The Crowded Shadows (24 page)

Wynter slumped with relief at the sight of him.
Thank God!
she thought.
Oh thank God!
There were purple bruises on his neck, and a long, deep trio of scratches running down his left arm. He was limping and his beloved bracelets were gone, but apart from that, he seemed fine. Wynter had seen worse injuries at a stick and ball match. She began to stagger forward, meaning to put her arms around him, but Razi stepped between them, holding her back.

“Christopher,” he said, “are you with us?” His wary tone stopped Wynter in her tracks, and she looked between them, cold creeping into her stomach, wondering what she had missed.

“I got away,” said Christopher. He stopped drifting towards them and stood looking about in puzzled confusion.
He’s in a dream
, thought Wynter.
He thinks he’s in a dream
.

Christopher blinked. “They took my bracelets,” he said.

Wynter hung back while Razi dressed Christopher. She watched for a moment as he helped their friend into his clothes, but in the end she had to turn away. There was something terrible about the numb way Christopher just stood there and let Razi pull his filthy clothes onto him. Even with her eyes averted, it was difficult to bear. She could hear Razi say, “Lift your leg, Chris. Good man. Now the other one. Good fellow. I’m just going to tie this now, all right? Chris? Is it all right? Straighten your arm, Chris
…”

She stood looking off into the brightening trees as Razi’s voice went on. The light began to rise, slanting through the fluttering leaves, and the pain in her head grew with it. She slit her eyes against the sun and fought not to get sick.

To her amazement, Razi never once asked to examine Christopher, didn’t once try and ascertain the extent of his injuries. He just dressed him and then straightened, wordlessly drew his sword and began to stalk back to the tavern. She watched his retreating back in shock, and then turned to Christopher. He stood for a moment, looking at his feet, and then he fell into stumbling step behind Razi.

Razi’s deep voice snapped at her from the trees, “Wynter! Come on!” And she had no choice but to stagger along behind as he led the way back through the trees.

*     *     *

At the tavern, Razi paused at the tree line, tensely scanning the silent buildings. Smoke dribbled from the open barn doors and the kitchen was firmly shut. There was no sign of life. Christopher and Wynter stood gaping mindlessly at Razi’s back, waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

“Take out your knife, sis,” he said quietly. “Keep it in your hand where it can be seen.” He looked anxiously into her face. Wynter tried to keep eye contact. “Try and look as though you know what you’re doing, all right?” She nodded and instantly regretted it, pressing her hand to her temple and clamping down on the nausea that rolled up into her throat.

“Chris,” said Razi softly. “There’s going to be trouble in here. I need you.”

Christopher’s eyes wandered to his.

“Can you understand me, Chris?”

He didn’t answer and his expression didn’t change. Razi reached to the small of his back and slipped Christopher’s black dagger from his belt. “
Here
,” he said. Christopher looked at his hand. “Here,” insisted Razi. He tucked his falchion sword under his arm, took Christopher’s hand and pressed the handle of the black dagger into Christopher’s palm. Christopher blinked for a moment, then his hand closed around the knife. Razi nodded, patted his shoulder and led the way into the tavern.

He took them through the smouldering barn and into the kitchen. The landlord’s men were all there, pressed silently around the walls. The landlord sat at the head of the big table, all the pitchers flung to the ground and shattered in pieces under his feet. No one looked up when Razi’s long shadow fell across the room. All their eyes were on the table and the pale body of the little girl that lay, motionless and broken, on the damp wood.

“Oh no,” said Wynter. At her voice, the landlord raised dull eyes and finally registered their presence.

The eldest daughter was crouched by the fireplace, a blanket pulled around her naked shoulders. She was dazed and staring, swollen with bruises, her hair a wild nest around her chalky face. She rocked gently and gazed into the ashy grate.

Wynter expected Razi to stalk to the girl’s side, expected him to insist on treating her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the men and settled his sword in his hand. The landlord’s eyes dropped to Razi’s weapon, then lifted with a dangerous glint.

