The Crowded Shadows (13 page)

“At home?” she said. “In the Moroccos, you mean? You see the Wolves
there
?”

He glanced at her and away again. “Sometimes. When they’re in town. Their estates are very close to Razi’s. They are our neighbours.”

Wynter turned to look at Razi, but if he felt her eyes boring into him he didn’t show it.
Their estates?
she thought.
The Wolves have estates in the Moroccos?
She had always thought that they lived feral, like wild animals. She had always imagined them crouched in filthy dens, or lurking in caves, swaddled in dirty furs.

She looked at Christopher’s ruined hands. His left hand was resting on his thigh, his right loosely holding the reins, guiding his little mare on her way. Wynter had assumed the Wolves had done that to him, but surely—she glanced again at Razi. Surely whoever had done that to Christopher didn’t just wander about Algiers day after day? Dear God! Surely Razi would have made them pay?
It weren’t your place
, Christopher had said,
to sacrifice a kingdom for the sake of revenge
.

Wynter’s face flushed with building anger.

“Razi said they wouldn’t be here,” said Christopher softly, as if talking to himself.

“Chris?”

At the sound of Razi’s voice, Christopher’s head snapped up. “Aye?” he said.

Razi brought his horse to a halt and half turned his head towards them. They pulled up beside him.

“You travelled for how long with the Wolves?” he asked. “Nine months? Ten?”

Jesu
, thought Wynter.

“Over ten months, counting the boat and the trek through the muh… the markets.” Apart from the stumble, Christopher’s voice was perfectly even and calm. Razi turned to him, his face well schooled. Christopher met his eyes without hesitation.

“This is how they always travel?” asked Razi. “This obvious? With the pack all together?”

Christopher nodded. “I never once saw them try to hide,” he said. “They set up their tents every night, nice and comfortable. If they have guh…
captives
with them, they give them bivouacs and sometimes fires, but the Wolves sleep in the big tents with their… with the… the ones
…”

“Aye,” said Razi, holding up his hand, and Christopher ground to a grateful halt. “Do they stay close to camp? Can we expect them to wander? Go hunting?”

Christopher shook his head. “Unless they are raiding, no. They like their comfort, the Wolves.” He drifted off for a moment, his face blank. Wynter looked at his uncharacteristically dull eyes and felt a solid block of rage rising in her throat; it was like a lump of unchewed meat. “If they’re raiding, or moving in for a… for what they call a
visit
, then the camp is set and most of the brothers go… visit… while the others stay and watch the goods.” Christopher made no attempt to correct the word this time, his mind far away. Then his eyes snapped into focus and he looked sharply at Razi. “But they don’t
raid
here, do they, Razi? They don’t
visit
, do they?” Christopher’s voice was hard suddenly and bitter. “You said they wouldn’t be here at
all
.”

Razi winced and almost looked away. “So,” he said tightly, ignoring Christopher’s comment, “do they tend to travel fast, Christopher? Once they’ve struck camp? Will they cover much ground?”

“They ain’t got any
goods
with them,” said Christopher holding Razi’s eye. He was almost belligerent now, daring his friend to look away. “Just
property
, so, yes, Razi, they’ll travel fast. Where are they going?”

Razi shook his head; he looked away into the trees. He seemed to be deep in thought. Then he half-turned his head to speak over his shoulder again. “Christopher,” he said, his voice soft, “were I to get to my knees now and beg of you to return home, would you misinterpret it as an attack on your courage?”

Christopher blinked and looked up into the leaves above them. His eyes were bright, the broken sunlight making them glitter. For a moment he seemed very young, and Wynter wanted to put her arms around him. She wanted to tell him that it was all right. If he needed to leave, it was all right. She would not judge him for it.

“You’d come too, of course,” said Christopher, but Razi just smiled and shook his head. He glanced at Wynter.

She shook her head.
No, Razi. I will not leave
.

