The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,3
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 there 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.
'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.'
Orrade nodded slowly. 'I don't see why you didn't say