The Uncrowned King (31 page)

Swallowing, Byren glanced around and spotted the silver-white coats of another two ulfrs, further back in the trees. No wonder the horses were skittish.

Well, they hadn't attacked him yet. Animals smelled fear. Telling himself there was no reason to be afraid - hadn't the ulfr let him pass just yesterday? - Byren gathered his courage and walked slowly up the rise towards the pack leader.

The beast watched him with eyes that held far too much intelligence for an animal. It was said, all Affinity beasts carried a little of the goddess Halcyon in them. Looking into those eyes, Byren believed it.

When he was less than a body length from the beast, Byren hesitated. It still had not moved from the path and he did not want to turn his back on it. On impulse, he dropped to his knees and raised his hand, wrist forwards, fingers down for the ulfr to sniff.

The beast's muzzle twitched delicately as it stepped forwards and accepted his offering. He felt the heat of its exhalation and then the damp of its nose as it nuzzled his skin.

'You are a beautiful beast,' Byren whispered, and he meant it. Yielding to another impulse, he edged closer, running his hand through the pack leader's thick pelt, where it grew long in a ruff behind the beast's head. The fur felt incredibly soft on his fingers and he fought the urge to apologise because he still wore the ulfr coat the farmholder had given him.

The ulfr nuzzled his ear, startling a chuckle from Byren. Strange, once he had thought the scent of ulfrs invasive and dangerous. Now it seemed as right and familiar as the scent of horses.

The dominant ulfr lifted its head, sniffed the air, uttered a soft sound like a cough and trotted off. At its signal, the others beasts melted into the snow-shrouded forest.

Not sure what had just happened, Byren came to his feet with renewed urgency. If he didn't get Veniamyn and his family safely to Cedar tradepost tonight, the girls would be gracing some fierce Utlander's piss-pot of a great hall by spring cusp.

Grim determination driving him on, Byren ran back to the others. Veniamyn blanched when he met Byren's eyes.

'Where's our guide?' the middle girl asked.

'Hush,' the eldest chided her, quick to pick up on her father's concern.

'Will we be there soon?' the youngest asked, unaware of the undercurrents.

'By dusk.'
Or not at all
, Byren thought. 'Veniamyn, you bring up the rear. I'll lead. I'm going to push the horses, so hold on. If you feel tired and grumpy, think of the lovely hot dinner and warm bed waiting for you at the journey's end.' It was what his mother used to say, when he and Lence were little and fed up with travelling.

His mother... pain twisted in his gut, but there was no time for grief.

Byren took the reins of the horse Rodien rode and set off at a jog. Each step tugged at his wound. He ignored it. The short afternoon sped by. Every time they breasted a crest, he hoped to see the tradepost, but another empty gully lay before them.

At one point he heard the cry of a lincis defending its territory. Probably one of the pair that had taken his pony. The sound came from the north, not between him and the tradepost, so he ignored it. He had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble, as his old nurse Seela would say.

Another stab of loss hit him. Did she still live? Had the Merofynians mistreated her? Surely they would respect her grey hair.

His impotence made him angry and he channelled that anger into his body, driving himself and the horses onwards.

All through that interminable afternoon, the children did not complain. Like the horses they seemed to be aware of his urgency, or they thought it was some sort of game, because they held on, ducking low branches, laughing when snow fell on them and brushing it off their shoulders with good humour.

All too soon the sun dipped, leaving a smear of brilliant salmon-pink behind the pines on Byren's right. On his left he glimpsed the first star of evening between the tree tops. No one suggested they rest or make camp.

Still, he drove himself on. How Veniamyn managed, Byren did not know. His thighs burned by the time he came to the top of a ridge and spotted the thin spiral of smoke behind the next crest.

Sucking in deep breaths, he waited for the other horses to catch up. Veniamyn had fallen a long way behind, leading the horse drawing the sled.

'Are we there?' Rodien asked.

'See the smoke?' Byren pointed.

The children nodded.

'That's Cedar tradepost.' Or he was much mistaken. 'You'll be safe inside its palisade. All we have to do is cross this gully, climb that next ridge and go down into the next gully.'

'What's taking Father so long?' the eldest girl muttered, twisting from the waist.

'Come on, Da,' the youngest called.

'Hush,' Byren warned.

All four children looked to him for an explanation.

'Sound carries. We don't want to attract attention.' It was just as well they hadn't come by the traditional route up from Rolenton, where the brigands would almost certainly be watching the trail, prepared to attack any party that looked too weak to defend itself. Sveyto's meandering meant they were coming across country.

Veniamyn joined them. He bent over double and did not lift his head for several minutes.

'I'm s-sorry,' he panted, still bent double.

'We're almost there. Catch your breath,' Byren said. 'It'll give the horses a chance to get their second wind.'

Veniamyn cast him a swift look. In that instant Byren noticed his pallor. The scholar would not last much longer. Too much time spent poring over books.

When he did straighten up, he did not look much better. Byren stepped closer and raised his arm, pointing. In the few moments that they'd been waiting the last of the colour had left the western sky, and an effervescence of stars filled the night above. By their silver-blue light, Byren could clearly make out the silhouettes of the trees on the next ridge. 'See where the stars are obscured? That's the smoke from Cedar tradepost. We're that close.'

Veniamyn nodded. 'I don't know what I would have done without you, Byren Kingson.'

'Kingson?' the eldest girl echoed. Her eyes widened with horror. 'Byren Kingson, Father? But we peed in front of him!'

Her dismay made Byren laugh softly. 'I turned m'back. Come on.'

He led the horse carrying Rodien and the youngest girl down the slope. Behind him, the two bigger girls whispered, their tone a mixture of excitement and chagrin.