“We just want to get our things and leave,” said Razi softly.

“You were with them,” said the landlord, rising to his feet.

“We did not do this.”

“You were
with
them!” The landlord’s men stood away from the walls, their cudgels in hand.

“We tried to save her,” croaked Wynter. “Look!”

She lifted her hand to indicate Christopher.
Look at my friend
, she meant to say,
see how they hurt him
. But Christopher was hunched and lethal looking, his lip curled, his face a feral mask within its tangled mess of hair. He shifted his knife and the light glinted in his eyes.

“We
…”
Wynter said desperately, tearing her eyes from him. She could not understand how things had gone so wrong. “We
…”
Unexpected tears rolled down her face and she rubbed them away with her wrist, her knife flashing in the slanting light. “Tried to save her.”

Razi stepped forward. “Let us get our things,” he commanded, “I have no wish to inflict any further hurt on you.” He balanced the sword in his hand and looked around the group of glowering men.

Anyone seeing him would wonder what he had hidden up his sleeve to make him so certain that he would win. The men looked to the landlord, then backed off.

Razi kept guard as Christopher and Wynter slipped into the tavern and gathered up their things. He never once lowered his sword and he edged carefully around things, his eyes on the men, while Christopher and Wynter collected everything together. He sent them ahead of him into the yard, where they found the horses wandering loose, their tack a reeking, smoke-darkened tangle on the ground. Christopher and Wynter did a slow and clumsy job of getting the horses ready, while Razi stood between them and the prowling men.

When the horses were finally set and Christopher and Wynter had heaved themselves into the saddle, Razi turned his head, his eyes still on the men, and spoke softly over his shoulder. “Christopher, load your crossbow and keep them at bay for me, will you?”

Christopher numbly loaded the weapon, pulling the specially designed lever and cocking it easily, despite his hands. He leaned back in the saddle and aimed at the loose circle of men, his face utterly devoid of emotion. Wynter did not doubt that he would let fly an arrow as soon as draw breath. The men seemed to share her conviction and they stepped back.

Razi spun to his horse. He hopped the stirrup, launched himself into the saddle and swung to face the men again.

“Please,” he said, lifting his sword. “Please, do not allow some misguided attempt at revenge to cost you your lives. We had nothing to do with this, and I have no wish to kill you in the defence of my friends.”

The men stared at him. Slowly, and one handed, Razi began to back his horse from the stable yard. Christopher did the same, his crossbow still aimed at their chests. Wynter could not manage the co-ordination necessary to dance Ozkar backwards from the yard. She slumped instead in the saddle, the pain in her head completely overtaking her, and allowed him to follow the other horses as they made their cautious and wary exit from the ill-fated tavern.

Once on the road they turned and galloped. No one followed.

A
s they journeyed on, the pain in the small of Wynter’s back quite overpowered the pain in her head. It was as though someone had reached a knotted fist inside her and was twisting her kidney slowly in place. The men rode ahead, Razi leading the way, Christopher lagging behind him, both lost within themselves, and Wynter watched them through a mindless haze. Everything seemed very far away somehow and the world had taken on a curious reddish hue. After a while she found herself leaning forward in the saddle, her hands clenched on the pommel, tears of silent agony rolling down her face.

Then Ozkar stumbled, and the pain in Wynter’s back spiked to a new level of unbearable. She listed sideways with a gasp, and gritted her teeth against the urge to scream. Oh, that was bad. That was
very bad
. She heard herself sob, and realised that she couldn’t go on.

Scrubbing her face in her sleeve, Wynter quietly cleared her throat. “Razi,” she said. It was nothing but a pathetic little croak, and neither of the men seemed to hear it. “Razi,” she said again. “I need to stop.”

