The Crowded Shadows (48 page)

“Wynter?” he groaned as they pushed his head down and helped him to duck through the door. “What has happened to me?” Wynter hated the shaky uncertainty in his voice, and she looked away, furious and miserable.

“Shhh,” she said. “It’s… shhh, you will be all right.”

Outside the tent, the frigid air hit them like a slap, and Razi straightened with a gasp, squinting in the dim early light. After a few steps, he pulled Wynter and Christopher to a halt, his arms tightening on their shoulders as he got his bearings.

Mist was rising, slow and white from the grass, and the dew was just beginning to glitter in the first shimmer of morning. High above the trees, a thick pall of smoke dirtied the clarity of the rosy sky. Blearily, Razi took all this in, then he noticed the small band of Merron horsemen and women waiting by the forest, and his frown deepened at the sight of his own mare, and Wynter and Christopher’s horses, all tacked up and ready to go. His dark eyes widened as he picked Sólmundr from the row of waiting horsemen, Boro lying miserably at his horse’s feet.

Wynter saw memory seep into Razi’s face.

“Darling,” she whispered. “Listen
…”

“Wait
…”
he said, his voice deepening. “Wait a moment.” He began to shrug free of her grip. “Wait a moment,” he said again, looking around him. “What?”

“Listen, Razi
…”
But he was pushing away from her, and stumbling backwards, staring at Christopher.

“What did you
do
?” he cried.

The warrior by the tent stepped protectively to Christopher’s side, her face wary. Hallvor ducked through the door and joined her. The healer had Razi’s cloak in one hand and his backpack in the other. She looked Razi up and down and said something soothing, but Christopher did not translate for her. Instead, he just stood, flanked by the tall, well-armed women, silently watching his friend.

“Razi,” said Wynter, stepping forward, her hand up. Razi glanced at her, then he spun away and stumbled down the track between the tents, tripping and only barely keeping his feet as he tried to run. Wynter strode after him, her heart clenching as she realised where he was heading. “Razi!” she called, breaking into a trot. “Don’t!”

She caught up, easily outstripping his uncoordinated pace, and grabbed hold of him. “Listen!” she pleaded, slipping around to face him, putting her hands on his chest. “Razi, please!”

He stared past her and she saw the shock and dawning horror in his face as he took in the circle of beaten ground where Embla’s tent used to stand. With a cry he pushed Wynter aside and staggered across to stand in the centre of the bare earth. He stared at the ground. “Where…?” he said. “Wynter? Where…?”

Wynter’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head, her hands spread helplessly before her. She did not want to say it. Someone moved quietly behind her and Wynter turned to find Christopher standing in the shadows, watching. He had Razi’s cloak in his hand.

The jingle of tack and the soft thud of hooves came drifting through the tents. The Merron were walking their horses along the tree line, shadowing Razi’s progress through the camp. They came into view and brought their mounts to a halt, their watchful faces pale in the shadow of the forest. Hallvor had joined them; she pulled her mare up beside Úlfnaor’s horse and waited in patient silence.

Razi lifted his eyes to the pall of black smoke that stained the sunrise. He inhaled deeply and Wynter knew that he was registering the dark, bitter scent of the pyre that lay beneath the fresh morning air. “No,” he whispered. “Oh no.”

“Listen,” said Wynter again, but she did not know what to say to him and so trailed into useless silence. Razi lurched suddenly towards the forest. She darted across and knotted her fists in his tunic. Oblivious to her presence, Razi jerked forward, three shambling steps, and Wynter had to stagger with him, clinging to his tunic to prevent herself from being flung to the ground. “There is nothing to
see
, Razi! Believe me!” she wailed. “There is nothing!” Heedless, Razi continued to wade forward, and Wynter clung to him in panic, trying in vain to stop him.

“Embla is dead,” said Christopher, his flat voice hitting them like a randomly thrown stone.

“Oh, Christopher!” gasped Wynter, appalled at his bluntness.

Razi froze, his eyes widening, and slowly he turned to stare at their expressionless friend.

