'Florin, take him outside,' the old woman ordered.
Who? Oh, the boy. Leif protested. The adults ignored him.
'But I can help you, Nan,' Florin insisted.
'I won't leave him,' Orrade said with quiet certainty.
Byren forced his eyes open in time to see the old woman send Florin and her little brother off with a nod.
Then Florin's nan turned to him. Gingerly, she cut away the material covering his wound, peeling it back from his skin. Blood had made it stick. His pants felt stiff with dried, caked blood.
She made tut-tutting sounds under her breath as she worked, passing each piece of ruined clothing to Orrade. 'Burn it. He smells like a day old ulfr carcass.'
'That's what I told him.' A laugh edged Orrade's voice, but underneath it Byren could hear fear.
As the old woman worked, Byren wished he could lift his head to see the extent of the wound, but he couldn't do more than watch her and Orrade as they stood beside the table.
Once his chest was bare, her fingers fumbled with the laces on his breeches. Byren was overcome with an urge to hide himself from Orrade, something he would never have thought of. It was absurd, considering the girls they'd shared.
Luckily, the old woman peeled back his pants only enough to reveal the wound low on his belly. Then she took a warm cloth, dipped in herbal water to sponge him clean. He ached with deep pain, but there was no sharp stinging sensation. In fact, the cleansing felt soothing.
The woman gave a soft hiss of surprise as the wound became clear. 'When did you say this happened?'
'Last night,' Byren answered. 'They did it to stop me running. How... how bad is it?'
The old woman exchanged looks with Orrade, both appeared stunned, so it had to be bad. Perhaps that was why he felt no fresh pain. He was beyond help.
Wordlessly, the old woman took Byren's hand and placed it on his belly. Gingerly, he felt smooth skin and a ridge of scar tissue.
No, that wasn't right. He tried to sit up, grunting with pain. Orrade helped him, supporting his weight. Byren starred at the fresh pink scar on his belly. 'It - it -'
'Looks a week old, not a day.' The old woman washed her hands and turned to them. 'I'm no fool, boys, don't insult me with lies. Orrie, you and Florin came rushing through here late last night, in a mad hurry to reach the kingson. You described where you would find him and I told you how to get there. You'd had a vision.'
Orrade nodded slowly. 'I never had them before this midwinter, but I took a blow to the head and I've been -'
'It's my fault,' Byren revealed. 'Orrie nearly died. He would have died. There was clear fluid coming from his ears and eyes,' He reached up to clasp Orrade's hand where it supported him and met his eyes. 'I never told you, I'm sorry. I couldn't bear to let you go. An old woman came by. Even without a scrap of Affinity I could tell she reeked of it. I begged her to save your life. She said she could, but you would never be the same. I told her go ahead. I couldn't let you die and she did save you, only you were blind...'
Orrade swallowed audibly. 'The blindness passed. But the headaches, they come on me whenever I have a vision. Sylion's luck, Byren, I'll have to leave Rolencia. Your father -'
'My father's dead.' He squeezed Orrade's arm. 'And I say stay.'
'And so you should. You're the pot calling the kettle black.' The old woman's voice was sharp. 'You've healed yourself of a mortal wound, Byren Kingson. That's a mighty useful kind of Affinity.'
'I don't know anything about healing,' Byren protested. 'I couldn't -'
'I found him in a seep,' Orrade confessed. 'Could that have done it?'
'Affinity is untamed power.' The old woman shrugged. 'It has to be guided.'
'The ulfr pack,' Byren whispered.
Both turned to him.
Byren frowned as everything fell into place. 'Look on my back, up here.' He gestured and Orrade helped hold him forwards while they lifted his shirt away to study his ribs.
'A new scar,' Orrade muttered.
'Looks old,' the woman said.
'No, Orrie's right. It's new since he saw me seven days ago, yet it looks old.'
'What's this got to do with an ulfr pack?' Orrade asked.
