — '

  'I tell you, I can't do this alone. I'm not very good. I barely passed my tests,' Hedgerow confessed in desperation. 'You don't know what you're asking.'

  'I'm asking you to do your job. The villagers have been housing and feeding you just in case something like this happened,' Byren snapped, sickened. 'At least get your wards out, say your chants and contain it until we can locate the stones.'

  They would have to send to Halcyon Abbey and that would take several days. The monk's mouth dropped open to reveal uneven bottom teeth. He blinked once.

  Byren stepped back. 'Get to work.'

  Hedgerow turned and ran. He made for a lightning blasted tree, fleeing Byren and his men, who stood watching from the rim.

  Before anyone could move, the lincis, all muscle and dappled silver fur, charged from behind the dead tree, leapt for the monk and brought him down. Man and beast rolled, ploughing through the snow towards Byren and Orrade.

  The five untried youths just stood and stared. Only Winterfall plucked his bow from his back and began to string it.

  Too close for the bow, Byren drew his spear. Aware of Orrade following suit at his side, he lunged, aiming to drive the point in behind the beast's neck. But the lincis was all sinuous movement and the spear skidded across its back, into its flank.

  The lincis screamed at Byren, sounding more cat than wolf. Bright red blood soaked through its beautiful fur and its writhing wrenched the spear from Byren's hands, leaving him unarmed.

  Without hesitation, Orrade stepped between him and the beast, lowering his own spear to make himself more of a target. 'Over here, beastie.'

  'Save the kingson!' Winterfall yelled, letting his arrow fly and beckoning the youths, who recovered and ran down into the hollow towards the beast, shouting a challenge. The arrow overshot the beast. Always a danger when shooting downhill.

  The lincis screamed again, whirling to face its new attackers. Too eager, young Chandler was out in front. The beast reared up on its hind legs, standing taller than him. Chandler fumbled his spear, trying to bring it up. The lincis swiped at him, sending him flying into a drift. Two fifteen-year-olds froze as it turned on them.

  'Don't run!' Byren yelled.

  But they did, with the lincis only a body length behind them.

  Byren cursed, plucked the spear from Orrade's hand and threw it in one move. The spear took the lincis in the back, just off centre. The beast staggered.

  Winterfall darted in, spearing it through the side. It rolled away, taking his weapon with it.

  'Now!' Orrade yelled. Retrieving Byren's fallen spear, he led the attack. Heartened, the youths darted in, containing the wounded beast but careful to keep out of range of its thrashing claws.

  Byren ran around the far side to drag Chandler to safety. The lad struggled to stand, holding his arm to his chest, face pale with shock and pain. Broken collar bone, Byren guessed.

  Chandler managed a sickly smile and jerked his head towards the beast. 'Another Affinity kill, kingson. We've made Rolencia that much safer!'

  'True. But next time attack as a team. With your bows, you could have picked it off from up on the rim.'

  Chandler nodded, tears of pain making his eyes glitter.

  Byren squeezed his good shoulder. 'You should have seen me the first time I faced a leogryf. Nearly pissed myself!'

  Chandler laughed.

  Byren frowned. Why had the beast leapt on Hedgerow? With eight armed men it didn't stand a chance — shouldn't have, if the youths hadn't panicked, Byren amended.

  The lincis screamed in defiance, but it was weakening. As his warriors closed in Byren almost felt sorry for it.

  'It's over,' he told Chandler. 'Come on. We'd better see if Hedgerow will live to complain another day.' He helped the youth down the slope then knelt to check on the monk, who lay in the churned snow covered in blood.

  'I told you it was too much.' Hedgerow struggled to speak between ragged breaths. 'No one listens to me. Now we'll have to send for another Affinity warder. The abbey will have to send a pair of stones to absorb the Affinity. Until then only a trained warder must come near the seep. Warn the village.'

  'I will. But first we'll get you back safe,' Byren told him. 'Can you stand?'

  'I don't know.'

