The Crowded Shadows (25 page)

Razi sat back then, and gently patted her on the shoulder. “I will help you lie down now, sis. If I may?”

Christopher’s face creased up at the distress this brought to her eyes, and he gripped her hands tightly while Razi eased her down onto the reeking, smoke-dirtied cloak. He let go then, so that Razi could roll her onto her stomach.

Wynter rested her head on her folded arms, waiting for the pain to subside. The sounds of boots crunching in leaves told her that the men were moving about. Sure enough, Christopher came into view and resumed his vigil on the other side of the fire.
That fire is such a bad idea
, she thought as he laid his crossbow across his knee, and scanned the trees with restless, red-rimmed eyes.

Razi took a hot cloth from the cauldron and wrung it almost dry, hissing at the heat. He came back to sit cross-legged at Wynter’s side, curling his long body forward so that they were almost eye to eye.

“The fire is a bad idea, Razi,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Do not fret about it, sis. Just
…”
he cut himself short with an impatient grimace, and leaned across her with the cloth. She flinched as he laid it on her back. Then there was blessed relief as the heat of it seeped into her bruises. Slowly she relaxed, and Razi pulled another, equally rancid cloak up to cover her. She slid her eyes to look at him, and he ran his hand across her hair.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You have a cramped muscle in your back.”

She closed her eyes in shame.
Just a cramp?
she thought.
Oh, I’m such a God-cursed girl
. Razi’s soothing, rich voice went on, as did the gentle movement of his hand on her hair.

“They have not broken your ribs, thank God, nor misaligned your spine. But I need you to pass water before I know whether or not your injuries are severe.”

Wynter’s face blazed, and Razi sighed. “Do not feel bad, darling,” he said. “There is no need for shame, just let me take care of you. Will you do that for me? Let me take care of you?” She nodded without looking at him, and he patted her shoulder. “I am brewing some willow-bark tea for you, it will not be long in coming. And when you need to pass water you
will
tell me?” She nodded again. Then Razi pushed himself to his feet, and she heard him make his way to Christopher.

She cracked her eyes open and watched him hunker down by their friend, his elbows on his knees, his eyes averted. The two men stayed like that for a moment, not looking at each other. Finally she heard Razi ask, “Have you pain?”

Christopher said nothing. His knuckles whitened against the grip of his bow.

Razi kept staring at the ground. “Sometimes, after the nightmares, you suffered a lot of pain.” Christopher’s eyes flickered from tree to tree. He looked besieged, ready to run. Razi slid his eyes up to his face. “I could give you something if—?”

“There ain’t no pain,” whispered Christopher. “Not when you do it on purpose. It feels good.” He glanced down at Razi, saw the shock that his friend couldn’t hide, and immediately looked away.

Razi scrubbed a filthy wrist under his wide eyes, stunned. “Um
…”
he said. Then, as if finding something he could deal with, he abruptly straightened and said, “I should clean those scratches, Christopher. You are in danger of infection. Come along.”

Razi put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder, and to Wynter’s shock, their friend snarled and shoved him violently away. Razi fell into the leaves and Christopher shrank back, appalled at himself. “Razi! I’m sorry! Just… Razi, you mustn’t startle me. I’m too
…”
He tilted his head and helplessly spread his hands. “Don’t startle me, Razi,” he whispered.

Razi just sat, staring, and after a moment Christopher’s shoulders slumped, his eyes wandered, and a numb, distant expression crept into his face. “Have we soap?” he asked dully. Razi nodded, and Christopher pushed to his feet and stood swaying for a moment with Razi still sitting at his feet. “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll go wash myself.”

To Wynter’s surprise, Razi did not argue. Instead, he got to his feet, fetched his wash kit from his saddlebag and handed it wordlessly to his friend. Christopher laid his crossbow down on his saddle, helped himself to hot water from the cauldron and carried the copper bowl and the wash kit off into the trees.

“Christopher!” called Razi. “Won’t you stay in camp?”

Christopher didn’t turn around or reply and they watched him limp away. Wynter was unnerved and confused by the defeat she saw in Razi’s posture.