'I was bleeding from that wound. It had pierced my lung. Thought it was only a matter of time. Plus I was being hunted by Merofynians and the ulfr pack. I took shelter in a seep. I'd no choice. My only hope was that the ulfrs would prefer the seep's Affinity to me. They did. They lay down around me... Eh, Orrie, I thought of you as I lay there, surrounded by Affinity beasts, warmed by them. One of the bitches whelped a cub. The pack did something to help her, they whined and made a strange vibrating sound, deep in their chests. It was a bit like a cat purring.'
Byren shook his head in wonder and worked his tongue in his dry mouth. The old woman offered him a sip of watered wine. He swallowed and nodded his thanks.
'And this time?' Orrade prodded.
'This time the brigands had me and the ulfrs...' Byren hesitated, not sure even now if he could believe it. 'They came after me. They took down the men. I didn't see it. They'd thrown a blanket over my face. When the blanket was pulled off me, I was surrounded by ulfrs. The leader chewed through my bonds, led me to the seep. They all stretched out with me and began that odd whining-purr again.'
'Well...' Orrade said. 'That explains the stench.'
Byren barked a laugh that ended abruptly.
Silence stretched. A log fell in the fireplace, sending spiralling ash up the chimney.
'I've never -' Orrade began.
'You would if you'd heard the old tales,' Florin's nan snapped as she dried her hands. 'After his da and brother were killed by Merofynian Power-workers, King Rolen turned his back on everything to do with Affinity. He banned Affinity unless it served the abbeys, but that's like banning sunshine, unless it falls on the king's castle. Affinity rises where it will.'
Byren caught her wiry old hand. 'You can't tell anyone. I'll be hounded out of Rolencia.'
She studied him. 'Thirty years ago your father decreed all those with Affinity had to serve the abbeys or leave. But before that, for as long as there have been people living in Halcyon's rich valley, those with Affinity served their family and friends. They healed, they had visions of raids and sent out warnings...' She gave him a gap-toothed smile. 'And when King Rolen sent out his decree, they paid him lip service, because he was their king, but they kept to their old ways, especially here in the high country. You can't change the way things really are with a royal decree. We knew it would pass. Why, your very own grandfather, King Byren the Fourth, he had Affinity.'
Byren blinked.
'Why do you think he collected Affinity beasts?' she asked. 'You take after him, I'll warrant.'
'But I was tested at six like everyone else. I'm completely normal.'
She lifted one eyebrow. 'You hid in an Affinity seep, surrounded by ulfrs -'
'Can we come in now?' Florin's plaintive voice called. 'It's awful cold out here, Nan.'
The old woman sent Byren and Orrade a wry look. 'I'll say no more. But you think on what I've said.' She raised her voice. 'Hold your horses, lass. Don't want to make you blush. We'll just get him into bed.'
Businesslike, she finished stripping Byren, bathed the blood from his body and gave him one of her dead husband's night-shirts. It only came to mid-thigh on him.
As Orrade helped him into the tiny bedroom, which was behind the chimney, Byren grimaced. 'I might be healed, but every step I take tugs on my stomach muscles.'
'You can't expect miracles,' Orrade muttered, then laughed. And Byren joined him, because it was a miracle, an Affinity-induced miracle. But even laughing hurt.
Byren stretched out carefully, letting Orrade tuck him in as if he was a child. He caught his friend's arm. 'Thank you.'
'Rest for a day or two, then we'll take you back to my camp. Remember when Dovecote fell and you headed off to the abbey? I led the servants and villagers up into the foothills of the Dividing Mountain
s. Well, we...'
But Orrade's voice was already fading. Byren squeezed his hand. He thought he felt lips brush his forehead as he fell asleep and annoyance flared through him. Must tell Orrade not to touch him like that. It would give people the wrong idea.
Chapter Twenty-One
Byren woke with the sense that something was wrong. There was no sign of the others. Last night he'd slept with Orrade on one side of him and Leif on the other, while Florin and her nan slept upstairs in the loft. At least he'd been warm and the bed was free of bugs.
Now, alone in the bed, he could tell it was late afternoon by the light that came in the single, small window.
It irked him to lie abed for so long but his stomach, although healing, was still too tender to move freely. And he knew rest was the best thing for him.
As he'd dozed he'd grown familiar with the sounds of the cottage, the bleating of the long-haired goats, the barking of the dogs and the cackle of the chickens. Speaking of which, he could smell a pot of chicken and onion broth cooking on the hearth. His stomach rumbled and he looked forward to dinner.