Christopher dipped his chin, his eyes locked on Razi’s. “We drugged you,” he said, his voice hard and toneless. “Embla and I put it in your drink. That’s why you feel so ill. That’s why you can’t remember. Then Embla and Ashkr went into the forest and they allowed their priests to murder them. They believed that this was their honour and their duty, and that it was necessary for the survival of their people.”

Wynter felt Razi begin to shake. He clenched his fists, his eyes overflowing, and took a step towards Christopher. Wynter tightened her hands in his tunic. “Stop, Razi,” she said. “Stop,
now
.”

“There ain’t nothing you could have done to prevent Embla’s death,” said Christopher. “Nothing. And you could never have talked Embla out of it. Never. No one alive could have.”

Razi took another convulsive step forward and Wynter pushed on his chest, frightened by his rage. Had he wanted to, Razi could have flung her aside like a kitten, but he hardly seemed to notice her presence, so concentrated was he on Christopher.

Christopher went on. “Don’t tell yourself that you could have fought them either—stolen her away somehow, and saved her that way. Embla would have killed you herself, Razi, rather than desert her duty to
An Domhan
.” He stepped close suddenly and Razi loomed over him with rage-black eyes. Christopher gazed up with fearless calm. “There was nothing you could ever have done to stop this,” he said. “You meant nothing to Embla when compared to her duty. Do you understand? You could
never
have come between Embla and
An Domhan
.”

“They killed her,” grated Razi, his voice coming harsh and rusty from between viciously gritted teeth.

“Hush,” said Wynter, spreading her fingers against his chest. “Razi, hush now. Think—”

“They
killed
her!”

Christopher nodded. “And Ashkr too. It was—”

Razi cut him short with a hiss. “I will
destroy
them.”

Christopher stared unflinchingly into Razi’s furious eyes. “Do you recall,” he said softly, “what you told me that time in Algiers, when I came to you with my plan to rescue my girls?”

Razi’s muscles leapt under Wynter’s hands. For a moment he gaped at Christopher, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Then he threw himself backward and spun clumsily away, staggering once more towards the trees.

“Wait!” Wynter ran after him and Christopher followed suit, the two of them striding along on either side of Razi as he stumbled towards the forest. “Razi!” she begged, appalled that he might run into the trees, terrified that he would witness the contents of that still burning pyre. That he would see that terrible fallen tree “Please!” she cried. “There is nothing to see there! I swear it to you!”

But Razi wasn’t listening to her. He was desperately trying to block out what Christopher was saying. “Marcello was so angry at you,” said Christopher. “He was so angry that he threw a chair through the rosewood screen, do you remember?”

“Stop! Stop it!” Razi flung his hands up to cover his ears.

Christopher overtook him and dodged in front, walking backwards, trying to catch Razi’s eye. “He was angry because he thought I’d be destroyed, Razi. But I wasn’t. I understood. In the end, I honestly understood.”

Razi came to a halt, his face desperate. He turned right and then left, trying to avoid Christopher, and then he just stood still and closed his eyes. Slowly he hunched his long body forward and brought his hands to his head. “Oh, don’t, Chris,” he whispered. “Please don’t do that to me.”

Christopher stepped in close, his head bowed, his forehead almost on Razi’s shoulder. “I understood,” he said, “because I knew you meant every word of it. You weren’t just saying those things to shut me up. It wasn’t just a clever way to let things go. You really meant it. Do you remember?”

Wynter put her hand on Razi’s back. He shook his head. “Don’t,” he whispered again. “Please.” Wynter rubbed his shoulder, staring at Christopher. He had yet to break from his calm, flat composure, his eyes fixed on Razi’s averted face.

“I remember every word,” whispered Christopher. “I remember it as if it were yesterday. You said, ‘To my eternal shame, the sufferings of those that you love can be nothing to me when weighed against the future of my father’s kingdom, because in my father’s kingdom the freedom of thousands like them hangs in the balance’. I remember that, Razi, because sometimes it’s the only thing that lets me sleep at night. It’s the only thing that helps me live with the fact that we let so much go unavenged.”