“You can get on your knees if you wish, Razi,” said Christopher hoarsely. “It would be amusing to see. But it would avail you naught but muddy britches.” He tried a watery grin on for size. It slipped away a little too soon to be effective and his eyes never lost their tightness, but Razi obliged with a snort.

He pulled his horse around and moved on without comment.

“What are we going to do, Razi?” called Wynter, unable to keep the dry anger from her voice.

Razi kept his horse moving forward. “We’re heading for the Indirie Valley, sis. Remember? We’re looking for Alberon.”

She willed him to turn around so that he could see how enraged she was. When he didn’t, she called after him. “What are we going to do about the
Wolves
?”

Razi didn’t answer. He let the distance grow between them, so that Wynter was left seething and glaring impotently at his retreating back.

“Chris,” she asked. “What do we do about the Wolves?”

He shrugged wearily. “Avoid them,” he said. He kicked his horse forward. Wynter pulled Ozkar into place behind him, and they followed Razi as he made his way through the ever thickening brush.

T
o Wynter’s surprise, Razi headed back to the river. He brought them all the way to the water and followed the shore for a half mile or so until they came to a wide and sandy beach, circled by big round boulders and shaded by cooling trees. He trotted to the middle of the soft, clean sand, brought his horse to a halt and looked around him.

“Here,” he said quietly and slid from his saddle.

Christopher and Wynter sat looking expectantly at him, thinking maybe he needed to relieve himself, or that his horse had a problem. But he just led his mare to the tree line and began to unsaddle her. Christopher shrugged wearily and slid from his horse without comment.

“What are we doing?” asked Wynter, and she swore to herself that if Razi Kingsson gave her another sarcastic reply she’d trot Ozkar to him and kick him in the head.

Razi paused in the middle of lifting the saddle from his horse. He looked across at her with a tiny smile and said, “I think we’ll set up camp here, wait out the night.”

She spread her hands in disbelief. There were
hours
of daylight left—what was he talking about?

Razi nodded in understanding. “We’ll let them get ahead of us. Just let them go wherever the hell it is that they are going. Let them just bloody… let them just bloody well
go
. And then we won’t have to worry about them any more. All right?”

Christopher paused at that, just for a moment, his face uncertain, then he continued tending to his horse.

Razi carried his saddle to the rocks and laid it down, then returned to pull the blanket and saddle-pad from the mare’s broad back. “They can go to hell for all that I care,” he muttered. Then he lifted his eyes to Christopher. “But when this is settled, Christopher, between my brother and I, when all this is settled… you and I will take my knights and we will hunt the Wolves.” His face grew hard suddenly, his handsome features drawing down into dark intent. “We shall drive them from my father’s kingdom once again, and they shall pay the price for ever thinking that they could take advantage of the temporary chaos here.”

Christopher stared at Razi, his hands spread against the dusty chestnut hide of his horse’s shoulder, his eyes questioning. “I mean it this time, Chris,” said Razi quietly.

Christopher’s eyes narrowed and his mouth curled into a sudden, brutal smile. His pale face was like a sharpened blade then, his mouth, his eyes, the set of his jaw all lethal. He nodded and Razi smiled grimly at him and they went back to their work.

Wynter looked behind her at the trees. They fluttered in the hot breeze, peaceful, serene and lovely. She shivered, watching the shadows, the hair on the back of her neck rising in prickly spider-legs of fear. What if the Wolves didn’t move on? What if they were not just passing through? Razi’s squad of knights wasn’t with them here, and all the violent intentions in the world wouldn’t protect the three of them if the Loups-Garous took against them.

The darkness under the trees moved, and Wynter abruptly kicked her horse over to the others. She kept a watchful eye on the shadows and stayed close to her friends as they tended to the horses.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Razi?”

Razi paused at the tree line and looked back to where Wynter was laying the rain-dampened ground sheets out to dry. He had an axe in his hand and a coil of thin rope looped over his shoulder, and it was quite obvious he was going to collect firewood. But it was inconceivable in these circumstances that he would actually want to light a fire.