Razi glanced around at her. His eyes widened in horror and he dragged his horse to a panicked halt. The frantic way he scrambled from the saddle told Wynter a multitude about how she must look. As he ran, he flung his arms up to her, causing Ozkar to shy, and Wynter cried out as bolts of agony flared through her back.

Christopher wearily turned his head to see what the fuss was, and his face did a slow crumble at the sight of her. Razi was holding his arms out for her to slide into, but Wynter knew that it would only bring agony, and she clung to her saddle.

“I can’t, Razi,” she gasped. “Don’t make me.”

“Oh, Wyn,” he said, his face creased in sympathy. He put his hands on her waist. “You must. Come on. I’ll lift you. Come on, it’s all right.”

He pulled gently, and Wynter cried out at the unbearable agony of it. She gripped the pommel.

“Don’t make me,” she cried, “don’t make me.” But Razi was reaching his strong arms around her waist and pulling, even as she begged him not to. A massive spike of pain lanced her lower back and she couldn’t help it, she screamed.

The last coherent thing she remembered before sliding from the horse and into breathless agony was Christopher’s hand, prying her fingers from the pommel and clutching her sleeve as he lowered her into Razi’s arms.

She did not lose consciousness, but for a while everything came and went through shifting clouds of pain. When, finally, she was capable of focusing her wits, she became aware of a little fire burning. The men’s small cauldron was suspended over it, hanging from a split branch tripod, its contents steaming gently.

Wynter concentrated on that for a while, before looking past the flames to find Christopher. He was staring at her, his crossbow cocked and ready, lying across his knees. She squinted uncertainly at him. She could remember Razi carrying her and laying her on the ground, then lifting her again so that Christopher could spread a cloak for her. She remembered clutching Razi’s arm and weeping when he had tried to sit her up. She recalled Razi stripping her of her tunic and her undershirt, and his horrified yell at the sight of her back.

How long ago had that been? It could have been hours, it could have been only moments.

She was lying on her side now and the pain had subsided to a dull kind of toothache, gnawing into her kidneys. She shifted and moaned, and Christopher suddenly focused on her, as though he had been asleep with his eyes open. He lifted his gaze to look past her and someone laid a big callused hand on her shoulder. Razi. She was briefly embarrassed by the fact that she was wearing nothing above the waist but her breast cloth. Then Razi scooped his arm under her shoulders and the pain drove everything from her as he lifted her into a sitting position.

“I am very sorry, sis. I am so sorry.” Wynter had never heard that tone in Razi’s voice before and she was suddenly very frightened at what might be wrong with her. She was terrified to see fear in Christopher’s glittering eyes and she looked away. She wanted to say
what’s wrong with me
,
Razi?
but was only capable of gritting her teeth for a long moment.

Gradually the sharp pain faded, leaving only a dull, gnawing agony, and Wynter let herself relax against Razi’s chest. He ran his hand over her hair and she leaned her head back onto his shoulder.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I need to look at your back.”

She cursed and squeezed her eyes shut, then bent slowly forward to rest her chest on her drawn-up knees. Pain squealed high again and she bit her lip with vicious force, tears leaking from beneath her eyelids. There was a rustling as Christopher knelt in front of her. She was afraid to look into his face and see that expression again, but when he took her hands, she squeezed his fingers in gratitude.

“What… what is it, Razi?” she gasped.
I’ve been stabbed
, she thought,
I’ve been shot in the spine
.

“Some whoreson kicked you in the back.” Razi had his calm, professional voice on now, and Wynter was amazed at how soothing it was. It made her feel safe and protected. It made the sharp pain of his gently pressing fingers endurable. “You are deeply bruised,” he said. “And I am worried that they might have hurt one of your kidneys.” Christopher’s hands tightened on hers, and she opened her eyes to look up at him through the fringe of her hair. He was gazing at Razi in despair. Wynter tugged his hands and he looked down at her, his eyes drowning.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Razi will fix me.” She smiled at him, but he seemed incapable of changing his expression from that bleakly staring mask.