The Crowded Shadows (43 page)

Razi’s hands clenched on his knees. He nodded again.

“Coinín, he say there no hope here for us. He say we misled by… by people. They make promise they not ever keep. He say we not ever be allowed to settle in this place, that there nothing here for the People or for any of the tribes. He say
.…
” Ashkr lost some of his fierceness and his eyes opened a fraction wider. “Coinín, he say that nothing we do change this, that we can to forget this wakening a new land to
An Domhan
. Our… Our… we not need
…”
Ashkr looked over his shoulder. His people were watching him, Sólmundr in particular, painfully anxious. Christopher, his head in his hands, was the only person not looking in their direction. Ashkr glanced at Embla and his face hardened. “My sister, she say that Coinín only tell this because he not of the Religion. She say Coinín willing tell anything, any untruths because of this.” Ashkr turned enquiring eyes to Razi. “Is this true, Tabiyb? Coinín, he say this things just because he not of the Religion? He lie because of this?”

Razi stared at Ashkr uncertainly, and Wynter cursed Christopher for having kept so much from them. Who could tell what the consequences of one misplaced word might be? If Razi confirmed what Christopher had said, the Merron might simply go home and leave them stranded here without a guide to Alberon’s camp. On the other hand, what might these people do to Christopher, if they came to believe that he had tried to deceive them? Unwilling to risk a comment either way, Razi glanced silently to where their friend crouched in the dust.

Ashkr slapped his palm into the ground. “Tabiyb!” he cried. “Does Coinín lie?”

“Christopher is a deeply honourable man, Ashkr. I doubt very much that… I assure you that Christopher would not lie simply in order to get his own way. If he has told you something, then it is because he believes it to be the truth.”

Ashkr searched Razi’s eyes. Wynter was not sure what it was she saw in the blond man’s face now. Was it hope? Fear? Grief? She could not read him.

“Then… what
you
say, Tabiyb?” he asked softly. “You think there hope here for the People? You think it worth for us to go on?”

Wynter thought of the Loups-Garous. She thought of the long trek to Alberon’s camp, and of the many nights that they would face, alone in the dark, just the three of them, with David Le Garou and his Wolves searching the shadows for them. She gazed into Ashkr’s questioning face and thought,
Tell him “yes” Razi. Lie to him. Promise him anything; just make sure these people get us to Alberon
. She stole a glance at Razi. He was scanning Ashkr’s face, no doubt trying, and failing, to read the man.
Tell him “yes”!
she thought.

“Ashkr,” he said. “I have no idea what it is that Christopher so objects to in your plans. But I can assure you that if you grant my companions and me safe progress to the Royal Prince, if you offer us your protection and do your best to fulfil that duty, then I shall exert every
ounce
of my considerable influence to ensure that you are granted haven in this kingdom.”

Ashkr frowned. “You able make this kind of promise, Tabiyb? You this kind of man? You have such power?”

Razi snorted. Wynter heard the bitterness in his voice when he said, “Yes, Ashkr. I most certainly have.”

“Even
…”
Ashkr hesitated, his eyes dropped to Razi’s hands. He touched Razi’s dark skin. “Even though you man of colour?”

Razi’s jaw tightened. “Yes, Ashkr. Even though I am a man of colour.”

“I would think it bode very well for the People,” said Ashkr softly. “That man of colour be permitted have such influence here.”

Ashkr looked across at his people again. Wynter saw him find Sólmundr. The wiry man was hunched forward expectantly, his eyes glued to his friend.

“I believe you, Tabiyb,” murmured Ashkr, still gazing across the sun-filled camp at Sólmundr. “I believe you do your best for us, and the People maybe really find a home here.”

Wynter saw Sólmundr scan his friend’s face, saw the hope in his eyes as he tried to read Ashkr’s expression. Ashkr’s mouth tightened. He held Sólmundr’s gaze for a moment, then he shook his head. Sólmundr’s hope instantly drained away and Wynter’s heart clenched in anxiety and guilt at the grief in his face. For the briefest of moments the two men stared desolately at each other. Then Sólmundr nodded curtly and sat back. Ashkr’s face hardened, his brows drew down, he set his jaw.