“Razi,” she said. He glanced sideways at her, like he always did when he did not want to discuss something. “Perhaps he just needs some time alone.” Razi watched her from the corner of his eyes and she turned her cheek against the vile grit of the cloak, wishing he would look at her properly. “Perhaps he feels ashamed, Razi.” Razi caught his breath at that and looked helplessly into the sky, his eyes glittering.

“Perhaps,” she said, “he is ashamed because those men took his bracelets. They meant so much to him, Razi, and it would hurt Christopher terribly that he could not stop them being stolen again. Perhaps it is because they stripped him and hunted him in the dark. Christopher has always seemed so very proud, he might imagine that you think him less of a man for allowing these things to happen.”

Razi was looking at her with utter misery. He shook his head, then he pressed his hand to his eyes suddenly.

“What?” she said, completely lost, swimming with confusion and despair. “What is it, Razi?” The cloth was cooling on her back, and she clenched her teeth and her fist against the slow increase of pain. She pressed her forehead into her arms to stop from groaning.

There was a rustling as Razi came and sat beside her. His hand resumed its soothing movement through her hair. “How is your head, darling?” he murmured. “Your wits seemed thoroughly scrambled last night. You must have a powerful headache.”

She laughed. “It is quite overpowered by the agony in my back.”

“You have a sizeable bruise on your forehead.”

“How lovely,” she mumbled, her eyes closing at the sleepy comfort of his caress. “I must look simply divine, like a princess from a painting. It is no wonder Christopher has fallen for my charms.” He continued to stroke her hair, the fire crackling in the background, and Wynter knew he was looking out into the trees, fretting that Christopher was out of sight. “The fire is a bad idea, Razi,” she said again. “It will draw them down upon us.”

“No,” he said quietly. “They will not come again today. They will be sleeping now, and sated. Heavy from the change that always happens before… beforehand.”

Wynter’s eyes flew open, pieces dropping into place. “It was the Loups-Garous?” she said, startled that she had not made the connection before, horrified that it had been them. Had they recognised Christopher, then? Had they done those things to him, purposely to shame him, knowing who he was? “Oh, Razi,” she said, “did they know it was him?”

It took him a moment to gather the threads of her meaning, then he shook his head. “No, Wyn, in that state they barely know their own names. They know only what it is they want and
…”
he shuddered and shook his head, his eyes full again. He looked away, swallowing back his despair.

“Those poor girls,” said Wynter. Razi’s hand tightened on her neck for a moment, then resumed its steady motion through her hair. She turned her forehead into her arms again, trying not to see that little girl’s face, bobbing away from her in the dark.

“Life was so much simpler when you and Albi were babies,” whispered Razi, his voice far away.

Wynter snorted. “Oh aye?” she said bitterly. “In whose happy dream?”

“Oh, but it was, Wynter. It was so much simpler.” She opened her eyes, but Razi’s voice was full of tears and she could not look up at him. “Wyn?” he whispered. “I do not think that I am strong enough to finish this. What kind of a man would that make me?” he said. “To carry the two of you forward after this? After… this?”

Wynter turned her cheek and gazed up at him. With his big brown eyes and his transparent hurt, Razi looked like a little child. Despite the beard, despite the scar, he looked as Wynter imagined he might have looked as a four-year-old, solemnly carrying the weight of the world through the doorway of a kitchen and laying it in a box of hay. She reached for his hand and kissed it, pressing his fingers to her cheek and wearily closing her eyes. “It will be all right, Razi,” she promised. “You are not alone. You and me and Christopher. Together we can fix everything.”

“W
ynter? Wyn? Come along now
…”

She drifted up to the smell of food, and Razi’s deep voice whispering.

“Huh?” she said none too intelligently, and squinted up into his sooty face.

“Here you go,” he said, offering her a bowl of the spicy soup he’d made from their supplies.

She took it from him, yawning and bleary, and pulled herself up from her cramped slouch. Her back screeched dully, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as before. She was shocked to see evening light slanting low and golden through the trees.

“J…
Jesu
,” she croaked. “Was I asleep?”

