'An advance party, too many for scouts. I think some Merofynian captain's eager for glory,' Orrade whispered, pointing to several dark moving patches, seen clearly against the pale snow. Then they blended into shadows under the pines. 'I counted fifteen of them. They'll be up here in twenty minutes at least.'
Byren cursed. The last of the others had only just left. They needed more of a head start than that. 'No time to erase the trail properly. No time to lay a false trail.'
He eased back from the lookout lip, crouching low. The other two joined him.
'We could lead them off, making just enough noise to make it seem like we were fleeing in panic,' Orrade suggested. 'The numbers are about even.'
'My monks have seen battle,' Catillum offered. 'We'll have no trouble handling them.'
Byren knew it was true. But… 'What if we could lead them into a trap somehow? Make it look like the Merofynians had been killed by renegade Affinity. Make them so scared they'll be afraid to follow?'
'Subterfuge is always good.' Catillum's voice held cautious approval.
'How?' Orrade asked.
Byren fingered the foenix spurs he wore around his neck. 'There's that hole in the cavern of the Foenix Faithful.'
'Tip them in?' Orrade smiled. 'I love the way your mind works!'
Byren grinned, then glanced to the mystic to see if his friend had unwittingly revealed himself.
But Catillum was thinking. 'If I could use the foenixes, somehow creating an illusion — '
'You can do that? Then we'll leave one Merofynian alive. He can take the tale of rabid foenixes back to his commander.' Byren came to his feet. 'Come on.'
Twenty minutes later, the Merofynians found Byren's camp. They entered with weapons drawn and caution in every step, but this soon disappeared as it became evident the camp was empty.
One man knelt over the fire circle, stirring it with his sword tip. 'Coals are still hot. They left in a hurry.'
'Find their trail,' the leader ordered, his voice sharp with barely contained impatience. He stood with his back to the cave where Byren hid, one boot resting on a stone of the fire circle.
Byren watched from the darkness, grateful yet again that his mother had tutored him in Merofynian.
After a few moments, the men returned with news. One reported, 'There's another cave, around the bend. From there, a trail leads up into the hills.'
Their leader laughed. 'He's not thinking, he's reacting. There's no pass that way. We hold the only pass to Foenix Spar. We'll have him in a day or two. But I'd rather catch him tonight and split that bag of gold among us. So, who wants to come with me now?'
Judging the moment right, Byren let two stones click together. The leader glanced into the cave. Byren made a soft scuffling noise, leather on stone. It was just the kind of surreptitious sound that someone might make while trying to move quickly, but quietly.
The Merofynian leader lifted his hand for silence, listening. 'The clever cock. He's split his forces, sacrificed some to lead us off, while hiding in the caves, waiting till we pass.'
Here was the weakness of the plan. A sensible leader would wait for reinforcements, but Byren wanted to lure them in. Would he have to reveal himself or would greed do the trick?
The one who had poked the fire wrapped a piece of cloth around his sword, poured a little something from a vial onto this and dipped it in the coals. Flames sprang from the makeshift torch.
The others edged nearer the entrance.
'Could be the caves join up and lead out somewhere else,' one of the men said. 'Could be they're getting away.'
'Could be,' the leader conceded. 'And we can't have that, can we lads? Come on.'
The man with the torch went first, sending shadows skittering up the walls of the cave and across the ceiling.
Byren sprang to his feet and took off, running towards the passage at the back, past a side passage where Orrade and the others waited.
'A piece of gold to the man who takes him alive,' the leader shouted. The Merofynians gave a roar and charged.
Byren ran, leading them on. He knew the way and, once around the next bend, the glow coming from the foenix cavern reached him.
His pursuers howled like dogs catching the scent.
As soon as he entered the foenix cavern Byren darted to one side. Avoiding the place where the floor appeared to be solid stone, he ran around the hidden central pit, towards the back wall. A single torch lit the paintings. By its flickering light the foenixes shimmered and danced in unison. Even blinking did not dispel the illusion. Byren's teeth hurt and his skin prickled with Affinity.
Of course — Catillum was casting an illusion from his hiding place in the shadows of a crevice.
Byren took up his place in front of the paintings. Apparently trapped.
The Merofynians ran into the cavern and hesitated, looking for hidden threats. He had to lure them on.
'I am Byren Kingsheir, son of King Rolen the Implacable. Come and get me if you can.' Byren lifted his hands, holding a foenix spur in each one so that his arms ended in long claws. 'The royal foenix will protect me.'
'He's stark raving mad!' the one with the makeshift torch muttered.
'Mad or not, he'll die by the sword,' their leader yelled. 'Get him.'
Several of his men charged across the floor, swords raised. When they reached the pit, they plunged so suddenly through the apparently solid floor that they seemed to disappear. Only their startled cries hung on the air, fading away.
The others made the sign to ward off evil and looked around uneasily.
But the trap closed as Orrade led the honour guard and monks to attack from behind. They cut down two men before the others realised the source of the threat.
Yelling orders, the Merofynian leader backed up, feeling the floor of the cavern with his sword tip. A wise move, but ultimately pointless, because one of his own men cannoned into him to avoid a monk's blow and the pair of them staggered backwards. They dropped through the floor.
Orrade's men beat the Merofynians back, the last few making desperate attempts to hold their places as their companions disappeared behind them.
When only one man remained, Orrade called his warriors off.
The last Merofynian was a small man who Byren suspected survived on his wits, rather than strength. The Merofynian let his sword drop and raised his hands with little hope.
In the sudden silence the very air of the cavern seemed to throb.
Byren strode around to the crevice to where the mystics master hid. 'Drop the illusion, Catillum.'
Grey-faced, the mystics master stumbled from his hiding place and leant against the wall, lifting his good hand to his face, fingers trembling.
When Byren glanced behind him, the black maw of the hole was revealed.
The surviving Merofynian cursed under his breath.
Byren turned back to Catillum. 'Holding the illusion weakened you?'
He nodded. 'People see what they expect to see. In this case a flat floor. But yes, it weakened me. My presence has awakened the seep and I had to fight the urge to draw on it. Untamed Affinity leads to evil.'
Byren no longer believed this, but he was not about to argue the point.
A shout made him spin. The Merofynian had tried to plunge through the others in a bid to escape. The scuffle ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
Orrade knelt next to the collapsed man. 'Dead, I'm afraid. Broken neck.'
Byren swore. They had been going to leave the man with a false memory of foenixes driving his companions into the pit, but that would not work now. Byren would have to improvise.
'Bring him here.' He indicated a spot under the tallest foenix painting.
Byren took one of the foenix spurs and slashed it across the dead man's throat, leaving it hooked in his flesh.
He stood back as blood flowed across the man's chest. With no heartbeat to pump the blood, it soon stopped. Byren wiped his hands, fastidiously. 'Best I can do. Foenixes can grow a new spur if one snaps off in combat. Unless they look closely it will appear that he was killed by the kick of a foenix.' Byren removed the burning brand from under the foenix paintings. 'Right. Everyone out!'