“My sister is right,” he said, rising to his feet. “We will move fast now. We fulfil our duty.” He glanced down at Razi. “And we get you to the prince, Tabiyb, that you may fulfil
your
duty. Thank you.” He reached forward, smiling, and Razi numbly accepted his handshake. Thank you for truth,” he said, then turned and strode away.

As he entered the circle, Ashkr lifted his arms and yelled in Merron. The warriors all lurched to their feet in joyful relief and the tall man was momentarily engulfed in their noisy ranks as he made a loud and resolute proclamation. Christopher and Sólmundr remained seated, their faces blank.

Razi got to his feet, rubbing his hands on his thighs. Wynter stepped to his side, her heart itchy with the conviction that somehow, something huge had just slipped irretrievably from their grasp.

“You under our protection now, Tabiyb,” said Úlfnaor, handing Razi his sword and knife. “We take you the rest of the way. We keep you as safe as we can.”

Razi bowed absently. Wynter took her weapons from the Aoire and leaned to peer around him, trying to keep Christopher in her sight. Úlfnaor turned to follow her gaze.

Christopher was helping to get Sólmundr to his feet. He looked angry and upset, and when Wynter and Razi tried to catch his eye he pointedly turned away, shoved his shoulder under Sólmundr’s arm and helped Ashkr lead him off between the tents and out of sight.

“Give him time,” said Úlfnaor. “He rage that you go against him, but sometimes it hard to see there is two sides to one truth,
nach ea
?” He slapped Razi on the shoulder. “Come,” he said. “We put you to work, eh? You help tidy up this Loups-Garous mess. It take your mind off things.”

Wari took Razi into the forest to dig the Wolves’ graves, and Wynter was commandeered to construct the drying frames necessary for the meat and hides that the Merron were harvesting from the Wolves’ dead horses. The work was obviously designed to keep the two of them separated and out of mischief, and Wynter spent the morning under the watchful eye of a small group of men and women, while the majority of the Merron occupied themselves in some secret industry, deep in the forest.

Christopher and the lords retreated to Ashkr’s
puballmór
and remained there. Over the course of the day, Wynter found herself staring across the rippling heat haze, wondering what was going on within the silent, sun-blasted walls of the tent.

A small pile of Loups-Garous’ belongings was deposited in the centre of camp, and the Merron came and went, helping themselves. Wynter didn’t even bother looking; she had no desire to own anything tainted with the smell of Wolf. But when Razi returned from the forest to collect the second body, she was surprised to see him stride over and crouch to root in the pile, his back to her. He seemed to be looking for something in particular, and after a moment Wynter saw him draw his dagger and set to worrying at something hidden from her sight.

Just as she was rising to her feet, Razi straightened and thrust his find into the ammunition pouch on his belt. He stood staring down at the pile of rich tack and finery, and something in the furious set of his shoulders stopped Wynter from crossing to his side. He glowered once in the direction of Ashkr’s tent. Then he spun on his heel, strode back to Wari, heaved the remaining body across his strong shoulders and stalked into the shadows of the trees.

Wynter went back to her work.

Quite early in the evening, the Merron began to trickle back through the trees, and Wynter found herself no longer needed at the drying frames. For a long, indecisive moment, she stood gazing at Ashkr’s resolutely quiet tent. Then she turned and wandered through the murmuring activity of camp, looking for Razi.

She caught sight of him, hunkered by one of the tents, deeply engrossed in a pantomime conversation with Wari and another man. Razi had something in his hands and they were all hunched over it, frowning. Razi handed it to the man. As Wynter approached, things seemed to come to a conclusion, and Razi stood and shook the man’s hand with the decisiveness of a bargain sealed.

Wynter waved to catch his eye and he wandered over. His eyes widened as he took in her work-sullied clothing. “Good God, sis. What have you been doing, rolling in a trough of offal? You’ll breed flies!”

“You’re hardly fit for court yourself, Razi Kingsson!”