  Sliding his arm under the small man, Byren tried to help him up. Hedgerow gasped and passed out. Suspecting broken ribs, Byren let him slump on the snow.

  'The nun's a good healer, I hear,' Orrade said, as he returned.

  Byren nodded grimly. She'd need to be.

  Straightening up, he looked around. His men had cut the beast's throat and were retrieving their weapons, preparing to string the body from two spears strapped together to support its weight.

  'Eh, leave the lincis. You'll need to make a stretcher for Hedgerow.' Byren took off his own cloak and tossed it to Winterfall, who caught it and began devising a stretcher. Byren joined him but did not interfere. As he suspected, being the eldest son of a lord whose estate was in the foothills of the Dividing Range, Winterfall was used to dealing with injured men who'd seen the worst of beasts or raiders.

  Judging him capable, Byren advised, 'Strap Chandler's arm to his chest. It'll make it easier for him to walk.'

  Winterfall nodded.

  Orrade caught Byren's eye with a look of sympathy.

  Suddenly angry with himself, Byren turned away, moving towards the lightning-blasted tree. This should never have happened. At least Chandler would live, as for the monk… Byren leant against the dead tree. He'd let his dislike of the man colour his judgement. Perhaps the seep was too powerful for Hedgerow to contain. Perhaps he was not a lazy coward after all.

  Byren's fingers brushed across parallel gouges in the trunk's satiny bark. He fixed on them, his memory nudging him, until recognition hit him with an odd little kick of satisfaction. The gouges were lincis territory markers. So that was why the beast had attacked.

  Fiercely territorial, lincis marked their region by clawing tree trunks and leaving a spray of special urine which solidified, forming flame-coloured stones called lincuriums. The stones that formed in the depths of icy winter were renowned for their beauty. Occasionally a hunter would find some and make his fortune selling them to a renegade Power-worker.

  Byren wanted the stones, hopefully a matching pair to set on rings for his parents. The thought of his mother's surprised delight made him smile. As a king's daughter from Merofynia, she had given up much to marry his father for the sake of peace. For their twenty-first wedding anniversary this spring cusp, they planned a grand Jubilee. He'd wanted to give them a special gift. Even better, lincurium were so rare that th
ere was no chance Lence could get his hands on anything to equal the stones!

  'You all right, Byren?' Orrade asked.

  'Never better.' Byren straightened up, containing his excitement.

  'We're ready, Byren Kingson,' Winterfall reported.

  'Good.' He glanced to the sky then went down to join his men. 'Nearly dark, but there'll be no clouds tonight. If you leave now and walk by starlight you'll reach the village come midnight. Orrie and I will be right behind you. We'll bring the lincis in. Tell the headcouple no one is to come this way until the seep's been contained. They'll have to send for at least one pair of sorbt stones and another warder. The healer can advise them.'

  Winterfall nodded. 'Chandler can manage on his own. With four to carry the stretcher and one to spell them we'll make good time. Are you sure you want to bring the lincis now? We can come back for it.'

  'If we leave the body scavengers might get it and I've a hankering for a lincis fur coat,' Byren said, deciding he might just have one made up for Lence. It was the sort of finery that would appeal to his twin.

  Winterfall nodded, then turned to the others. 'Right. If you want a hot meal and a warm bed tonight, get your backs into it.'

  As they lifted the stretcher Hedgerow groaned and Byren wondered how long before he began haranguing them. Chandler picked up his spear to use as a staff. Winterfall took the rest of the spears, leaving two for Byren and Orrade to string the lincis from.

  Orrade said nothing until they were out of hearing beyond the rim, then he swung around to face Byren.

  'A hankering for a lincis coat?' He snorted, thin face animated. 'What are you up to?'

  Byren grinned. 'This way.'

  Orrade followed him back up the slope to the lightning-blasted tree. Byren pointed to the scratch marks.

  Orrade frowned. 'Could it be…'

  'It is. Lincis bury their territory markers so that only their own kind can sense them,' Byren whispered. 'Then they mark the surrounding trees like this. That's why the beastie attacked.'