Wynter’s eyes overflowed and Razi moaned, clutching his head. Christopher kept staring at him, saying nothing more. After a moment Razi looked up and met his gaze, his own eyes full. “I do not understand why these people have spared us, Razi,” Christopher said. “After what we have witnessed, God knows they’d be much better off had they slit our throats and left us in a ditch. But they have spared us, and they seem determined to aid you in fulfilling your duty to your father’s kingdom.” He lifted Razi’s cloak and held it out to him. Razi looked from his friend’s face to the cloak and back again.

Christopher’s expression softened and his grey eyes filled with sympathy and tenderness and love. “You have business to do, al Sayyid,” he whispered and he spread the cloak, like a master-of-the-robe preparing to dress his lord.

As Christopher reached up and settled the fabric around his shoulders, Razi’s eyes drifted to the dark smoke that smudged the sky above the trees. Christopher pinned the cloak into place, and then, without looking at Razi’s face, gestured to someone behind them. As if from nowhere, two Merron warriors advanced from the shadows. They had all the confiscated weapons laid across their outstretched arms, and as they approached, they held them out, their heads respectfully bowed.

Razi remained motionless as Wynter and Christopher strapped on their swords and knives and slipped their bucklers onto their belts. Even after Christopher had taken his last dagger and slipped it into his boot, Razi still had not moved. The warriors remained patiently at attention, his weapons held out across their arms. Without another word, Christopher walked away, heading for the horses. Wynter turned to their still motionless friend.

“Razi,” she said softly. He made no acknowledgement of her, his eyes unbreakably focused on the rising smoke. Wynter clasped his slack hand in hers, squeezing gently. “There was nothing else he could have done, Razi.”

Slowly, painfully, Razi’s hand tightened on hers.

“If it is of comfort, Embla did not suffer in the end. It was very quick.”

Razi’s brows drew down and he dragged his eyes at last from the smoke and turned his attention to the Merron waiting by the trees. Christopher had just reached his horse and Razi watched as he took to the saddle, then he switched his gaze to Úlfnaor.

“Razi,” said Wynter, alarmed at the cold murder that she saw rising in his eyes. Without glancing at her, Razi suddenly shook free of her grasp and reached for his weapons. “Razi!” she insisted. “We have a long way to go. Can you do this?” Razi jammed his knife into his thigh sheath and buckled on his sword-belt. Snatching his falchion from the warrior’s arms, he slammed it into the scabbard on his hip. He lifted his eyes once more to the Merron, and, glaring at Úlfnaor, he snapped the sword keep in place. The Aoire watched him calmly across the rapidly brightening air.

“Razi,” hissed Wynter, and he turned at last to stare at her. She laid her hand on his arm. “Brother,” she said softly. “Can you do this?”

For a moment Razi’s eyes grew dangerously wide, and Wynter thought perhaps he would speak. But he snatched his arm free instead, and swung away, striding across the misty grass to the waiting horses. Wynter watched him for a moment, then she jogged after him.

Razi was already pulling his mare’s head around to face the trail as Wynter reached the horses. As if on cue, the Merron turned their mounts in unison with him, and as Wynter hopped the stirrup, the whole group began to move past her, travelling along the tree line, heading for the dense forest to the north of camp.

Only Christopher hung back, holding his horse in place and waiting as Wynter settled into the saddle. He met her eye as she pulled Ozkar around and the two of them exchanged a look of weariness and grief. Razi, and those others at the head of the line, had already disappeared into the trees, the rest of the group following rapidly behind them, and so Wynter and Christopher were alone when the Loups-Garous howled.

Wynter grabbed for her sword, her eyes darting to the forest.

“
Jesu!
” she yelled. “Where are they?”

The howls came swooping down again, like a bird of prey through the dark smell of the pyre.

“Where are they, Chris?” she yelled, Ozkar dancing anxiously beneath her. “They sound so close! Are they here?”

Up ahead, the Merron pulled to a halt and stared into the trees.

The Wolves howled once more, so close, and Wynter spun to Christopher, another oath poised on her lips. At the sight of his face, she straightened in the saddle, staring, and then she reached across the gap between their horses.