Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

'Empty,' a voice called to others in the far room.

'Good, the hold's full. If we find anything else, it can travel on the next ship. Palatyne won't miss it until he gets home.'

'Don't you bet on it,' the one in the doorway muttered. 'He'll inspect the stores, when he gets to Port Marchand. He knows every single thing he took out of the trophy room. He's as much of a pinch-purse as any merchant.' As the Merofynian closed the door Fyn heard him add, 'And I don't want him accusing me of feathering my own…'

Fyn swung his legs back up then lay full length again. He counted to a hundred, slowly, but there wasn't a sound. All the while, frustration grew — Palatyne was setting off for Port Marchand.

If the worst came to the worst he could barter a ride to the port and catch up with Palatyne there. This time he must not fail.

Mid-afternoon, Byren called a halt for the third time that day. He'd been pushing the horses and they were exhausted, as were the children, but their party needed to reach Cedar tradepost before dusk, when the palisade gate was closed.

While he helped little Rodien down from the horse, he watched the surrounding trees. No birds sang, possibly because their party was large enough to scare them off. Still, he hadn't failed to note how Sveyto kept watching the pine forest. And the horses had been restive all day, spooked by something.

'Me next.' The ten year-old held out her arms trustingly.

Byren lifted her to the snow, feeling the tug of his wound. It felt weeks old, rather than days. That healer had done a fine job. He wished he could have done a better job protecting her brother, the dyer.

'Thank you, master blacksmith.' The girl beamed up at him, revealing beguiling dimples, then ran off to join her sisters.

'A few moments, that's all,' Byren called after her.

Scholar Veniamyn came over to join him, keeping his voice low as he watched his eldest daughter hand out dried fruit and nuts. Despite earlier breaks to rest and eat, it was the first chance they'd had to speak together, without the sell-sword hovering over them. 'You think Sveyto has been leading us astray?'

'Undoubtedly.' Byren glanced around the clearing. 'Speaking of which, where is he?'

'He stepped into the trees to relieve himself.'

Byren nodded. 'Think I'll follow his lead.' He raised his voice. 'Rodien, do you need to pee?'

The boy trotted over, chewing on his dried fruit, cheeks bulging. He swallowed and nodded.

Taking his hand, Byren followed Sveyto's tracks into the trees, chose a spot and unlaced his breeches. When they were done he came back and took the girls off, standing guard with his back to them.

The necessities taken care of, he returned to find there was still no sign of the sell-sword.

'Help the children mount up,' Byren told Veniamyn. 'I'm going to check on Sveyto.'

He jogged through the snow following the man's tracks. Soon he found where Sveyto had stopped to urinate, but instead of returning, the sell-sword had made off through the snow and the length of his stride indicated he'd been in a hurry.

It confirmed Byren's worst fears. The man had gone looking for his companions, meaning to lead them back to cut off Byren's group before they could reach safety.

Cursing fluently, he turned around to find the ulfr pack leader only two body lengths from him, between him and the clearing.

Surprise made his heart race.

'Eh, there,' Byren whispered, deliberately making his voice low and crooning. 'Have you been following me?' Was there enough residual Affinity from the seep on his skin to fool the beast a second time? There'd been no chance for him to bathe.

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.