“Have you lost your reason?” she said. “You will draw them down on us!”

Razi glanced briefly at Christopher. He was down at the water’s edge in the full sunshine, shaking damp cloaks out over the bushes and draping socks across a highline. “I am going to cook us a good meal tonight, sis,” Razi said. “We are going to eat properly, and sit around a fire like human beings. I will not cower in the dark tonight. I will not have
…”
His eyes flickered to the river’s edge again and he lapsed into silence.

“Oh,” whispered Wynter. “All right.”

“Ask Christopher to tickle us up some trout,” he said, then he glanced at her uncertainly. “Would you like that? Would you like some fish?”

“Aye,” she said softly. “I would.”

“All right.” He went to turn away from her, and then hesitated and looked back. “I will try and find some garlics if you like?”

“I would like that very much, Razi.”

He nodded and they traded a smile. Then he disappeared into the undergrowth.

Wynter finished laying out the equipment, then she jogged down to the water’s edge to help Christopher with the rest of their things. She rounded the bushes and came to an awkward halt. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

Christopher was sitting deep in the shade, his back against a tree, and as she appeared he scrubbed his face in a furious attempt to hide the fact that he had been crying. “Oh, curse it,” he said desperately.

Wynter half turned to go, paused, swung back to him and trotted up the rock. “Razi wants us to tickle up some trout,” she said. “He seems to think it a great idea to light a fire. I think he’s lost his God-cursed mind!” She stepped over Christopher’s sprawled legs and dropped lightly to sit beside him, looking out at the river.

“The
…”
he started hoarsely, then cleared his throat. “As long as the breeze stays blowing upriver we’ll be all right.” There was a moment’s tense silence. “I quite fancy some fish,” he said, turning to look at her. “Do you?”

Wynter knocked her shoulder against his in an affectionate, teasing gesture, and smiled. “Aye,” she said. “I do. I can catch it if you like.”

Christopher sniffed. “Oh aye?” he said doubtfully, wiping his hand under his eyes again. “You tickle trout do you, lass?”

“Christopher Garron,” she admonished with another nudge to his shoulder. “Do you doubt me on foot of my sex?”

He gave her a sideways smile, and looked out at the river again. “Nay, lass,” he said softly. “I just didn’t think court life would afford much time for dangling your arms in rivers.”

“My dad taught me. He was very good at it.”

He sighed. “So was mine.”

They sat in gentle silence for a little while, watching the sun glitter on the water.

“My dad were a lovely man,” whispered Christopher suddenly. “Lorcan would have loved him. And my dad would have loved Lorcan. They were very alike.” He breathed out a little laugh. “Though I think my dad’s language may well have shocked yours. He were a mite foul-tongued.”

Wynter chuckled. It was true, her father had detested foul language. Though in Christopher’s case, he hadn’t seemed to mind too much. She glanced fondly at him.
Dad loved you
, she thought.

“What was your father’s name, Christopher?”

“Aidan,” he said, then repeated it quietly to himself. “Aidan Garron.

She nodded. Aidan Garron and Lorcan Moorehawke. Gone.

All of a sudden the light glittering off the water became a little hard to focus on. Wynter looked down at her hands. They too were blurred. She swiped her eyes angrily.

“It hurts me, girly, that my memories of him are all caught up with those curs.” Christopher whispered this, as though he was telling her a shameful secret. “It shames me that every time I think of my dad, I end up thinking of
them
. It’s like I’m letting them steal him twice
…”

“Oh, Christopher. Don’t.”

They sat rigidly side by side for a moment, both perilously close to tears. Then Christopher shook himself and ran his hands over his face. “Augh!” he snarled. “Good Frith! Pull yourself together, Garron!” He knocked his head back against the tree. “Stupid baby!” he said, and dropped his hands heavily onto his knee.