“If your snoring was anything to go by, then I would wager that yes, you were.” He turned to Christopher, another bowl in his hand. The young man was limp and motionless, his hands folded on his chest, his head laid back into the crooked embrace of tree roots. Even so utterly relaxed, Christopher had a sleepless look to him, the skin under his eyes swollen, his face drawn, as if exhaustion were a permanent resident in his face. Razi hesitated, then he bent to lay the bowl of food by the fire.

A twig snapped in the trees and Razi jerked his eyes up, his hand dropping to his sword. There was a huge man silhouetted at the tree line. Razi crouched and unhooked his sword, and the man turned, yelling into the trees behind him. Whatever it was that he shouted was lost in Razi’s furious bellow. Wynter barely had time to push to her hands and knees, her back screaming in protest, before Razi drew his weapon and leapt across the flames. He kicked the man hard in the stomach and brought his sword flashing down onto his head. With a cry, the big man fell onto his back, bringing his shield up just in time to absorb Razi’s ferocious blow.

The falchion sword sliced through the shield with ease, biting into the man’s collarbone in a blow that would have taken the head from his shoulders had it not been deflected. The man screamed and his blood shot up in a fine spray to redden Razi’s hands and stipple his snarling face.

Wynter scurried forward, scrambling for her travel belt and the knife it contained. Christopher surged silently to his feet, his katar already in hand, his grasp of the situation uncertain.

Razi planted his foot firmly on the man’s shield, holding him in place. He pulled his sword free with a cracking splinter of wood and raised it over his head, ready for the fatal blow.

Something low and grey shot from the trees. It hit Razi full in the chest, bearing him backwards and away from the man, carrying him to the ground. Christopher screamed and rushed across the clearing, the katar flashing. Another murderous shape launched itself from the shadows and Christopher was carried backwards, missing the campfire by inches and landing in an explosion of leaves at the base of a tree.

Wynter screamed and struggled with the tangle of her belt, trying to release her knife. I here was the sound of yelling and someone ran into the clearing. A panicked voice shouted in Hadrish, “Drop the weapons!
Frith an Domhain
, drop! Coinín!
Abair leo a gcuid airm a chaithcamb uathu!
”

Wynter froze and crouched, glaring through the tangled mess of her fringe. Ashkr, wild-eyed and frantic, stood at the edge of the trees, his sword drawn.

In the shadows, Wari rolled to his side, clutching his shoulder as blood flowed out between his fingers. He was white-faced with pain. At his feet, Razi lay pinned to the ground, a huge warhound standing over him, its jaws clamped around his throat. Razi, his hands knotted in the dog’s fur, gagged, and Wynter saw the flesh of his neck dimple under the pressure of the hound’s teeth.

Across the fire, metal clinked softly against stone as Christopher allowed his knife to drop from his hand. A second warhound stood over him, its teeth locked on his straining neck. Wynter lurched to her knees, not knowing which way to turn, and Christopher rolled terrified grey eyes to her, and held out his hand.
Do nothing! Do nothing!
Slowly he lowered his shaking hands to the ground, and he allowed his body to relax under the arch of the big dog’s legs. To Wynter’s relief, she saw the powerful jaws ease up slightly on Christopher’s throat.

Razi gagged again, and a line of blood flowed around the taut curve of his neck as the hound’s teeth punctured his skin.

“Brother,” cried Wynter, “do not struggle.” Razi stilled and Wynter saw him force himself to relax. His hands drifted to the ground. The warhound instantly eased its grip, and Wynter’s eyes fluttered shut in momentary relief.

Ashkr edged forward, his sword up, his eyes on Wynter. He glanced at Wari as he passed him by, and asked something in Merron. Wari, still clutching his wounded shoulder, forced a reply through gritted teeth. Ashkr came around to kick Razi’s sword into the bushes, and then stood looking down at him, his navy eyes cold.

He flicked a glance at Wynter. “Throw your weapon into bush,” heng her travel belt into the bushes. The warhounds jerked at the sudden movement, their growls intensifying, their eyes turning to her. Christopher made an unconscious moan of fear, and Razi’s hands flew upwards as the great jaws tightened on their throats.