The thump of running boots crossed the yard outside, entered the cottage and made straight for where he lay. Byren rolled onto his side and carefully levered himself up to sitting, feet on the floor. He reached for the pants the old woman had put out for him and flinched as his muscles protested.
Orrade charged into the tiny room. 'Good, you're up. Merofynians are coming up the valley, searching the farms. We have to go.'
In the main room he heard Florin and her nan packing food, preparing travelling bundles. Their haste was evident by their clipped, concise comments.
Byren grunted with annoyance. He hated being so weak. 'Need help getting my trews and boots on.'
Orrade guided his legs into the trouser legs. The pants were a bit short and tight around the waist.
'Eh, Florin's granddad must have been a funny shape.'
'Not really.' Orrade snorted softly. 'You're wearing Florin's breeches.' Businesslike, he dragged on thick woollen socks and laced up Byren's own boots. Just as well, with the size of his feet he couldn't have worn anyone else's.
Orrade helped him stand, dragged off the night-shirt and pulled a knitted vest over his shoulders, then a thick, high-country coat of sheep hide, with the woollen side innermost. Lastly, he placed a knitted cap on Byren's head. 'Now at least you'll look the part of a hill-man, if we're caught.'
Moving with great care, Byren shuffled out to the kitchen, where Leif waited, while Nan and Florin tied the travelling bundles closed.
Florin looked up. As she took in his careful stance, her strong face grew sharp with worry and the excitement faded from her dark eyes.
'He can hardly walk. How will we get away?' Leif asked, voicing what they were all thinking.
Florin tossed her bundle to her brother. 'I'll carry him on m'back. Orrie and I can take turns.'
'Halcyon will freeze over before I let a girl carry me!' Byren drove himself to straighten further, despite the deep ache in his belly. Unfortunately, his knees gave way and he would have crumpled if Orrade hadn't caught him, sliding his shoulder under Byren's.
'Don't stand on your dignity, lad,' the old woman told him. 'If you're found here, it'll be the death of all of us.'
She was right. Byren cursed. If only he had his strength. 'I can ride, if you tie me to the saddle.'
'We have nothing but an old mountain pony. Besides, they're watching all the trails out of the valley.' The old woman shook her head. 'We must hide you for now. There are caves up in the ravines. Florin knows the way. She'll guide you. Orrie will carry you if he has to. Leif can manage your things.'
The boy slung his own bundle, as well as theirs, across his shoulders, as if to prove her point. Byren felt inadequate and hated it.
'We don't mind. You led us when we trapped the manticore pride and killed them,' Leif said, his eyes alight with excitement, fixed on Byren's face. 'You killed a leogryf with your bare hands -'
'I had a knife,' Byren corrected. 'And this is not the same.'
'All of Rolencia is talking about how you walked into Halcyon Abbey after the Merofynians took it and dared them to catch you.'
Byren shook his head. 'That wasn't how it happened.'
'No?' The old woman pinned him with her clever gaze. 'But it is how they're telling it. The people of Rolencia need Byren Leogryfslayer. So swallow your pride, lad, and get out the back door before the Merofynians arrive.'
Chastened, Byren hobbled outside, leaning heavily on Orrade. He glanced over his shoulder to see Florin hug her grandmother in the back doorway.
Meanwhile, Leif beamed as though this was a great adventure, but Byren knew better. If they were caught the Merofynians wouldn't let the boy's youth stop their swords.
Byren blinked back tears of frustration and fury. He channelled the anger into empowering his weak body. Florin strode past, her long legs and easy stride propelling her swiftly across the ground. Leif took little skipping steps to keep up with her. Byren sucked in a deep breath, feeling the wound pull.
'Concentrate on escaping and getting better,' the old woman called after him. 'You can only fight one battle at a time.'
She was right. Head down, Byren focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Soon they were beyond the barn and workshed. Under the tall pines night was already closing in. Snow lay thick on the ground. Orrade pulled up sharply and Byren took the chance to catch his breath.
'Wait, Florin, our trail will give us away.'