They'd reached the bottom of the gully when he heard a shout and turned to his right to see a dozen dark figures break from the trees.

His party was close to the base of the next ridge but the snow was knee-deep. It would be impossible for the laden horses to make it up to the crest and over before the men reached them.

'They're not fellow travellers, are they?' the eldest girl asked grimly. She had been aware of the danger all along.

'No such luck,' Byren muttered. Tying the halter of Rodien's horse to hers, he looked up into her face. 'I'm relying on you to get the little ones up the hill, over the ridge and down to Cedar tradepost. Don't look back.' And he slapped her horse's rear.

It took off, frightened by Byren's shout.

Veniamyn came running up to Byren, the heavy sled impeding his horse's progress. 'Is it -'

'Yes. Up.' Byren caught his thigh and lifted him, almost throwing him onto the horse's back. Then he ran a couple of paces to the leather traces that connected to the sled and slashed them. 'We'll have to leave this.'

With a slap, he sent the scholar's horse after the children's horses. Then he ran along behind.

At first the horses made good time, but then they hit the slope of the next ridge. Spent horses, burdened with riders, running uphill through snow, were not much faster than determined men.

And the brigands had veered to cut them off, climbing the ridge at an angle. Faceless, menacing black silhouettes against the star-bright snow, they forged on, intent on their prey.

Byren loosened his hunting knife, wishing he had more weapons.

Halfway up the ridge, he veered towards the brigands. The nearest man huffed madly as he ran and drew his sword, intending to cut Byren down with one slash.

Byren ducked, then rose, driving his knife into the man's gut. The brigand crumpled. Byren pulled his knife free and snatched the sword.

Then he raced towards another brigand, who was trying to grab the scholar's horse by the tail with one hand, while reaching to pull Veniamyn from its back with the other. Byren slashed the brigand's back, shoved him aside and ran on as he fell.

Between the pounding in his head and the shouts of the brigands, Byren was aware of nothing but each moment, each frantic breath, each thudding step.

Amazingly, he saw the crest ahead with the children's two horses silhouetted against the stars. Veniamyn's horse snorted and struggled up the last of the incline to join them, with Byren a step behind.

Below, nestled in the valley between ridges, the welcome lights of Cedar tradepost glowed in the dark. The palisade gate was closed but they wouldn't turn away a party made up mostly of frightened children.

'There it is, go!' Byren ordered.

'What about you?' the eldest girl cried.

'Go!'

Veniamyn cast him a look of thanks, then plunged after the children.

Byren turned to face the brigands, hoping none of them carried bows. Even if they did, shooting down hill at racing targets was not easy. Their aim would be off.

He held the high ground as he confronted the first two bandits, who raced up the rise towards him. Lifting his borrowed sword, Byren waited grimly. He'd killed two but there were another ten - not good odds, as Lence would say...

His twin's loss cut deep and hard. No time for grief.

The two brigands slowed, eyeing him warily. Clearly, they weren't about to attack. As they waited for others to join them, Byren was aware of some making their way across the crest and around behind him.

He cast a look over his shoulder and spotted three horses streaking across the snow towards the palisade gate. Thank Halcyon, Rodien and the others were safe.

He, however, was about to face the brigands' anger.

There was no point running. They would cut him down the moment he turned his back. Byren preferred to die fighting. He did not regret his actions. He could not have abandoned Rodien, or Veniamyn and his girls. But he did regret failing his father, failing Rolencia.

'They're getting away!' one of the brigands panted.

'Forget them. We have a richer prize here,' Sveyto said. 'The Merofynians are offering a bag of gold for the kingson.'

For a heartbeat, Byren considered denying it, but Byren Kingson was worth more to them than Byren Blacksmith.

'What gave me away?' he asked. 'Was it something Veniamyn said?'

Sveyto laughed. 'That old fart? No. You and your twin attacked a band I was with last spring cusp. I saw you then, all high and mighty, before I ran off into the trees. Took me a while to place you, but you have the manner of a lord, not a blacksmith.'

Byren shrugged. Piro would have been disappointed in him. She was the one who loved to dress up and perform plays. He lowered his sword tip. 'So you've been after me all along, not -'

'Oh, the girls would have warmed our beds before we sold them to the Utlanders.' Sveyto spat. 'Now we'll have to sleep cold. Drop your weapon.'

There was no point resisting. They were going to capture him eventually and he would stand a better chance of escaping if he was uninjured. Byren tossed the borrowed sword and his hunting knife in the snow at Sveyto's feet and lifted his hands.

'Tie him up, good and tight,' Sveyto ordered.

Byren didn't offer resistance, but the nearest brigand stepped in and sent a punch into his belly that drove the air from his lungs. He went down on his knees in the snow. More blows followed.

'Hurry,' Sveyto warned. 'Before that nagging scholar convinces Cedar tradepost to send out warriors to rescue his precious kingson.'

Head ringing, ribs aching with each breath, Byren fought to remain conscious as two burly brigands dragged him down the hillside between them. When they reached the abandoned sled, the brigands strapped him to it, atop the belongings.

Still dazed from the blows, Byren heard their voices fade in and out along with the rhythmic thumping of his head.

'...are missing.'

Sveyto swore and suddenly his face appeared over Byren. 'That's four good men you owe me, kingson!' Another blow made his head ring.

Four men? He'd only taken down two, hadn't he?

The sled jerked as the brigands took up the shafts and dragged it over the snow through the night.

Byren knew he was in a bad way as he slipped in and out of consciousness. At one point he thought he was on Sapphire Lake in a rocking boat, fishing with Orrade. Something he said made his friend throw back his head and laugh. Wiping tears from his eyes, Orrade grew serious. 'You know I'm not like Lence. You should never have compared us. I'll always be true to you, Byren.'