Razi looked down at himself. Stripped to the waist, he was filthy from digging the graves, his skin and trousers covered in mud and gore. “Oh!” he said, absurdly surprised. “Oh my.” He held up his grimy hands as if trying to fathom how they had come to be that way. “I’m foul!”

Wynter took him by the elbow. “Come along,” she said. “Let us go wash.”

As if on cue, the two of them paused and glanced back in the direction of Ashkr’s tent, hidden from them now by the rest of camp. Suddenly Wynter felt overwhelmingly exhausted and unbearably hot. Glancing up at Razi’s dirty face, she saw the same weariness in him. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and shook him gently. He glanced down at her. “Would you like a swim?” she asked.

He nodded. Behind them, a steady gentle tapping started up, the sound of a small hammer striking metal. Wynter looked back. The man with whom Razi had been speaking was hunched near the door of his
puballmór
, beating some small piece of silver into shape.

“Is he a smith, Razi? Have you commissioned some work?”

“Aye,” he sighed. “But, I must confess, I am not certain I shall go through with the idea. I’m afraid it may, in fact, be tasteless and crass.” He grimaced at her. “I would like to think about it for a while, if I may, before discussing it?”

Wynter studied his weary face. “All right, Razi,” she said gently.

Smiling, Razi pushed back her hat, found a clean piece of skin and kissed her forehead. “Let us go swim.”

A
couple of hours later they were strolling back across the plains, sun-dried and river-scoured, tired, hungry and refreshed, when Razi stiffened and came to an awkward halt. Wynter looked up to see Christopher striding across the grass, his hair flying.

“Where have you been?” he yelled. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He was carefully groomed, dressed in his cleanest clothes, the sleeves of his undershirt rolled to the shoulder. To Wynter’s amazement the tops of his arms were glittering with silver. He came to a halt in front of them and she stared at the bear emblems decorating the bracelets at the tops of his arms.

“Christopher,” she said. “Where…?”

“We’ve been invited to dinner,” he said curtly. “It ain’t nothing formal. Just put on clean clothes.”

“But Chris,” she said again, reaching for the bracelets.

He shifted his arm from her touch. “Sól and Ash gave them to me. They’re a gift.” Wynter met his eye. Merron bracelets were much more than a simple gift. They were a pact. They were a promise. They meant you belonged. Christopher averted his gaze. “Dinner is in Ashkr’s tent,” he murmured. “Don’t be long.” He began to turn away.

“Chris,” said Razi.

Christopher came to a halt.

“Don’t be angry,” said Razi.

Christopher’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t turn back. “Go change your clothes,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner.” And he strode off, heading down through the smoky camp to Ashkr’s tent.

Razi went to run after him. Wynter caught his arm. “Razi,” she said, “the smith is calling you.” He turned to see the man waving at him from the door of his tent. “Go on, Razi,” urged Wynter gently. “Go conclude your business. I shall change my clothes. You can meet me at the tent when you are done. Go on, brother. Chris just needs some time.”

“You would like more drink, Iseult?”

Embla leant across to fill Wynter’s beaker, and Wynter was once again struck by the richness of the beautiful woman’s clothes.
Nothing formal, my foot!
she thought, tugging at her travel-worn shirt and straightening her britches.
Curse you, Christopher Garron. Had I known the lords would deck themselves out like sultans, I might at least have polished my boots
.

Razi chuckled at something Ashkr was saying, and Wynter smiled, glancing his way. He was resting back against a cushion, his arm curled loosely around Embla’s waist, his long legs splayed perilously close to the remains of the dinner things. Wynter had to admit, this meal had been a wonderful idea. Strange at first, and stilted, it had not taken long for the Merron’s easy good humour, Razi’s smooth diplomacy, and the rather liberal distribution of wine, to ease the tension.

You understand
, Razi had said when they entered the tent.
I have no intention of standing in the way of your duty, Embla? I do not presume to come into your life and tell you how to live. Whatever it is you must do, I shall respect it, as I respect you, totally and without question
. Embla had kissed him, Ashkr had poured him a drink, and all had gone smoothly from there.