She called over her shoulder. 'We thought of that. Nan's gone to bring the goats in for the night. They'll cover our tracks.'
She strode on, powerful thighs driving them upwards along the trail. Byren feared, even with Orrade's supporting shoulder under his, he would not be able to keep up with her for long.
'How far are these caves anyway?' he muttered.
'How far to the caves, Florin?' Orrade called.
She did not slow. 'We'll be there by midnight.'
He'd never make it.
'I'll carry you if I must,' Orrade whispered. He was half a head shorter than Byren and slender, but on other journeys his wiry strength had outlasted almost everyone, so Byren did not doubt him.
'What if the Merofynians follow us up to the caves?' Byren asked, between breaths.
Florin glanced over her shoulder. 'You could hide an army in the foothills of the Divide.'
They walked in silence through the deepening twilight, their breath misting with every step.
After a while, a raucous barking echoed from the farmhouse below them. They had already climbed so high that, when they paused to peer back down the hillside, they could only glimpse the snow-covered roofs and smoking chimney pot of the farmhouse between the pines.
'The dogs don't like the Merofynians,' Florin muttered.
'Nan should set the dogs on them!' her brother said. 'I would!'
'Hush, Leif. Do that and you'd get yourself killed,' Florin muttered.
'If Byren wasn't injured he'd send them to meet their gods!'
Byren shook his head. 'Not when there's a dozen of them and only one of me. Better to bide your time and attack when you know you can win.'
Florin gave him a smile. He didn't need her approval.
Driving himself to stand, he faced uphill. 'How much further?'
Orrade looked to Florin.
'Not far now.'
But Byren knew she was lying to encourage him.
They moved on. Byren's legs had seized up during the short rest and now his thigh muscles ached with each step and his injury tugged across his belly with each breath. He gritted his teeth and said nothing.
The night was clear. With the stars so bright and the white snow reflecting their light, they had no need of a lantern. The higher they went, the taller and thinner the pine trees got.
All too soon Byren's head was buzzing and his breath wheezed in his chest. He had to rest.
'We'll stop for
a bit,' Florin said.
'I can keep going,' Byren lied.
'Leif needs to rest. He has to take two steps for your one,' she told him.
'I could walk all night if I had to,' Leif insisted, despite the fact that Byren could see his legs trembling. 'I don't have to rest.'
'Well, I do,' Orrade muttered. 'Byren weighs as much as a full-grown leogryf.'
As he slipped out from under Orrade's shoulder and sat on a rock, Byren noticed Florin send his friend a look of thanks.
Leif chose to sit next to Byren, who took the chance to suck in deep breaths.
'We're making good time,' Florin said. 'I only hope Nan's all right. They wouldn't hurt an old woman, would they?'
Orrade caught Byren's eye. They both knew the Merofynians would hurt the old woman, if they thought it served their purpose. He felt Leif tense at his side and lied without a qualm. 'No. Your nan will be fine.'
He only hoped he would not be proven wrong.
Piro watched Overlord Palatyne's food-taster eat a sliver of roast beef and thanked Halcyon she wasn't his food-taster. She would rather starve than risk poisoning to protect him.
This was their second evening in the house of a wealthy Marchand merchant, resting while their ships were being provisioned for the journey. Merofynia wasn't far as the crow flies, but it was a long journey by sea around the warlords' spars, through the scattered Utlands, and past the famous Mulcibar's Gate into Mero Bay.
'The meat is delicious, overlord,' the man said. Piro wondered what the point of a food-taster was, if someone was clever enough to use a slow-acting poison that accumulated in the body.
Palatyne tore off a chunk of meat and sank his teeth into it. His eyes closed in bliss as he chewed.
'You see,' the merchant smiled. 'My cook is the best in Port Marchand. I am a realist, Overlord Palatyne. My wealth comes from trade, I don't bother with the politics of Ostron Isle or Merofynia. A wise merchant can make a fine profit from war.'
Fury made Piro's stomach clench. Only last midsummer this man had sat at her father's high table and praised King Rolen for Rolencia's peace and prosperity. And he probably meant every word, just as he did now.
The Uncrowned King Page 24
